Donna laid sprawled facedown on the grille floor of the TARDIS. Though the peculiar angle of her head didn't allow her vocal chords to function properly, she heard a replica of her voice let out a strange yelping noise, followed by several sets of footsteps, a soft thud, shattering glass and finally, bones hitting tile. The pacing and pitch of each sound seemed quite urgent, though the volume was quite low.
After a brief silence, an authoritative and angry voice called out, "ZON MICK ID!"
What alien species was that? Not a Sontaran. Certainly not an Ood or an Adipose. Donna used a finger to clean out her left frozen-dessert-filled ear.
"ZONNAS - ZON MICK TA MICE MEAM!" Oh. Just a too-skinny Time Lord, with a rather chipmunk-y pitched voice.
Donna clawed her fingers into the TARDIS grille holes, and used her arm muscles to lift her head up a few inches. "WHAT?" she shouted back, followed by an echo of the same voice and question.
"DON'T MICK ID!" shouted the Doctor.
She poked a finger into her right ear, and then took a tiny lick. Hmm. Banana. Probably a milkshake. Or maybe ice cream. Or frozen yogurt. "DON'T WHAT?" she asked. Once again the question was echoed by her future-self half-a-second later.
"DON'T LICK THE ICE CREAM!"
Oh.
Donna used both her palms like windshield wipers to de-banana-ify her vision. She looked to her right – TARDIS controls. She looked to her left – TARIDS doors, closed.
She stood up, grabbed hold of said double doors and yanked them open.
Well, at least she tried to do so. Once…twice….three times, she gave the double doors a good 'ol yankin'. But they refused to open. And all the while, Donna could hear her possibly-future-(but not if this is a paradox – bloody hell, this was confusing; would this destroy the universe?) self bickering with the Doctor.
She knocked on the blue wood. Four times. "It won't open! And why shouldn't I lick it?"
She could hear the argument stop, followed by the slippery sound of four feet scrambling to walk, and a key being turned in the lock.
The TARDIS doors finally opened, and the Doctor's face appeared, covered almost entirely in off-white liquid with tiny black flecks. He looked annoyed at Donna. "You licked it, too?" He shook his head, unsurprised, and entered the TARDIS, followed by the other Donna – whose face was covered in light blue cream.
Peering a bit into the kitchen, Donna could see Señor Hair Gel passed out on the tile, covered in cherries, bananas, hot fudge and whipped cream - an unconscious human (or alien?) banana split.
At least, he had appeared unconscious. She didn't even blink, but suddenly he was standing fully erect, and heading straight for the TARDIS - limbs stretched out and eyes devoid of emotion. He was now a zombie dessert. And not one Donna particularly cared to indulge in.
"Hasta la vista, Banana-head!" she bellowed, slamming the door.
But, a hand got caught in said slam. The rest of the man's body was locked out and unseen, but there was still a living hand, cut off just above the wrist. It wiggled its fingers and rotated its wrist in a full circle, wildly grasping at the air. It was covered in dark brownish sauce, sprinkles and mushy banana bits.
"Hand!" Donna stepped back a few feet. "Doctor, there's a…it's a…there's a hand!" She whipped her head around to find the Doctor at the center console, fiddling with some TARDIS controls. Her double stood be his side, also staring in awe at the thrashing limb.
The Doctor didn't look up. "Yes, Donna, I know. The hand's mine. But it's safe in a jar. Long story…"
"Huh? What'd ya mean a jar?"
"Wellll, it preserves the excessive regenerative bio-matching ener – Oh!" He decided to look up. "That hand. Right. Hmm." He tugged at his ear for a few seconds. "Yeah, just leave it. Allons-y!"
Donna staggered forwards a meter, unbalanced by the jerk of the TARDIS dematerializing. Thump. The hand crashed down to the floor, finally dead.
"Ha!" Future Donna called out triumphantly.
"Ha!" Donna agreed.
"Oi!" the Doctor corrected.
Oh. Uh oh.
Donna looked at the hand again. Its pinky twitched. Then its thumb jiggled. And its middle finger made a motion that could accurately be described as a twiggle…or some other synonym for wiggle, waggle, squirm or twist. Next, the entire hand stood up and started daring about on an unpredictable jagged course, using its fingers as legs.
Both Donnas jumped up and raced around the consol room, throwing their hands in the air and shrieking out Ois.
"Just step on it," the Doctor instructed, sounding rather bored.
"What – like a cockroach?" asked the Donna earlier designated Hermione.
"Yes!"
"You do it!" Donna urged her future self. "If it kills you, maybe I can just learn what went wrong and I can correct it when I'm you. If it kills me, were both dead."
"Oi! What makes you think you'll be braver in thirteen days?"
"Stop bickering. Just…do it." Neither Donna had to look at the Doctor to know that he was rolling his eyes. "Use the sole of your foot to stomp down hard. It's not going to kill you. Promise."
