1x15: When in Rome... (1/4)
Title: When In Rome...
Author: spikewriter
Rating: PG
Pairing: Rose/Ten II
Summary: The Doctor and Rose find themselves on a bit of a Roman holiday, but quickly discover that not everything is la dolce vita among the nightclub set
Author's notes: My thanks to my husband for the beta work (even if he rolled his eyes a few times) and to shinyopals and the Julies for Brit-picking and putting up with my hectic schedule
Episode 15 of a virtual series at the_altverse, following Terror in the Deep.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4
Virtual Series Masterlist
"Really, Keenon; you've disappointed me. All the way here, you keep carrying on about la dolce vito..."
"Vita," Keenon corrected automatically. "The correct term is la dolce vita. It means "the beautiful life."
Safir waved his hand a bit dismissively, all the while plowing his way through the plate of spaghetti as if he hadn't eaten in ages. "Whatever the term is, you talked about wild abandon, a marvelous opportunity to witness the mating rituals of young humans. The only thing wild I've witnessed so far is the size of these meatballs. The foundation board is not going to be happy with this; I think they were hoping for a follow-up to your last work, the one about social interaction in Paris. How many printings did that one go to?"
"Five at last count." Keenon considered pouring himself another glass of wine, but decided against it. After all, he was supposed to do some work this evening. Then he looked around the cafe he and Safir were currently patronizing, a favorite among the young and beautiful in Rome - and poured a glass anyway. What work was there to do?
"Five printings which made Earth quite the rage as a vacation spot, and you're surprised they want you to do it again? You're the one who suggested Rome for this expedition in the first place. Didn't you do some research before you made the decision?"
Keenon shrugged. "What can I say? It seemed a different city when I visited in 1958. Of course, that was only for a weekend, but I find it difficult to think I was so mistaken."
Sipping at his wine, Keenon considered the other patrons. Many of those present were dressed in the latest fashions, the women beautifully coiffed and bejeweled, the men were as impeccably groomed. The air of this fine late spring evening was alive with eager chatter punctuated with shrieks of laughter. And yet...
"Maybe we should move locations," he said abruptly. "There's Florence, or perhaps Capri. Capri is supposed to be exciting."
Safir stopped stuffing his face long enough to raise a curious eyebrow. "Is the king of popular anthropological study truly admitting defeat?"
"No." The word came out a bit more forcefully than he'd intended and Keenon took a deep breath to calm himself before continuing. "It's just that the foundation is, as you point out, expecting certain things. I thought Rome could deliver, but..."
He leaned forward, lowering his voice. "It was different when I last visited here. The city was vibrant, full of life. And the young people - the very ones our people would want to mingle with if the came - were the very picture of that la dolce vita I told you about. They weren't like...this."
He gestured wildly to include the entire restaurant, only to catch the attention of the waiter, who eagerly hurried over to see what they required. Safir quickly waved him away. "Careful," he hissed in warning. "We're supposed to blend in, remember? It's a little hard to do that if you insist on attracting attention."
"But that"s the point. No one should notice us; all their attention should be drawn to these incredible creatures. Frankly, we shouldn't have been able to get a table because we didn't meet their criteria. We would have sat at the bar, nursed a cocktail, then followed one of the groups off to a club when they left. There's the excitement I'm supposed to put into my next paper. My grandmother acts wilder than this."
Keenon stopped his tirade, waiting as Safir performed his own survey. There was laughter and eager chatter in the air, yes, but it came from the small bunches of American tourists scattered about the place, excitedly recounting their day to one another as if they hadn’t all been on the same package tour, and weren’t going to be sipped off tonight to the same nightclubs that catered to the tourist trade, offering a slice of “genuine” Roman night life. The conversation at the tables filled with the young and beautiful set he’d come to study was being carried on in soft, refined murmurs that didn't carry more than a foot or two. Worse, there wasn't even any flirting, not even any sly and subtle touches of one hand to another. Even the middle-aged divorcees in their expensive suits, perfect hair, impeccable jewelry, polished manners, and a bit too much makeup as they either gossiped together or enjoyed a rendezvous with their younger lovers were more obvious.
