A/N: Pointless, useless sort of elongated drabble, holding probably the largest amount of Doctor and Martha interaction you'll ever get from me. Relatively AU, considering they didn't really get to talk at the beginning of the episode 'Utopia', what with all the 'not dying' and 'flirting with Jack-ing' and 'being relieved that Rose is alive-ing' that they were trying to accomplish. No Jack either. Sorry. Slight Utopia and Restaurant at the End of the Universe spoilers and crossover. I wrote this ages ago and it's not beta'd. Nothing I do is ever beta'd. Can't find anyone I like and trust enough and don't feel like an idiot for reading my fic. Feel free to be picky. I think I got some grammar horribly wrong somewhere.
Disclaimer: My Dalek costume is ideally made out of a pot with a long handle, a whisk and a plunger. Something tells me if I owned Doctor Who, I would have an opportunity to make my costume a bit more elaborate. (Don't really have a costume though. Koreans don't really celebrate Hallowe'en. Damn them all. I want candy.)
"End of the universe?" Martha asked, gazing out at the deserted plane.
The Doctor nodded, closing the TARDIS doors behind him. He shoved his hands into his pockets and observed the utterly blank sky. "That's right." he quipped cheerfully, as though visiting the not-exactly-proverbial end of time was something that happened often. "There's a nice restaurant over there." He pointed to a particularly unremarkable patch of nothingness. "Pity we couldn't have landed there instead. Much nicer. Five star restaurant and all that. No tea though." He tutted, wrinkling his nose. "What kind of restaurant can't sell a good cup of tea?" He 'hmm'ed and murmured something about six impossibilities.
Martha raised her eyebrows in interest. Nothing bad about being taken to a five star restaurant every now and then. "What do they serve there?"
He shrugged casually. "Oh… the usual foods. Ameglian Major Cow…"
"What's that?"
"Cows that talk." He replied dismissively.
She shot him a confused and disgusted look. "What?"
"They… talk." He said this in a tone that insinuated that every human should know of cows that liked to have a bit of a chat with people who were invariably fated to eat their innards. "Usually the favorite Dish of the Day. Nice cows, Ameglians. Give you great advice on the food."
She raised an eyebrow. "What… so you… eat them?"
He glanced at her. "What did you think we did with food?"
"Eating a sentient being, doesn't that kind of strike you as a bit… inhumane?"
The Doctor blinked. "Is it?" he asked, apparently shocked.
No, of course not. It was the only reasonable thing to do. Ask the cow how it's doing; life going well, good food, kids alright, bit of a trouble with the wife, then hack off its head with an axe. Puts a bit of a damper on the conversation, admittedly, but in the end it makes a great dinner.
Martha bit her lip from expressing this sarcastic train of thought as the Doctor continued, scratching the back of his head as he rambled on.
"I don't know if they quite qualify as sentient… After all they were born and bred to speak and tell you that it wants to be eaten. Shut quite a few environmentalists right up, I'll tell you that right now."
"But they talk." Surely he could see the problem here.
"Not all talking animals are sentient, Martha. Those cows are born and bred with nothing in their minds but the fact that their ultimate destiny is to be some nice fellow's dinner. Not much choice about it, most of them are happy to die. I mean, it's either get eaten by someone you like and introduced yourself with than live some segregated life out on the barrens of New Magrathea." He shrugged. "Humans are barely sentient if you want to get into specifics." He added under his breath.
Martha swallowed thickly and attempted to keep her nausea at a small level. "I think I'm going vegetarian."
The Doctor sighed wearily. "Remind me to get you the salad when we go there. Plenty of those don't want to be eaten and they're perfectly capable of telling you so. You try eating vegetables again after that experience. Nothing like some carrots making some rather derogatory insults about your mother to put you off eating those buggers for a week, sentient or not."
She blanched. "Alright… so I'm just going to… stop eating…"
"I don't know about the chickens though," the Doctor continued conversationally, tugging his ear. "I think they're kind of midway. Impertinent little fowls, in any case. They're always trying to trick me out of trying the gravy on them." He sniffed in thought. "I'm not really sure how - or why- they were brought up like that. Not really sure why farmers would raise vegetables that don't want to be eaten either, but there we are."
"Doctor…"
"Hmm?"
"Would you mind shutting up?"
"Oh. Right, sorry."