Literature
Doctor Who and the Poisoned Pop Tarts
Somehow, the Doctor had lost the dining room. Victoria wasn’t quite sure how you could do that but you could bet that if anyone could, the Doctor would manage to lose an entire room in his ‘house’. Granted, it was a vast house. A vast, time-travelling house. After expressing her feelings of missing her old life, the Doctor had tried small little ways to make her feel more at home, and this dinner was supposed to be one of them. It was a sweet gesture, but this was the fifth time of being promised a ‘family dinner’; just like she used to remember, with silver cutlery and napkins, side plates and sturdy oak chairs that forced you into an attentive posture. And small talk. Glorious, British small talk. Instead to reminiscing over aliens and creatures they had battled and befriended, they might even talk about the weather. Not to mention, wonderful food with wafting aromas escaping to announce their arrival, offering teasing hints to what was to come. But after the fifth time, Victoria