No, the foundation would not be happy at all; Keenon might take pride in the fact his work had a solid academic grounding, but the truth was that he continued to get funding because his work had gained popular attention among those who sought exotic vacations and the armchair traveler, both of whom spent money on his books. This wasn't going to satisfy his main audience, and if he didn't figure out the change in attitudes, it wouldn't please his academic audience either.
He was on the verge of summoning the waiter to fetch another bottle to help drown the ruins of his career when Safir hissed to catch his attention. "Will you stop that?" Keenon said with a sigh. "I find it annoying."
"We're being watched," Safir said, ignoring Keenon's complaint for the moment. "Behind us. No, don't turn around; I don't want him to know we've noticed. Just kind of shift your head ever so slightly."
Feeling like an utter fool, Keenon did as Safir asked, shifting just enough to catch site of the man two tables over, dressed in a suit cut far more conservatively than the younger patrons, but just as expensive as any of them. Saville Road, he couldn't help thinking. I was going to pop over to London and treat myself to one of those; better save the money now. "Are you certain he's watching us? I think he's focused on that table, the one with the girl in green."
Even as he indicated the table in question, the girl in green half-rose, leaned over the table to grab one of the young men by the skinny lapels of his shiny slim-cut suit and snog him soundly. That done, she sat back down and pulled out her compact to powder her nose while the conversation resumed as if nothing had happened. It was as if a stone had skipped momentarily across the smooth surface of a lake then sank, all traces of its existence quickly disappearing.
Keenon and Safir watched with open mouths for a long moment. "Keenon," Safir said at last, "I have a confession to make. I haven't actually read your work. Skimmed it, fell asleep. But I'm willing to bet nothing in there would call this reaction normal."
Keenon didn't have a response, trying to take it all in. He suddenly had the feeling the report from this expedition was going to be very interesting, even if it wasn't what anyone expected.
# # #
"I know I set the coordinates right."
"I'm not arguing with that, Rose." The Doctor frowned as his fingers danced over the console, not at all liking the readings he was getting. "You did everything fine - better than I would have done when I was at your point in learning how to pilot a TARDIS."
He looked up momentarily from his work. "Might I point out I find that fact just slightly annoying? After all, I'm the one with the Time Lord brain and proper training."
Rose's response was to stick her tongue out at him, and the Doctor grinned in spite of himself. The last couple of weeks had been relatively trouble free, short hops from here to there designed to give Rose more practice in piloting while at the same time letting him put the TARDIS through a series of tests to see if he could figure out what was causing the problems they’d been having lately. That didn’t mean he didn’t worry, especially when Rose had done everything right, but at this moment, he wasn’t letting that overshadow the fun of being with her.
“So,” she asked. “If I did everything right and the TARDIS dropped us somewhere else, where and when are we?”
And so much for the fun. He knew Rose wasn’t going to be happy when he told her, but the longer he delayed, the more likely it was that she’d get annoyed when she did learn what their location was. Abandoning his diagnostics for the moment, he straightened and cleared his throat. “Rose, when you travel long enough, sooner or later you’re going to return to places that might have...unpleasant memories. That's part of life on the TARDIS and it’s something you have to come to terms with.”
Not quite sure how to interpret the look Rose was giving him, he plunged on. "We're in Rome. Now it's some time in the mid-twentieth century, judging by the noise and the scent of combustion engines, so there's no worry about emperors who are try to execute me -"
"No Vestal Virgins to come save you at the last minute," Rose pointed out.
"Fair enough. My point is, it should be safe and I'd really prefer to run some diagnostic programs before we take off again. I can understand why the city might not hold the fondest memories for you - believe me, mine are a pretty mixed bag - but this is a different time, so try to look upon it as a different place altogether and that might help.”
Rose considered him with a look that was one part annoyance to two parts - was it amusement? After a silence he found difficult to resist filling, she asked. "Are you trying to convince me or yourself?"
