The Paternoster Gang

As Clara padded down the stairs, it occurred to her how foolish she must look: brandishing a lamp while wearing only a nightdress and nothing on her feet. Hardly an appropriate outfit for going into battle.

As it turned out, Clara had nothing to worry about.

"Strax!" Clara exclaimed, dropping the lamp in relief.

The Sontaran was mopping the floor and humming to himself, but looked up when his guest appeared.

"Good morning, mistress Clara! I hope you weren't about to hit me with that."

"What? Oh, yeah..." Clara confessed sheepishly. "I just didn't know who's house I was in, and I wanted a weapon in case I needed to defend myself."

"Very good. Although may I suggest a laser gun next time?"

"Err...yeah, thanks. Look, Strax," Clara began awkwardly, "you err...haven't seen my clothes, have you?"

"Your clothes?" Strax asked, confused.

"What I was wearing when you found me." Clara rolled her eyes. Why was it always so hard to get him to understand anything?

Comprehension dawned on his face.

"Ah, yes! Your clothes! They...they...now what happened to them? Apologises, mistress Clara, I appear to have forgotten!"

"Oh, great," Clara replied, disappointed. "How about some breakfast?"

Clara hugged herself and looked down at her bare feet as she followed Strax into the kitchen and hopped up onto a stool.

She sipped a glass of cool water as Strax busied himself over the stove. By the time the plate was deposited in front of her, Clara's stomach was rumbling loudly and she eagerly dug in.

A few minutes later, Clara heard the sound of a door opening and closing, before Vastra appeared in the kitchen.

"Good morning, Clara!" she said cheerfully. "I hoped you slept well?"

With her mouth full of food, Clara could only give a brief thumbs up.

"I assume you'd like to know the latest about the Doctor-?"

"Actually," Clara asked after finally swallowing. "Do you know what's happened to my clothes?"

"Oh, we'll get you measured up later for something far more appropriate. Those 21st century clothes simply won't do here."

"Could I at least have them back-"

"Come and find me after you've finished your breakfast, Clara, and I'll tell you what I know about the Doctor."

Before the human could respond, the Silurian had bustled out again.

Clara returned to her food, bare feet swinging freely. Did it make her a bad person that she cared more about her clothes than her traveling companion?