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	You've reached Dr. Funkenstein. Expert on all things funkadelic. Please, by all means, save us both the hassle and don't leave a message.
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[attackbrows]

[Underneath the covers, this version of the Doctor is the least audible of the two despite his (poor) attempts at holding back a laugh. He lays there on his side with a hand propping up his head. On the other free hand, he is holding some device brought out from the lab. His mouth was stuffed with a lolly with the stick hanging out from the side. He is as comfy as a grumpy owl can look (not) cuddling up under the covers with his other incarnation.

The two had been reminiscing about some old adventures in their earlier days; of outwitting Cybermen and travelling to planets where they accidentally wed Emperors and Empresses. To inventing feta pasta on accident in a humble little suite in the 1920s.

Now, the Doctor is no stranger to having multiple conversations with himself but this— this may be a new level of having a chat with oneself. Looking at each other with childlike glee.

Then he hears Clara’s voice.

He pushes the duvet away from his head, craning his neck to get a better look at her.]

There you are!

[He was really hoping she’d pop in at some point.]

Have you tried this sleepover thing? It’s incredible! You just go under the covers and pretend to be sleeping, but you’re doing something completely different. Such a simple form of deception! I should have thought of this centuries ago.