Thespian Theft
Words: 293
"Ooh, Shakespeare!" the Doctor pointed to a sign and bounced over to it.
Donna read the bold lettering announcing the current season of Julius Caesar. It was in English, translated by the TARDIS, but if she squinted, she could see the triangles that the sign was actually written with. She'd learned to do it a few weeks ago, and even if she wasn't particularly good at it, it was pretty cool.
Before Donna could finish gawking, the Doctor dragged her off to more signs. There was a bright playbill for Cabaret, a vintage-looking one for The Importance of Being Earnest, and an ornamented one for the reading of A Christmas Carol, as well as many others.
"They take their theater seriously here, then," Donna chuckled as a group of tourists, dressed for the evening's performance of Carmen, passed them at almost a run.
"Course they do," the Doctor nodded, still reading the signs. "57th century Italy—they do nothing else! This one time I was here with—oh, what are you?"
He started squinting at the wall and Donna passed him his glasses. She looked over his shoulder, "What is it?"
"What does it say here?"
Donna glanced at him strangely but leaned into the wall as well, narrowing her eyes to read the fine print. She shrugged. "Says 'Simon Simmond'."
"And the title?"
Donna obediently read, "'The Devil's Disciple'."
"He didn't write that," the Doctor pointed to another sign. "This one either. Donna, what's it—"
"'Pygmalion'."
"Exactly!" flicking his glasses off, the Doctor put them into his pocket with a practiced move. He took Donna's hand. "You've never met Bernard, have you? No? Well, remind me to take you sometime. But now? Now we give him credit for what is his."