Vending Vandalism
The vending machine towered over Brittany, tall and resolute. With a large logo splashed across the front, it was garish and an eyesore. It was also the only source of liquid sustenance for half a mile. The only problem was, Brittany had no money. The Doctor strolled over, half a baguette in his hand. "Mmfg gfm ghst," he said happily, through a mouthful of bread.
"English," Brittany pointed out.
He swallowed, and leant against the wall casually, tucking one leg behind the other. "This is good," he repeated waving the sandwich around. "What are you doing?"
"Trying to get a bottle of water," Brittany explained, kicking the vending machine in annoyance. "But I ain't got no moolah."
The Doctor reached into his pocket, and pulled his sonic screwdriver out, twiddling it idly between slender fingers. "Well, I don't normally do this kind of thing, but I suppose I could make an exception," he said, running the glowing blue device along the edge of the vending machine. "Easy enough to –" Sparks sprayed out of the machine and both of the time travellers ducked, arms protecting faces.
With a gloopy crumpling noise, half of the vending machine collapsed, turning into a puddle of melted metal mixed with lemonade.
"Woops, wrong setting," the Doctor muttered, slowly getting to his feet. "That's setting 2378. I needed 2379."
"Excuse me, sir."
The Doctor turned to see a security guard watching them warily. "I think you're gonna have to come with me."
"Don't worry," the Doctor exclaimed cheerily, pulling the psychic paper out of his pocket with a too-wide grin on his face. "We're professional vandals!"