nitro_is_ace: (bzuh?)
[personal profile] nitro_is_ace
It's cold.

It's... moor-esque.

It's freaking raining.

Ace peers out the door of her TARDIS and wonders if she really, really really, has to go out in that muck to investigate a temporal anomaly. Honestly. Who's going to notice one more temporal anomaly, more or less, out there?

Date: 2008-09-23 12:57 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Spoon peers out over her head, then disappears. The next time he's visible through the door he's got a knee-length parka for her, and knee-high warm boots.

Which are still stompy.

They're held out hopefully.

Date: 2008-09-23 01:01 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Ace sighs. There goes her perfectly good logic that it was entirely too wet out there and they should just find a warm beach somewhere to laze about on. Sometimes her husband can be entirely too helpful.
"Right, right. Neither rain nor snow nor big butt-ugly monsters an' so on an' so forth."

Date: 2008-09-23 01:04 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
"I like the big monsters." Spoon points out, "I'm good with big butt-ugly monsters. We can finish this an' then go spend some time at the honeymoon cabin."

Date: 2008-09-23 01:08 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
"That," Ace drawls while pulling on the tall boots, "Is called bribin' a Time Lord, bucko. Do it more often."


Ace believes certain rules ought to be bendy.

"Right, let's do this thing. Sooner done, sooner gettin' reacquainted with the rug by the fireplace." She huffs, storming out onto the moor.

Which greets her in a splooshy sort of way. Hurrah for mud. Bleh.

Date: 2008-09-23 01:10 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
"I like that rug." Spoon allows, making a happy noise.

Then a content one, because his feet are still warm and dry even in the moor-muck. His boots may rank just below Ace on things Spoon loves.

"Which way do we go?"

Date: 2008-09-23 01:20 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
He's making content sounds about sloshing through the mud as the rain pours down. If it wasn't clear before, her mate is well and truly bonkers.

Ace consults her compass-turned-temporal-locator.

"It is..." She turns, slowly, staring at the gauge. "... That way."

Sigh. There is a complete lack of road. Ace is fairly sure the universe hates her.

"About two miles."

Date: 2008-09-23 01:22 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Spoon looks at her, looks at the road, and says, "Pig-a-back?"

What? He's carried dinosaurs.

Pushed them.

Helped a Predator push them.

Mostly made symbolic attempts while a Predator pushed them.

She's still light enough to carry.

Date: 2008-09-23 01:25 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
She mutters something about 'due respect' and 'damn underdeveloped mudpits' as she sloshes off down the dead-plant-covered hill.

One and a half miles of dreary, mud-filled, rainy, unpaved non-path later, she's not any happier a camper, and there's rain dripping down the back of her coat.

And to top it all off, as the rain begins to die down, a thick bank of fog is rolling in.

Date: 2008-09-23 01:27 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
"Are you sure?" Spoon asks about every six hundred yards, trotting along beside her with worry, and sniffing rather than looking through the fog.

Date: 2008-09-23 01:30 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
"Yes, I'm..." The last repetition of the answer she's been giving every six hundred yards dies off in a yelp when she puts her foot down and there is a complete lack of ground to meet it.

Why yes, that's a cliff. And there's waves crashing waaaaaaaaaaaay the heck down there somewhere. Under the fog. Sounds like waves, anyway.

Date: 2008-09-23 01:32 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Spoon grabs her and pulls back, hard, "Cliff bad, luv. Uh. Now what?" He's glancing side to side in hopes that a path down will appear.

Date: 2008-09-23 01:36 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Ace, after getting her breath back, looks mildly annoyed.



"M'not entirely sure. Mostly 'cause my compass is down there." She admits, peering cautiously down into the mists. "Suppose we could scout along the edge an' see if there's some way down."

Date: 2008-09-23 01:37 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Spoon does not facepalm. Really. "Right. Which way, then? Left or right?"

Date: 2008-09-23 01:40 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Ace nobly ignores the facepalming.

