"Urinonicogalakajiorius!" the Doctor exclaims, her hands darting over the console in seemingly erratic movements, with a splitting grin on her face.
Clara, while also partially fearing for her life, blinks at her. "What?"
"Try saying that after a few glasses of wine."
"Uri... non... lico? What was it?"
"Urinonicogalakajiorius," the Doctor repeats.
"Urinon... ico... gaka– Oh!" The console room abruptly lurches. The Doctor races around the console, and finally settles the room with a dramatic pull of a lever, her red curls bouncing around her face. "You did that on purpose," Clara accuses.
"It did save you the embarrassment of being unable to say Urinonicogalakajiorius," the Doctor points out in return, still grinning. She checks a few more dials, then tucks the many loose strands of hair behind her ears, which promptly fall back to her cheeks, looking like a miniature waterfall down her face. "It's where we are," she provides. "Monosexual species, feminine and yellow and all..." Her hands dance around the top of her head, waving around vaguely. "horns. A lot of horns."
"Are they... Uri... nonico... al?"
"The Uri." The Doctor retrieves her trenchoat from the railing, shrugging it over her polka-dot blouse, while Clara mouths, Of course it is. "You tried, Clara."
"Thanks," Clara says in monotone.
"Always one of my favourites, the Uri, if I'm looking for some good solid culture. Ten out of ten for culture, these 'gals have it all." She makes for the door, Clara in tow.
"And you're thinking your womanhood will... what?" Clara prompts. The Doctor pulls open the TARDIS door.
"I'm hoping I'll get free drinks," is the answer. She's got her back to Clara, walking briskly.
Clara, shutting the TARDIS door, rolls her eyes. "Open bar?"
"No, they've got orange juice to die for, Clara, you have to try it." She gestures wildly, throwing her hands in the air, punctuating her sentence. Clara has to smile, because honestly, her passion for anything and everything is unmatched. "It's like an explosion of... well... oranges. In your mouth. In juice form, though, that tastes like oranges."
"It's not made of oranges, is it?"
The Doctor finally turns around, and Clara finally looks around. "How did you guess?"
Her sarcastic answer falls flat on its face as she takes in the scenery before her; they've landed on a small hill that overlooks an impressive collection of buildings, with architecture unlike Clara's ever seen.
The Doctor, still in raving mode, quickly catches onto Clara's stare, and her usually knitted brow softens. She turns to look out over the city, also.
"Impressive, isn't it?" she asks, a tingle of sentiment on her words. "The Uri are praised for their unique architectural advancements. It's all weird angels, lots of curves, and notably, not a lot of roof. The Uri welcome sunlight, it's what gives them their skin tone."
Here, the Doctor offers Clara her arm, which she playfully takes, a smile adorning her features.
"Would you care to accompany me to the city, Miss Oswald?" the Doctor requests in the most formal voice possible, one eyebrow raised in question as she looks down at her companion.
"Yes, of course, Mistress Doctor. To the... Urinon... i..."
"...cogalakajiorian city we go!"
Clara laughs, shaking her head, as the two of them walk arm in arm towards the city below them. "I totally had it that time."
"You totally didn't."
"I did!"
"–'nt!"
"You're impossible!"
"If I recall, Clara, you're the impossible one, you stepped into my timeline–"
They get their free orange juice.
The Doctor sips at it looking like she's twelve years old and at her first high school party, and Clara dunks a mini umbrella into the glass to complement the ridiculousness of it all, smiling like it's Christmas.
After all, she's travelling time and space with face and gender changing alien, who a matter of weeks ago, died in her arms, and now they're drinking orange juice on a foreign world surrounded by yellow-skinned, horned women who are pioneers in architecture.
Clara Oswald is having the time of her life.
"You're sure this isn't alcohol? I feel like I'm smiling way too much."
The Doctor manages to look offended while drinking orange juice in an umbrella-complemented glass. "Clara," she admonishes, "it's orange juice. Plus, you're with me, the most wonderful woman in time and space, on the planet with the best non-alcoholic orange juice in time and space. What's not to smile about?"
Her mind jumps to what happened with the pre-matter, but if there's a way to kill a good atmosphere, that's the quickest route.
Instead, she smiles again, disarmingly. "Well, you know. Orange juice that isn't made out of oranges. That would be scandalous. I don't think anybody would be smiling."
"Well, non-orange-made orange juice lovers would," the Doctor returns. "And people who don't like orange juice, too, they wouldn't be all that bothered. They'd probably be smirking at the people who do like orange juice, revelling in their misery." She takes a loud slurp, and Clara just shakes her head, laughing.
"You really are impossible," she remarks, and is about to vaguely insult her, but a woman slides between them. Even though she's been surrounded by the Uri for the past hour, it's still a surprise when a yellow, horned face comes into view, as opposed to the Doctor's new face (which she's still getting used to, admittedly).
