[♫]Claude honestly didn’t see why one wouldn’t engage a tour guide
when visiting a foreign nation, but that was none of his concern;
anyway, he didn’t mind being of assistance. “Of course, mademoiselle.
You are in Cannes, France — and in not a very touristy place.
Most people would be at the beaches.”
”Right. ’Course I’d be in … France.”
If she could read into his thoughts, Clara wouldn’t blame him,
really. God knows she could use a few adventures with a tour
guide who wasn’t an overly hyperactive alien with minute atten-
tion span. Who, by the way, has gone off on a little solo adven-
ture of his own. He’d be back, she doesn’t doubt it
stly, she’s got no clue of what to do in France.
”Guess I’m not your typical tourist, then. And I nev-
er was one for beaches.
Don’t suppose you’d like to point me
to the nearest bakery?”
”You’re not hostile, are you?”
It’s a reasonable question to ask an alien she’s never
met before, right? I mean, not all of them were as, ah
warm as the Doctor.
”Not right now!" is Clara Oswald’s battle cry, sprinting up the steps
to her humble abode. A soufflé is in the oven, and it has dangerously
resided there for too long.
“Hello there. Are you lookin’ for someone?”
She has that expression to her, that you might find in
someone perusing a bookstore. Only it seems a little
sadder. More determined.
”That bowtie of yours is starting to droop. Ever given it a wash?”
Teensy bit awkward, I know, but don’t suppose you
have a way of
getting me home?”
She says it without thinking
and she has to remind herself,
of course, that this version of the Doctor doesn’t remember h-
er as she remembers him. Odd, that. Maybe one day, things
might be simple with the old Time Lord.
“I mean, sorry. It’s not
you don’t know me. And
actually, this shouldn’t be happenin’, pro-
bably. You should actually
forget you saw me.
Go on! Off you pop!”
”That’s terrifyin’. Please don’t talk about that anymore.”