London. Londinium. This odd place on earth, the capital of a damp little island up north. The Doctor loved this place. Loved it so much he sometimes forgot that he wasn't a Londoner. He was reminded of this fact more after this regeneration had bizarrely adopted a Northern accent and looks—not that he ever complained. He was an alien, he wasn't vain. His aesthetic measure was different from humans and he has never bothered to keep up with it anyway.
But up until that explosion in a shopping center (Harrods? Henriks?) where he met a London girl, complete with her attitude, clothing and accent, he found himself wanting to be more like her. He wanted to have her accent, he wanted to have her cheery attitude, he even wanted her hair—not blonde, mind you, her natural her hair colour would do nicely if he didn't get ginger. He then wanted to be attractive. In the way humans perceive it. Especially this Londoner human he met in a nearly exploded building.
What a way to meet someone.
And what a way to end it with another explosion wrapped in shimmering golden light, knowing he had saved her. He smiled and hoped that this next body will be good to her, if a bit cheeky, London-like.
