[This isn't the Doctor's first ballroom, and he's more comfortable than he might be, but it's not exactly his natural element. He'd much rather be doing reconnaissance, or fiddling in vain with his TARDIS, or playing obscure strategy games with Rhade.
He's here to observe, more than anything, but he doesn't want to be obvious about it. So he's been wandering about, making polite conversation, acting like he belongs. He's been invited to dance several times, but he's invoked various excuses. It's not that he can't, it just seems...deceitful, somehow.
Besides, he's a bit rusty.
He tugs absently at his bowtie - beige, like the rest of his rather stiff suit - as he strides into a more quiet corner.
Quiet, but not entirely isolated. He all but beams at Shepard when he sees her.]
I can't say I took you for the ballroom sort, Commander.
no subject
He's here to observe, more than anything, but he doesn't want to be obvious about it. So he's been wandering about, making polite conversation, acting like he belongs. He's been invited to dance several times, but he's invoked various excuses. It's not that he can't, it just seems...deceitful, somehow.
Besides, he's a bit rusty.
He tugs absently at his bowtie - beige, like the rest of his rather stiff suit - as he strides into a more quiet corner.
Quiet, but not entirely isolated. He all but beams at Shepard when he sees her.]
I can't say I took you for the ballroom sort, Commander.