There was another long moment of silence, then the Doctor flipped some switches and patted the monitor. "I'm starving; what do you say to some dinner? Oh, and we can see what's on for entertainment. Rome during the Twentieth Century had the most fantastic nightlife.”
Rose allowed that she might appreciate that, so while he continued his diagnostics, she disappeared off to their bedroom to change. A little fiddling, and he was able to pick up some broadcasts that told him the date. "You might want a shawl," he called over his shoulder. "Rome in April can get somewhat chilly in the evening. Don't want you catching some vile disease via the night air like those heroines in Henry James' novels."
"Did you find out what year it is?"
"Yes; 1960 - the year the Olympics came to Rome. That is, of course, if they have the Olympics in this universe. Could be called something else entirely. But if they do have them here, I'll bet Pete's smart enough to have Vitex be a sponsor..."
He turned as he spoke and found his words trailing down to nothingness as he took in the sight if Rose standing in the doorway, ready to for the evening. He'd seen the wonders of the universe, and this woman could still take his breath away simply by walking into the room. "That's, uh, very nice," he managed after several swallows.
"I don't remember seeing that one before."
"You like?" Rose turned slowly to give him a good view. The styling was classic, a black sheath with long black lace sleeves. She'd pulled her hair up into a twist high on the back of her head, giving him a clear view of the curve of her neck. "Will it work for here?"
He was sorely tempted to tell her the dress was completely unsuitable and they would simply have to stay in until the diagnostics were finished running. But the idea of strolling down the Via Condotti with Rose on his arm was almost irresistible. True, the dress was actually a bit fashion forward from what was currently in fashion, but he doubted anyone would object. "I think, Rose Tyler, that I'm going to have stick very close to you this evening, keep the local wolves away."
She laughed. "You're not suggesting that men would try to pinch me? I thought that was just something they told the tourists."
"It does happen, though certainly not in polite company - at least not with men you haven't been introduced. But heads will turn and men will be jealous that I have you on my arm." he proffered her said arm. "Shall we?"
Rose hooked her arm through his. "We shall."
Together, they strolled out of the TARDIS and into the noise and bustle that was Rome. The evening was very pleasant indeed; cool but not too cool, the happy noise of people out for an evening's entertainment buzzing around them. "The land of La Dolce Vita," the Doctor said as they walked. "A phrase made famous by the great director Frederico Fellini, and used by every two-bit newspaper hack ever after to describe Italian high life."
"Mum used to say that when she talked about Mrs. Meers, who lived one building over," Rose said. "Left Mr. Meers for an Italian art student younger than she was, and Mum always said she'd run off with a gigolo."
She giggled slightly at his raised eyebrows. "I know he wasn't a gigolo, but it was fun to hear Mum carry on."
The Doctor shook his head. "You know the most amazing people - and your mother is one of them. Ow!" he complained as she playfully punched her fist lightly against his arm. "I'd better feed you before you get too vicious. This looks good."
He steered her toward a club which seemed to have a supply of customers but didn't seem too crowded, which meant he might be able to get the past the gatekeeper at the door without resorting to the psychic paper; better to save that for impressing the host if necessary to ensure they got a decent table.
They didn't have to wait too long before they were deemed suitable patrons for the establishment and allowed to proceed inside to be seated. The first thing the Doctor noticed was the noise - or lack thereof. Outside, the passing crowd had been filled with noise and energy, but inside here, things seemed much more sombre. The Doctor had bummed around the universe a fair deal in his time and seen all sorts of night life. There were periods where gentility was valued almost to the point of obsession, but even then, there had been a buzz and a sense of the human energy beneath the manners. Here, the closest comparison he could come up with was that they'd stumbled onto a nightclub for Autons. There’s a question, he couldn’t help thinking as they were seated at a rather excellent table without even having to resort to the psychic paper. Is there a Nestene Conscious in this universe?
He was distracted from his musings by Rose's elbow in his ribs. "Not exactly what was advertised, is it?"
"Not much dolce or vita, I must admit. Maybe we've landed during some period of mourning."
