[ Saving the world can be addictive, but saving the universe is a whole other thing all together.
Like many of the Doctor's adventures, it starts with a serendipitous meeting. He'd been traveling alone for far too long, and that's always the danger, isn't it — because that's the moment when he starts to lose himself to the dark thoughts and the guilt. It's when he slowly forgets what it's like to appreciate the good and the beautiful and the bright bits of the universe. But then he meets Rita Farr, back on Earth, in a small American town invaded by an alien species that multiplies with every touch, a bit like the cube invasion, only much less Lego-like and more like fluffy soot-balls with teeth. (Very sharp teeth.)
The Doctor does what the Doctor always does, and Rita proves herself to be absolutely brilliant — she's smart and quick on her feet and she's always got the right sort of idea and the best sort of attitude — in fact, she's just the sort of person who might come into his life and make him see again, see the world in a new light through her eyes.
So he asks her at the end of it what he asks all of his companions: do you want to see the stars with me?
She says yes.
They're walking along the Rue de Peletier in the 9e arrondissement of Paris France, her arm linked with his — the year is 1878, and Edgar Degas' very latest painting is expected to be just about complete. The Doctor had asked Rita for her favourite piece, and thought: well, wouldn't it be grand to do this nice thing? (They have just come back from battling Daleks, and dodging Angels, and there was a bit of running ... well, all right, a lot of running.) Sometimes he can be thoughtful.
They don't need tickets to the ballet, not when the Doctor can sneak them into the back, with his sonic screwdriver in one pocket, and his psychic paper in the other. Besides, they very much look the part, just two very posh travelers from (very much) out of town, looking for the very best and the most beautiful things that the city had to offer. A show at the ballet seems par for the course — and perhaps a meeting with the great painter could top the evening off as well. And it does go well, they're even allowed to hang around backstage watching the master at work, watching the way Degas paints that last stroke on his ballerina's skirts.
The Doctor watches Rita for most of it, delighting in the way her eyes light up, the wonder and awe in her expression, and he thinks — well done, you daft old man, you did something good for once.
When the show is over and the night belongs to them, he takes her hand in his and guides her back out into the (still) busy Parisienne boulevard. They've been invited to next week's salon, of course, as well as a visit to Degas' studio, but tonight the stars are out and the moon is bright, and there's a whole lot of wandering they can do. ]
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paris, france — 1878.
Like many of the Doctor's adventures, it starts with a serendipitous meeting. He'd been traveling alone for far too long, and that's always the danger, isn't it — because that's the moment when he starts to lose himself to the dark thoughts and the guilt. It's when he slowly forgets what it's like to appreciate the good and the beautiful and the bright bits of the universe. But then he meets Rita Farr, back on Earth, in a small American town invaded by an alien species that multiplies with every touch, a bit like the cube invasion, only much less Lego-like and more like fluffy soot-balls with teeth. (Very sharp teeth.)
The Doctor does what the Doctor always does, and Rita proves herself to be absolutely brilliant — she's smart and quick on her feet and she's always got the right sort of idea and the best sort of attitude — in fact, she's just the sort of person who might come into his life and make him see again, see the world in a new light through her eyes.
So he asks her at the end of it what he asks all of his companions: do you want to see the stars with me?
She says yes.
They're walking along the Rue de Peletier in the 9e arrondissement of Paris France, her arm linked with his — the year is 1878, and Edgar Degas' very latest painting is expected to be just about complete. The Doctor had asked Rita for her favourite piece, and thought: well, wouldn't it be grand to do this nice thing? (They have just come back from battling Daleks, and dodging Angels, and there was a bit of running ... well, all right, a lot of running.) Sometimes he can be thoughtful.
They don't need tickets to the ballet, not when the Doctor can sneak them into the back, with his sonic screwdriver in one pocket, and his psychic paper in the other. Besides, they very much look the part, just two very posh travelers from (very much) out of town, looking for the very best and the most beautiful things that the city had to offer. A show at the ballet seems par for the course — and perhaps a meeting with the great painter could top the evening off as well. And it does go well, they're even allowed to hang around backstage watching the master at work, watching the way Degas paints that last stroke on his ballerina's skirts.
The Doctor watches Rita for most of it, delighting in the way her eyes light up, the wonder and awe in her expression, and he thinks — well done, you daft old man, you did something good for once.
When the show is over and the night belongs to them, he takes her hand in his and guides her back out into the (still) busy Parisienne boulevard. They've been invited to next week's salon, of course, as well as a visit to Degas' studio, but tonight the stars are out and the moon is bright, and there's a whole lot of wandering they can do. ]
So — what did you think then, eh?
[ Did he do well? ]