Camping
Camping
"All the planets in the universe, he says. The sprawling splendor of civilization, he says. Well, I've got news for you, mate: all bloody trees look the bloody same. If I'd wanted to sleep in a bit of tarp in the damp I'd have taken a holiday in bloody Gloucestershire." The tin tent poles in Donna's hands rattled rhythmically, punctuating her sentences, but she couldn't see how to actually assemble them.
"Aha, but then," the Doctor flicked a tongue across his lower lip, squinting at a crinkle of plastic sheeting, "you would never have seen the astonishing astral events of Melodia Eight. Millions of gaseous lifeforms, floating way up there in the atmosphere, bending each solitary pinprick of starlight into a glorious spectrum of vivid color. Colors you've never even heard of."
"And we couldn't have slept in the Tardis, because that would be too sodding easy." Around them the trees were ordinary, more or less like Earth trees, not short and not especially tall. Green, and brown in places, some orange and yellow come early for the party. The sky was blue. The ground was spongier than Earth's, yes, and the air tasted like cold metal, but where were the sweeping spires of an alien civilization? This was a camping holiday, this.
"Get in the spirit of things! You humans love a challenge. It's our ingenuity against the terror of the night, Donna." The slick fabric in his hands unfolded with a swish, and his face lit with delight. There it was, that smile, that child's look of pure and simple hope. Her bones ached with it.
The Doctor turned to her. "Besides," he said, "I love a bit of fresh air, don't you?" and she smiled, and said yes.
"All the planets in the universe, he says. The sprawling splendor of civilization, he says. Well, I've got news for you, mate: all bloody trees look the bloody same. If I'd wanted to sleep in a bit of tarp in the damp I'd have taken a holiday in bloody Gloucestershire." The tin tent poles in Donna's hands rattled rhythmically, punctuating her sentences, but she couldn't see how to actually assemble them.
"Aha, but then," the Doctor flicked a tongue across his lower lip, squinting at a crinkle of plastic sheeting, "you would never have seen the astonishing astral events of Melodia Eight. Millions of gaseous lifeforms, floating way up there in the atmosphere, bending each solitary pinprick of starlight into a glorious spectrum of vivid color. Colors you've never even heard of."
"And we couldn't have slept in the Tardis, because that would be too sodding easy." Around them the trees were ordinary, more or less like Earth trees, not short and not especially tall. Green, and brown in places, some orange and yellow come early for the party. The sky was blue. The ground was spongier than Earth's, yes, and the air tasted like cold metal, but where were the sweeping spires of an alien civilization? This was a camping holiday, this.
"Get in the spirit of things! You humans love a challenge. It's our ingenuity against the terror of the night, Donna." The slick fabric in his hands unfolded with a swish, and his face lit with delight. There it was, that smile, that child's look of pure and simple hope. Her bones ached with it.
The Doctor turned to her. "Besides," he said, "I love a bit of fresh air, don't you?" and she smiled, and said yes.