"Folks on the street seemed lively enough," she pointed out. "Maybe it's just here. Maybe someone in the group..."
"But the whole nightclub?" The Doctor gestured to a waiter who hovered nearby, then flashed the psychic paper when he approached. "John Smith, Time Out London. I'm writing an article on the best places to visit when in Rome."
The man didn't examine the paper too closely, but looked extremely nervous and bobbed his head. "Certainly, signore. Let me fetch the manager."
The man hurried away before any more questions could be asked. "That looks suspicious," the Doctor said.
"Or he could just not want to get in trouble for speaking to a journalist out of turn," Rose pointed out. "Places like this get very touchy about their image. Maybe we haven't been doing it since you came, but I've had to do the club thing with Mum and Pete lots of times for Vitex. Not the fall out of the club drunk, get your picture in the tabloids type of places, but refined, who was seen out on the town places like this."
"But that's the problem; these places weren't refined. I mean, they weren't total dens of iniquity, but they weren't -" he gestured at the room "embalmed."
A thin, well-dressed man approached their table, the waiter trailing along behind him. "Signore Smith! Welcome to our humble establishment. If there is anything we can do to make your visit with us enjoyable, please do not hesitate to let us know. Some wine, perhaps? Alessandro, a bottle for Signore Smith and his lovely companion."
The man smiled at Rose as he bowed, his eyes flick over her appreciatively. The Doctor noticed the gesture was more to flatter his guest's choice if companion more than anything else, especially given how he barely paused at the rather tantalizing glimpse of cleavage her dress offered that the Doctor had found almost impossible to ignore. Forcibly dragging his own attention back to the matter at hand, he said, "Wine would be lovely, but I also have some questions."
The smile froze in the host's face. "Certainly. Anything I can do to assist the gentlemen of the press. After all, I'm sure your readers are eager to hear about all the amenities we have to offer.” He turned to the waiter, who hadn’t moved. “Alessandro, perhaps something for our guests to eat. Ask the cook to whip up one of his specialties. On the house, of course."
Alessandro stared at his superior for a long moment before the man hissed, "Move." The moment the waiter was gone, the host turned back to them with the same professional smile. "Nothing much," he offered. "Just a small sample of what we have to offer."
And they had moved directly to the bribery and distraction portion of the evening. Something was going on and the manager was desperate to hide it. "I was wondering if the club is always this quiet."
Again, the tension, confirmation there was something he wanted to hide. "It is a game they play, our regular patrons, a new fad. They bet one another how long they can remain quiet. It may seem that nothing is going on, but they are enjoying themselves greatly. Come tomorrow, they will have a new game. In the meantime, there is nothing to distract from our music and we have a marvelous singer who will be appearing later. Then the audience is quiet because they are rapt before her talent..."
The man continued on in this vein, giving them the full brochure until the host at the entrance caught his attention and he excused himself. "Something is definitely going on," the Doctor said in the wake of his departure. "And he doesn't want us to know what it is."
“Maybe he’s afraid you’ll give him a bad review,” Rose offered, which had the Doctor looking at her skeptically. Surely it couldn’t be as simple as that? But, watching the manager as he escorted a new party to a table, his demeanor still one of seeking favor and approval, the Doctor had to admit to the possibility.
This new party was every bit as reserved as the others already present, clearly regulars in the way a waiter was dispatched to fetch their drinks without more than a quiet word from them. The same waiter, in fact, who was supposed to be bringing the Doctor and Rose some wine. Maybe the manager really was afraid of a bad review and that was all there was to it. The whole point of this particular expedition was relaxation; he had no intention of looking for trouble.
And here was the waiter with cocktails, which meant things were looking up. True, there was still the question of why the young and beautiful set was acting so strange, but maybe he could resist asking the question just this once.
With a grin, he picked up his glass and lifted it toward Rose. “Did I mention you look particularly beautiful tonight?”
Rose lifted her own glass to touch it against his. “Yes, but I don’t mind hearing it again. Just you, me and nothing to...”
