Eleven ran a hand through his mop of brown hair. Not ginger. "I don't know. Oh, we always wanted to be ginger, didn't we? Well, you did. Now, I'm- I don't know actually. Where's a mirror when you need one?" He began searching the console room for a mirror, then glancing his reflection on a metal lever.

"Oh. OH. So, that's what I look like! Love the look. Sort of rock star, emo punk." He smirked and then turned to his other self. "Yes, something is really wrong and I think we need to sort it out. Yep." The Doctor placed his hands on his hips with a stern look, then passed out on the console floor. It was too soon. He body was still adjusting.