It really wasn't the best day for Garrot to get stuck wearing jeggings and a sleeveless hoodie, like, whatsoever. The hood wasn't even up, so the doctor was unfortunate enough to awaken with so much sand in his hair. So naturally, he groans all loud and annoyed-like as a hand reflexively blocks the sun from shining into his eyes.

"Wait!" Poor Garrot pulls his phone from his pocket before sitting upright and covering the screen with his own body for privacy. Maybe there's something useful in those videos, maybe scholars in the present could figure something out! But with every glitched out, corrupted, file he sees on his phone, he scowls more and more until- "FUCK!" And suddenly, he's slamming his phone into the sand next to him, defeated by time-space media formatting. The phone has a case, it'll be fine. Garrot, on the other hand, sort of gently retches as he realizes how absolutely sweaty and gross he is. See, he ran around in a hotel, fought a heat-generating monster up-close, and baked in the sun... in a hoodie and jeggings.

And so Garrot just sighs. What a day.

He might be a bit of a headstrong, socially disastrous buffoon, but Garrot knows that it wouldn't do anyone (or his reputation) any good if he wandered around Craydon while sporting the acrid odors of violence and exertion. Instead, the big guy sprinted full-speed and cannonballed off the nearest pier. It's not a shower by any means, but salt is less annoying than a ton of dry sand and it might help with his clothes, so...

After a minute or two of briney frolicking, Garrot starts back to the shore. It's easy to notice that his not-clothes (phones, keys, wallet, etc) were neatly in a pile atop a few towels, alongside... some kind of beverage. The doctor's arms cross in front of his chest, clearly a bit frustrated as he shouts out to the skies as if The Manager could be called down, "Wait, there's no food?!"

As if on cue, his stomach begins to growl. It might be louder than that shout.