The Doctor / OTA! [Friday Afternoon]
People were dying and that was absolutely unacceptable to the Doctor. They needed a solution and fast, because no one else needed to die in this place. No one here deserved to go out that way, he didn't care what their story was; it didn't matter. This wasn't their world to die in. Without knowing whether they would come back as Elsa had, he needed to concentrate on saving those still alive and the repercussions of bringing down whatever had begun taking the lives of the living in the first place.
He had a myriad of ideas, and while ideas were indisputably powerful things, they weren't concrete. They didn't fix anything, they only created more variables, which he would have ordinarily enjoyed had people not been in absolute jeopardy. Anyone could get hurt, and there was no way he was going to risk Rose.
Perking at the thought of her, the Doctor looked up from his hunched lean over a book. Glasses dangling just on the precipice of his nose, he glanced about for where she might have gone. The days had become a bit blurry, though he had only to properly assess the air to tell the time if need be. Seated on top of a table, rude as ever, the Doctor eventually shrugged his overcoat off his shoulders and flung it over the back of a nearby chair that hadn't been occupied in some time.
Leaving the book open his lap, he pushed frustrated hands through his hair and let out a trilled burst of air. "This is a hell of a living nightmare," he muttered.