It sounded like cats were screeching, and Donna wanted to clamp her hands over her ears.
The music was being played again over the TARDIS speakers. For the tenth day straight.
She promised herself she would confiscate that musical instrument, as soon as she could.
He was obsessed with playing it , as soon as they came across one in a music shop in Scotland, and he had insisted on buying one.
'Why do you want one of these?' Donna had asked him. 'Can you even play it?.'
'Of course I can Donna, King Edward VII taught me in 1900.. ' he grinned, picking it up and giving a demonstration, to the amusement of the shop keeper and customers.
King Edward VII may have taught him, but he obviously didn't give him enough lessons. It was evident.
The Doctor was terrible. The instrument screeched, and Donna was sure it wasn't supposed to sound like that.
She had to admit though, he was consistent. And the TARDIS liked encouraging her thief, and to tease Donna, sounding the Doctors attempts over the speakers. Every morning, every afternoon and every night. At least he was considerate enough not to play while she slept. That was something at least. She wasn't sure how she would react if those horrid tones kept her awake, he probably knew that she would break the instrument if he did, and he knew how grumpy she got without any sleep.
And he played for hours on end. Donna had tried earplugs, shutting the doors, even turning the radio and TV up to drown the constant high, nasal sound.
And the more he played, more liked practiced, the more irritated Donna became. She had enough.
'Where IS he?' she asked the TARDIS, and she swore she heard her chuckle in response. Teasing her again.
'Fine then. You usually show me where he is, but if you won't, I'll find him myself' , receiving a blow of fresh air in response.
Donna had to rely on her hearing, to that horrid sound. She would have to put up with it.
She followed the sound, the high pitch getting louder and louder as she followed the twists and turns of the corridors, until she stopped outside a door that she hadn't recognised before, behind it , the noise was unbearable. She flung open the door, and found herself staring at a music room, full of musical instruments, including a grand piano in the corner. The Doctor was sitting in a chair, immersed in his music, and hadn't heard her enter the room . He whipped his head around at her bellow though, his glasses askew.
'Doctor, GET RID OF THOSE BAGPIPES NOW! BEFORE I DO! YOU'RE NOT EVEN A SCOT!'
'You don't need to be a Scot to play the bagpipes you know Donna' he explained. 'And whats wrong with them ? I think I'm pretty good.. King Edward the Seventh taught me you know..'
'Yeah, not enough, you're terrible, have you heard yourself?' she retorted.
'I have actually, I think , well , I know that I'm brilliant' Donna snorted.
'You probably think your brilliant in the shower' the Doctors mouth fell open at that remark.
'Not like that you Dumbo! Your singing! God you have a dirty mind, did you know that!'
'My singing is brilliant' he determined.
'Not to anyone who has to listen to it, like those bagpipes of yours, either get rid of them , or I will, or at least , don't play them while I'm around. There's a thing called good music, and that's not it!'
The Doctor sighed.
'Ok. I won't play them while you're around'
He got out of his chair, and then Donna realised what he was wearing. She snickered at his long bare legs. Instead of his usual pinstriped trousers with the jacket and shirt he was wearing, he was wearing a tartan.. Donna just shook her head in disbelief.
'Doctor, I'm pretty certain you have to be a Scot to wear a kilt' she laughed at what he was wearing.
He was even wearing a tartan tie to match the kilt that just reached his skinny knees.
To this day, when the Doctor pulled out his bagpipes and played them , he thought of Donna and smiled.
At least now, he could wear that kilt and not be told off for wearing it because he wasn't a Scot.