The quiet of the club was suddenly shattered with a scream.
Author: spikewriter
Rating: PG
Pairing: Rose/Ten II
Summary: The Doctor and Rose find themselves on a bit of a Roman holiday, but quickly discover that not everything is la dolce vita among the nightclub set
Author's notes: My thanks to my husband for the beta work (even if he rolled his eyes a few times) and to shinyopals and the Julies for Brit-picking and putting up with my hectic schedule
Episode 15 of a virtual series at the_altverse, following Terror in the Deep.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4
Virtual Series Masterlist
"Really, Keenon; you've disappointed me. All the way here, you keep carrying on about la dolce vito..."
"Vita," Keenon corrected automatically. "The correct term is la dolce vita. It means "the beautiful life."
Safir waved his hand a bit dismissively, all the while plowing his way through the plate of spaghetti as if he hadn't eaten in ages. "Whatever the term is, you talked about wild abandon, a marvelous opportunity to witness the mating rituals of young humans. The only thing wild I've witnessed so far is the size of these meatballs. The foundation board is not going to be happy with this; I think they were hoping for a follow-up to your last work, the one about social interaction in Paris. How many printings did that one go to?"
"Five at last count." Keenon considered pouring himself another glass of wine, but decided against it. After all, he was supposed to do some work this evening. Then he looked around the cafe he and Safir were currently patronizing, a favorite among the young and beautiful in Rome - and poured a glass anyway. What work was there to do?
"Five printings which made Earth quite the rage as a vacation spot, and you're surprised they want you to do it again? You're the one who suggested Rome for this expedition in the first place. Didn't you do some research before you made the decision?"
Keenon shrugged. "What can I say? It seemed a different city when I visited in 1958. Of course, that was only for a weekend, but I find it difficult to think I was so mistaken."
Sipping at his wine, Keenon considered the other patrons. Many of those present were dressed in the latest fashions, the women beautifully coiffed and bejeweled, the men were as impeccably groomed. The air of this fine late spring evening was alive with eager chatter punctuated with shrieks of laughter. And yet...
"Maybe we should move locations," he said abruptly. "There's Florence, or perhaps Capri. Capri is supposed to be exciting."
Safir stopped stuffing his face long enough to raise a curious eyebrow. "Is the king of popular anthropological study truly admitting defeat?"
"No." The word came out a bit more forcefully than he'd intended and Keenon took a deep breath to calm himself before continuing. "It's just that the foundation is, as you point out, expecting certain things. I thought Rome could deliver, but..."
He leaned forward, lowering his voice. "It was different when I last visited here. The city was vibrant, full of life. And the young people - the very ones our people would want to mingle with if the came - were the very picture of that la dolce vita I told you about. They weren't like...this."
He gestured wildly to include the entire restaurant, only to catch the attention of the waiter, who eagerly hurried over to see what they required. Safir quickly waved him away. "Careful," he hissed in warning. "We're supposed to blend in, remember? It's a little hard to do that if you insist on attracting attention."
"But that"s the point. No one should notice us; all their attention should be drawn to these incredible creatures. Frankly, we shouldn't have been able to get a table because we didn't meet their criteria. We would have sat at the bar, nursed a cocktail, then followed one of the groups off to a club when they left. There's the excitement I'm supposed to put into my next paper. My grandmother acts wilder than this."
Keenon stopped his tirade, waiting as Safir performed his own survey. There was laughter and eager chatter in the air, yes, but it came from the small bunches of American tourists scattered about the place, excitedly recounting their day to one another as if they hadn’t all been on the same package tour, and weren’t going to be sipped off tonight to the same nightclubs that catered to the tourist trade, offering a slice of “genuine” Roman night life. The conversation at the tables filled with the young and beautiful set he’d come to study was being carried on in soft, refined murmurs that didn't carry more than a foot or two. Worse, there wasn't even any flirting, not even any sly and subtle touches of one hand to another. Even the middle-aged divorcees in their expensive suits, perfect hair, impeccable jewelry, polished manners, and a bit too much makeup as they either gossiped together or enjoyed a rendezvous with their younger lovers were more obvious.