"Right. It seems lucky." She decides, heading off in that direction.

For three steps.

She then does an abrupt about-face and goes left instead.

"Then again, The downward slope appears t'be goin' this way."

Date: 2008-09-23 01:43 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] going to wait until she gets more than three steps, and then follow her.

"Don't look at me, luv. I'm just here to support an' take skulls if the monsters present."

Date: 2008-09-23 01:47 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Ace huffs, and keeps on going, ignoring his lack of faith. Honestly. It's not like she's never done this before.

The fog gets thicker, and the ground rockier, and the slope steeper, and the air colder, and everything gets darker. Rocks kicked loose as they travel bounce and fall for quite some time before falling silent.

Frankly, the narration isn't sure how Ace plans on finding this temporal anomaly if she can't even see anything.

Date: 2008-09-23 01:50 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Spoon can see in the dark. Eventually he puts a hand on her shoulder and takes the front so that he can guide her down carefully.

"So what am I looking for?"

Date: 2008-09-23 02:00 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
"Sommat that shouldn't be there." Ace replies, logically.

Well, it makes sense to her. The fog continues to roll in, dampening sound and closing in like an impenetrable cloak. Frankly, it's beginning to make her a wee bit claustrophobic.

"Or maybe that light over there." She adds on, a few minutes later, pointing (vainly) at a vague point of light over to their left.

Date: 2008-09-23 02:01 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
"Could be a house." Spoon says, peering closely, "Sure you don't want a ride?"

Date: 2008-09-23 02:12 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
She's about to refuse again, when she pauses to reconsider. She thinks about the possible number of times she could break an ankle (or worse) in this pea-soup of a fog, about how many times she can crack her head open, and frankly how embarrassing it will be to hear 'I told you so' repeated that many times.

"Yeah, sure."

Date: 2008-09-23 02:17 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Spoon grins and dips down so that she can get on his back. He likes carrying her, and his steps are as certain as if they're on the dance floor.

Date: 2008-09-23 02:37 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Which is just as well, since the ground doesn't get any more level or any less rocky. Ace feels a tad bit absurd, being the big bad Time Lord whilst carried around like a kid, but it's still better than numerous breaks and cuts.

The house, because it is a house, is a decidedly Victorian affair, complete with quaint wooden molding and turrets and towers.

It is also completely alone, despite being brightly lit. From somewhere on the other side of the house comes the faint hum of a generator, explaining the multitude of bright, steady lights which beam out into the encroaching darkness.

Date: 2008-09-23 02:44 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
"Right. Knock on the door?" Spoon asks after setting her down and stealing a quick kiss.

Date: 2008-09-23 02:51 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
"Tends t'get a better result than goin' in all guns blazin'." Ace agrees, and lifts the heavy door-knocker to give the door a series of smart raps.

"Well. This is the part where I imagined sommat happenin'." Ace admits, as the door remains firmly closed.

Date: 2008-09-23 02:53 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
"Me too." Spoon says, "Want me to knock it down?" He's good at that! Brute violence is totally his gig.

Date: 2008-09-23 02:58 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
"Knockin' down doors is bad form. At least when you're not hopin' t'openly antagonize the folks on the other side." Ace points out, and knocks again, this time with a little more... oomph.

She nearly gets jerked inside when the door is flung open between her third and what was to be her fourth knock. A stoop-shouldered man stands in the doorway, his greying hair neatly trimmed, matching a neatly trimmed mustache. He looks like he would have been a bruiser, once upon a time, with his large frame and somewhat distorted nose.
"Who is it, Marchley?" A feminine voice calls from further in the house.
"Strangers." The aging muscle man replies in tones surprisingly hailing more from Oxford than from the London streets. "Who will be identifying themselves presently, I'm sure."

Date: 2008-09-23 03:01 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Spoon wisely doesn't introduce them as "Ace and Spoon". Instead he concentrates on looking like a miserable wet dog.

