if you are out to describe the truth, leave elegance to the tailor- for donna_human_no

[poeticnpedantic]

This Donna Noble, the Doctor had decided, was a harpy; vile-tempered, hot-headed, and decidedly intemperate.  Not to mention the sheer cheek of the girl!   The gall not only to criticise his sartorial sense but to mock his indisputably elegant way with words, and completely discount the wisdom he had to share about the universe.

... He could see why

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[poeticnpedantic]

'I did say September,' begins the Doctor in an aggrieved tone, but Donna's marching past him without even waiting to catch his eye. Well, he supposes there's something about an assertive companion, and he follows her at a walk that quantitatively refuses to hurry to catch up to her.

The Doctor is a man who knows his way around storage rooms and back corridors, and a quick scan up and down for the relevant signs reveals them to be on the ground floor, presumably near the shoe section. At least, if all the shoes in that storage room are any indication. Now, it's been a while since he was last here- his third incarnation, if he recalls correctly. He'd been vain as a peacock in that body, and had thoroughly enjoyed being measured and fussed over and fittest with the latest in velvet and ruffles. But, despite the fact that it's been a while, he's fairly sure what they want is fairly near to where they are, and he neatly snags Donna by the arm, sliding through a neatly labelled door into the main body of the store.

Nobody pay any attention to them, just two customers, that's all.

[donna_human_no]

"In my experience what you say and what actually happens can be a world apart."

She arches an eyebrow at the Doctor as he takes her arm, but... well... trusts him, she supposes, even if it's not the him she knows... enough not to do anything more. And then there they are, the Doctor leading them neatly through the crowds -- who, somehow, hardly seem to pay them any mind. Huh.

She glances about, catching her bearings and making an effort to gauge when, exactly, they are. Not Christmas, at least. And if the styles meeting her eyes are any indication, they can't be too far off their intended destination. Not that she needs to say anything about it. It would only go straight to his head, and he already looks entirely too smug.

So she gives his arm a tug. "This way."

[poeticnpedantic]

If he's already looking far too smug, it is, perhaps, because he's watching her as she looks around, deciding that perhaps she doesn't have anything to complain about. Hah, he had told her as much. Harridan. When she tugs on his arm, he doesn't precisely resist, but he does lift an eyebrow.

'And what, precisely, is this way?'

Dare he even ask? They are here, after all, on he promise of her clothing him in something more suitable, whatever that means.

[donna_human_no]

"You agreed," she reminds him crisply, tugging at his arm firmly. And if the smile on her face isn't the perfect picture of innocence, well, it's not as full of mischief as it might be, either.

"You agreed," she repeats, in a slow, patient tone one might use to explain something to a child. "...that you would come shopping and that we would find something--" she gives him a quick sideways glance "--more presentable to dress you in."

And the section of the store they find themselves in now is filled with displays of immaculately tailored suits in all colors and styles -- or at least all colors and styles that could be considered fashionable on Earth at the time, which is perfectly enough to Donna's mind.

"Here we are. Lovely!"

[poeticnpedantic]

Yes, he was aware of that, thank you. He had meant more specifically; how, after all, is he to know what Miss Donna Noble considers presentable? Suits, apparently, is the answer to that, and the Doctor takes in the racks surrounding them with a faint wrinkle to his nose. They're all the height of fashion, of course; sleek, well cut, fabric so expensive it could buy a small third world country, but they're all awfully plain. The Doctor is many things, of course, but plain is not, and never has been, one of them, and he firmly believes that his clothes should reflect that.

The salesman making his way over to them, however, would probably disagree. Clad in a black suit himself, crisp black shirt underneath and tie and pocket square matching deep red, the look he briefly levels at the Doctor is deeply dubious. As anyone working in retail knows, though, the customer is always right, and he quickly shapes up, offering the two of them a toothpaste-advert smile.

'Good afternoon; are you, ah, in need of assistance at all? Looking for a suit for the gentleman?'

The Doctor clears his throat significantly. 'I think you'll find you can defer any questions of judgement to the lady. For the moment, I am but a puppet on a string.'

