A Foxtrot of Yex

Torchwood Ten, an organization dedictated to defending England against the future. Because the 21st Century is when it all changed.

Moderator: [Sim] Torchwood Ten - Hosts

Re: A Foxtrot of Yex

Postby AJHoyt » Fri Jan 14, 2011 2:08 am

OOC: Don't forget to check the previous page for posts you may have missed. 8)

IC:

After following the blood streaked spiral steps up the central column to the office, Rubin eased into Brock's large and comfortable chair. The desk, utilitarian at best, was so tidy that it seemed out of place with all the chaos and mayhem that had left its mark on the rest of the Hub. There was a telephone next to a lustrous, deep red leather cylinder holding pens and pencils. A blank pad of square, light blue sticky notes sat in front of the pen holder. The pad's top had been placed exactly parallel with the front edge of the phone.

Rubin realized he didn't know the number to UNIT. He reached a hand down to start a tug on the center drawer of the desk to look for a phone book. His gaze fell on a single pink square note taped beside the telephone opposite the pen holder and pad. In Wen's backward leaning scrawl was a telephone number. Brock's loopy calligraphy above it read UNIT.

Surrounding the number and label were doodles done by different hands in various shades of blue, purple and black pen ink. The I and T of UNIT had been crossed through by a single stroke and changed to UNucks. A spray of inked in bullet holes angled across the note. From the right upper corner, a hangman's noose was stretched taut by the silhouette of a limp body in uniform. Spider webs adorned the lower left corner. A drawing of a large military truck smashed front first into the lower right edge had on its crumpled side "UNIT Driving School".

Rubin squinted at a verse in Latin:

Primoris dimitto
Permaneo protelo


He whispered as he translated, "First to leave. Last to lead."

He chuckled and shook his head good-naturedly. No love lost between Torchwood and UNIT.

Wind riffled his sandy blonde hair. The office door slammed shut so loud he jumped.

He picked up the receiver, tapped in the number and waited.

TBC
Rubin Hart - former Torchwood One field operative - now in service, Torchwood Ten
AJ Hoyt - Security, B5: Trinidad Station
Charles Cog - Astrophysicist - SG7

"What we call failure is not the falling down but the staying down." – Mary Pickford
User avatar
AJHoyt
Commodore
Commodore
 
Posts: 605
Joined: Tue Sep 26, 2006 7:59 am
Location: USA

Re: A Foxtrot of Yex

Postby Quin » Fri Jan 14, 2011 8:16 pm

He flashed her a grin, and made his way over to Quin who the Doctor seemed to have finished with.
"Need a hand getting to your room Quin? You'll be happy to know it's still in one piece." Fred said, ignoring the Doctor.

"Thanks mate," Quin replied. "There's a bottle of a very fine, very old malt whisky in there. Herr Doktor Creepy said no drinking, guess he meant alcohol but what the Hell. Not as if I'm going anywhere. Care to join me in a small refreshment as the Scots call it?"
Quin - Torchwood 10
You got a problem with me? Good.
User avatar
Quin
Commodore
Commodore
 
Posts: 701
Joined: Thu Dec 27, 2007 6:28 pm
Location: Torchwood Ten

Re: A Foxtrot of Yex

Postby SLAJaime » Fri Jan 14, 2011 8:56 pm

Wen took the mug from Camron, barely hearing what she said. "Blondie?" she asked, raising a hand to her hair. It felt stiff. Dirty. Make that filthy. It occurred to her that she must be caked in flour.


Camron just giggled " to easy am not going there "

She took the others there mugs of warm tea or coffee and walked back towards Wen

" I know this could be a bad Idea but maybe I should go and Find Grace ?"

Tag Wen


Camron Got changed pretty fast and head out towards the closest Pub to see if she could find Grace .

She barely caught sight of Grace leaving Trocadero

She walks fast to try to catch up to her not sure if she would or not

Tag grace maybe if I catch up to her that is
If someone with multiple personalities threatens to kill himself, is it considered a hostage situation?

]
SLA's very own insane Blonde
SLAJaime
Lieutenant
Lieutenant
 
Posts: 209
Joined: Thu Feb 12, 2009 5:27 pm

Re: A Foxtrot of Yex

Postby Black Scar Ozzy » Sat Jan 15, 2011 5:58 pm

Fred chuckled as he helped lift Quin up.
"I'll have to take a rain check on that, Quin old boy. I'm still fit for duty, and right now the duty involves using a brush." Fred grinned as they made their way over to the stairwell. What Fred didn't say, was that getting himself completely and thoroughly drunk was the only way he could sleep without getting nightmares, and while sleep would be welcome...

Well for Fred it had been fifteen years. He felt he had to prove that he was still good for the team. He may of been almost dead on his feet, but he wouldn't stop now. Just because he'd been through hell, he didn't feel he had the right to take it easy.
"Easy now," Fred said as they started up the stairs.

Tag
When you stare into the depths of space, all your see is infinity staring back at you, letting you know, just how insignificant you really are.

Image
Where would we be without Kuruma..?

Active
- Fred BJ Black (Torchwood Ten)
- "Black Scar" (Dragon Squadron, FL)

Forgotten
- Leiutenant Commander Kurayami Sennai / SW-142
- Black / Kageashi / SW-193
User avatar
Black Scar Ozzy
Vice Admiral
Vice Admiral
 
Posts: 1790
Joined: Wed Dec 10, 2003 7:02 am
Location: England

Re: A Foxtrot of Yex

Postby Jake Sjet » Sat Jan 15, 2011 7:20 pm

“Well...at least British gastlichkeit has not fallen out of fashion,” von Klenner remarked as Quin was aided to his feet and back to work by his ‘mate’, or ‘chum’, or some other quaint ideal that fit into the frame work of an Englishman’s honour. He busied himself with replacing the vials and lotions back into the bag, along with a few biological samples taken from the so called electrical burns. If they were that simple, he would not have been summoned.

What did they take him for? A child, or worse, a GP?

He looked around the Hub of Torchwood 10, and allowed a true and honest smile to reach his lips. These people were clearly in need of a medically minded professional on hand to see to their cuts and scraps. With their over inflated sense of ego they no doubt rushed head first into danger without thinking. Well no, not thinking in the traditional sense, but perhaps thinking something like this...

‘Hey old boy, I might be a bit of a wet blanket for thinking this old chum! But don’t you think that rather ghastly insect thing with the seven heads might decapitate the lot of us, use our innards for gizzards, and perhaps not play by Queensbury rules?’

Quite clearly a number of them were not long for this world.

“If there is anyone bleeding...or unable to feel their extremitäten, er...fingers, toes, things that dangle.” He shrugged his shoulders and took to looking around the room intently, a distracted note entering his Germanic voice as he knelt down to study something that glistened and looked as though it should really be attached to something larger “Call out...don’t be shy...no one likes to bleed to death slowly because they were to busy preening...”

