This is a Doctor Who/Blackpool/Casanova crossover fic written for the Whooligan Contest - the bar is a generic 'any fandom allowed' bar, hence the ability for the Doctor, Casanova and Carlisle to be in the same room. See how many characters from other TV series you can spot ... I make it nine excluding the Doctor!
Good job I didn't bring Rose here, the Doctor thought. She'd be completely plastered within five minutes of trying all the different drinks. He sipped his banana daiquiri and looked round the bar. It used to be a favourite haunt of his a few lives previously, but he hadn't set foot there for a while. He vaguely remembered it being something to do with his fifth incarnation, but the details had escaped him for the moment.
As he pondered where to go next and how long he should leave Rose catching up on her sleep in the TARDIS, he continued his observations of the other patrons. He caught sight of Ford Prefect in a booth with Zaphod and a man in a dressing-gown he didn't recognise. He gave Ford a cheery wave, but Ford merely gestured at him to leave them alone. Clearly, he was trying to explain something complicated. He also spotted Captain Kirk and Spock in deep conversation at the far end of the bar, while over by the jukebox he could see Simon and Mal arguing about which song to put on next. He took another sip of his drink. Why hadn't he been here in such a long time?
"Pint of lager, mate," said a man with a noticeable Scottish accent, plonking himself down without ceremony on a stool next to the Doctor. He was unshaven and scruffy, and he looked like he hadn't slept in a bed for several days. The barman poured him his drink and put it in front of the man, who promptly drained it and ordered another. Shrugging, the barman poured another while the man rummaged in his pockets for payment. Slapping some money on the counter, he sipped his fresh pint with an air of sullenness. The Doctor cleared his throat.
"Bad day?" he asked cheerfully. He was rewarded with a stony glare.
"Could say that," he muttered back.
"I'm the Doctor," the Doctor offered, holding out his hand. The other man looked at it, then returned to his drink.
"Detective Inspector Peter Carlisle," he replied. The Doctor withdrew his hand, shrugging to himself. Some people just weren't as tactile as he was.
"First time here?" asked the Doctor conversationally. Carlisle nodded. "How did you find it?" the Doctor continued. "If you don't mind me asking, that is. Carlisle frowned oddly at him.
"Find it?" he clarified. "I just did Eeny Meeny Miney Mo on a couple of pubs and landed on this one." He took a swig of his drink. "I've been told by my superior that I need to engage in more extra-curricular activities, so I've decided to try wine-tasting."
"Good idea," he nodded. "Although I hate to point this out … you do know you're drinking lager, not wine?"
"I know," Carlisle replied. "Can't stand wine. Gives me a headache. I find lager much more palatable."
"So, basically, you're going round every pub you find and drinking every sort of lager you can get your hands on?"
"Got it in one."
"Sounds like fun."
They lapsed into an awkward silence as Carlisle eyed the Doctor's daiquiri suspiciously, when a man strode confidently into the bar and went straight for the counter.
"Good sir," he said. "I would like a glass of your finest Valpolicella, please. And I would appreciate the good stuff. I know what Valpolicella tastes like, I refuse to be fobbed off with another low-quality Chianti again." The barman raised his eyebrow at the man, before ambling off to the cellar, grumbling under his breath. The newcomer perched himself jauntily on the barstool before turning to the Doctor and smiling widely at him.
"Hello!" he said amiably. "Giacomo Casanova at your service."
"I'm the Doctor," the Doctor replied.
"What's he got to be so cheerful about?" Carlisle muttered.
"Sorry?" Casanova said. "Didn't quite catch that."
"Just wondering why you're so chipper," Carlisle said moodily.
"Wait a minute," the Doctor said as Casanova opened his mouth to reply. "Giacomo Casanova?"
"Yes."
"THE Giacomo Casanova?"
"Yes."
"Oh, brilliant! I've always wanted to meet you!" The Doctor shook Casanova's hand enthusiactically as Carlisle stared in confusion and disbelief at what was going on next to him. "Have you met Madame De Pompadour yet?"
"Who?"
"Oh, trust me, you two'll get on famously," the Doctor said. Casanova smiled again, but this time his smile was tinged with suspicion.
"I say, where on earth did you get your garments from?" he asked the Doctor. "Is that cotton?"
"Yeah," the Doctor said. "Let me guess – fake Chinese silk jacket?"
"A very high quality fake," sniffed Casanova.
"Can I just ask," Carlisle suddenly interjected, "how did you get here?"
"It's a little trick I like to call 'opening the door'," Casanova deadpanned. "What you do is put your hand on the door handle, push it down and then push—"
"Yeah, alright, there's no need to play silly buggers," Carlisle replied as the Doctor stifled a giggle. "What I'm saying is, you look a little out of place."
Casanova raised an eyebrow. Carlisle raised an eyebrow back. The Doctor looked at the two men, and the realisation of why he no longer frequented this bar was slowly dawning. The memory of a meeting with a young man called Tristan Farnon was currently slapping him over the face with a metaphorical kipper, and as Carlisle tried to explain to Casanova where he was, the Doctor groaned inwardly.
"You mean … this isn't Venice?"
The trouble with this bar was that he had an annoying habit of running into lookalikes of himself.