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]

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."

[poeticnpedantic]

The Doctor just barely swallows down a splutter when she elbows her way up in front of him, sending him grasping at suddenly dubious balance. That tie had been perfectly fine, there's no need for Miss Donna Noble to go fixing it for him.

... But he's never a man to turn down a compliment, and he tries out a rather smug little smirk when Donna tells him he looks handsome. 'Well, naturally, my dear; it would be hard to make a man of my bearing and physique look anything else.'

It's clear enough that he's pleased by the remark, though, despite his conceit, and there's the tiniest hint of warmth underneath the egotism that threatens to peep through if he's not careful.

The salesman is now eyeing the two of them up on the dais with an attitude that suggests he wishes he'd never taken on this particular pair of customers. Undoubtedly he's thinking all sorts of things about the nature of their relationship which are patently untrue. Not that the Doctor notices, of course. Delicately (or not so delicately), he removes Donna from the platform with him, and swivels once before the mirror, surveying his reflection.

'Hrm. Well. Is this to be it, then, Miss Noble?'

[donna_human_no]

She steps backwards off the platform, holding on to the Doctor's hand as he... well, the term 'helped' couldn't quite apply to such an insistent gesture, but it was as close as she could think. Donna accepts his gesture with grace, an amused smile on her face.

"Oh, it's a definite improvement. Mind you, the shoes... but still an improvement."

[poeticnpedantic]

She has a point about the shoes, loathe though he is to admit it. Not that there's anything wrong with them, of course; they were his shoes, fashionable, elegant, hard-wearing-- but they don't quite go with the rest of the ensemble. With a judicious sniff, he turns a knee to look down at his shoes in the mirror.

'Something shiny in black leather, do you think? Spats don't quite go with this style.'

It's the spats, you see, not the fact that they're green and orange.

[donna_human_no]

That is the most sensible thing she's heard him -- this him, at any rate -- say since she met him. She's a bit taken aback by how, well, reasonable he sounds. Not that she's complaining, of course. No, best to encourage this behavior. She gives him a warm smile.

"That would work nicely, I think."