TAG-Anyone

Othar von Klenner, MD
Ensign Keth Soban, Medic on the USS Legacy

Fellow Crew Injured By Keth: X


Image

"I will eat your soul :3"
User avatar
Jake Sjet
A puppy that goes 'yap' and flips over
A puppy that goes 'yap' and flips over
 
Posts: 6547
Joined: Sat Jul 19, 2003 4:30 pm
Location: Britian

Re: A Foxtrot of Yex

Postby Tavey » Sun Jan 16, 2011 3:28 pm

A JP between Rubin, Wen and a rather lovely UNIT chap called Sergeant Robinson.


In the Hub office, Rubin picked up the phone and tapped in the number to UNIT.

The response was just about immediate. The receiver was snatched up within two rings.

"Where have you been?" demanded a male voice at the other end of the line. "Do you have ANY idea what it is like to try and deal with London without you around?"

There was a pause.

The voice asked quietly "So, since you didn't actually rip my head off, I take it this is not Derowen MacFie? Is she... alive?"

"Oh yes," Rubin said, keeping his tone light, "she's clever enough to be the last woman alive, should some extinction event befall us. I'd bet it'd be your luck to be the last man alive. You'd live until, say, just before supper."

"That long? She would have to be slipping if I made it past lunch. I have no illusions about the psycho you call a boss. I'm Sergeant Robinson. Who am I speaking with then?"

"Rubin Hart. I was the guy a few months back who shot down one of your helicopters chasing us up a country road near Weston Patrick. My sincere condolences to any families or loved ones of the crew. I recall that other members of UNIT were lost around then too. We all survived your best efforts, by the way. Were you part of that operation against us?

There was a delicate pause. And an odd muffled mumble, as if Robinson had put his hand over the phone to ask someone something. "No." He finally replied. "That was... another department." He stopped speaking, thinking then.

Rubin let the silence stretch a bit. "Speaking strictly for myself, considering the blood recently spilled, I'm more than a little surprised you'd ask us for help. I take it you are proposing a truce. UNIT won't kill Torchwood if we help you with...what now?"

"Murders. particularly vicious murders. So far three prostitutes have been literally carved up. There are indications that there may be a creature involved. The standing orders are that if anything like this comes across the boards, we are to call Torchwood in, specifically asking for MacFie. Between you and me. It looks like those pictures of the whores Jack the Ripper did in."

Rubin sat up straight in Brock's chair. His mind went to the relic robot Matilda. Still a marvel of realism, it'd been build 123 years ago in a failed attempt to help distract "Jack" long enough for him to be captured. After standing still for over a century, it had just now briefly come to life...and pointed. "Interesting!"

He quickly took the phone out of the office to the rail of the spiral stairs.

Robinson said, "Also between you and me, UNIT doesn't want to kill Torchwood. You're too useful. And Grace is still one of ours, even if she pretends she isn't."

By then Rubin spied Wen below surrounded by a whirlwind of paper. Somehow she knew he was looking down at her and she fixed him with a steady gray-eyed gaze. He gestured for her to come up.

Rubin returned to the office saying, "Grace is irretrievably her own person now, but thank you for her excellent training."

Rubin started scribbling on a blank blue sticky note as he spoke, "Now Sergeant Robinson, these murders, we might assist you. Wen will decide, of course. She'll first want to review all your reports, all samples, and all evidence of what makes you believe a creature is killing women like Jack the Ripper. We'll need it all, Sergeant, in hand. Are you willing to give it all over to us--originals, actual samples, everything?"

"We'll have to put together a package for you. I'm sure you will reciprocate with your findings. After all, it is in the interest of repairing any damage the two organizations have incurred. Blah blah etc etc and so on."

As Wen came into the office Rubin held up the note.

Jack the Ripper is back!

Smoothly, Rubin thanked the Sergeant and hung up. Wen just stood there, staring at his note, her eyes wide in her face.

"That's not possible," she stated, in an odd tone of voice. "I'm sure that he is dead. Absolutely positive in fact, even though he was before my time. Rubin, I want you to work with Gavin and pull up any information in our databanks on Jack The Ripper. Any old files, reports, sightings. Hell, pull in the others as well if you like. We need to have all the information that we can to try and figure out where he'll.. it'll.. strike next."

She took a deep breath. Rubin watched her obvious struggle with something that was annoying the back of her mind.

"This is personal, on some level?" He asked.

"I don't know Rubin. But, it does occur to me that Grace is out there alone at the moment, and feeling very vulnerable. I don't want to leave, but I've got to get after her."

TAG

With those short words, Wen hurried out from the hub, after pointing the doctor in the direction of the medical bay, room, whatever he wanted to call it. Facilities. That was a good word. It would do, at any rate.


TAG - All.
Image

"Oh Bother." Said The Borg. "We've assimilated Pooh."
User avatar
Tavey
Admiral
Admiral
 
Posts: 2891
Joined: Fri Mar 31, 2006 2:31 pm
Location: Middle of some mountains. Canada.

Re: A Foxtrot of Yex

Postby Foxy » Sun Jan 16, 2011 4:06 pm

Derowen sipped her cocktail with a somewhat surprised look on her face at the taste. She raised the glass higher and regarded the colours with a dubious frown.

"This is actually alcoholic?" she asked the folk at the table around her. "Are you sure?"

The group she was drinking with was an odd bunch. All older gentlemen, dressed in various sober suits and the kind of ties that scream Old Boys Club.

"Oh yes Derowen. Very alcoholic. We're trying to get you terribly drunk and take advantage of your good nature." One of the men leaned forward with a smile. An expression that faded to a less brilliant curve of his lips when he noticed that Derowen wasn't paying attention to him. Instead, she was looking into the back corner of the smoky mens club. A place that she would rarely have been in, except it was the anniversary of a particularly epic Save The World Day.

She was watching Grace. Who shouldn't have been anywhere near this place.

Grace wasn't watching Derowen. She hadn't seen her. In fact, she'd have been hard pressed to see the other side of the room, or at least one of the other sides of the room she could currently see two of, because Grace was deliciously, marvellously, dangerously drunk.

The last few days, or was it weeks - it was hard to tell - had involved being in a whole other universe for at least some of the time and her ginger wine supply had not lasted nearly long enough for her liking. Life without the fuzzy warm blanket of booze was jagged, sharp, pointy and wouldn't go away and leave her alone.

Grace fully intended to make up for lost time.

Wen watched her second in command slam back another shooter. Grace grimaced, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, then motioned for another. Leaning back in her chair, Wen wondered what she was trying to forget. She raised her hand to the bartender, who scurried over, eager to please. A few whispered instructions later, and he vanished into the back room to get a particular bottle that she kept there. A moment or two past that, and he arrived at Grace's table, with a small glass filled half way with lavender coloured liquid.

