"I hate you. Honest to God, I hate you so much!
A hazelnut, (almost dreb-nut shaded) human hit her captor furiously, frantically. The three-eyed creature holding her snorted unintelligibly, muttering something or other (even the Doctor couldn't translate that particular string of words). Eventually the feisty nut just took to glaring at the Doctor.
"No you don't." He replied.
"Don't you tell me what I don't do!"
The Doctor ignored her nonsensical reply, instead turning to his guard, who had him restrained by heavy-duty chains (due to his manly strength, no doubt) that were chaffing him quite painfully. After a particularly harsh tug and a repeated mantra of "ow ow ow" s, he took to simply reasoning with the fellow. It really couldn't do much harm, could it?
"Now, I'm not very fluent in Gubgub, I mean, even with translators your words just come out as COMPLETE gibberish and poppyco-… Ah."
He cleared his throat - obviously that was the incorrect choice of words. Well, what was that saying? Oh, yes - try try again!
"But, GubGub - it is a beautiful language, no doubt. In fact, I once knew a man, he was a… Gry'plf. Anyways, this man, (Wes was it?), was lovely. Mind you, I couldn't understand a word HE was saying either, but-"
"I think we can both agree that he was a fine bloke!"
"Martha! Didn't your mother ever teach you any manners?"
"Oh ho ho, now YOU can talk when I'm safe and out of this mess! I didn't bloody sign up for this!"
Martha's captor tightened it's hold on her, it's sticky arms practically gluing to her form. She was almost positive that if she was to be held any longer, her body would be completely digested in the mass that was this… this…Erm…
Well, in the Doctor's defense, Martha supposed that he didn't know the circumstances she was being put under. But in her defense, he was supposed to know - being the designated driver and all! You don't just walk onto a planet without knowing it's customs.
Still, it was awfully hard to feel any amount of sympathy for him when he was making such a fuss over nothing at all. Namely:
"I I I spent two hours on that style! Not to mention the hours of preparation it took!"
The nerve of that time lord, to go and whine and moan about his hair, when she was about to be set up and-
"Oof!"
Martha and the Doctor were thrown into hard jail cells by their guards, clear slime dripping from the smaller guard thing who had twisted the key into the doors.
One purple pillow was situated in the corner of Martha's cell, as well as an enormous, mineral stained tub (which was used for God knows what, Martha sure didn't know). The Doctor was currently playing with the cell door, trying to open it without any success. Martha looked in the corner, and could see a slab of meat attached to a piece of string.
The Doctor sat in the back, a calculating, slightly cautious expression over his face, "You could… Try calling your mum?"
"Oh, my mum! Great! My mum would just love to hear how her engaged daughter is getting married to a literal slime ball!
The Doctor nodded, expression carefully blank before it became serious.
"Martha, I'll get you out of this. You won't have to go through with this."
Martha snorted, though her nerves were calmed quite a bit.
"If you don't fix this, you're gonna have a punch coming right up your alley..."
The Doctor winced, but was able to respond with a nod, "Roger that, Martha Jones."
Martha buried her head in her hands.
Why did she ever fancy this man, again?