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Former guitarist of Who Inc. Not to be confused with The Who. We came first, and we were better. Get over it. Just call me Doctor. My name's not important. If you like, you can call me Doctor Disco. Or whatever other name I decide to tell you that day.

[rockindoctordisco-blog]

“Alright, can anyone direct me to the person I need to talk to about a part time job?” Donna asked, directing her question to no one in general in the shop. She was new in town, and desperate for a job and while a barista wasn’t near her first choice, she figured it would be a good place to start until she found something more her cup of tea. 

[justclarabosswald-blog]

The Probably Homeless Stick Insect || Whouffaldi

[rockindoctordisco-blog]

justclarabosswald:

Clara paused for what felt like a whole minute as she stared at the disgruntled stick insect in disbelief. Was he seriously complaining about free food? She’d met grumpier men in her day who appeared to be in much better shape who had been pleased with less…

“Um,” was the first word her brain and mouth were able to agree on, followed by, “I’m sorry?” Her eyebrows raised in surprised as her gaze fell from the grumpy owl sat in front of her to the plate of chips, and back again. 

Nope. She still didn’t get it. She replayed the entire scenario in her head. Smelly stick insect enters diner. Proceeds to sit alone and scowl. Friendly, and if she dare say exceedingly thoughtful waitress offers smelly grumpy stick insect free food. Smelly rude stick insect accuses saintly waitress of attempted poisoning. The dots did not connect. 

“No,” she continued, eyebrows furrowing as she let out a defensive snort of laughter, “why would I want to poison a tramp?” Clara asked pointedly. Had he seen himself? Never mind see – had he smelled himself? Why on earth would she risk jail time murdering him. Though she supposed if his attitude were anything to go by, maybe he had a waiting list. 

“It was… a nice thing,” she defended, one hand moving to rest on her her, “I was being nice. Thought you could use it. And judging by the,” she paused, nodding her head towards him as she finished sarcastically, “charm I can see I’m not wrong. Get a lot of death threats in your chips then, do you?”

Still in a somewhat slumped position, the Doctor stared up at the waitress with a wide, owl-like expression, surprised that she was still standing there, just staring at him as if he’d grown another head. Shouldn’t he be the one looking at her that way? 

He was just about to ask her if there was something on his face when she finally spoke up and he nodded his head as if it were obvious the entire time that she should be sorry.  

“A tramp?” He gasped, completely offended, sitting up and now really gaping at her, insulted and confused. “I don’t know what you do for fun. Maybe you were bored or something! Who are you calling a tramp!?” He wagged an accusing finger at her. “Is that how you treat all your customers?” He asked her with a raised eyebrow before looking around the dining area at all of the empty tables. Now he thought he was starting to get why the place was empty. 

He gave pause when she declared that it had been meant to be a nice thing and if at all possible, his expression grew to be even more confused and owl-like. “Why?” He asked her, furrowing his eyebrows at her.  

He looked from her and then back to the chips, then back to her. “No... People don’t usually hand me a plate a food without my asking for it first.” He stared down at the chips again and tentatively reached forward to pick one up. “I’m not homeless, I can pay for my own chips.” He grumbled, inspecting the chip before popping it into his mouth.  

[justclarabosswald-blog]

The Probably Homeless Stick Insect || Whouffaldi

This wasn’t exactly how she’d imagine her life when she was a girl – all bright eyes and ready to take on the world. But Clara supposed nobody’s life ever really turned out as planned. Life it seemed, had a way of sneaking in and throwing things for a loop. Of giving your mother breast cancer at sixteen, when a girl needs her mum more than ever. Of hurling a drunk driver at your college boyfriend at almost the exact moment you realized just how much you maybe… sort of… loved him.

Life was funny that way. Hilarious really. Everyone’s so busy making plans they haven’t got a clue what do when they go off the rails.

Clara sighed. She hated these introspective moods. She’d rather be ignorant than feel sorry for herself, but that wasn’t the lot she’d been given. 

It was their midday lull, the diner empty save for one man in the corner booth who’d been nursing the same cup of tea for at least an hour. He looked (and frankly smelled, if she were being honest) homeless, but brutally honest did not good tips make, so she’d simply smiled.

She felt sorry for him, really. Tattered clothes. Tousled hair. All alone in some stupid American themed Diner on a Wednesday afternoon as if he has nothing better to do with his time. And maybe he didn’t. She could see herself in him, though she’d never admit it. Not presently, of course – she had far too much sense (and youth on her side) to let herself sink so low – but maybe someday. Alone, and in a diner longing for some kind of human connection. It was sad in the way humanity always was when you looked at it through jaded eyes. 

It was in that precise moment Clara decided to pay it forward. What could it hurt? And frankly, she could use a bit of good karma. 

She made her way behind the counter, checking the kitchen and not at all surprised to find the fry cook immersed in a crossword puzzle (the same one he’d been working on for the past three days) – covertly stealing a plate of chips before heading back out front undetected. She stopped to grab a fresh mug, filling it with coffee (lord knew he looked like he could use it) and made her way towards his table. 

They’re not really supposed to do this sort of thing. Feeding the homeless is generally frowned upon by her greedy boss who thought they would scar away the paying customers (not that Clara had actually seen one in hours), but if there was one thing Clara  knew about rules, it was that they were meant to be broken.

She cleared her throat and slide the plate onto the table. “Here,” she said, her smile gentle and eyes filled with genuine concern. “Look like you could use a hot meal.”

[rockindoctordisco-blog]

The Doctor didn’t usually like to reminisce about the ‘old days’. It was a waste of time and usually didn’t do him any good. In fact, it usually just left him even more tired and grouchy than what was already considered normal for the old musician. 

But there were some days that it just couldn’t be avoided. Days when the shop was exceptionally slow or an old song came on over the radio on one of the only stations that he could actually tolerate. He was sitting on top of the back counter, absently thrumming on a guitar that was really meant to be for sale when such a thing happened. An old song by ‘The Who.’ A band he was particularly bitter about despite not actually hating their music. He just hated being compared to them. 

With a huff, he sat the guitar down beside him before hopped down, making an impulse decision to go for a walk only to change his mind seconds after he walked outside, deeming it too cold. Not to mention that a walk would take more energy than he was willing to put forth in his brooding mood. 

So instead, he made his walk short, making it as far as the diner across the street after stopping a random guy on the street for his coat. Of course, the man wasn’t that willing to give it up, so the Doctor gave him his old watch in exchange for it --”Come on. We can’t both be cold. Help a guy out here.” 

Finally, he found sweet solace within the diner, empty outside of a few random customers here and there that minded their own business and the few employees on duty that day. He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, barely sipping at the tea he’d ordered, completely lost in his own head (which really could be a dangerous place to be sometimes). Pretending he wasn’t reminiscing at a half abandoned diner was a lot easier than doing it at home. 

He was suddenly pulled from his thoughts when a plate of food was slid in front of him as well as a mug of coffee. He lifted his hand from where it had been perched under his chin and stared down at the chips as if he’d never seen such a thing in his entire life before turning his wide eyed, owl like expression on the waitress. 

“What?” He finally spat out, sitting up straighter and looking back at the plate of chips like he was afraid it might start dancing on the table. “What is this? I didn’t ask for this. I think you’re confused. Did you hit your head? Is this a prank? I’m not sure what you’re lot do for fun these days--- Are you trying to poison me!?”