“Pretty...” Grace observed, not even caring where it had come from, then picked it up and downed it in one. Seconds later, a warming sensation crept up her abdomen and caressed her throat. She closed her eyes, savouring the feeling like a cross between an ardent lover and a warm fuzzy blanket.

Maybe that would do for tonight. It would seem a shame to spoil the memory of that one with some crass, cheap, booze.

She levered herself from the barstool, left a tip for the bartender and headed for home.

~~~~~~

Grace slumped against the wall beside her front door and fumbled for her keys. Goodness knows what it would smell like - they'd been away for months Earth-time even if it only felt like days in BBW world. The food would all be off. Heck, there was stuff in the fridge that might have achieved sentience by now...

After several fumbled attempts, she shoved the key into the lock, but it wouldn't turn. She swore. In her alcohol-fuelled mind, breaking down the door seemed like a sensible idea – she could always get it fixed in the morning – right?

As her kicks began to splinter wood, a scream came from within. Grace paused, her hand hovering over the side of her jacket holding her gun. A voice came from inside.

“I... I... I've called the police...”

“Great,” replied Grace. “They can let me into my flat.”

“This is my flat,” responded the voice. “Been here six months – now piss off if you know what's good for you.”

Six months. A lot could happen in six months. If Stevens had assumed she was dead, sold the flat... Christ, where was all her stuff?

Walking away from the whinging woman behind the door, she pulled out her mobile. It didn't have his number in the memory – she'd ditched that one when she thought they were being followed, but she knew his number off by heart. Who cares if it was 3am – she had righteous indignation on her side.

It cut straight through to the voicemail option.

“Oy. F**kface,” she greeted him. “It's me. I'm alive. Where's my f**king stuff?” Wasn't it bad enough spending time in a dry universe with the crazy gang, without coming back to find some stranger living in your flat? She spent several minutes giving his recording system a piece of her mind, before she ran out of vitriol and hung up, sliding to the floor and sobbing.


OOC - with thanks to Wen for the jp and the drink!
Image

Thanks, Azaria!
User avatar
Foxy
Fleet Admiral
Fleet Admiral
 
Posts: 3363
Joined: Thu Mar 04, 2004 4:10 am
Location: UK

Re: A Foxtrot of Yex

Postby Quin » Sun Jan 16, 2011 7:16 pm

Fred chuckled as he helped lift Quin up.

"I'll have to take a rain check on that, Quin old boy. I'm still fit for duty, and right now the duty involves using a brush." Fred grinned as they made their way over to the stairwell. What Fred didn't say, was that getting himself completely and thoroughly drunk was the only way he could sleep without getting nightmares, and while sleep would be welcome...

Well for Fred it had been fifteen years. He felt he had to prove that he was still good for the team. He may of been almost dead on his feet, but he wouldn't stop now. Just because he'd been through hell, he didn't feel he had the right to take it easy.
"Easy now," Fred said as they started up the stairs.

"It must be difficult for you," Quin said. He allowed Fred to help him although he probably could have managed by himself. Even though the fragment of Sword in his arm was just a splinter it had a healing effect and he was feeling better by the minute.

"I cannot imagine what you have seen and the things that you've experienced. I've got so many questions but I know that you won't answer any of them."

Quin glanced at Fred, his younger friend who was now older than he was. "I missed you."
Quin - Torchwood 10
You got a problem with me? Good.
User avatar
Quin
Commodore
Commodore
 
Posts: 701
Joined: Thu Dec 27, 2007 6:28 pm
Location: Torchwood Ten

Re: A Foxtrot of Yex

Postby AJHoyt » Mon Jan 17, 2011 9:04 pm

A JP between Rubin and Othar von Klenner, MD

Rubin had followed Wen closely out of the office, wanting to accompany her to look for Grace. However, he immediately surmised by Wen's quick stride, squared off shoulders, and clenched fists that she had no thought of needing anyone else's help. He remembered Derowen MacFie was the worse nightmare possible if a he, she or it meant to harm her. He guessed he'd likely impede her search.

He changed trajectory toward the medical lab. It'd take time for UNIT to bring them a box or two of evidence. He and Gavin could be well into a Torchwood examination of Jack the Ripper by the time it arrived.

He stepped into the lab. Overhead, activated by movement, fluorescents in a double row strobed in bright blue-white bursts. Even before the light steadied, he was dismayed. The lab was no longer a model of crisp order, neatness, and cleanliness.

On the lab's opposite end, the thick, metal, insulated door to the morgue was open. A writhingly strong smell of decaying corpses made him grimace and hold his breath. He pressed a button in a bank of them on the wall by the lab's front door. With a loud electrical snap followed by a whir rising rapidly in pitch, a big fan roared to life in the ceiling above the lights. The reek of things long dead abated steadily.

He walked by once white sterile metal counters now coated with feces and gnawed rotting bits of animals. Above the soiled counters, some of the cabinets had glass doors wrenched open in spite of locks. Chemicals lay in colorful heaps on counters with large talons of glass protruding.

No single piece of equipment stood upright. Drawers beneath counters had been opened. Scalpels, forceps, tongs and all manner of medical equipment lay strewn on the filthy floor.

Returning from closing the morgue door, Rubin stopped midway back. The computer monitor lay on its keyboard. The mouse cord had been chewed through. Arms akimbo, Rubin surveyed the muck below looking for the mouse.

"Hallo?"

Von Klenner's immaculately polished shoes crunched and squelched into the mess that were to be his own. If he was disappointed or had made some manner of assumption towards the state to which Torchwood would supply its medical staffers, he tried not to show it.

He eyed the counters for a place to park his bag for a moment, and thought better of it upon seeing that the once gleaming metallic surface had been defaced in a most unique, and some might argue artistic, manner. His nose wrinkled slightly as the slowly retreating scent of chemicals, both organic and manmade, assailed them.

"My..." he said slowly, using the cane to hook a fallen stool and right it once more, placing his bag atop it after ensuring the worst of the mess had been removed "I assume you have a maid come in once a week to burn the place down? Or do you do it yourself, save on the over head?"

Rubin had turned, hands on hips, so he could give the doctor a once over. Head to toe the doctor was dressed with excruciating exactitude. His manner in the Hub had been both highly controlled and aloof. Even now that man stood stiffly in the muck like an angel forced to commune with the denizens of a pigsty.

Rubin studied the doctor's face. There were no lines of mirth around the corners of the eyes, no twinkle of humor. Only the man's lips were curled in a faint smile to signal he may have been joking.

Rubin mimicked the false smile. "Our pets aren't taking their cleaning duties seriously."

"Und du auch nicht..." von Klenner said sourly, opening the medical bag carefully to produce a small sample bottle and swab, eyeing a particular fresh look glob of something smeared against one wall. Why he had chosen that particular glob was perhaps the fact that the surface under it had under gone what seemed to be rapid onset oxidisation.