No, the foundation would not be happy at all; Keenon might take pride in the fact his work had a solid academic grounding, but the truth was that he continued to get funding because his work had gained popular attention among those who sought exotic vacations and the armchair traveler, both of whom spent money on his books. This wasn't going to satisfy his main audience, and if he didn't figure out the change in attitudes, it wouldn't please his academic audience either.
He was on the verge of summoning the waiter to fetch another bottle to help drown the ruins of his career when Safir hissed to catch his attention. "Will you stop that?" Keenon said with a sigh. "I find it annoying."
"We're being watched," Safir said, ignoring Keenon's complaint for the moment. "Behind us. No, don't turn around; I don't want him to know we've noticed. Just kind of shift your head ever so slightly."
Feeling like an utter fool, Keenon did as Safir asked, shifting just enough to catch site of the man two tables over, dressed in a suit cut far more conservatively than the younger patrons, but just as expensive as any of them. Saville Road, he couldn't help thinking. I was going to pop over to London and treat myself to one of those; better save the money now. "Are you certain he's watching us? I think he's focused on that table, the one with the girl in green."
Even as he indicated the table in question, the girl in green half-rose, leaned over the table to grab one of the young men by the skinny lapels of his shiny slim-cut suit and snog him soundly. That done, she sat back down and pulled out her compact to powder her nose while the conversation resumed as if nothing had happened. It was as if a stone had skipped momentarily across the smooth surface of a lake then sank, all traces of its existence quickly disappearing.
Keenon and Safir watched with open mouths for a long moment. "Keenon," Safir said at last, "I have a confession to make. I haven't actually read your work. Skimmed it, fell asleep. But I'm willing to bet nothing in there would call this reaction normal."
Keenon didn't have a response, trying to take it all in. He suddenly had the feeling the report from this expedition was going to be very interesting, even if it wasn't what anyone expected.
# # #
"I know I set the coordinates right."
"I'm not arguing with that, Rose." The Doctor frowned as his fingers danced over the console, not at all liking the readings he was getting. "You did everything fine - better than I would have done when I was at your point in learning how to pilot a TARDIS."
He looked up momentarily from his work. "Might I point out I find that fact just slightly annoying? After all, I'm the one with the Time Lord brain and proper training."
Rose's response was to stick her tongue out at him, and the Doctor grinned in spite of himself. The last couple of weeks had been relatively trouble free, short hops from here to there designed to give Rose more practice in piloting while at the same time letting him put the TARDIS through a series of tests to see if he could figure out what was causing the problems they’d been having lately. That didn’t mean he didn’t worry, especially when Rose had done everything right, but at this moment, he wasn’t letting that overshadow the fun of being with her.
“So,” she asked. “If I did everything right and the TARDIS dropped us somewhere else, where and when are we?”
And so much for the fun. He knew Rose wasn’t going to be happy when he told her, but the longer he delayed, the more likely it was that she’d get annoyed when she did learn what their location was. Abandoning his diagnostics for the moment, he straightened and cleared his throat. “Rose, when you travel long enough, sooner or later you’re going to return to places that might have...unpleasant memories. That's part of life on the TARDIS and it’s something you have to come to terms with.”
Not quite sure how to interpret the look Rose was giving him, he plunged on. "We're in Rome. Now it's some time in the mid-twentieth century, judging by the noise and the scent of combustion engines, so there's no worry about emperors who are try to execute me -"
"No Vestal Virgins to come save you at the last minute," Rose pointed out.
"Fair enough. My point is, it should be safe and I'd really prefer to run some diagnostic programs before we take off again. I can understand why the city might not hold the fondest memories for you - believe me, mine are a pretty mixed bag - but this is a different time, so try to look upon it as a different place altogether and that might help.”
Rose considered him with a look that was one part annoyance to two parts - was it amusement? After a silence he found difficult to resist filling, she asked. "Are you trying to convince me or yourself?"
