Taylor straggles in. He's drenched. Utterly and totally drenched. As in, he just go out of a shower with clothes on. His hair is plastered to his forehead and he looks miserable, cold, and shivering. Is there any hot chocolate?
He blinks at the Sheriff. "Fucking cold outside." He mutters before looking for something dry to wrap around him.
Oh, look. Doctor Bowman found his way over. That's nice. He has brought over a satchel of cans and a few books. Yes. Those are ESSENTIAL. Especially "The Time Machine".
Martha has a field kit! Which is slightly more helpful but a lot less entertaining. She waves at the good Doctor as she heads inside, jacket held up over her hair even though she's already pretty good and soaked. The rain doesn't seem to bother her a whole lot, aside from that. She's kind of used to it.
He waves right back, ten times as happy as he should be for this weather. Perhaps later he will introduce her to Dr Sara. They are, after all, going to be here for a little while.
Given that he spent two hours previous glaring at Davros in the rain, one could say he either didn't notice it or didn't care.
The two little girls are ushered into the hall by a slightly less little one, who pulls a bright blue wagon with a couple of raincoats patched over it to shield its cargo. The little girls have umbrellas - tattered ones, now - and rain slickers. Bridgette's doesn't exactly fit. Phoebe's does.
Parker's really regretting not taking the truck, now. She drops the handle of the wagon and ignores the shallow tear on her neck where a bit of hail struck at just the wrong angle and crouches next to her kids.
Phoebe launches herself at her and squeezes her in a hug, not sniffling because she's a brave girl and she doesn't sniffle (and you be quiet when bad things happen so those bad things don't happen to YOU).
"Now, hush, hush, 'sall right now," Parker murmurs, looking at Bridge as she pushes Phoebe's hood down and begins stroking her hair. There's enough room for Bridge to hug her too, if she needs it.
Bridge looks around, obviously holding a heavy invisible something in one arm which she gratefully lets down. She reaches down and holds onto Marie's hand thin air as she looks around. So many people. She hasn't seen this many people since (the bad men came with guns)....
She folds up her umbrella - or tries to. It's at the state where it won't fold. "I like thunder storms," she says, and if the slight quaver in her voice denies her words, well, that's easy to ignore. "They're like fireworks, except only of one colour. And we got to stay inside and play games. Remember, Mar--" Marie is tugging her closer to Parker. Bridgette looks up at the older girl solemnly.
Phoebe's shaken enough to not say something biting (or as biting as a four year old can manage, at least) and Parker's not even grateful. She can't make a storm stop; she's praying, sure, but storms run their course as God intends and there isn't much His children can do about it.
"Better bring her over here, then," Parker says, opening her arm wide to accept the little invisible girl.
Bridgette needs to nudge Marie a little, but she watches her friend - her best friend, she told the sheriff, and she reflects that it doesn't matter what age Parker is - hug her sister. The hug Marie gives is very long.
She nods once, then quickly turns her attention to her backpack and taking stuff out of it.
A gangly figure in a hoodie shows up, shuffling into the building and seeming to do his very best to not be noticed or in the way. He doesn't come across so much as shady as he does, well, withdrawn and shy. His hands are shoved into his coat's pockets and he hurries over to the nearest, most handy corner of the building.
Of course, being the clutzy fellow he is, his attempts to be inconspicuous are in vain when he trips over a folding chair's leg. But he stumbles, catches himself, then looks around and offers a quiet, "Sorry..." that isn't loud enough to be heard by anyone who could have been disturbed by the clanging he just caused. Then he grabs that chair, along with a second one, and drags them with him to an out-of-the-way spot, soon plopping down into it with a soft sigh.
The second chair is for St. John, if/when he decides to show up. But Ramon's not going to protest very much if someone else tries to occupy it before the other boy arrives.
Oh, St. John shows up, sir. In a way that Ramon should no doubt be familiar with by now, even after all that time away (we don't talk about that >__>) - all hunched shoulders and scrunchy little angry face, hands jammed in his pockets. There's a light scratch down one side of his face, and when his hands emerge from their denim blockade, the same faint marks cover them in a latticework of angry red.
That tree branch was sentient, dammit. And clearly malicious.
When he spots Ramon he doesn't exactly beeline, but he does make his way over there, rather than...you know, deliberately hiding in a leadlined bunker underground. It's a step in a slightly less incredibly mean direction? :D He sits down and everything, although of course he says nothing other than the requisite grunt of boydom.
"H-Hey, St. John." Under that hood, there's a tiny, grateful smile. Yay! Friendship! Companionship! Such as it is! Ramon wishes there was a way to hug Sinjin that wasn't totally gay, or would get him knocked out and/or set on fire.
Starting conversation with his reluctant companion is always risky business, and he's not sure sure he feels much like talking either. But just sitting here and respectively trying to be small and unnoticeable or brooding isn't much fun. And makes for a piss poor distraction from the horrifying display of nature's wrath outside.