AKA rapid rusting. A sample might prove useful, and there were always private sector uses for certain chemical concoctions. Demolition work, scrap metal, armour piercing rounds that ate the armour...

He hid the bottle away within the bag and busied himself appearing to be doing something else.

Rubin watched the doctor collect a sample. Adept himself at spy craft, Rubin knew the doctor was making himself difficult to read. The very fact he was doing so intrigued Rubin.

Rubin smiled genuinely, but didn't approach the doctor. "I heard you introduce yourself, Doctor. I'm Rubin Hart. I'm glad we have a doctor again. I've been pressed into service to do the forensic investigations. You know, DNA profiles, cause of mysterious human deaths or the sort of work you see on 'Alien Autopsy.' I'm more of a detective than a scientist. My guesswork is crude at best. Does forensics interest you?"

"Ja...in a way Herr Hart, in a way," his words were pressed through a forced smile as he slowly walked around the medical office, steering clear of the obvious and shockingly large piles of debris.

"It is more of a...how do you say? Faszination? Obsession?" he shrugged his narrow shoulders and dismissed the thought with a wave of his pale hands "Bah, no matter. It is the study of the human nature, the drive, the motive force behind the wheel of history that is of true interest to me Herr Hart. After all, we are the dominate species of the planet, to a certain degree...so to understand that which can kill us, be it so very small or so large as to defy reason...you could say that is my...hobby, as it were. My reason for being."

He plucked what turned out to be a scalpel surprisingly free of any contaminate off of a slightly open draw, turning it over slowly in his hands as his eyes glowered across its surface. Angular blades of reflected light danced across his face from the scalpels medical grade steel.

Rubin kept an eye on the doctor's activities, but also opened a drawer near the toppled computer monitor and keyboard. He drew out and put on purple nitrile lab gloves while listening to the doctor muse aloud.

"...I am more of a medically minded individual, the workings, the ‘gubbings' as our British hosts would call them. Human nature arose from a collection of differentiated cells Herr Hart, a colony of matter that sudden decided to call itself ‘I'. That is fascinating to me. And it is that fascination that led me into the umarmung of your Torchwood."

Rubin tested the glove fit by wiggling all his fingers. "Torchwood, you will find, is all about laying bear the deep drivers of mayhem, human or otherwise."

"Better and better..." von Klenner said softly as he watched the American do what they did best: clean up a mess made by their own carelessness.

Rubin squatted to open a small cabinet. The cleaning supplies were undisturbed. He smiled at the irony. He retrieved a squirt bottle of antiseptic cleanser and a rectangular cheerfully orange sponge.

"So..." von Kleener said with a toothy smile that was as belittling as possible, the medical grade cutting blade now placed back within its foam cut padding "...why does Torchwood need the services of an American? Doesn't your Onkel Sam disprove of your aiding a former enemy like the British?"

Rubin sprayed cleanser on the besmirched monitor and let it soak. Rather than explaining why he was working for Torchwood, he quipped, "Our Onkle Sam has had me working with lots of former enemies; Vietnamese, Russians, Iraqis. I'm looking forward to Taliban, Iranians and Venezuelans next. So, why not the British?"

The doctor clicked his fingers and grinned, deciding perhaps a dose of distraction might be the meal of the day.

"What about the Area 51?" he leaned forwarded consiprationally "Between two foreigners...is it real?"

Rubin looked up as he scrubbed away at the fouled monitor. "Oh yes. It's the tip of the iceberg of conspiracy theorist proof of alien invasion. Except it doesn't take more than a light in the sky to set off another invasion rumor. The US and the Brits use that tendency to cover up all kinds of nighttime reconnaissance."

"If it worked once, it will work twice." the doctor mused with a nod of approval.

Satisfied the monitor was clean, Rubin set it upright. Wrinkling his nose, he started on the offal caked keyboard. "I hope I can get this cleaned up enough that our newest computer ace Gavin will actually touch it. We need to research some recent especially gruesome murders."

"Mord?" the Germanic physician almost seemed to perk up at the mention of the word "My speciality."

Rubin paused in his labor and looked up. "In that case, what's your professional opinion about Jack the Ripper's motivation to mutilate his victims?"

Von Klenner smiled sweetly at Rubin, the way a teacher might bestow a pained sign of affection to an eager but hopelessly dull school boy.

"My...opinion? Huum..." he tapped the tip of his cane lightly against the side of his shoe for a second, eyeing the detrius strewn floor before looking up "Well without speaking to this Jack the Ripper I couldn't hope to understand him fully. So much about these human predators, be they socio-paths or garden variety psychopaths, stems from a past littered with psychological time bombs and land mines. Er....daddy, mommy issues you might say, ja?"

"But if I were...spit balling is what you American call it? Ja?" he didn't wait for Rubin to answer "If I were spit balling a theory, I might well put forward the idea that this Jack had a deep seated need to remove the excesses of the world. He was educated, refined, a member of the higher order if you will. Part of the wonderfully gated community that is the British aristocracy. They were a breed apart, whilst everyone else were...ungeziefer. Why else would he target pretty young things in the slums of London, who gamely threw themselves upon the gentry for the smallest denomination of coin? Because ultimately, they were entbehrlich."

"Unnecessary," Rubin echoed.

"He cut their throats-" von Klenner said and ran the hand of the cane slowly across his own snow white larynx "-like you would a calf, before you hung it to drain. But then you see, then you see the geist behind it all, because this Jack the Ripper took from these gutter trash...samples, if you will. Internal organs such as the kidney's, the uterus especially, always using an efficient jagged cut that opened the abdomen in the shortest amount of time. A practical, if not useful, method this Jack used to ensure the speedy collection of his samples. Or trophies, who knows."

"in a way...I must say I admire him for his work if nothing else. Not the highest body count, but he did seem to have a good idea. Remove from the world those who would see to fill it, and then remove from them the very apparat from which life would arise." he let a slight chuckle escape his lips as though just getting the punchline "There is a certain irony when you see it like that."

He smiled contently, and perhaps that was when he should be watched most carefully.

"But that is supposition on my part, guess work. Wonderfully accurate guess work, but that is all it is. Without a body to exam, it is all we can do." he shrugged, as though the matter being discussed was of no greater importance than what was on the lunch menu.

Rubin set his bright orange sponge on the dirty counter, raised his arm and pulled one purple nitrile glove taut the way TV surgeons did. Looking steadily at the overbearing newest member of the team he said, "Herr Doktor, you'll soon have three bodies to examine. The word is they are carved up just like Jack was doing it himself."

