Rose was waiting as patiently as she possibly could, swishing her dress around with her hips and muttering, "Happy birthday, Mr. President," in her best high, American, falsetto, Marilyn Monroe voice. She couldn't wait to show off her rather sexy outfit to the men who were currently hiding in the wardrobe, presumably getting their own costumes on. It was daring, showing this much skin and playing up her figure as much as she was around Jack. While she was no Marilyn, she thought the neat pleats of the white dress fell from her hips wonderfully, and the bust wasn't awkward to have tied around her neck and the rest of her back bared. She loved it, to put it simply. Absolutely loved it.
Her thoughts were interrupted as a record player on a wheeled cart came from down the hallway, with the faint sound of the sonic screwdriver following it. She recognized the song, but couldn't place it. It was from before the time when she had been born, and it was American music. But with what happened next, she stopped caring about the song.
"Some people call me the space cowboy," the Doctor sang loudly, jumping out of the hallway with a flourish. He was dressed in a brown suit... but not his usual brown suit. No pinstripes. Instead he had on brown jodhpurs with holsters at his hips, thick black suspenders over a rust-brown shirt, sturdy knee-high boots and a long brown duster, much different than the one he always so proudly proclaimed Janis Joplin had given him. And his hair! His hair wasn't sticking up in the front, but rather deliberately messy and falling over his forehead a bit.
Another voice came from behind him. "Some call me the gangster of love," Jack crooned warmly, stepping around his friend slowly. He was a stark contrast to the Doctor in terms of his costume. Gangster. He looked like a 1920s gangster. From what she could tell he had slicked his hair back underneath his ridiculously bright pink fedora, and it appeared that there was a heart of the same color embroidered on his slate-grey jacket above his own heart. He was cradling the violin case in his right hand tenderly, as only Jack could.
She was laughing when she joined with them.
"Some people call me Maurice!" They sang slightly out of sync with each other, badly off-key and only Jack getting the accent right, but they didn't even care. They ended up dancing with each other and singing at the top of their lungs until the song ended and the record player starting emitting scratching noises. While the Doctor took care of the player, Jack seized Rose's hand and made her twirl so he could properly look at her costume. He did it once more, even slower, the wolf whistle dripping from his lips in such a way that she blushed a bit.
"Gorgeous as ever, Rose. I mean really, I think Marilyn herself might be a bit jealous," he teased, kissing her hand.
"Stop it you." She pushed on his chest, and he feigned stumbling, but came back up with a laugh. "I like the pink, I never thought it would suit ya so well." Looking at the Doctor (still sonicing the player, as it were) she made a split decision that would play to her advantage. "Alright, so don't either of ya go runnin' off or anythin', hear me?" When agreements came she ran as fast as she could in her strappy heels back to her room to snatch her camera from her nightstand. She walked back at a normal pace, and sneaked a glance around the edge of the hallway when she drew nearer. Jack saw this and elbowed the Doctor in the ribs, making him straighten and whirl around. By the time he had done this though, Rose had whipped back behind the wall of the hallway, taking a steeling breath. She was always apprehensive whenever she put a different costume on, just because of what the Doctor might say to her. It was always a glowing compliment, of course, but a little healthy nerve-wracking never did any real harm. Smooth the plaits. Check the hair. Adjust the bodice. Alright. She was certain she looked perfect. So she stepped around the corner and slowly, seductively, walked back towards the two men. Time to play up the Marilyn.
"Hello, boys," she said in her girlish falsetto she had been practicing before their little show. Play up the hand on the hip, lean forward a bit. She waved her fingers at them cutely, batting her eyelashes, and setting the camera on the console.
Jack's face had split into the biggest grin imaginable, but the Doctor's face told a different story. His eyes were wide and he was staring intently, as if she couldn't possibly be real. It seemed the usually-babbling Time Lord was at a loss for words at the sight of his companion dolled up like one of the most famous sex-icons the world had ever known. If it hadn't been for her utter determination to remain in character she would've checked his pulse to make sure both of his hearts were still working.
"What's the matter, cowboy, you speechless at a little thing like me? That's really quite sweet of you." She was flirting with her eyes, and the Doctor's mouth was going through the motions of speaking but nothing was coming out. And it was so empowering. To think, all she had to do to strike him dumb was doll herself up a little!
"That's a damn near flawless accent, Miss Monroe," Jack teased lightly. "I think you may have had some practice."
Her hands flew to her chest in mock surprise. "Me? Why, mister, I think you've got it all wrong! I'm an American girl, born and raised, and don't you forget it."
He chuckled. "I'm not likely to forget this, Rose."
She dropped her act, arms falling slack at her sides. "So, ya like it? Yeah?" Grabbing the skirt and holding it out from her legs, she swayed the fabric a bit. "I may never take it off."
The Doctor gulped. "Wow," he whispered hoarsely.
She snatched her camera off the console and snapped it in his face. The flash seemed to bring him back into some semblance of reality, but his jaw still hung open as he looked at her.
"Got that one on camera."
He seemed to be mostly back now. "And what if I told you that Time Lords didn't photograph?"
"What?" she yelped, quickly checking the storage. "Oh, you're a liar, Doctor. Got your stupid face right here."
"Oi! My face isn't stupid!"
She laughed. "The look on it here is, though. Ya'd think, after nine 'undred years of time and space ya wouldn't get all goo-goo eyed when someone bats their eyelashes at ya."
"I didn't go goo-goo eyed," he muttered, turning back to fiddle with the turntable.
"Doc," Jack drawled, draping his arm across the other man's shoulder. "You're blushing like a beet."
"Stop it."
"All that blood rushing-"
"No, Jack, stop it, I'll kick you out of the TARDIS right now."
"Maybe I'll take the lovely Miss Marilyn with me, and we can paint the town red. Or, seeing as I've got my Vortex Manipulator, we could just as easily find another town to paint."
The Doctor's normally warm chocolate-y eyes flashed dangerously. "You're not running off without me, Jack. And you're most definitely not taking Rose with you."
Rose gripped his arm and pulled him away from the player, then shoved him towards the door. She wasn't going to let his "superior biology" crap get in the way of her having a nice Halloween, even if she had to drag him kicking and screaming. "Come on, then. We're gonna go find a party, and we're gonna spend all night explainin' your costumes to every person who hasn't ever heard that song before."
As they walked over the last grating of the platform, the TARDIS, the ever-mischievous being she was, blew a gust of air directly up Rose's skirt, giving Jack and the Doctor a view of the sheer nylon seams running up the back of her legs and her bum.
"Oi!" Rose shouted upwards, jumping off the grate quickly. "S'not funny!"
"You were so asking for it!" Jack laughed, rolling his eyes.
The Doctor scowled. "Thanks, dear," he muttered quietly enough so only the TARDIS could hear him. As he straightened his duster in preparation to walk out the front doors, he heard a faint hum in the back of his head—what he could only assume was his ship laughing at him.