[donna_human_no]

Donna -- pointedly ignoring the Doctor -- gives the salesman a perfectly dazzling smile. (Accusations of being harpy aside, she has any number of perfectly pleasant smiles to deploy when tactically necessary.)

"Exactly, thanks." She gives the Doctor a brief, thoughtful glance, adding, "Something in a nice dove grey, perhaps."

The salesman, following Donna's gaze, nods with all of the solemn concern of a funeral director. Addressing Donna, he says, "Of course miss. Did you have any specific, ah, style in mind?"

Donna, still smiling, says, "I think near on anything would be an improvement."

He keeps his face carefully neutral, nodding crisply. "If you'll just follow me, I'm certain we can find something that will be to your liking."

He leads and Donna -- still pointedly ignoring the Doctor -- follows, tugging at the Doctor's arm.

[poeticnpedantic]

The Doctor watches their little exchange with eyebrows raised. How very urbane they both are, smiling and nodding around judgemental looks cast to his coat and striped trousers. He hmmphs, tugging on his lapels. But, he had given Donna leave to do what she would, so he's hardly going to back out now; he'll settle, instead, for a mein redolent of injured dignity.

That is, until she specifies the colour, and he can't hold back a splutter. 'Grey?! On me? I-'

They've decided to ignore him, though, apparently, and he shuts up with a sniff. When Donna drags him off, he doesn't bother saying anything. Honestly, imagine dressing him in grey. The sales associate leads them around racks of clothing, jackets and trousers in various (dull) colours and fabrics presented as pristinely as if they'd been in a museum.

'If you're looking for a something casual in a lighter colour,' Silk Pocket Square is saying, 'Might I recommend something like this? Single breasted, three piece, in a very nice gabardine fabric.'

The Doctor, as per the rules he's set down, says nothing. He does, however, press his lips together and exhale, audibly, through the nose. Let them make of that what they will.

[donna_human_no]

She glances at him, taking in his petulant expression. She presses a hand to his arm, squeezing. She speaks in a soft voice, meant just for him.

"It's different, but worth keeping an open mind, don't you think?"

She smiles, and there's no guile to the expression; only a smile for her best friend.

"Besides, I rather think grey would suit you. Have you ever tried a nice grey?"

She reaches out to smooth one of his garishly colored lapels.

"Can't know you won't like it if you never give it a try."

[poeticnpedantic]

If he could hear her thoughts, he would have her know that he does not look petulant, thank you very much, he looks... dignified and disapproving. Or something.

His dignified and disapproving (or whatever it is) look fades somewhat when Donna turns to him with a gentler expression and a softer voice than he's seen from her thus far. The touch at his lapel is fond, and the Doctor realises with a little shock that she really does care for him-- or, will care for him. That's one of the odd things about meeting people from his own future, and it's something he's rather apt to forget in this regeneration; Donna Noble is not just someone from his future, she's a travelling companion. She's developed some sort of relationship with his future self, whatever that may be, and it's still there now, even if he doesn't know about it yet.

Another thing about this particular regeneration that he's apt to ignore is how it has the occasional tendency to go embarrassingly soft. Hmmph, honestly. Very briefly, he returns Donna's smile, before conceding, with extra bluster to compensate, 'Oh, very well. Dress me up like a clown if you must.'

[donna_human_no]

"I'm guessing we define clown differently, spaceman."

And if the words are a biting, they're at least delivered with a smile.

In the time it's taken them to have this conversation the salesman has darted off and returned, a dozen or so ties of vividly colored silk draped over his arms. They're in colors bold enough to have come from the Doctor's coat, even if they trend more towards solids or subtle patterns.

"Perhaps the gentleman--" he begins, but Donna cuts him off with a smile.

"Those are all lovely, thanks --" and they are, really, a tasteful consideration to the Doctor's rather eccentric color choices "--but perhaps we could see how he looks in it, yea?"

The salesman nods crisply, "Of course. If you could just come with me?"

[poeticnpedantic]

The ties are rather nice, the Doctor has to admit, even if they rather smack of condescension on Silk Pocket Square's part. He must like Donna a hell of a lot whenever it is he properly meets her in his future, he reflects, to be willing to do this for her now. That doesn't entirely make sense, but temporal relationships with himself have always been complicated; he wouldn't have it any other way.

