The Doctor brushed soot off his sleeves and attempted to straighten his wilted bow tie. After a few moments battling with it, he sighed and let it fall, drooping.
This particular, emerald green specimen had seen a lot of tight squeezes in its career, as it was used as its master's dress wear. Consequently, it had taken its toll during those circumstances in which the Doctor wanted to look his best - chiefly when he broke into the homes of his idols.
Plucking his braces excitedly, the trespassing fanboy stepped through the door of the workshop.
"Sorry," he grinned as the bearded figure at the desk turned in surprise. "Don't want to interrupt. What are you working on today, Blu-rays?"
The workshop's inhabitant frowned at his giggling visitor as he pulled up a chair and scooched up beside him, playing with the wooden articles on the table. As he was about to ask the usual questions addressed to unfamiliar intruders, the madman held up his hands in apology.
"Sorry about the soot. I figured the staff would have a job turning away all your admirers, and anyway I can never resist a chimney."
"...Staff?" The bearded carver finally got out. "I do not have any servants."
The Doctor frowned. It wasn't just that the Italian in front of him was speaking in a definite Cornish accent - he'd known the Tardis translation circuits needed a once-over since Vincent Van Gogh had turned out to be Scottish. No, it was-
"Ah." He realised. "A genius AND a philanthropist, you are my favourite kind of human."
The Italian finally gave up trying to make sense of his visitor's words and went for the easiest response. "You must be mistaken. I do not think I am who you think I am."
"Of course you are! Milo Rambaldi! Da Vinci was never so accurate, Roddenberry was never so innovative. You are an absolute prophet! And coming from me, that really means something, so... this is a toy piglet."
The Doctor finally seemed to take notice of the wooden piece he'd taken from the desk.
"That's what I mean. I am just a toymaker." The Doctor's frown returned, but he dismissed it again. The Tardis was never wrong. Well. It was sometimes never wrong. But he recognised the face before him from countless paintings.
"No, no." He waved away his hero's protests. "If there's one thing I know, its a genius. Look," He took out a photograph from his pocket.
Rambaldi peered at it, but could see nothing remarkable. "It's a field."
"Yes, Hampshire, Britain, beautiful landscape. But this isn't a painting. Captive imagery! You invented this!" And before Rambaldi could take another look at what he now saw was surprising detail in the picture, the Doctor whipped out another.
"A Ford Prefect." He said proudly. "A motorised carriage, I mean how-" He could only squeal a little before pulling put a final photo, clearly having fun now, while Rambaldi just stared in confusion at the young man and woman smiling out at him.
"And this is my favourite. This fellow here, Sebastian, is what people have told me is called a 'nerd'. I think I have the authority in this sort of matter to label him 'uncool'. In any sort of normal society he would never have been able to marry a girl like Jennifer here and have two beautiful children, one of whom becomes an outstanding chemist. But you predicted the digital age, a product of which was a little thing called Tumblr, a device that served to convert millions of females to being nerds, giving their male admirers a fighting chance. You're responsible for the continuing of the human race!"
But Milo Rambaldi showed not a sign of recognition of anything the Doctor had said. "I'm afraid I don't understand."
"Come on," the Doctor leaned forward. "All that cleverness. You are one of the standouts of history. It's as if you'd somehow looked into the future and seen-"
The Doctor froze. And quickly snatched back the photographs he'd been holding out.
"You know what," he said, sitting back so casually in his chair that he nearly fell off it. "Forget everything I just said. All rubbish." But it was only now, the Doctor noted in irritation, that Rambaldi started showing signs of interest, as the strange words began to sunk in.
"Digital. As in... Not physical?"
"No, no, no." The Doctor stood and turned Rambaldi's chair back to face his desk. "Think about toys. All the wooden ducks and stools and stream engines you can be making."
"An 'engine'." The would-be toymaker muttered. "Something powered by steam?"
The Doctor winced. It was always the way. "You know what?" He snapped, heading back towards the door. "I wish I could admire some sort of Stone Henge without losing a game of Big Jenga."
He went out, leaving a puzzled, but very inspired man behind.