“No, no, stupid Arthur!” the Doctor mutters in his sleep, “...you’re supposed to duck the...”
He flails, waving violently around; his hand strikes something, smashing two nails and a finger.
Something heavy lands on his face, impounding his nose and holding his upper lip at a dangerous ransom.
He bites his tongue against the pain and reaches up, opening his eyes on the delightful rectangle surface of the wall bricks, recently vacated from its gritty mooring, now balanced precariously over top of his slightly fractured nose.
His taking in a shallow breath drives the poor abused brick to shatter in two; the two separate bits then slide to the floor like two drunkards celebrating in the wrong direction.
Annoyed, he looks down at the dead stone brick in amazement, contemplating the flick of gold beaming up at him from among the dust and pieces as he applies his free thumb to his accosted nose.
“Heigh-ho, heigh-ho!” the Doctor exclaims, quoting some random dwarves as he picks a thick gold key out from the stony remains, “it seems this face is good for something after all!”
“Hey guard!” he calls out, impressed as he walks to the wall that came off previously.
Once there, he reaches his hand through the bars of his cell and waves his prize about, testing the water for fish.
“What’s this bloody key for?”