"Hello there!" the Doctor greets, ever cheery. "Can I say, this," She holds up her glass, which is almost empty. "is the best orange juice I've ever had in thousands of years of time and space. Apart from... well... the other time I came here. That was also the best orange juice I've ever had, though I believe there was a hint more citrus? Perhaps it was more acidic? Or maybe it's because of the chemical imbalance that comes with womanhood, I'm not actually sure." The Doctor's gaze shifts from the Uri woman between them to Clara, and the woman's eyes follow suit. "Clara," she says, "remind me about that later, taste buds and femininity. I'll write a paper. And you!" She directs her attention back towards the Uri woman, who is looking most bemused. "You lot should write a paper on orange juice! I don't know how you all do it, but you do. I need to come here more often. What's the phrase, Clara... treat yourself?"
The woman's bemused smile turns into an amused grin, which showcases her set of triangular teeth. Funny, Clara muses to herself. Carnivorous orange juice farmers, and architecture pioneers.
"You are both very interesting travellers," the Uri remarks. "You... Clara, you are a very lucky woman. It is good to see other munahabae thrive from across the galaxy. I praise you both."
"Yeah..." Clara says slowly, looking at the Doctor for translation, which she knows the TARDIS should be doing, but who knows, maybe the orange juice is doing something to her brain. "We're... like, the best munahabe the galaxy have ever seen."
The Doctor breaks out into the stupidest grin, nearly snorting the remainder of her orange juice as she takes a sip.
"I am glad to hear it," the woman returns, still smiling warmly, but she's stone-faced compared to the large grin ever-present on the Doctor's face. "I will leave you to your drinks. I apologise for the intrusion, I–"
"Oh!" the Doctor finally bursts into speech, still grinning. Clara levels her with a pointed look. "No intrusion! Never! Don't ever think you're intruding, my lady, not unless there's... well... a sign that says 'no intruders' or 'trespassing prohibited', something like that, then you might be intruding. Even then, it's a matter of whether you're caught or not. So, you could be intruding, but... well... you couldn't. You never know. But to this conversation, no, you're not intruding, I was simply showing Clara the wonders of Urinonicogalakajiorian orange juice, and the wonders of Urinonicogalakajiorian architecture and culture. You're a very welcome intrusion, in fact, because you're all simply wonderful, all you Uri. Any opportunity to talk to any of you, experience your culture, walk around in your amazing cities, certainly never an intrusion, not in my books."
"Well," the woman says in return, looking slightly overwhelmed at the overflow of words the Doctor just amassed again. "Then I'm pleased to make your acquaintance..." She trails off, watching the Doctor expectantly.
She supplies, "Doctor! And that is Clara, as you know." The Doctor nods in Clara's direction, her red curls bouncing. "My munahabae, yes, because I'm a lady, I can have a munahabae."
The woman, probably doing the smart thing, leaves them to their drinks. Clara scoots closer, while the Doctor continues to grin, now at the woman's retreating back.
"Munahabae?" she prompts.
"Yes," is the Doctor's intelligent response. "Exciting, isn't it? Aren't you excited, Clara? I've never been a munahabae before. This womanhood thing, it's rather exciting. Why didn't you try to induct me sooner? It's quite inconsiderate of you, if you think about it, if you knew being a woman was so great."
Clara rolls her eyes. "Yes, I love being a woman, and also your munahabae." Here, the Stupid Grin returns, threatening to break the Doctor' face in two. She then stage-whispers, "What is a munahabae? It didn't... uh... translate."
Now, the grin is replaced by astonishment. "It didn't?"
"No, otherwise I wouldn't be asking, would I?"
"Oh, but that's just right," the Doctor continues. "Of course it wouldn't translate, it's you humans, with all your slang words. Earth slang, ugh," She mock-shivers. "You know, when you achieve space travel, you're the laughing stock of any and all galactic linguists out there. While you're a wonderful species, Clara, your language is just awful. You make everything into slang. Including the lovely word munahabae. The TARDIS doesn't always pick up on slang to translate, you see. You can't expect her to cater to your every stupid invented word, she's a time machine, not a dictionary–"
"So tell me what it means! In my despicable earth slang if possible, please, so I know what you're talking about."
"I can see where you got it from, though," the Doctor continues, and Clara gives a lengthy sigh. "The slang word, I mean. It's quite clever of you humans, actually, but don't tell anybody I said that. I'd be booted from the galactic linguistics commission for life, and you know I live a very long time –"
"Doctor."
"Sorry?"
"What. Does. It. Mean."
"Oh, right," she says. "Girlfriend."
It takes a few moments for Clara to process the subject of the Doctor's raving– the word girlfriend, supposedly dirty Earth slang, that the TARDIS refuses to translate. Munahabae does sound a lot cooler, though, Clara will give the galaxy that.
Then, she realises the context in which her species is being insulted by the Doctor. Again.
"I'm your..." she starts, horrified.
"Yep!" She pops the 'p'. "Told you, monosexual species, very feminine. And we both look feminine, so they think we're together. Which is just right, here, it's part of their culture, the sacred relationship between all women, whether it be romantic, platonic, spiritual..."
"I'm your girlfriend," Clara repeats.
"Isn't it exciting!" the Doctor near squeals in return.
"The Doctor's... girlfriend," she repeats one more time for good measure. "That's... that's..."