There was another long moment of silence, then the Doctor flipped some switches and patted the monitor. "I'm starving; what do you say to some dinner? Oh, and we can see what's on for entertainment. Rome during the Twentieth Century had the most fantastic nightlife.”
Rose allowed that she might appreciate that, so while he continued his diagnostics, she disappeared off to their bedroom to change. A little fiddling, and he was able to pick up some broadcasts that told him the date. "You might want a shawl," he called over his shoulder. "Rome in April can get somewhat chilly in the evening. Don't want you catching some vile disease via the night air like those heroines in Henry James' novels."
"Did you find out what year it is?"
"Yes; 1960 - the year the Olympics came to Rome. That is, of course, if they have the Olympics in this universe. Could be called something else entirely. But if they do have them here, I'll bet Pete's smart enough to have Vitex be a sponsor..."
He turned as he spoke and found his words trailing down to nothingness as he took in the sight if Rose standing in the doorway, ready to for the evening. He'd seen the wonders of the universe, and this woman could still take his breath away simply by walking into the room. "That's, uh, very nice," he managed after several swallows.
"I don't remember seeing that one before."
"You like?" Rose turned slowly to give him a good view. The styling was classic, a black sheath with long black lace sleeves. She'd pulled her hair up into a twist high on the back of her head, giving him a clear view of the curve of her neck. "Will it work for here?"
He was sorely tempted to tell her the dress was completely unsuitable and they would simply have to stay in until the diagnostics were finished running. But the idea of strolling down the Via Condotti with Rose on his arm was almost irresistible. True, the dress was actually a bit fashion forward from what was currently in fashion, but he doubted anyone would object. "I think, Rose Tyler, that I'm going to have stick very close to you this evening, keep the local wolves away."
She laughed. "You're not suggesting that men would try to pinch me? I thought that was just something they told the tourists."
"It does happen, though certainly not in polite company - at least not with men you haven't been introduced. But heads will turn and men will be jealous that I have you on my arm." he proffered her said arm. "Shall we?"
Rose hooked her arm through his. "We shall."
Together, they strolled out of the TARDIS and into the noise and bustle that was Rome. The evening was very pleasant indeed; cool but not too cool, the happy noise of people out for an evening's entertainment buzzing around them. "The land of La Dolce Vita," the Doctor said as they walked. "A phrase made famous by the great director Frederico Fellini, and used by every two-bit newspaper hack ever after to describe Italian high life."
"Mum used to say that when she talked about Mrs. Meers, who lived one building over," Rose said. "Left Mr. Meers for an Italian art student younger than she was, and Mum always said she'd run off with a gigolo."
She giggled slightly at his raised eyebrows. "I know he wasn't a gigolo, but it was fun to hear Mum carry on."
The Doctor shook his head. "You know the most amazing people - and your mother is one of them. Ow!" he complained as she playfully punched her fist lightly against his arm. "I'd better feed you before you get too vicious. This looks good."
He steered her toward a club which seemed to have a supply of customers but didn't seem too crowded, which meant he might be able to get the past the gatekeeper at the door without resorting to the psychic paper; better to save that for impressing the host if necessary to ensure they got a decent table.
They didn't have to wait too long before they were deemed suitable patrons for the establishment and allowed to proceed inside to be seated. The first thing the Doctor noticed was the noise - or lack thereof. Outside, the passing crowd had been filled with noise and energy, but inside here, things seemed much more sombre. The Doctor had bummed around the universe a fair deal in his time and seen all sorts of night life. There were periods where gentility was valued almost to the point of obsession, but even then, there had been a buzz and a sense of the human energy beneath the manners. Here, the closest comparison he could come up with was that they'd stumbled onto a nightclub for Autons. There’s a question, he couldn’t help thinking as they were seated at a rather excellent table without even having to resort to the psychic paper. Is there a Nestene Conscious in this universe?
He was distracted from his musings by Rose's elbow in his ribs. "Not exactly what was advertised, is it?"
"Not much dolce or vita, I must admit. Maybe we've landed during some period of mourning."
