Doctor decides it's a horrible idea. Of course it's a horrible idea, he scoffs as he tries to balance the monstrous mass of a head they've plugged over his own. Of course it's a horrible idea, he grumbles as he looks out through the grate of a mouth he has to use as eyes. Of course it's a horrible idea, he rages internally as they shove him towards the end of a queue he can see is full of terrified looking children all holding a book in one sticky little hand and some form of weapon in the other.
From oversized pens to oversized cameras to oversized water bottles topped with misting fans to keep them moisturized in the Florida heat. Not, he thought sourly, that they needed any more moisture. He could smell them from where he stood, just underneath a tree near the Paris pavilion, sweat and candy mixing with the pungent scents of pasta and spaghetti sauce wafting out from Ratatouille's.
The employee at his side mumbles something about a growl and he turns with a simple, "Whu?" before the eyes on the young man widen and he almost speaks, raising a fist in the air before the brown saucers gesture towards the children and he grumbles, "Right, growl, good," and he throws his costumed arms up and roars at the children.
They scream in response and he drops his arms to his side, bowing his head.
A horrible idea.
"Well, hello, Beast."
He raises a hand, ready to berate Clara underneath his breath through the costume. Because the terrible horrible hot and smelly idea was all hers, but then he sees the gold of her dress and the way the wig sits pinned on her head. He watches her approach, swinging the dress deftly as the children make noises of glee and he almost smiles. Clara offers him a dimpled grin and a small nod, one that tells him she understands perfectly that it's not the best disguise, but it was the quickest and easiest to find if they were going to get a look around the park's interiors for the characters who weren't just college students trying to earn extra cash.
"Belle," he calls, "Ce costume est chaud et les odeurs de pieds." He raises his hand higher to mutter, "Think I got that one right."
"Quite right, I imagine," she breathes and he jerks away slightly because she's adopted an American accent and it makes the space between his ears go funny in a way he can't remember it ever feeling. Obviously, he thinks to himself, something about the wavelength was wrong. Maybe, he considers, it isn't really her.
She gestures at the children and the Doctor can see some are hopping and he looks back to Clara, tries to grimace hard enough that she can see it through the mouthpiece, but she's got her attention on the kids. "We're a meet-n-greet now, are we?" He hisses.
Grabbing hold of the furry arm at his right, she gives him a tug and whispers back harshly, "How was I to know they'd take us straight out."
"Don't know. Check a schedule before grabbing a costume."
"Well it was either this or Aristocats. Not many options in this park for you."
"Me?" He breaths, turning to her.
"Beast," she prompts.
"I'll show you a beast," he grumbles.
"Hello, sweetheart, what is your name?" Clara prompts and he turns to see the little girl with the blonde pigtails staring up at Clara with eyes that practically gleamed. The Doctor bent slightly to get a better look at the book she handed Clara and then he pointed.
"You've practiced that signature."
"You can talk," the little girl breathes.
He growls in response.
"Sorry," Clara mopes, "He's a bit grumpy this morning – maybe," she smiles to the children, "He'd like to see Snow White today."
The Doctor turns sharply to her, but while he realizes she couldn't see the look of condescendence on his face, he also realizes the children are laughing. Offering a small groan of annoyance, he lifts his paws to his face and feigns lifting his lips into a smile before petting the little girl on the head and is surprised when the motion earns him a round of giggles, the loudest from the petite brunette at his side.
After twenty minutes of scribbling in books and posing angrily with poky fists and heavy feet, he limps back to the staging area with Clara at his side, her arm looped through his. He looks to the smile on her face and he chuckles, waiting for her to peer up at him curiously to allow, "That's been a dream of yours, hasn't it."
Clara laughs whole heartedly before supplying, "What little girl doesn't dream of being a Disney Princess?"
"Could ask Madam Vastra for you," the Doctor grunts at her before frowning, "Couldn't I get a workers uniform, escort you about?"
Her lips drop as her head tilts back in disappointment, "You said yourself; the paws were good to conceal the Sonic," her hand comes up, "And besides," she pets his chest, "What's Belle without her Beast?"
Grumbling, he toggles his head, a movement that the false head atop his doesn't mimic, and then he feels her grip on his arm tighten and he secretly smiles, knowing it'll remain hidden in the costume, and he spits, "Fine, Clara, let's go find us some robo-puppets."
"Before the fireworks," she nods.
"Why, what happens during the fireworks?" the Doctor asks curiously.
Clara grins up at him and, after a giggle, she shrugs to admit, "Come on, even you know you want to see the fireworks in Disney World."
The Doctor refuses to answer, he simple leads the way along the corridor.