"Probably lose the stained glass windows," he mumbles, divesting himself of one sopping hooded sweatshirt via draping it over the back of someone else's chair. It's close enough for him to keep an eye on it, but enough that it is not touching him, because wet. MOISTURE IS UNACCEPTABLE...apparently enough for capslock of uncomfortable disgust.
Meanwhile, perhaps Ramon is surprised at the relative courtesy of St. John's response - it probably won't last long, but...well, he's not as good at being alone as he used to be, you see. And he can't shake the feeling that Nica would have wanted him to keep Ramon around. This is a conclusion remarkably similar to 'water is wet.' Or more accurately in St. John's estimation, 'water totally sucks.'
Being polite and concerned nearly always wins out over trying to be inconspicuous. Someone looking distressed and talking to themselves, well, that's a reason enough to ask about their wellbeing, right? Ramon certainly thinks so.
He slides his hood off as he carefully sneaks his way over to the mumbling fellow. "...'Scuse me. S-Sir? You, um, you okay?"
Walter looks up at Ramon with wide, startled eyes. "Okay?" he asks, as if he'd never heard the word before. He draws in a breath and asks, in a hushed and worried tone, "What's your name?"
(( Gah, only two days later. >_>; Sorry 'bout that! I've had a rather obnoxious workweek here and couldn't get back to it till now. ))
Whoa, yeah, this guy's not okay, obviously, but he doesn't feel it's right to just mumble 'nevermind' and slink away again. Even though that's kinda what he wants to do now.
"R-Ramon? I'm, uh, Ramon..." Weird thing to ask right out the gate when you look like you're about to have a heart attack, but it's not like this kid's going to question it.
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He blinks at the Sheriff. "Fucking cold outside." He mutters before looking for something dry to wrap around him.
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Given that he spent two hours previous glaring at Davros in the rain, one could say he either didn't notice it or didn't care.
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Parker's really regretting not taking the truck, now. She drops the handle of the wagon and ignores the shallow tear on her neck where a bit of hail struck at just the wrong angle and crouches next to her kids.
Phoebe launches herself at her and squeezes her in a hug, not sniffling because she's a brave girl and she doesn't sniffle (and you be quiet when bad things happen so those bad things don't happen to YOU).
"Now, hush, hush, 'sall right now," Parker murmurs, looking at Bridge as she pushes Phoebe's hood down and begins stroking her hair. There's enough room for Bridge to hug her too, if she needs it.
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She folds up her umbrella - or tries to. It's at the state where it won't fold. "I like thunder storms," she says, and if the slight quaver in her voice denies her words, well, that's easy to ignore. "They're like fireworks, except only of one colour. And we got to stay inside and play games. Remember, Mar--" Marie is tugging her closer to Parker. Bridgette looks up at the older girl solemnly.
"I think Marie needs a hug," she announces.
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"Better bring her over here, then," Parker says, opening her arm wide to accept the little invisible girl.
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She nods once, then quickly turns her attention to her backpack and taking stuff out of it.
"Need some help?" the subdued girl offers Phoebe.
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Of course, being the clutzy fellow he is, his attempts to be inconspicuous are in vain when he trips over a folding chair's leg. But he stumbles, catches himself, then looks around and offers a quiet, "Sorry..." that isn't loud enough to be heard by anyone who could have been disturbed by the clanging he just caused. Then he grabs that chair, along with a second one, and drags them with him to an out-of-the-way spot, soon plopping down into it with a soft sigh.
The second chair is for St. John, if/when he decides to show up. But Ramon's not going to protest very much if someone else tries to occupy it before the other boy arrives.
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That tree branch was sentient, dammit. And clearly malicious.
When he spots Ramon he doesn't exactly beeline, but he does make his way over there, rather than...you know, deliberately hiding in a leadlined bunker underground. It's a step in a slightly less incredibly mean direction? :D He sits down and everything, although of course he says nothing other than the requisite grunt of boydom.
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Starting conversation with his reluctant companion is always risky business, and he's not sure sure he feels much like talking either. But just sitting here and respectively trying to be small and unnoticeable or brooding isn't much fun. And makes for a piss poor distraction from the horrifying display of nature's wrath outside.
"...S-Some storm, huh?" Oh gawd, small talk. Why.
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Meanwhile, perhaps Ramon is surprised at the relative courtesy of St. John's response - it probably won't last long, but...well, he's not as good at being alone as he used to be, you see. And he can't shake the feeling that Nica would have wanted him to keep Ramon around. This is a conclusion remarkably similar to 'water is wet.' Or more accurately in St. John's estimation, 'water totally sucks.'
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He slides his hood off as he carefully sneaks his way over to the mumbling fellow. "...'Scuse me. S-Sir? You, um, you okay?"
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(( Gah, only two days later. >_>; Sorry 'bout that! I've had a rather obnoxious workweek here and couldn't get back to it till now. ))
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"R-Ramon? I'm, uh, Ramon..." Weird thing to ask right out the gate when you look like you're about to have a heart attack, but it's not like this kid's going to question it.
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