The Doctor is just as perturbed by this, if not more so. The TARDIS does inexplicable things, yeah, but they're not supposed to be inexplicable to him. Kind of. It's also worth noting that the music, if it can be called that, isn't very soothing. It's less music and more...someone using a voice as an instrument, but in the child with a synthesizer way, not in the artful a capella way. Layered over saccharine jingling. The Doctor looks back at Ianto and gives the most minute bewildered headshake. No, he's not making that sound, does he look like he should be? Ever?
Whatever it is, the Doctor wants to put an end to it, and sets to the console to do just that, before being interrupted by a hologram flaring into life above one panel, jaggedy and low-quality but still offensive. It's not really possible for it to be a drain on the TARDIS' equivalent to bandwidth, but it probably would be if it could. Maybe that's giving an inanimate animated hologram too much credit, but as the thing seems determined to inform him, in a cheerfully chiding manner, it is the holidays. Maybe Holidays, capital H, that amorphous onwardly marching indiscriminate monolith of imposition, how fitting. The synthesizer voice setting and jingling have resolved into an almost recognisable tune, instead of just repetitive fragments of one. It'll come to him, given time. The Doctor is so aghast he doesn't have room to be relieved by the interruption heading Ianto's impending suggestion off at the pass. And it had been going so well. He looks at Ianto accusingly. "Did you do this?" he whispers, temporarily spellbound into politeness toward a hologram.
no subject
Whatever it is, the Doctor wants to put an end to it, and sets to the console to do just that, before being interrupted by a hologram flaring into life above one panel, jaggedy and low-quality but still offensive. It's not really possible for it to be a drain on the TARDIS' equivalent to bandwidth, but it probably would be if it could. Maybe that's giving an inanimate animated hologram too much credit, but as the thing seems determined to inform him, in a cheerfully chiding manner, it is the holidays. Maybe Holidays, capital H, that amorphous onwardly marching indiscriminate monolith of imposition, how fitting. The synthesizer voice setting and jingling have resolved into an almost recognisable tune, instead of just repetitive fragments of one. It'll come to him, given time. The Doctor is so aghast he doesn't have room to be relieved by the interruption heading Ianto's impending suggestion off at the pass. And it had been going so well. He looks at Ianto accusingly. "Did you do this?" he whispers, temporarily spellbound into politeness toward a hologram.