Clara Finds the Wardrobe

The Doctor stared at her, as if searching for something in her face. "Have..." He pointed a finger. "No, no don't tell me. You've...changed your hair."

Clara couldn't quite believe that was his reaction. Had he seriously not noticed? Was this some sort of bit? "No," He said. "No, not your hair, it's too messy for you to have changed it recently, you'd be taking more pride in your appearance if it was new."

Clara's mouth fell open in surprise, of all the things he might have said to her, he'd gone with that? He snapped his fingers several times in quick succession, then rapped the side of his head with a knuckle. "Your...your...the face-stuff! What's it called?"

"...Make-up?"

"Make-up! Yes! Whoever made that name up? Bit low-effort," He said, grinning smugly. "Your make-up is new." Clara shook her head. "My make-up is not new, I'm barely wearing any," She bristled. "I'm actually not wearing much of anything right now!"

The Doctor looked puzzled, he looked her up and down. "Is it...I dunno, you come back from the beach or something?"

Clara scowled. "This is not a bikini! This is...I'm wearing..." Her cheeks went a little red. "It's...lingerie, if you must know."

The Doctor seemed no less confused, "Right, and how's that different from a bikini?"

Clara stamped her stockinged foot in frustration. "It's entirely different! Bikinis you wear outside, lingerie you wear inside!"

The Doctor nodded slowly,"...But why is that?"

Clara would have put her head in her hands if they weren't already occupied acting as an improvised bra. "It doesn't matter. This is not for outdoors, people don't go out like this, okay?!"

"Okay, okay," He held up his hands apologetically. "But...why are you holding onto the, uh, the top bit there?" Clara rolled her eyes, "Because there is no top bit!"

"Did it not come with one?"

"Yes! It—" She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. "I was trying this set of lingerie on when you arrived, but I didn't get the chance to change back properly before you landed this thing right on top of me!"

"Oh," The Doctor said. Clara expected an apology, maybe the adoption of a deferential air, but no, that was all he had to say. "Well, the TARDIS has a wardrobe on board, you could go and...find a...a top?"

"I...think I'll need a bit more than that, Doctor."

"Right. Yes. Go and find whatever it is you need and I'll be here, running calculations." Clara shook her head again as she minced around the console and out of the room, descending backwards down a set of stairs, not wanting him to see the...emphasis currently being placed upon her backside by those racy, racy knickers. When she was sure she was out of sight, she let out a sigh and allowed her arms to drop to her sides. This was not how she'd expected this day to go; that date with Mr. Pink would have to wait, and depending on how things progressed from here, she might find herself never wanting to wear this lingerie again. She hoped not, it hadn't exactly been inexpensive - she was on a teacher's salary after all - and it had looked so good on her in that mirror. Pushing thoughts of what would come after all this from her mind, she proceeded forward down the metal corridor, ambient noise from the bowels of the TARDIS hissing and whirring away behind the walls and underfoot.

Clara found navigating the TARDIS' theoretically infinite number of ever-shifting hallways and rooms daunting at the best of times. The Old Machine had never had much affection for her, and it had been known to engage in the odd trick or two at her expense in the past. The Doctor had always insisted it was just a matter of time before the ship came around to her, but she'd been travelling with him for a while now, and there was still no sign of things changing on that front. In the somewhat...under dressed state she was currently in, Clara felt more **** to any mischief the ship might be inclined to get up to than ever, so when she reached an ornate wooden door, decorated with gold inlay and scrollwork all down its surface, she was more than a little relieved. This was the door to the wardrobe, or at least it had been last time. You never knew if a door would lead to the same place twice on the TARDIS. She reached for the handle, it had surprisingly little give to it. It was almost as if it was stuck, or being held closed by someone on the other side.

She looked up at the walls and ceiling around her. It dawned on her that it might be the work of the TARDIS itself, trying its best to deny her access to some decent clothes. She stepped back for a moment, then rushed toward it, wrenching it into the down position. There was a sound like the shriek of boiling steam, but the door handle finally obeyed her, and swung open onto the immense space that was the wardrobe. Clara entered the room, breathing a sigh of relief. That was, until, she felt something on her waist. Like some localised pocket of gravity, she felt a **** tugging downwards. For the first few seconds she was more confused than anything else, and then she heard a snap, then, another. She looked down and some of the elaborate bits of support structure and strapping had started to break, before the gravity pocket increased in intensity, and her knickers slid off of her hips and down her legs, coming to a rest around her ankles.

Clara went bright red, quickly bending over to pull them back up. Just as she went to grab them, she heard a loud, mechanical click behind her, and saw a flash out of the corner of her eye. She pulled the knickers back up then turned, confused to see no one there. "What...?" She murmured, and then, as if by magic, what looked like a projector screen slowly unfurled itself and began descending from the ceiling. Clara was bewildered, she took a few steps back and watched as it came to a rest roughly at her eye level. The screen was blank for a few moments, but behind her a projector emerged from a panel in the wall and flicked itself on. The image on the screen was blurry at first, but it soon began to resolve into greater detail, and when she saw it, Clara gasped.

The image on the screen was of her, although you couldn't see her face. It was shot from...behind. The exact moment when she had bent over to retrieve her knickers had been immortalised in the form of a picture, her bare bum front and centre, and a little more besides, in fact, thanks to the angle it had been taken at and the extent to which she was bent forward. You could even see her...

"This is a new low, even for you," She said, looking up at the ceiling and speaking to the TARDIS itself. "You pull my pants down and then take a photo? What are you, twelve?!" She heard herself beginning to shout and caught herself. She pinched the bridge of her nose and turned away from the screen. It didn't matter, so the TARDIS had taken a photo of her in a compromising position, so what? Soon enough she'd have a proper set of clothes on and all of this would be forgotten. Anyway, it wasn't as if anyone else would ever see the photo, right?

Clara walked briskly forward. The walls on either side of her were lined with items of clothing, though as she got closer, Clara began to realise there was something...off about them. She realised none of the things the wardrobe currently had to offer were remotely...normal. She went along the row, bewilderment turning to shock turning to disgust. Most of it was absurdly revealing, somehow moreso than what she was currently wearing. One hangar featured a Donald Duck-esque Sailor Suit, and just like Donald Duck's, there was no bottom half to it. Another boasted a thin, silk kimono, so short it would probably struggle to reach her thighs, and of such sheerness it wouldn't leave much to the imagination at all.

Finally, a seemingly conventional red dress, complete with sneakers. It felt somehow familiar, as if she'd seen it somewhere before...