"Well then...we'll just have to see if he can make it past five bodies this time? Maybe the last century of inactivity has given him the stamina to see his mission through to the end." he held up a hand "It will keep him predictable if nothing else, and besides if he went after every woman of vice in London he'd have started with Fräulein Macfie and brought him right to our door. Besides...I have a delightful feeling that maybe, just maybe, it will be something far more interesting than just some sick freak with a thing for loose women."

Rubin held the doctor's deadpan gaze neutrally, but the hair on the nape of his neck stood tall.

tag Gavin, all.
Rubin Hart - former Torchwood One field operative - now in service, Torchwood Ten
AJ Hoyt - Security, B5: Trinidad Station
Charles Cog - Astrophysicist - SG7

"What we call failure is not the falling down but the staying down." – Mary Pickford
User avatar
AJHoyt
Commodore
Commodore
 
Posts: 605
Joined: Tue Sep 26, 2006 7:59 am
Location: USA

Whitechapel, London.

Postby Tavey » Sat Jan 22, 2011 1:53 am

Little Somerset Street.

The feeling was rising again. As it had done only a few days ago. Was it a week? Was it a month? He could no longer tell the passage of time. All he knew was the steady pace as he walked along these streets. His face twisted into a grimace at the noise and bustle of modern London.

Steady feet. Smart shoes, buffed to a sheen only this morning by some waif sitting at a shoeshine stand near Aldgate East station. A thumb rubbing along the edge of a blade hidden deep within a coat pocket. No shabby anorak for him, oh no. He was wearing a smarter coat now. More fitting to his station in life. His station.. position..

What did he do for a living again?

Why couldn't he remem... there.. there she was..

His thumb ran lovingly over the handle of the blade, as he followed at a sensible distance.

The doxy would make a mistake soon enough. And then he'd have her. Kidneys and all. Both of them, this time.
Image

"Oh Bother." Said The Borg. "We've assimilated Pooh."
User avatar
Tavey
Admiral
Admiral
 
Posts: 2891
Joined: Fri Mar 31, 2006 2:31 pm
Location: Middle of some mountains. Canada.

Re: A Foxtrot of Yex

Postby Gavin » Mon Jan 24, 2011 1:45 am

Gavin had wisely taken refuge beneath one of the workstations when all hell had broken loose within the main Hub, which probably save him from serious harm. The man had again been overcome with a wave of nausea and dizziness, the most pronounced side-effect he had experienced to date, the changes in air pressure caused by the multiple explosions might have triggered it. He was fairly certain his name had been called a few times, but he wasn't really in any condition to respond. Instead, Gavin shut his eyes, breathed deeply, and wished the sickness to leave him once more - ignoring what was going on about him.

When the level of activity had lowered from frantic to merely desperate, Gavin opened his eyes and once again attuned his senses to the environment around him. He raised himself up to an upright sitting position, careful not to impact his head on the underside of the desktop above - and was pleased that the nausea had mostly left him. Fortunately, he had apparently come to no additional harm while in his semi-unconscious state - the man already suspected a fair amount of internal injury had been done during his time as an ice cube, he couldn't afford any more. The needs of this group and the entirety of London Town prevented any sort of detour to a hospital, though as soon as he was capable of walking he would check himself into the nearest one he thought.
Gavin Morgan
Computer Specialist - Torchwood Ten
User avatar
Gavin
Cadet 4th Year
Cadet 4th Year
 
Posts: 54
Joined: Fri Sep 11, 2009 7:29 pm
Location: Torchwood Ten Hub

Re: A Foxtrot of Yex

Postby Foxy » Wed Jan 26, 2011 12:57 pm

((All yours!!))

Once the safety catch of self-control was off, Grace was sobbing uncontrollably. She had so many reasons, not the least of which was having not slept for a full night in so long it could be measured in months. It felt like its own kind of freedom.

He turned around the corner and stopped. A perfect sight ahead of him. Lone woman, obviously in distress. He searched his memories for a hint of how to approach her. A little concerned, hesitant. Then he'd be able to slip the knife between her ribs as she clung to him in her gratitude. He stepped forward, his shoe catching a piece of paper on the floor. It crunched under his foot.

Abruptly, Grace's instinct, honed over years of working for UNIT and several more with Torchwood, snapped her alert. Red eyes wide, catching her breath so as not to drown out any sounds with her own, she scanned the corridor. Had someone followed her?

Oh God, please not one of the Woodies. So many nights she had dreamed of how she would die, but dying from embarrassment would still be worse.

Taking a deep breath in an attempt to moderate her voice to some semblance of steely calm, she called out, “Who is it? I know you're there.”

He pulled back into the shadows again. She wasn't as easy as he had thought she would be. Her face was determined. Even tear streaked, she was delightful. His tongue touched his lips, imagining the taste of her blood. He turned away, noting the address, so that he could return at a later time. A time when he could enjoy himself thoroughly.

The echo of footsteps faded into the distance and Grace allowed herself to breath again. Probably just some druggie looking for a doorway of their own. Well, they could have this one, she'd finished with it now. The distraction had broken her mood. Now all she wanted was a distraction. Maybe it was time to go back to work.


Ooc - with thanks to Tavey for the shadows...
Image

Thanks, Azaria!
User avatar
Foxy
Fleet Admiral
Fleet Admiral
 
Posts: 3363
Joined: Thu Mar 04, 2004 4:10 am
Location: UK

Re: A Foxtrot of Yex

Postby Black Scar Ozzy » Thu Jan 27, 2011 4:51 pm

Fred looked at Quin. He remembered that they used to work together, a team within a team. Fred grunted as they reached Quin's door.
"I'm back now." He said simply, letting go of Quin. He turned to leave, but hesitated. Quin had been his friend. Yet he knew how easy it was to lose a friend. Hugh's memory still haunted him.

"Thanks," Fred said flashing a brief smile before walking away. Fred wondered if Quin still thought of them as friends, or if Quin could even see his friend in what Fred had become. His head went dizzy and light, and Fred staggered slightly. He needed sleep. He looked up, and saw it. Drool dripped from its fanged mouth, one large eye stared him down. It's stench was akin to rotting eggs. It raised a scaly claw, its intent clear.

Fred reacted on instinct, launching himself forward, bringing his fist up to smash it in the eye. With a thud and a crack, Fred slammed his fist into the wall, his head cleared up. He stared at his bloodied hand, the nightmare creature gone, now he was fully awake again. He pulled his hand back, and a sharp stabbing pain ran up his arm. Fred cradled his fractured arm to his chest, and fell to his knees.

He wasn't strong enough to deal with these nightmares. He barely sleep because of them, and if he went too long without sleep, his nightmares haunted him while he was awake.
"Pull yourself together Fred," Fred muttered to himself, as he picked himself up off the floor. He made his way back down the steps into the main hub, and through into the medical area.

"Hey Doc, I need something for a fractured hand, plus something to put me into a dreamless sleep." Fred demanded before spotting Rubin in the room.