Date: 2008-09-23 03:12 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
What Spoon fails to do, Ace does with alacrity.
"I'm Ace and this is Spoon an' it's a perfectly rotten night, isn't it? Have you a coat rack, oh never mind, I found it, smashing coat rack, just the sort of thing a coat rack should be, here Spoon put y'coat here next t'mine, there y'go, an' I don't suppose y'have such a thing as slippers? Oh, never mind, I can just go in stockin' feet, that's fine, here, close the door, y'lettin' in a draft. Perfectly foul weather, just as glad t'be out of it. An' I'm sorry, I've clean forgotten, but what did y'say your name was?" She finally winds up, coatless, bootless, standing firmly behind a neatly outmaneuvered Marchley, looking perfectly innocent and utterly at home.

She learned babbling from the master. Not the Master. That would've been weird.

Date: 2008-09-23 03:14 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Spoon pretty much just looks besotted. Listen to her go.

He does get his two cents in by shaking poor Marchley's hand several times while Ace is babbling.

Date: 2008-09-23 03:23 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
"I didn't, madam." Marchley manages to get in stiffly, and just barely at that, before Ace is off again, grabbing Spoon's hand and swanning off down the hallway.
"Oh, don't worry, I'll find the way, sittin' room's just through... oh, no, that's the mudroom, hang on a bit, I've got it, here we go, hullo all!" She bursts into the sitting room with a sunny smile and an attitude of belonging as a trio of occupants stare up with mixed attitudes of shock, disbelief, and annoyance.
One is an older matron, her grey hair done up in a tight bun, her outfit decidedly school-marm-esque, complete with a small silhouette broach at the throat of her frilly button-down cardigan, her skirts a very practical grey.
Second is a younger woman, but not by much, her bronze hair bleated behind her neatly, her clothes very neat and professional, a hefty tome in her lap.
Third is a middle-aged man with a middle-aged spread at his waist, clean-shaven and severe to make up for his florid complexion, a limp tie at his neck.

They're charmed, Ace is sure.

Date: 2008-09-23 03:25 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Spoon is vaguely glad that he decided against the plaid shirt. He smiles helpfully at them and says, "It's wet."

Date: 2008-09-23 03:29 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
... It's wet. Later tonight, Ace is going to give him a crash course in helpful comments. Somehow, 'it's wet' never made that list. She steadfastly refuses to facepalm.
"You might tell us, sir and madam," Marchley puts in from behind them, as he catches up, "How you come to be bothering us here."

Ace opens her mouth to lie blatantly explain, when she's cut off.

"On this otherwise deserted island." Marchley finishes, looking severe.



Ace wonders, flittingly, why it's always something like a deserted island. S'not fair.

Date: 2008-09-23 03:38 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Spoon looks each of them firmly in the eye and says, "It was the cows."

Because it is always the cows.


Date: 2008-09-23 03:46 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
It takes pretty much every bit of training Ace has not to sigh resignedly at that and truly facepalm. Someday she has to get him over this cow thing.

And really, it's a good thing she didn't look away in exasperation.

She would have missed the barely-there shifty looks that pass around the room.

The game's afoot, it seems, as a certain other English-born adventurer would say.

"Forgive him, he's a bit addled with all the hikin' we did. See, we hired this boat..." Ace starts, and rambles on about vacationing, and boating, and drunkard captains, and getting abandoned, and thinking they were on the mainland, and hiking around all day long, and getting lost, and so on and so forth and right now she'd kill for a glass of water.
"... So if you wouldn't mind puttin' us up for the night, I'm sure we can find where we were let off in the mornin', and that they'll send a boat back for us once they realize we were left behind."

Date: 2008-09-23 03:47 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Oh, Spoon saw those looks! He did! Smelled them, too. His pale eyes watch the sitters and he gives them a look that says, Cows.