"Folks on the street seemed lively enough," she pointed out. "Maybe it's just here. Maybe someone in the group..."
"But the whole nightclub?" The Doctor gestured to a waiter who hovered nearby, then flashed the psychic paper when he approached. "John Smith, Time Out London. I'm writing an article on the best places to visit when in Rome."
The man didn't examine the paper too closely, but looked extremely nervous and bobbed his head. "Certainly, signore. Let me fetch the manager."
The man hurried away before any more questions could be asked. "That looks suspicious," the Doctor said.
"Or he could just not want to get in trouble for speaking to a journalist out of turn," Rose pointed out. "Places like this get very touchy about their image. Maybe we haven't been doing it since you came, but I've had to do the club thing with Mum and Pete lots of times for Vitex. Not the fall out of the club drunk, get your picture in the tabloids type of places, but refined, who was seen out on the town places like this."
"But that's the problem; these places weren't refined. I mean, they weren't total dens of iniquity, but they weren't -" he gestured at the room "embalmed."
A thin, well-dressed man approached their table, the waiter trailing along behind him. "Signore Smith! Welcome to our humble establishment. If there is anything we can do to make your visit with us enjoyable, please do not hesitate to let us know. Some wine, perhaps? Alessandro, a bottle for Signore Smith and his lovely companion."
The man smiled at Rose as he bowed, his eyes flick over her appreciatively. The Doctor noticed the gesture was more to flatter his guest's choice if companion more than anything else, especially given how he barely paused at the rather tantalizing glimpse of cleavage her dress offered that the Doctor had found almost impossible to ignore. Forcibly dragging his own attention back to the matter at hand, he said, "Wine would be lovely, but I also have some questions."
The smile froze in the host's face. "Certainly. Anything I can do to assist the gentlemen of the press. After all, I'm sure your readers are eager to hear about all the amenities we have to offer.” He turned to the waiter, who hadn’t moved. “Alessandro, perhaps something for our guests to eat. Ask the cook to whip up one of his specialties. On the house, of course."
Alessandro stared at his superior for a long moment before the man hissed, "Move." The moment the waiter was gone, the host turned back to them with the same professional smile. "Nothing much," he offered. "Just a small sample of what we have to offer."
And they had moved directly to the bribery and distraction portion of the evening. Something was going on and the manager was desperate to hide it. "I was wondering if the club is always this quiet."
Again, the tension, confirmation there was something he wanted to hide. "It is a game they play, our regular patrons, a new fad. They bet one another how long they can remain quiet. It may seem that nothing is going on, but they are enjoying themselves greatly. Come tomorrow, they will have a new game. In the meantime, there is nothing to distract from our music and we have a marvelous singer who will be appearing later. Then the audience is quiet because they are rapt before her talent..."
The man continued on in this vein, giving them the full brochure until the host at the entrance caught his attention and he excused himself. "Something is definitely going on," the Doctor said in the wake of his departure. "And he doesn't want us to know what it is."
“Maybe he’s afraid you’ll give him a bad review,” Rose offered, which had the Doctor looking at her skeptically. Surely it couldn’t be as simple as that? But, watching the manager as he escorted a new party to a table, his demeanor still one of seeking favor and approval, the Doctor had to admit to the possibility.
This new party was every bit as reserved as the others already present, clearly regulars in the way a waiter was dispatched to fetch their drinks without more than a quiet word from them. The same waiter, in fact, who was supposed to be bringing the Doctor and Rose some wine. Maybe the manager really was afraid of a bad review and that was all there was to it. The whole point of this particular expedition was relaxation; he had no intention of looking for trouble.
And here was the waiter with cocktails, which meant things were looking up. True, there was still the question of why the young and beautiful set was acting so strange, but maybe he could resist asking the question just this once.
With a grin, he picked up his glass and lifted it toward Rose. “Did I mention you look particularly beautiful tonight?”
Rose lifted her own glass to touch it against his. “Yes, but I don’t mind hearing it again. Just you, me and nothing to...”
The quiet of the club was suddenly shattered with a scream.