Tag - Othar von Klenner, Rubin
When you stare into the depths of space, all your see is infinity staring back at you, letting you know, just how insignificant you really are.

Image
Where would we be without Kuruma..?

Active
- Fred BJ Black (Torchwood Ten)
- "Black Scar" (Dragon Squadron, FL)

Forgotten
- Leiutenant Commander Kurayami Sennai / SW-142
- Black / Kageashi / SW-193
User avatar
Black Scar Ozzy
Vice Admiral
Vice Admiral
 
Posts: 1790
Joined: Wed Dec 10, 2003 7:02 am
Location: England

Re: A Foxtrot of Yex

Postby SLAJaime » Thu Jan 27, 2011 5:50 pm

Camron Finally caught up With Grace She looked at her face before walking a little closer to her she was not even sure why she cared if Grace came back to HUB or not.

"Grace " Camron Called out to her moving closer now then stopping just in sight of her She didn't want to get into a fight with her She just wanted to get her to either her home where ever that was or the HUB.

"Grace Wait Your work Is calling you Back It's time to Finish Cleaning then we can all go home"

She stopped about a arms length away from Grace not really looking at her face more looking around Wondering what She was doing here


Tag Grace
If someone with multiple personalities threatens to kill himself, is it considered a hostage situation?

]
SLA's very own insane Blonde
SLAJaime
Lieutenant
Lieutenant
 
Posts: 209
Joined: Thu Feb 12, 2009 5:27 pm

Re: A Foxtrot of Yex

Postby Quin » Fri Jan 28, 2011 7:20 am

Fred looked at Quin. He remembered that they used to work together, a team within a team. Fred grunted as they reached Quin's door.

"I'm back now." He said simply, letting go of Quin. He turned to leave, but hesitated. Quin had been his friend. Yet he knew how easy it was to lose a friend. Hugh's memory still haunted him.

"Thanks Fred," Quin said. "I'm glad."

"Thanks," Fred said flashing a brief smile before walking away.

"It will get better," Quin said softly. He wasn't sure if Fred heard him or not, in fact he was so tired that he wasn't even sure if he'd spoken the words or just thought them.

He sighed and walked into his room. It was an austere little room, nothing like his appartment but similar in that everything had its place and it was always tidy. Probably a throw back to his younger days being shunted from foster home to foster home you had to be able to pack in a hurry and leave nothing of yourself behind.

The bed looked inviting and Quin headed straight for it, the whisky could wait, everything could wait he needed to sleep. Sleep came easily but so did the dreams. Not dreams of the last mission or even of the Yex, dreams of his childhood, dreams of being beaten, screamed at and abused. Dreams that had once been a nightly occurrence but that he hadn't had since joining Torchwood. Dreams that even the Sword couldn't prevent.

Quin woke up with a whimper, tears streaming down his face. Now it was time for the whisky and to Hell with Doc Creepy's warnings.
Quin - Torchwood 10
You got a problem with me? Good.
User avatar
Quin
Commodore
Commodore
 
Posts: 701
Joined: Thu Dec 27, 2007 6:28 pm
Location: Torchwood Ten

Re: A Foxtrot of Yex

Postby Jake Sjet » Fri Jan 28, 2011 8:01 pm

At first von Klenner said nothing.

But then he slowly came about, and looked at Fred. He did so silently, without word or even the hint of rustling fabric. This was Fred's one and only warning: the silence. Most predators are transitory beings, they move about, and do so with economy and forward planning. Why go somewhere else if your food is here? And this maxim translates into the way they communicate with the world.

Example: the Killer Whale, the Orca, when it is stalking seals along the beach it is deathly silent. After all it wants to catch a seal unaware in the surf, and chow down on blubber and seal fillet. But during the eating and digestion process the Orca can be quite noisy, crunching bone, digestive juices bubbling away like a demonic percolator.

For the original seal this process is rather fatal, and not all together that pleasant. But for the others of the colony, the noisy predator is a good predator, as it allows for easy location and tracking. Until, of course, it gets hungry again and goes silent. All the better to keep the sheep in line, or seals, if we’re willing to stretch the analogy a little further for literacy’s sake.

Othar von Klenner, MD, was not ‘Doc’. He was not a rabbit.
So Fred got the silent treatment.
He got the warning.
He got a smile.

“Ahh...you must be Herr Black.” The German said softly, moving slowly to the medical bag and indicating to a relatively clean stool Rubin had cleared earlier “Brock spoke of you to me, told me you had been unterwegs? Seeing the word ja?”

He opened the medical bag once more, rearranging the carefully packed interior until his hand stilled over a vial marked morphium, which just so happened to sit next to a similarly coloured vial marked chlor, though one bottle had a little carefully marked X scratched onto the label. He dutifully selected the one without the warning mark, pulled a sterile packed syringe from one of the bags pockets, and tore the plastic packaging free of it with his teeth.

“I too am something of a traveller, I just returned from the Orient after a...gap year you might say. Oh how the time just flew by. An eternity in an hour, or so it seemed, you know how it goes when you are away from home. Though I would not wish to return there any time soon, my hosts were of the over bearing sort. Nanning.” He smiled, spitting the torn plastic away as he dropped the needles hungry tip into the rubber capped vial of medical grade opiate.

“Now one place I would love to go...” he said slowly, lifting the syringe up to the light, and squeezing out a small measure of the fluid to fill the needles beak and remove the remaining air bubbles from it “...is a place everyone has been to. The Greeks, the Roman, the Carthaginians, even people as old as your Herrin...Disney Land.”

He patted Blacks shoulder and smiled a little wider.

“Roll up the sleeve, and then I can see about your hand. As for this...” he nodded to the needle “...well that might sting. Just a pinch. Sie werden kaum spüren.”

TAG-Fred, and Rubin who seems to be his minder.

Othar von Klenner, MD
Ensign Keth Soban, Medic on the USS Legacy

Fellow Crew Injured By Keth: X


Image

"I will eat your soul :3"
User avatar
Jake Sjet
A puppy that goes 'yap' and flips over
A puppy that goes 'yap' and flips over
 
Posts: 6547
Joined: Sat Jul 19, 2003 4:30 pm
Location: Britian

Re: A Foxtrot of Yex

Postby Black Scar Ozzy » Sat Jan 29, 2011 4:51 pm

Fred almost laughed at being given the silent treatment. He'd faced things far worst than this 'man'. Still, he supposed he had to be nice to the Doc, so he would treat him, so he remained silent and took the seat the Doc had gestured too.

“Ahh...you must be Herr Black.” The German said softly, moving slowly to the medical bag and indicating to a relatively clean stool Rubin had cleared earlier “Brock spoke of you to me, told me you had been unterwegs? Seeing the word ja?”

"Yeah, I'm Herr Black. I guess you could say I've travelled." Fred said, shifting slightly in his seat.

“Roll up the sleeve, and then I can see about your hand. As for this...” he nodded to the needle “...well that might sting. Just a pinch. Sie werden kaum spüren.”

Fred rolled up his sleeve, revealing numerous scars, before saying.
"Just stick the damn thing in already."

Tag
When you stare into the depths of space, all your see is infinity staring back at you, letting you know, just how insignificant you really are.

Image
Where would we be without Kuruma..?

Active
- Fred BJ Black (Torchwood Ten)
