Egypt, Dinner, and Al Calavicci
Who: Donna Noble and Albert Calavicci
Where: Egypt, outside the Cairo Opera House
When: Saturday, August 17th, 2007 at 7:33 PM
*
"Hot Fun in the Summertime" ran through Donna Noble's head on a constant loop. Basically, just the first line of the chorus, 'cause Donna didn't remember much more than that. It couldn't have been less apt, though, because Donna wasn't having any fun at all. In fact, she couldn't remember ever having less fun (but of course, none of the Nobles are recognized for their faithful memories unless called upon to do so in order to shame another member of the family).
Whether or not Donna had ever had less fun or not, she certainly wasn't at the moment. Dressed to the nines in a gauzy dress and (cherry red-)toe-pinching heels, Donna had gone through all the stages of realizing she was being stood up by the swarthy gentleman who'd hit on her at the airport bar earlier that day. Her once vibrant smile had deteriorated into a scowl, and where she'd been all but twirling the little beaded clutch she carried, Donna was now holding it in a sweaty death-grip from which the satin bag would never recover.
Embarrassed, hot, and ready to maim the next person who asked if she was "all right," Donna stalked toward the curb and reached her arm up for a taxi. If the opera was going to be a wash (and really, good riddance!), she might as well find a local pub and get herself topped.
Where: Egypt, outside the Cairo Opera House
When: Saturday, August 17th, 2007 at 7:33 PM
*
"Hot Fun in the Summertime" ran through Donna Noble's head on a constant loop. Basically, just the first line of the chorus, 'cause Donna didn't remember much more than that. It couldn't have been less apt, though, because Donna wasn't having any fun at all. In fact, she couldn't remember ever having less fun (but of course, none of the Nobles are recognized for their faithful memories unless called upon to do so in order to shame another member of the family).
Whether or not Donna had ever had less fun or not, she certainly wasn't at the moment. Dressed to the nines in a gauzy dress and (cherry red-)toe-pinching heels, Donna had gone through all the stages of realizing she was being stood up by the swarthy gentleman who'd hit on her at the airport bar earlier that day. Her once vibrant smile had deteriorated into a scowl, and where she'd been all but twirling the little beaded clutch she carried, Donna was now holding it in a sweaty death-grip from which the satin bag would never recover.
Embarrassed, hot, and ready to maim the next person who asked if she was "all right," Donna stalked toward the curb and reached her arm up for a taxi. If the opera was going to be a wash (and really, good riddance!), she might as well find a local pub and get herself topped.