This was inspired by the Pond Life minisodes. If you haven't seen them, you should definitely check them out. I for one am counting down the days until Asylum of the Daleks. Just a fun one shot. Thanks to zephyrchild for tossing ideas back and forth with me.
He dropped his toasting fork with a clang. This is what he gets for using the psychic paper to secure a hotel room. Now all of Paris thought him an important and wealthy man.
Including one famous Dutch exotic dancer and courtesan, better known as Mata Hari. And she was naked. In his room. Oh dear. She thought he was wealthy...
Mata Hari (not her real name of course) was poised completely naked as she started shimmying and dancing for him. He really shouldn't have gone to see her show...but it seemed like the thing to do in Paris in 1907 and you had some time to kill. Well, either Mata Hari or the Moulin Rouge (he'd already been 3 times, twice with Martha Jones actually).
He wracked his brain as he knelt somewhat stunned before her undulating form. Mata Hari, exotic dancer, courtesan, suspect spy, and longtime sufferer of syphilis. Uh oh.
"Umm...Bonjour?" The Doctor croakily attempted some polite conversation.
"Bonjour." She said throatily, "You're English? But the front desk they said you were..."
"Big hotel like this has lots of patrons, dozens, oodles...they might get a bit confused you know so many faces in and out all day..." Looking at her face he regretted the use of the words 'in and out' which she punctuated with erotic movement.
"So you are not heir to the throne of Belgium?" Her face fell slightly. For her money and power were the greatest aphrodisiac, and she pursued men who could offer her such a lavish lifestyle.
"Afraid not..no...sorry. Can't believe everything you hear these days..." He reached "Crumpet?" He offered the toasting fork, which she ignored. He bit into the crumpet longing for something to do with his hands besides cover his eyes.
"So..who are you then?" She sunk down silkily onto the chaise, revealing far more than the Doctor ever wanted to see.
"Me? I'm...um...Wilfred Mott. Just..just- Wilfred." He mentally kicked himself, Wilfred? Donna's Grandad? He hoped Wilfred would think it was funny.
She peered at him through dark heavily painted eyes, "Wilfred, you must be a very wealthy man to afford all of this...A wealthy man can buy anything he wants- everything he wants" She gestured to her own body in the firelight.
"Wealthy- me? No...I won the trip, trip to Paris- stay in a nice hotel, take in a show, see the...err...Cathedral. It's been wonderful, really really lovely."
She looked at him quizzically, wondering whether she should believe this bumbling awkward man or not. Plenty of men turned into babbling idiots at the sight of her dancing, but as she saw he lacked breeding, she was more inclined to believe his story.
"Most men who come to see me dance dream of having me in their beds...Do you not?" She sulked in a very pretty seductive way.
"You're famous, and lovely dancer, interesting life too..but I'm married. Very, very married. My wife really really likes guns you see- and she has no problems shooting people..."
'I see...I thought you were all alone." She reached for her fur coat and shrugged it on over her shoulders.
"Um...would you like a cup of tea before you go?" He asked awkwardly, indicating the kettle that hung by the fire.
She smiled a mysterious smile.