- "Black Scar" (Dragon Squadron, FL)

Forgotten
- Leiutenant Commander Kurayami Sennai / SW-142
- Black / Kageashi / SW-193
User avatar
Black Scar Ozzy
Vice Admiral
Vice Admiral
 
Posts: 1790
Joined: Wed Dec 10, 2003 7:02 am
Location: England

Re: A Foxtrot of Yex

Postby AJHoyt » Sun Jan 30, 2011 1:15 am

Rubin was installing a wireless mouse on the recently righted computer in the middle of the lab when Fred came with a hand that was bleeding, swelling and had at least one knuckle higher than it should be.

Rubin's shoulders tensed. Fred was certainly tough enough to take Rubin's improvised doctoring with only a moderate amount of verbal abuse in return, but Rubin hated guessing his way through treatments.

The two men exchanged brief eye contact until Fred's gaze shifted to the new doctor. Rubin felt a flood of relief. Torchwood did have competent medical staff again.

As the doctor and Fred began a labored exchange, Rubin restarted the computer.

Staring at the monitor going through its diagnostics, Rubin kept listening to the doctor. There was something about the things he said. I too am something of a traveler...just returned from the Orient after a...gap year...how the time just flew by. An eternity in an hour, or so it seemed...I would not wish to return there any time soon, my hosts were of the over bearing sort.

The detective in Rubin stirred like a child disturbed in deep sleep. He decided to open his mouth and let the child speak.

"Herr Doktor, a while ago, we were battling an...incursion...here in the Hub and Mr. Black was accidently pulled into the R...well...away from this world. Not so long later, he returned one dark and stormy night near Weston Patrick. 15 years older, wasn't it Fred? And you lived every minute of it? So, Doctor, are you saying something similar happened to you in South China?"

Tag Fred, von Klenner
Rubin Hart - former Torchwood One field operative - now in service, Torchwood Ten
AJ Hoyt - Security, B5: Trinidad Station
Charles Cog - Astrophysicist - SG7

"What we call failure is not the falling down but the staying down." – Mary Pickford
User avatar
AJHoyt
Commodore
Commodore
 
Posts: 605
Joined: Tue Sep 26, 2006 7:59 am
Location: USA

Re: A Foxtrot of Yex

Postby Foxy » Sun Jan 30, 2011 2:46 pm

Grace trudged through the quiet that was the middle of the night in London. Even a city that big ground to a halt by then, bar the delivery of freshly printed newspapers.

"Grace," she heard a familiar voice. "Grace, wait. Your work Is calling you back. It's time to finish cleaning then we can all go home." It was Camron. Of all the people to bump into... well, probably the least likely to ask her awkward questions.

"Home? Yeah, home sweet home," she muttered grimly. "Sure, hand me a mop."

Camron looked at Grace's face With a smile. She put a arm around her to support her.

"You got your self into a fight with a Nasty again, eh ? Let's call at a store and grab some Face Wipes before we go back. The others do not need to see or know." She helped her to move a little more easy before continuing, "You know if you're going to run off and fight aliens without me I am going to stop making you coffee, Grace." Camron just smiled and tried not to let on she could see Grace was crying before she caught up to her.

Grace attempted a smile. The kid actually meant well and besides she was to damn tired to fight her off. The face wipes weren't a bad idea either. Maybe the Boots on the roundabout was on its pharmacy all-nighter. If so, maybe, just maybe, she could pick up enough stuff to pretend to be human again.

Well, it was a plan.

"Thanks," she replied, surprised to realise she even meant it.

Camron took them both to end of the alley way and looked at the cars around them, picking one out. "Grace, wait here a second while I borrow some transport please." She walked up to a Black Ford Fiesta and opened the door using the metal support from her Bra then went back for Grace. Once she was into the car she got it started and drove to the Boots on the Roundabout .

"You look like you need a break, Grace and soon. How long has it been since you cared about yourself?" She asked cause she could see something was wrong but what she did not know. "You don't have to answer that last question. Let's just get you some face wipes and a fresh set of clothes if we can."

A short while later, the two entered the shop and started their way around, picking up some mouthwash, face wipes and some deodorant cause Camron smelt pretty-bad.

Grace selected a few cleansing items, including a new toothbrush, then added a few extras, thanking the powers that be that large Boots branches sold all manner of stuff. She waited until Camron went to a till, then selected one the other side of the store, so as not to make it obvious what she had purchased. She joined the other woman at the door with a nondescript carrier bag and a forced smile.

"Back to work, then..."


A jp by Grace and Camron
Image

Thanks, Azaria!
User avatar
Foxy
Fleet Admiral
Fleet Admiral
 
Posts: 3363
Joined: Thu Mar 04, 2004 4:10 am
Location: UK

Re: A Foxtrot of Yex

Postby Jake Sjet » Sun Jan 30, 2011 7:09 pm

“Herr Black...” von Klenner admonished as he jammed the needle into Fred’s arm with no small amount of force, depressing the syringes plunger to deliver the shot of morphine “...there is a rhythmus, a rhythm to these things. If you interrupt me I lose my place, and I forget how much I give you. Wouldn’t want you ODing’ on our first meeting, does terrible things to the confidence of others.”

He patted the injection site with one ice cold hand, a smile touching his lips as he went back to the bag to repack his supplies and to gather up the items needed to see to the wounded hand. And all the while Rubin, his minder and watcher, observed and preformed simple supposition that even a school boy could do.

Ähnliches?” the doctor said softly to Rubin’s questioning, as he applied a liberal helping of burning antiseptic to the raw meat that covered the wounded hand. An inner delight fluttering through him as he realised that the morphine had yet to fully kick in. He liked to make his own medications when he could, cut out the middle man and allowed him to exceed the recommended dosage as set down by some board of company directors. But alas with morphine he was still trying to get the mix right, and the horse always kicked in at different points for different people.

“I was a guest of the Guójiā Ānquán Bù.” Von Klenner’s accent mangled the words as any Westerner’s voice would no doubt. Mandarin was, after all best left to people born to swim in its sea of vowels and guttural pronunciation. But the Guóānbù was a well known arm of the Peoples Republic of China’s ministerial command pyramid: the Ministry of State Security. They made Tehran’s secret police look like rodeo clowns, and it was not an uncommon practise for villages containing a few dissidents to simply vanish from the rural backwaters of the Main Land.

In China, the term ‘thought police’ was less a satirical commentary of a surveillance society, and more a way of life.

“Apparently being in their country without a current passport is frowned upon. I tried to explain to them I was just besuch their country but, alas they did not believe me.” He mused, disposing of the bloody cotton balls in the only logical place in the medical labs: the floor. After all a bit, more trash wasn’t going to upset the delicate artistic licence that was being employed in Torchwood 10. He clasped the mangled hand with his own, muttered something in German and then-

Crunch.