Date: 2008-09-23 03:55 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
There's another round of exchanged looks at Ace's somewhat demanded request, though these are more open, at least. Marchley looks dead set against it, but it's the older woman that speaks up.
"Of course, what a terrible time you two have had." She says in a tone of voice that indicates that she doesn't believe a word of it, but it is only polite to not say so.
"Dora, please see our two guests to the empty bedroom in the west wing. We have already had our supper, so I am sure you won't mind if we only send up a tray? Of course not." It seems Ace isn't the only one who can both ask and answer a question in the same breath. "Feel free to use any of the clothing you find in there while your own dries, of course."

And with that, they are dismissed. The bronze-haired Dora rises and, taking a gas lantern, lights it and sets off towards the stairwell.
"You will have to make do with gas in this section, the generator wasn't wired to this part of the house." She explains as she mounts the stairs.

Date: 2008-09-23 04:00 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Spoon makes all the appropriate thanks as they head up, sniffing as carefully as he can. He's going to find out what's up, ta.

Date: 2008-09-23 04:06 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
The house smells like an old victorian-esque mansion should. Rather mouldy, a bit of wood rot, a bit dusty, the smell of gas smoke and oil smoke and fire smoke from decades of use in the background.

There's also a bit of formaldehyde and long-dead critters, somewhere in the background. The theme is Victorian, after all.

They're shown into a large bedroom complete with a four-poster bed and more ruffles than should be allowed. It's all rather musty, but it's dry, and there's a hopeful-looking door opposite that just might lead to their own bathroom.

Date: 2008-09-23 04:07 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
"Thank you very much for your hospitality, ma'am." Spoon says seriously, eyes wide and innocent.

He's really very good at innocent-looking with the scars covered.

Date: 2008-09-23 04:14 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Dora, who doesn't seem nearly as brash as her older lady companion, nods, and is about to disappear back down the stairs when Ace stops her.

"Hang about. Dora? Surely not Dora McChesterson."

The surprise on Dora's face tells Ace she just scored a perfect bulls-eye.

"Oh, don't mind me, I saw you were readin' up on physics, an' I thought I saw some of your works on the shelf, though they didn't seem opened, more like they were on display. S'an honor, truly."

Clearly, Dora doesn't know what to do in the face of this praise, and quickly thanks Ace in a confused sort of fashion and makes her escape.

"Hrm. Curiouser an' curiouser." Ace mutters as the door snicks shut.

Date: 2008-09-23 04:16 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
"So. Uh. Who's Dora McChesterson?" Spoon asks slowly.

Date: 2008-09-23 04:20 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
"Very advanced physicist. Very advanced, to the point she was nearly ignored by her peers because she talked so far above their heads. Her work will be looked on as a turnin' point in the field." Ace explains, frowning at the door. "Disappeared in the 1980's, never to be heard of again."

Date: 2008-09-23 04:21 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
"So, uh. What year is it?" Spoon asks slowly, "B'cause that would make sense, wouldn't it? Cows came and got her and tore time?"

Date: 2008-09-23 04:24 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Ace doesn't answer.

In words, anyway.

She does bean him over the head with a pillow from the bed.

"An' t'answer the reasonable part of that question, it's 1985. September."

Date: 2008-09-23 04:24 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Spoon looks wounded, "Oi! You'll see. I'll keep watch."

Date: 2008-09-23 04:30 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Ace sighs, and begins stripping of her wet things.
"An' if you're right, I'll even let y'say 'I told you so', really." She pads off towards the bathroom, dripping water all the way. "C'mon, I want t'get warmed up an' dried off an' see if that bed is as comfy as it looks."

Date: 2008-09-23 04:31 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
"Good." Spoon says, stripping and following her, "I bet it's not. Nothing in these houses ever are."

Date: 2008-09-23 04:41 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Spoon is right - the bed isn't terribly comfortable. They make the best of it anyway, conserving warmth in the unheated room as the temperature drops outside. Ace even nods off, warm in his arms.

They're woken a couple hours later by the sound of blood-curdling, horrified screams.


nitro_is_ace: (Default)

July 2012


Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Sep. 20th, 2017 10:03 pm
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios