How he acquired his perch is none of anyone's business, given that there's absolutely no possibility of it having been dignified or graceful. The point of the exercise is quietness and clear thought and a sort of literal raising of one's consciousness (or maybe, like cats and owls, he just likes to get on high things). None of which goals are helped by exuberantly yelled salutations. His eyes snap open like they're switch operated, and he leans precariously forward to peer down at the source of the worryingly excited voice addressing him. The sight of an odd grey-skinned, squiggly-horned child at first does nothing to clear things up; he only leans forward the more gravity-insultingly, as frightful of face as ever. The alien child's accompaniment isn't lost on him either; but she looks both human and rather confused. So water is wet and the sky is blue today, then.

"Hang on," the Doctor scolds, unfolding his legs and dropping the alarming distance to the ground. His descent isn't much more graceful or dignified than the ascent, come to that, there's a lot more coat flapping and bony shins than one person ought to be able to generate on short notice. In what is by now a time honoured tradition, he stares at the girl for a moment, trying to put the puzzle together. The nice bowtie, the fakey-fake Britishing, it's starting to make sense, but he really would swear that this child was more green last time. And a lot less tousley. That's right, the little skull girl, but hardly so at the moment. Interesting. "Then it's stalemate again, since I don't know your name either, Ms. Scholar," to say nothing of her new appearance, and what does it mean that she's here, anyway? His attention shifts to the woman who is watching all this with so much interest, and though he's ostensibly still speaking to the child his tone is considerably more guarded, not really directed at her at all. "And I don't know your friend here at all. Perhaps you should introduce us."