Sitting On A Mug

Five minutes after they’ve left the TARDIS to explore, Donna is beaming more than he thought possible. It’s a simple planet, one he hasn’t been to before, and the streets are crawling (both literally and metaphorically) with festivities, people young and old, human and alien.

They’ve stopped at a stall selling tie-dyed tee shirts. He’s’ certain the reason behind Donna’s expression is the tiny alien overseeing the booth – from on top of a mug. Its purple skin gleams where it’s tiny tie-dyed shirt doesn’t cover. Amazing, really. He hasn’t seen anything quite like it in many many years. The combination of Earth practices and alien intervention has always fascinated him.

“Blimey,” Donna says, jolting him from his thoughts. “That looks amazing! What is it, Doctor?”

“What’s what?” he asks.

“That!” Pointing not at the alien he thought she’d find intriguing but rather at an odd shape behind the stall, she turns and looks at him with wide blue eyes.

When he sees what she’s gesturing at, he chokes on a laugh. Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, he gently leads her in the other direction. “That, my dear Donna, is a portable toilet.”

“What?! But it was all weird-looking! And so small!”

“An alien toilet,” he adds.

The stunned expression on her face sends him into hysterics.

“Oh,” she says weakly. She slaps him hard enough to leave a mark, a few minutes later when he still hasn’t stopped laughing. “Oh, shut up. It’s not that funny!”

“Oh you are so very right,” he chuckles. “It’s way more funny than that!”

fin.