"Great! Isn't it? I've never been a girlfriend before Clara, and if it isn't obvious I'm quite exc–"
"That's horrific." She turns to the Doctor, hands spread out in front of her. "You and I, we travel in time and space, yes? You, a magical alien from outer space took me, a human earth girl, away for adventures. It's friendship. You took me with you because you appreciated my snide remarks and good fashion sense. Not that I'm opposed to being with other women, it's just, you're the Doctor. And you're hopeless at flying your own spaceship anyway, you don't need my legs wrapped around your waist added into the mix."
The Doctor, had she been in possession of any orange juice, would have been choked on it as she starts laughing hysterically.
"Oh, Clara," she says, when she's gathered herself. "I do love your... yes... snide remarks. Thank you." She gives her a quick pat on the shoulder, her lips pressed together in a tight, almost mocking smile.
Clara smiles too, tongue poking out from between her teeth. That alien is going to be the death of her one day.
They visit the orange fields, which are just as magnificent as the Uri's architectural feats, but for a whole different reason.
They stand overlooking a sea of orange, as far as Clara can see. The vibrant painting across the landscape encompasses the whole valley below them– the home of an underground lake, the Doctor tells her– and is one of the largest plantations on the planet.
It's absolutely beautiful.
It also hurts Clara's eyes.
"Should'a bought my sunnies," she remarks to the Doctor, a hand on her brow.
The alien tsks. "More Earth slang." Then, she grabs Clara other hand, and leads her closer to the pastures.
Uri work among the rows of oranges, testing them between sharply nailed fingers with precision Clara didn't know a woman in acrylics could have. (She also makes a mental note to mention fake nails to the Doctor at a later date.)
The Doctor weaves them through the pastures, admiring the atmosphere, the smell, the sight– all of it, simply taking it in. They cross the field, and on a spare piece of land, in the grass, the Doctor falls back onto the grass.
There, she picks an orange from the nearby try, and gives it a squeeze like the Uri are doing in the pastures around them.
"Reckon we should take some back to the TARDIS," she says, looking at the fruit in her hand. "They'd go well with some pancakes, yes?"
"Or eggs and bacon," Clara replies.
The Doctor starts peeling it carefully. Clara sits down next to her, admiring the vibrant view once more. It still makes her squint a little. She exhales, about to remark something else to the Doctor, when a Uri voice rings out, "Thief!"
Immediately, the Doctor looks around, frowning. Clara, however, looks straight at her, and sighs lengthily.
"Where?" the Doctor asks, looking back at Clara.
Clara raises an eyebrow, inclining her head towards her.
"Thief!" the Uri calls again, her voice closer.
"I know a thief might blend in, but–" The Doctor gets halfway to her feet when Clara sets a single finger on her chest, now with both eyebrows raised. Her eyes fall to the half-peeled orange in the Doctor's hand. The Doctor, of course, falls her companion's gaze. "Ah," she says.
"Ah," Clara mimics.
"We should probably... uh..." She lets down the orange on the ground, in the juice, and gives it a pat for good measure. Clara rolls her eyes. "... go."
"Thief!" the Uri calls again.
"What a wonderful idea," Clara remarks, highly sarcastically, which sends the Doctor into another grin as she grabs her hand.
"You love all my ideas, Clara," she says, tugging her companion to her feet, and then the two of the dart in amongst the rows of orange trees.
They run all the way back to the TARDIS. It's not far– the planet is small, and the TARDIS is easy to spot in amongst the foliage.
The Doctor clicks her fingers as they near, opening the doors wide. Clara sprints in first, followed by the Doctor, who immediately turns to close the two doors behind her.
There, laughing, she collapses against them, out of breath. Clara leans over, hands on her knees, to catch her breath.
"Oh... oh my gosh!" Clara exclaims. "Did we have to run..." She huffs, laughing a little. "... all the way? I'm pretty sure they stopped chasing us– as soon as we left the pasture."
"What a ridiculous question!" the Doctor admonishes. "Of course we had to run, Clara. What kind of person do you think I am?"
"A thief, apparently."
The Doctor laughs again, shaking her head, making her curls fall against her face. However, she keeps laughing, so much that Clara steps forward in concern, about to ask her friend whether she is alright, but the alien waves a dismissive hand at her.
"What?" Clara asks instead.
Still wheezing with laughter, she shakes her head wordlessly. Clara just rolls her eyes.
"What is it?" she questions again. "Is it me? Do I have something in my hair again?"
The Doctor shakes her head, still laughing. Her eyes are squeezed shut, crinkled at the sides.
"Did you go and see the Brigadier again?" she tries, and asks accusingly, half-serious.
That makes the Doctor laugh more. Then, she slowly gathers herself while Clara stares disdainfully, arms crossed. She finally looks back up at her travelling companion, a splitting grin on her face.
"I just think it's funny," she gets out.
"I can see that," Clara replies. "What, pray tell, is funny, dear Doctor?"
The alien's grin somehow gets wider. "It's... oh..." She's evidently trying to break out into giggles again, and manages to compose herself, albeit barely. "I just can't believe I'm Clara Oswald's girlfriend."
Clara Oswald simply gives a long-suffering sigh.
