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Apr. 12th, 2009 01:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ladyoftimeThe Buy More is quiet, lazy and unoccupied. The few sounds issuing from its walls are that of electronics devices, and the hushed tones of the employees gathered in the break room for a little game of crisper roulette.
Boots; leather, well-worn, and black. No heel to speak of, the owner being fond of practicality and the continued use of her ankles. The sound they make is slight and negligible; the woman wearing them is likewise silent.
“There you are,” she murmurs to the room, and caresses the large crate in front of her with a gentle touch.
The click of a handgun cocking quite near to her ear fills her world. To her credit, she barely flinches. “Casey,” she says, voice layered with equal parts wariness and exasperation, “do you mind?”
The lights flick on, revealing the woman herself (dark-haired, leather jacket, currently occupying the role of ‘assumed cat burglar’); her assailant (dark-haired, green shirt, occupying the role of ‘grossly mistaken NSA agent’); another agent (blonde, light blue jacket, ‘bombshell with a mysterious past’); and a rather tall man unsuccessfully attempting to hide behind a stack of boxes (dark-haired, white dress shirt, ‘goofy and unlikely hero’).
“Sarah,” the man behind the boxes says.
“What is it, Chuck?” replies the blonde, a gun in hand, attention not wavering from the burglar.
“This is going to sound really crazy, but I think she’s… with Mi6, or UNIT, or something.”
“You flash, Bartowski?” Casey asks. In the time it takes his mouth to quit forming the ‘shhh’, the woman has neatly pulled his gun from his grip, flipped the safety on, and tucked it under her arm.
“I’m the Doctor.” She pumps his hand with the familiarity of an old friend, friendly smile firmly in the place. “I have to be taking this very... very important top-secret government device of yours. You see, she’s mine, and she was stolen from me.
“Sarah,” she adds, casting an appreciative glance the blonde’s way. “Gorgeous, as always.”
Sarah flushes, and isn’t sure why. But her gun stays steady. “Do we know you?”
“Not yet,” the Doctor admits, “but you will. Or did, actually. I think it was erased. Governments, you know. What won’t they think of next? Chuck?”
Chuck Bartowski slowly inches his way into a standing position, hands raised in such a way as to indicate his general helplessness. “Yeah?”
She crooks a finger towards him. “In addition to your current,” she wrinkles her nose, “Nerd Herd position, I think your Intersect abilities- yes, I do know about them, and I’m really sorry I can’t help you with that for another year or two- will be a perfect match to help me out.” She pries the crate open with a crowbar produced from somewhere in her jacket, and lets out a little sigh at what she finds inside.
“Hello, old girl.”
The top-secret government device is very old and worn, emanating a general air of sickliness, blue paint faded and peeling. The Doctor appears momentarily pale and weak in its presence, but the moment passes quickly.
“Maybe this is a stupid question,” Chuck says, his voice sounding strangely small in the large building, “but why is there a Police Call Box in the Buy More?”
“Because,” the Doctor answers, loud and firm, “I want you to help me fix her.”
Community:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
theatrical_muse
Prompt: 277 – Customer Service
Word Count: 556
HAPPY EASTER, MAH PEEPS :D!
Boots; leather, well-worn, and black. No heel to speak of, the owner being fond of practicality and the continued use of her ankles. The sound they make is slight and negligible; the woman wearing them is likewise silent.
“There you are,” she murmurs to the room, and caresses the large crate in front of her with a gentle touch.
The click of a handgun cocking quite near to her ear fills her world. To her credit, she barely flinches. “Casey,” she says, voice layered with equal parts wariness and exasperation, “do you mind?”
The lights flick on, revealing the woman herself (dark-haired, leather jacket, currently occupying the role of ‘assumed cat burglar’); her assailant (dark-haired, green shirt, occupying the role of ‘grossly mistaken NSA agent’); another agent (blonde, light blue jacket, ‘bombshell with a mysterious past’); and a rather tall man unsuccessfully attempting to hide behind a stack of boxes (dark-haired, white dress shirt, ‘goofy and unlikely hero’).
“Sarah,” the man behind the boxes says.
“What is it, Chuck?” replies the blonde, a gun in hand, attention not wavering from the burglar.
“This is going to sound really crazy, but I think she’s… with Mi6, or UNIT, or something.”
“You flash, Bartowski?” Casey asks. In the time it takes his mouth to quit forming the ‘shhh’, the woman has neatly pulled his gun from his grip, flipped the safety on, and tucked it under her arm.
“I’m the Doctor.” She pumps his hand with the familiarity of an old friend, friendly smile firmly in the place. “I have to be taking this very... very important top-secret government device of yours. You see, she’s mine, and she was stolen from me.
“Sarah,” she adds, casting an appreciative glance the blonde’s way. “Gorgeous, as always.”
Sarah flushes, and isn’t sure why. But her gun stays steady. “Do we know you?”
“Not yet,” the Doctor admits, “but you will. Or did, actually. I think it was erased. Governments, you know. What won’t they think of next? Chuck?”
Chuck Bartowski slowly inches his way into a standing position, hands raised in such a way as to indicate his general helplessness. “Yeah?”
She crooks a finger towards him. “In addition to your current,” she wrinkles her nose, “Nerd Herd position, I think your Intersect abilities- yes, I do know about them, and I’m really sorry I can’t help you with that for another year or two- will be a perfect match to help me out.” She pries the crate open with a crowbar produced from somewhere in her jacket, and lets out a little sigh at what she finds inside.
“Hello, old girl.”
The top-secret government device is very old and worn, emanating a general air of sickliness, blue paint faded and peeling. The Doctor appears momentarily pale and weak in its presence, but the moment passes quickly.
“Maybe this is a stupid question,” Chuck says, his voice sounding strangely small in the large building, “but why is there a Police Call Box in the Buy More?”
“Because,” the Doctor answers, loud and firm, “I want you to help me fix her.”
Community:
theatrical_musePrompt: 277 – Customer Service
Word Count: 556
HAPPY EASTER, MAH PEEPS :D!