So he follows the salesman into a fitting room, of the sort with both a private booth and a dias in front of a trio of mirrors for a tailor to go about adjusting and making sure the garment drapes precisely as it should. The Doctor is shooed into the booth to get into the suit, which he does, not at all reticently; crisp white shirt, trousers, waistcoat, and jacket over that, a single-breasted affair which could be buttoned or not- the Doctor leaves it open. That done, he returns to the main body of the room to endure the scrutiny of the salesman, who seems to have slipped into the role of the tailor for now, and produced a measuring tape from somewhere.

He nods at first, taking in the Doctor's appearance with a scrutinising eye, though the sight of the shoes the Doctor is still wearing- green with orange spats- gives him momentary pause. 'Ah, if you could get up there for me, sir?' A nod to the platform. 'I'll call the lady in, if you don't mind.'

'Oh no,' the Doctor says airily (and not at all sarcastically) 'By all means, bring her in.'

[donna_human_no]

It's a very self-satisfied smile on Donna's face as she circles around the Doctor, looking him over appraisingly.

"You clean up well."

She glances up at him, still smiling.

"But I'm sure you have your own opinion."

She's never seen the Doctor without an opinion on... well... anything, really.

[poeticnpedantic]

With that look on her face, circling around him as she is, the Doctor feels not unlike a particularly juicy gazelle under the eye of a panther, and he hmmphs, standing up a little straighter and facing his own reflection in the mirror. Hideously grey as it is, it makes a better alternative to looking at Donna.

Fastidiously, the Doctor plucks one of the ties from the salesman's outstretched arm, a silk confection in teal, orange, and pink stripes, and threading it around his neck, knotting it neatly in a double Windsor and tucking it into the waistcoat. 'It fits well enough,' he concedes huffily after a moment. And it does. It suits him to a t, in fact, to coin a phrase. There's not much need for Silk Pocket Square to be buzzing around with his measuring tape, making tick marks and hmming to himself. The cut is flattering and slimming, and the grey, if he's honest, nicely tempers his occasionally ruddy complexion.

But of course, he's not honest. Hastily, he chances another look at Donna. 'Doesn't hold a candle to my suit, though. A man's clothes should express the man wearing them, that's what I say! What the devil does this say about me? That I'm a recherché but heinously dull businessman?'

[donna_human_no]

"So let me get this straight..."

Donna crosses her arms over her chest, giving the Doctor a level stare.

"Are you trying to tell me that you're not fully capable of expressing your personality without the help of a gaudy patchwork coat?"

[poeticnpedantic]

'You, young lady, are twisting my words.'

And that stern look should tell her precisely what he thinks of that.

'There is nobody and nothing in the universe capable of suppressing my personality, Miss Noble, but wearing something like this is like... false advertising!'

No-matter how good it looks on him (which, alright, he does cut rather a dashing silhouette), one must stick to one's principles. It would hardly do to let her know that she'd been right, after all; the Doctor doesn't really know her yet, but he can just wager that he'd never hear the end of it. Silk Pocket Square isn't helping, eyeing him up and down in a fashion which just dances on the unbearable edge of supercilious.

'It does suit you admirably, sir, I have to say. The lady has excellent taste.'

'Yes, thank you very much,' snips the Doctor, cutting him off before he has a chance to say anything else, and turning back to his reflection to readjust the tie.

[donna_human_no]

"Am I?" she shoots back coolly, moving to step up on the platform -- if it was roomy for one, it's perhaps crowded with two -- in front of the Doctor. With a practiced hand -- where did she get the practice? Perhaps better not to ask -- she unknots his tie and carefully sets at retying it.

"You know what I think?" she says, not taking her eyes off her work -- or pausing long enough to give him time to respond. "I think you look perfectly handsome. And I think you're clever enough to realize the same."

Her eyes dart up to his, something of a smile playing across her lips. "But you're entirely too stubborn to admit it."

She pulls the knot tight, taking care to straighten it and smooth the tie after tucking it back into his waistcoat. "There now. That's better."