"Oh, you are beautiful!"
The title "Time Lord" implies a certain noble solemnity; on Earth, it would suggest fancy wine, musty libraries, marble statuary and long, echoing hallways. The being who would, later in his personal timeline, come to be known as the Doctor danced around the antique console with all the dignity and gravitas of a small child at Christmas.
"You like her?" asked his companion, stepping out of the way with a wary expression; when the not-yet-Doctor gets excited, he has a tendency to forget about everything but the object of his fixation, including anything that might get in his way. "I never cared for the Type 40 myself. Clumsy controls, outdated technology, and, welljust ancient."
"Like her?" exclaimed the not-yet-Doctor. "I love her! How old must she be now? Two millennia at least"
"Two thousand, four hundred and thirty-two years, if you'd bothered to read the panel before charging in here," interjected his friend.
"Yes, yes," sai