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Vaman is a gorgeous planet. That's not why they're here, of course; there's any number of pretty planets in the Melos galaxy. Efren and its mountains, Rheshion's seas, even Aria's strangely looping buildings have Vaman beat if they're judging purely on aesthetics. But it is nice to look at, which is nice, because the Doctor's getting a good view of it while they run for their life.
"One planet," Donna says with what little breath she has left, sounding as venomous as the creature chasing them. A soofra, the Doctor thinks, though it's hard to keep their eyes on it long enough to confirm it's got the narrow shoulders typical of that species and not the visually-similar-but-far-gentler moon cow. Oh, interesting, the TARDIS translates that one, even in his own thoughts — well, they suppose it really does only grow in population after the human race get to it in another thirty thousand years, Canada specifically, and how interesting is that, given its own proclivity to Vaman's more temperate climate — and oh, again, Donna's still talking, and they've missed most of it.
"Sorry, could you repeat that?" they say, and Donna yells something wordless as they leap over a gap and land with a solid thud that makes everything from the Doctor's shins to their shoulders shudder with the force of it.
The soofra — yes, it is a soofra, its got that wattle the moon cows don't, why didn't they look for that first? — snarls and takes a few steps back. Smart, to give itself a running start, and maybe they should do the same? Donna's on top of it — Donna's on top of a lot, really, and they grow fonder of her every day, even when she distracts them from what they're doing and sometimes especially then, because they get distracted by an awful lot these days. Exhibit A: this train of thought when they really should be busy trying not to be pre-digested by the enzymes in the soofra's venom, and it can spit a lot faster than either of them can run, so they'd both better get moving, or stay moving, really, because Donna's been tugging them along for...a distance, he's sure. Her hand is wet with sweat in theirs, and they grimace but grip it tighter.
Life or death situation. Needs must.
Eventually, the soofra seems to give up its pursuit, because it lets out a bloodcurdlingly high-pitched trumpet — Donna drops their hand to cover her ears, and they try not to feel too relieved about it as they do the same — and stalks off, blue tail quirked and twitching like an understimulated cat's.
"One planet," Donna says, face red with exertion and outrage, and the Doctor beams at her, because she's repeating what they'd missed earlier. "One planet where we can sit! No running or sprinting or anything above a light jog!"
"There's Ascan," the Doctor suggests. "So long as we get there before the revolution of...oh, was it Q983 or 2983? One of the two. Anyway, the whole planet's in a kind of stasis, so no movement at all. It's all built on pure thought, only the electrical currents of your brainwaves. Very comfortable chairs."
Donna sniffs. "You said that about that spa in New New York."
The Doctor's shoulders slump. "Well, I didn't realize the new manager was a cheapskate."
"A cheapskate with bad taste."
"A cheapskate with terrible taste," they correct. "Oh, look, it's here!"
The reason they're here! A small clump of blue crown flowers, incredibly rare, found only in this galaxy and utterly resistant to planting elsewhere, though the farmers in Fefroland (etymology fef-rol-and, utterly unrelated to the English concept of land, the false cognate all the funnier because it's all underwater) in the Iospina quadrant are making great strides with hydroponics (they're very good at that, what with the underwater thing), can get it to survive enough to actually start extending its roots but struggle with the nitrogen requirement from there. Not their fault their planet's flora relies more on cesium than nitrogen! It'll really help with a food crisis on one of Earth's mother-ships, some centuries from now. The now that they're in now, not the now that's Donna's now. It's hard sometimes, for them to keep track.
Donna waits patiently for their train of thought to run its course. They assume patiently. They'd gotten rather absorbed in it, only half-aware of their own mouth rattling out the facts to her the moment they crossed their mind. Anyway, the blue crown is deadly poisonous if prepared incorrectly, but in the hands of a master chef like the eccentric Pedrotta Ixah on Efren, it helps make a truly incredible cake. Sweet but not too sweet, rich but not too rich, and a truly vivid shade of pink. They had it...oh, a decade or so ago? Missed it ever since.
"You know," the Doctor says. "Efren's also in the Melos galaxy."
After a beat of silence, when it becomes clear the Doctor expects her to make a connection she's hasn't from that information, Donna prompts more with a, "Yeah?"
"Yeah," they say, kneeling down to begin carefully pulling the flowers from the earth without disrupting the surrounding trow and froarm bur overmuch. "Blue crown grows there too. Why did we need to come here again?"
"Authenticity," Donna says, immediately. She's got a far better memory for people than they do. They know people, obviously. Plenty of friends all across space and time, not just Donna! But the nuances and details get lost sometimes. If they pay attention, they can usually get there, but there's so many more interesting things to think about, so they don't, really, unless it's someone they already love, like Donna, who pokes them when she realizes they've gotten distracted again and repeats herself. (Is it any wonder they love her? Best of mates, Donna and the Doctor.) "Ixah said it's native to here and the flowers on Efren aren't as good. If she's going to lower herself to make desserts —" This, she says in a strikingly inaccurate impression of Pedrotta Ixah, and the Doctor doesn't laugh so much as squawk out their amusement, and it makes Donna beam at him, wide and toothy. "— then they're going to be the best desserts. And then she yelled at her sous chef."
"Oh, right," the Doctor says, frowning. They'd forgotten that bit. "Should we be getting this for her?"
Donna shrugs. "It wasn't yelling like a bad boss yells. It was kitchen yelling. I've worked in a kitchen, you know."
"Really?" the Doctor says. "You've worked everywhere."
Donna laughs. "I didn't like it. It's so hot in a kitchen, and everyone's yelling and holding knives and it doesn't even pay very well. Also, I got fired for yelling in the freezer after one of the waiters told me it was soundproof."
The Doctor places the last of the dozen or so flowers they'd collected into a little ziploc bag, resisting the urge to taste one of the petals (very bitter unprepared, and poisonous, though they're more concerned with the bitterness, really) to see if it's as bad as everyone says. "How'd anyone know, then?"
"The waiter lied."
"No!"
"Yeah!"