"...And so I shouted: 'My arms! My legs! My everything!'" the Doctor continued, ignoring groans from the Gritty Realists in the corner and taking a swig from his Chateau de la Perousse. "Well, frankly, I think the Vraxoin in the air was clouding my judgement... but at the time it was *killingly* funny." He fiddled awkwardly with his scarf, suddenly aware that Fitz wasn't listening.
The 13th Doctor approached the bar, and ordered a bottle of Dom Perignon and twenty Marlboro Lights.
"Vraxoin?" she asked in her deep, somewhat husky voice. "For Christ's sake, no one takes that any more."