There wasn’t a snapping of bones, or even a sensation of searing pain. Merely the feeling of skin and bone moving in ways nature never intended, as the fractured bones of the hand were forced back into a proper alignment. The back of the hand lost the kink, and whilst applying pressure to the break von Klenner went about adding a splint and a tight gauze wrap across the back of the knuckles and around the hand.

“Now, this hand is delicate...zart you understand ja?” he asked, taping the bandage off. The hand was pretty much useless for anything other than vague direction, but then again with von Klenner’s home brewed morphine riding roughshod in his veins, the man called Black could keep hitting the wall until the hand was a bag of dust fine bone, and not feel a thing.

“I spent some time in a black box of a room, spoke to some nice people...some not so nice...but all in a all it was not a total waste of my time.” The man of Eastern Europe smiled “So...you were taken by the Riss? I didn’t know it came this far east of Cardiff. But that does explain why you have a...Riss Hund? Rift Hound? The Frau with the eye’s?”

His smile widened at the thought of Punkin.

“I would bet there is something really interesting happening with her brain chemistry, not ot mention the interactions going on inside her skull...” he mused allowed, turning to the bag to again clean up his tools. The smile widened into a wolfish grin. He has just spotted a small, but very powerful bone saw.

"Ich frage mich, ob sie ließ mich sehen?" he said idly as he dragged his eyes from the once gleaming medical instrument.

TAG-Rubin, and Fred, and anyone else. The Doctor is IN

Othar von Klenner, MD
Ensign Keth Soban, Medic on the USS Legacy

Fellow Crew Injured By Keth: X


Image

"I will eat your soul :3"
User avatar
Jake Sjet
A puppy that goes 'yap' and flips over
A puppy that goes 'yap' and flips over
 
Posts: 6547
Joined: Sat Jul 19, 2003 4:30 pm
Location: Britian

Re: A Foxtrot of Yex

Postby SLAJaime » Mon Jan 31, 2011 12:40 pm

Cmaron Drove her and grace back to the Hub Letting Grace out First before heading if to dump the car in the Tames

Camron being Camron Just out her foot down And drove it into the river with her in it so to try not to leave a trace

She opened the door when in the car was entering the water pushing her self clear o the car and into the water cold ark water of the tames She swam a little to the side geting her self out and walking back to the Hub though the Rainny city of london As though nothing had gone on She was not even goin to tell the others she caught up to Grace only that She seen Grace in the Hub once she got back
If someone with multiple personalities threatens to kill himself, is it considered a hostage situation?

]
SLA's very own insane Blonde
SLAJaime
Lieutenant
Lieutenant
 
Posts: 209
Joined: Thu Feb 12, 2009 5:27 pm

Re: A Foxtrot of Yex

Postby KendleRJ » Wed Feb 02, 2011 11:36 am

Punkin Thomas was pacing. In a rhythm with the katana held firmly in her hand. The energy, like a teasing tickle, led her on further and down into the bowels of the HUB. With feelings of tingling nerve endings that most might consider the onset of a stroke. Or a heart attack. But for her? It was like a regular feeling of teeming wavelengths that danced across her nerve endings like a ballerina in combat boots.

Remembering the item in her pocket, she pulled it out and slipped it over her head. Underground, in the ground... but she used that imagery to centre herself and finally shove that rising energy tension into its proper place.

It felt like it had been some time, and that she might have missed a few things, so she checked the last nexus and made sure it was secure before heading back up to the others. Which felt odd... like someone else was there. And as she peeked her head around the corner, she caught sight of everyone, even He Who Shall Not Be Named. Ok... one of the massively complicated hyphenated names that she was torn between using. Seems the man was damaged, and she derived a sadistic sort of pleasure from that. Sort of like the man who was looking after him. A Doctor? Well... He didn't look like JUST a Doctor...

Stepping out into the room, beaming a smile at those still remaining, and noting those who were not, she let her violet eyes twinkle around at them and asked, with utter innocence and a disarming twist of her lips, "Ok, so what'd I miss?"

~Tag Woodsters

((OOC - No, no one actually has to do their version of Inigo Montoya's speech, but thought it might be a nice way to get Punkin back upstairs and back into the action))

Punkin Thomas
Torchwood 10 Operative
Lookin' all Kill Bill 'n' shite
USS Legacy
Ensign Navkiran Khangura - Engineering
_______________________________________________________________________________________________

Image
The All-Father wove the skein of your life a long time ago. Go and hide in a hole if you wish, but you won't live one instant longer. Your fate is fixed. Fear profits a man nothing. - The 13th Warrior
User avatar
KendleRJ
Admiral
Admiral
 
Posts: 2260
Joined: Wed Jun 25, 2008 6:10 pm
Location: Um... *looking around* Here?

Re: A Foxtrot of Yex

Postby Tavey » Thu Feb 03, 2011 11:59 am

Derowen perched on the edge of a rooftop and thought about her team. They'd been through a lot. She'd liberated a cellphone on her way through the Trocadero. It was a matter of moments before she had it activated and ready to go.

"Macfie here." she snapped into it once the number she dialed had connected. "Status report." Her head tilted to one side as she listened, her feet swinging lazily against the brickwork of the wall below. "I see." The report had been fairly short.

Money they had. Accounts had not been frozen, by order of the Palace. There were rumours that Jack Harkness was leaving Earth. He'd be back. He was addicted to this planet in a way that only someone who was bored could be. UNIT had done an excellent job of keeping the alien incursion down but were starting to struggle against the Rift. The bodies of prostitutes were the most serious situation. The MO was almost identical to the murders of Jack the Ripper. Please could they help.. please..

Derowen made arrangements for the clean-up crew to get into the hub and take care of the debris. She also ordered new chairs for the lounge area. Snapping the phone shut, she tapped it against her chin. Clean up would be in tomorrow. They had a job. But they were also tired.

Movement caught her eye. Someone had just turned into an alley off the main road she had been idly watching. She stood up, wobbling slightly as she did on the ledge. Walking along ledges was usually a Harkness activity. Which reminded her of one more phone call she had to make.

"Gwen? It's Derowen from Ten. How are you?... Baby's alright?... I see.... where?.. When?.. Oh yes. I want to say goodbye to him." Her smile was less than nice. She wanted to say goodbye to Jack alright. With a sharp object in her hand most likely. He needed to remember all too personally that it was his own grandson that he'd killed. And she wanted to make sure he knew he wasn't welcome around her Torchwood Team anymore.

The person who had been walking below was gone. She shrugged and slipped back over the peak of the roof to scramble down to a lower level of the Trocadero. A quick twist of a handle and she was inside the top floor of the complex, making her way towards the hidden hub beneath.
Image

"Oh Bother." Said The Borg. "We've assimilated Pooh."
User avatar
Tavey
Admiral
Admiral
 
Posts: 2891
Joined: Fri Mar 31, 2006 2:31 pm
Location: Middle of some mountains. Canada.

Previous

Return to TW10 Previous Episodes

Who is online

Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 1 guest


cron