“It’s ridiculous, spaceman. Look, you’re dripping all down my trousers now, look!”
“You said you wanted to do me a favour, Donna!”
“Favour, yes. Buy you a drink at the 'Star Wars Cantina', yes – ”
“ - I keep telling you that’s not real!”
“ – Go paintballing with you, yes; even get you Audrey flippin’ Hepburn’s phonenumber – ”
“She did have a thing for me, didn’t she?”
“Yeah, yeah she did – but not this!”
A brief pause. If she’s not mistaken, it’s definitely the sign of a sulk brewing on the Time Lord horizon. “’S alright for you.”
“I know.” She might be being just a little bit smug. Still, he deserves it.
“You have nice hair.”
Cue a flick of said hair. “Oh, I know.”
“Van Gough had that hair. Garfunkel had that hair. Good old Anne of GG had that hair. And I have – ”
“The hair of an idiot?”
Alright, so that’s a little unfair. A little.
He’s pouting as well. The big ol’ spaceman, Mister ooh-look-at-me-I’ve-got-an-overdressed-screwdriver – is pouting. “Come on Donna, it’s what friends do for each other!”
That’s true. Kind of true, anyway. Sort of true. And she’s done some pretty mad stuff – seen her boyfriend leave her for a giant spider lady, saved the world from little potato people, waved at little blobs of sentient fat – but she’d never expected to be sitting in a public bathroom in 2950, downtown California, helping a Time Lord who quite on a whim has decided to dye his hair.
It lasts for roughly two weeks, stains every surface it comes into contact with, spectacularly ruins his favourite shirt – ‘Cary Grant gave me that shirt!’ – when it runs during a sudden downpour, and her hands are bright red for a month.
Totally worth it though. She keeps the photos safe.
Doctor Who - Ten&Donna - The Ultimate Ginger
“It is not ridiculous.”
“It’s ridiculous, spaceman. Look, you’re dripping all down my trousers now, look!”
“You said you wanted to do me a favour, Donna!”
“Favour, yes. Buy you a drink at the 'Star Wars Cantina', yes – ”
“ - I keep telling you that’s not real!”
“ – Go paintballing with you, yes; even get you Audrey flippin’ Hepburn’s phonenumber – ”
“She did have a thing for me, didn’t she?”
“Yeah, yeah she did – but not this!”
A brief pause. If she’s not mistaken, it’s definitely the sign of a sulk brewing on the Time Lord horizon. “’S alright for you.”
“I know.” She might be being just a little bit smug. Still, he deserves it.
“You have nice hair.”
Cue a flick of said hair. “Oh, I know.”
“Van Gough had that hair. Garfunkel had that hair. Good old Anne of GG had that hair. And I have – ”
“The hair of an idiot?”
Alright, so that’s a little unfair. A little.
He’s pouting as well. The big ol’ spaceman, Mister ooh-look-at-me-I’ve-got-an-overdressed-screwdriver – is pouting. “Come on Donna, it’s what friends do for each other!”
That’s true. Kind of true, anyway. Sort of true. And she’s done some pretty mad stuff – seen her boyfriend leave her for a giant spider lady, saved the world from little potato people, waved at little blobs of sentient fat – but she’d never expected to be sitting in a public bathroom in 2950, downtown California, helping a Time Lord who quite on a whim has decided to dye his hair.
It lasts for roughly two weeks, stains every surface it comes into contact with, spectacularly ruins his favourite shirt – ‘Cary Grant gave me that shirt!’ – when it runs during a sudden downpour, and her hands are bright red for a month.
Totally worth it though. She keeps the photos safe.