Comments | out_of_my_time: it's them aliens- open to <strong class="lj-user"><a href="/read/user/the_5thdoc">the

out_of_my_time

it's them aliens- open to the_5thdoc

Aug 27, 2009 00:06

'Bloody hell.'

The words are Gene's, spoken with a sort of hushed, sickened awe, and behind them, Sam hears Chris retch and stumble away to be sick somewhere. Sam doesn't blame him, and he swallows, closing his eyes for a moment and pressing fingertips to his eyelids, as if that might make the sight before them more manageable. It doesn't. Still ( Read more... )

[comm] none, [with] the_5thdoc

Comments 36

the_5thdoc August 27 2009, 06:37:21 UTC

The Doctor had been following... well, he wasn't quite certain what exactly, but the readings were definitely anomalous. And whatever it was, he tracked it across several centuries and half a galaxy before he touched the TARDIS down in Earth, England, Manchester, 1973. He taps a few buttons on the console, his eyes running across the display to confirm the readings he'd taken prior to landing and... ah... they're much stronger now ( ... )

out_of_my_time August 27 2009, 06:55:01 UTC

The Cortina had roared into gear and torn off down the street a few minutes before the Doctor arrived, and the plod currently frowning at him curses internally. He doesn't know who this nutter is, dressed like a posh idiot who's never stepped foot on a gritty Manchester street before in his life, but he's quite willing to bet that Gene Hunt would deal with him in short order, if he was here ( ... )

the_5thdoc August 27 2009, 07:21:21 UTC

The Doctor turns his bright smile on the newcomer.

"Ah. Hello! My name's the Doctor and I just may be able to help."

"This fine gentleman," at this he gestures (rather awkwardly) at the officer who is still grasping his coat sleeve (because it's hard to make any move when someone is grasping your arm quite that tightly), "was just about to direct me to the person in charge of this investigation. That wouldn't happen to be you, would it...?"

out_of_my_time August 27 2009, 07:38:30 UTC

Sam can't believe what he's seeing. He can't, and it is not- not- what he needs right now. 'Oh, this is not the time,' he mutters furiously, and at Llewellen's sideways look, he clears his throat awkwardly. 'Ah, you can clear off, PC Llewellen; help them with the body.' He nods to the forensics lads, who are gathering up the victim in all his bits and pieces, and though the constable looks none too pleased about it, he does as he's told ( ... )

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