Hermione switched direction mid-run and chased after the loopy limb, until her foot hovered a few centimeters above it. She closed her eyes and stomped. Crunch. She successfully hit the pinky, fracturing its bone. The other fingers also stopped moving. She stomped on the open palm again. And again. And again. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. "Hey, this is kind of fun!"
"Joy," the other Donna responded dryly and walked over to the Doctor. "Now mind explaining why I shouldn't have licked the ice cream, Space Man?"
"Oh yes, that. What flavor did you both have?"
"Banana," Donna answered.
"Something sweet. Birthday cake batter, maybe," Hermione answered, abandoning the hand stampede to join the group.
"Ah. Hmm," was the Doctor's super scientific response.
"Ah. Hmm – WHAT?" asked both Donnas.
"I'm not sure, actually. See, that wasn't just any present-century Earth milk-and-cream connection. Oh no. That was Taste-iosis ice cream, or milkshakes made with it. Taste it - even just lick it - and the specific flavor gets inside either your state of mind or events in you personal timeline for the next twenty-four hours, affecting your mood. For example, I had vanilla bean. Fortunately, I didn't lick it. Which is good, because that would have been the worst – the very, very worst – flavor for me."
"Why? What does vanilla do?" Hermione asked.
"Wellll, quite simply – I would have a very vanilla day: boring, dull, dreary, lackluster blah, meh, long line of Zs. Not exactly how I like to live."
"And banana?" Donna asked, "I had banana. What does that mean?"
"Wellll, I'm not entirely comfortable predicting. Give banana flavor to a male humanoid, and blood flow will immediately swell in the corpora cavernosa, enlarging and stiffening his erectile organ."
"An erection? The milkshake…would give a man a lasting erection?"
"A one-thousand-four-hundred-and-forty minute one, yes. But I don't believe it'll have any effect on a woman. Maybe you'll just act even more like a stupid ape – Oh!" He covered his mouth. "So, sorry. I haven't called humans that in a while – don't know what got into me. And you, Donna," he nodded at Hermione, "what flavor did you say you had?"
"I think it was birthday cake batter."
"Huh. Yeah, that's another tricky one." The Doctor ran multiple fingers through his vanilla ice-creamed hair. "There's no chance you're pregnant, is there?"
"No," both Donna responded firmly.
"Good. That's…that's good. Because see, in a pregnant female – no matter how many months along she is, even if it's been mere minutes since fertilization – she'll go into labor instantly. She'll literally have a birth day. But since you're not…uh, with child…it'll probably just feel like a regular birthday. How do you normally feel on your birthday?"
"Cranky," answered one Donna.
"Old," answered another.
"Drunk," both concluded.
"Welllll then, good thing I don't care liquor on board," the Doctor responded.
"But Doctor, who was he?" She nodded towards the hand. "And can I please have a towel already?"
"I think he was part of The Trickster's Brigade. Annnd –" he ran into the depths of the TARDIS and returned a minute later, with a piece of multi-colored knitwear. "Here." He flung it at Donna, and it landed in a bundle atop her face. "Share it with yourself."
Donna picked one end off of her chin and the whole thing quickly unraveled. It was ridiculously long, plus too thin and the wrong material to be a normal towel. It was more like a –
"Scarf? You gave me a scarf?"
"Sorry," the Doctor replied, back tinkering with the controls. "Quickest drying device I could grab. We're almost landing."
"And the man? The hand man?" Hermione prompted, after wiping herself clean.
"Oh yes. Right. Member of the Trickster's Brigade, I believe. Or, at least an associate. He was trying to disrupt your life with the Taste-iosis; change how your day was meant to go about. He developed a male form by borrowing characteristics from various Hollywood celebrities that he thought a woman of your age and background might be charmed by."
"Right. Right. Of course. Trickter's Brigade," Donna nodded along, "But oh, just one small tiny-tiny question remaining – why'd he want to give me a twenty-four hour erection and a newborn baby?"
"I mean, I've dated some real nutters." Hermione added, "Lance, for example, but –"
"Wellll, I imagine those weren't the original flavors meant for you. Things got a bit complicated in our chase. Chocolate might have been Plan A – Devil's Food flavor. Or perhaps Rocky Road – which would have sprained your ankle or torn a ligament. Or…oh boy, orange sorbet – wellll, let's just say 'orange you glad' you didn't lick that…"
"And the angels - we're they like, working with this 'Trickster' too?" Donna wondered.
"No, no. They're not like Charlie's Angels, Donna. They don't 'work' with or for anyone. But the Trickster likely too advantage of their presence to complicate things further. Combined, they were able to create a paradox. An event could occur for you –," he pointed to the younger Donna, "that didn't happen to her –," he pointed to the slightly older version, "when the angel first sent you-her back to the 1950s." He looked around the room, like a professor running low on patience. "We clear now?"
"As mud," both Donnas answered.
"Good. Soooo-ah!" Thud. "We're here. Back on Midnight. Hopefully just before the angel attacked you."
