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]

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."