There is an Eight walking around the Inn and wondering when is it that everyone became so musically-inclined. He knows there's something strange in the air, can feel it in the corners of his mind, a strange rhythmic tingle, but he's been very good at pushing it aside.
Edna is the one who manages to catch his attention because although he's seen quite a bit in the In, he had yet to see anyone do any proper laundry.
"Why not just think the wrinkles away," he questions as he approaches her, his head tilted just slightly as he examines the piece of clothing she was currently working on.
"Well, it's kind of like cheatin', ain't it? It's my job. Might as well do it myself." Edna says with a firm nod as she folds a particular item of clothing up into its proper place and sets it in a basket.
She ducks her head, blushing a little. "Sides I think this place'll get the best of me if I don't distract myself with somethin'."
"Of course. Normally it ain't a bad place at all, but today..." Edna trails off, shaking her head and pressing a hand to her chest. "It makes me feel like..."
She blushes and shakes her head again quick so that her dark hair hits the sides of her face.
"No, well, oh aren't you a sweet heart? Offering your precious services and time up to me, but no. Can't have a man doing the laundry. That won't do at all. 'Sides it is my business. Won't do to pawn that work on to others."
"No," Eight starts, curiosity in his voice. "What does it make you feel like?" he wonders then if she too has that tingling sensation at the edge of his mind, the music calling from somewhere he doesn't know.
He rather hopes she doesn't.
But I'm not a man at all," he points out with a smile. "I'm a Time Lord." But if she doesn't want his help, he can leave it be. So instead he thinks up a chair and sits next to her because at least chatting with this woman gives him something to do, makes the music easier to ignore.
"It makes me feel..." Edna purses her lips together, tight, sets the iron down, which gusts in a burst of steam.
Old fashioned iron.
She looks back and forth. "Well, it's embarrassing." There's a darker blush on her cheeks, "If I wasn't so worried and you weren't such a sweetheart, I wouldn't tell you, but..." And Edna starts to whisper, very hush-hush, "it makes me feel like dancing!"
Edna picks her iron up again, shaking her head and muttering a soft, No, no.
"Time Lord? I never heard of such a thing. And you look just like a man. Funny."
"Don't be so nervous," he starts, giving her hand a light squeeze. "I promise you, there's no need for it."
He merely shakes his head at her doubting words and pulls the lady into a slow waltz, keeping a careful eye on her for nay and all signs of true discomfort.
"Not quite," he says as he picks up the pace a bit. "I've just had many, many years to practice.
For a moment he'll stay silent, listening to the music that only seems to have gotten louder since he began the dance. Shaking his head, he decides to keep up conversation.
"What about you? This certainly isn't your first time on a dancefloor."
"I learned when I was much, much younger." And skinnier, but she tries not to keep that in her mind so much. It'll just make her want to sit down, and she's really enjoying this. "My Mama had me take lessons. And that darling Captain Shakespeare took me for a waltz one day in the Inn, too. But he near had to force me."
Edna is the one who manages to catch his attention because although he's seen quite a bit in the In, he had yet to see anyone do any proper laundry.
"Why not just think the wrinkles away," he questions as he approaches her, his head tilted just slightly as he examines the piece of clothing she was currently working on.
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She ducks her head, blushing a little. "Sides I think this place'll get the best of me if I don't distract myself with somethin'."
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Moving to stand next to her, he holds out the next piece of clothing. "Well, would I be allowed to help or does that fall under cheating as well?"
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She blushes and shakes her head again quick so that her dark hair hits the sides of her face.
"No, well, oh aren't you a sweet heart? Offering your precious services and time up to me, but no. Can't have a man doing the laundry. That won't do at all. 'Sides it is my business. Won't do to pawn that work on to others."
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He rather hopes she doesn't.
But I'm not a man at all," he points out with a smile. "I'm a Time Lord." But if she doesn't want his help, he can leave it be. So instead he thinks up a chair and sits next to her because at least chatting with this woman gives him something to do, makes the music easier to ignore.
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Old fashioned iron.
She looks back and forth. "Well, it's embarrassing." There's a darker blush on her cheeks, "If I wasn't so worried and you weren't such a sweetheart, I wouldn't tell you, but..." And Edna starts to whisper, very hush-hush, "it makes me feel like dancing!"
Edna picks her iron up again, shaking her head and muttering a soft, No, no.
"Time Lord? I never heard of such a thing. And you look just like a man. Funny."
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"You dance," he gets to his feet, eyes shining with the thought. "Why won't you dance? Dancing is wonderful, it's exhilarating and beautiful and...."
He steps back, arms coming around an invisible partner as he dances just a little.
"Oh, we must dance now! We must!"
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Edna may be shy, but she can't resist peer pressure, especially when he's smiling like that.
"Well, maybe, just a little. As long as I'm not dancing alone." She offers him a shy smile and thinks the iron away, no need to burn anyone.
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He's absolutely delighted and dances his way back to her, giving a deep bow before offering the lady a hand.
"Shall we then?"
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"Oh, I'm not so sure this is a good idea."
But she isn't stopping herself like she normally would. The music is too strong.
"Slowly, please, sweetheart. I- I'm not the most graceful on my feet."
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He merely shakes his head at her doubting words and pulls the lady into a slow waltz, keeping a careful eye on her for nay and all signs of true discomfort.
"See, it's not that terrible, is it?"
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But Edna smiles anyway and it looks much warmer, much more comfortable than before as she joins the Doctor in a waltz.
It is, after all, not the first time she's danced with someone in the Inn.
"Not at all." She beems at him. "You are good on your feet. Did you take lessons?"
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For a moment he'll stay silent, listening to the music that only seems to have gotten louder since he began the dance. Shaking his head, he decides to keep up conversation.
"What about you? This certainly isn't your first time on a dancefloor."
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"I learned when I was much, much younger." And skinnier, but she tries not to keep that in her mind so much. It'll just make her want to sit down, and she's really enjoying this. "My Mama had me take lessons. And that darling Captain Shakespeare took me for a waltz one day in the Inn, too. But he near had to force me."
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"Wise people," he replies. "Both of them. Dancing is an amazing thing, does you a world of good, no matter who you are."
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"I forget." She admits when she falls back into the movement of the waltz. "I forget how freeing it can be. It's been so long."
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