Just Killin' Time [OPEN]

[nyx]

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Urgh. Cardiff. That was a problem with travelling via rift, because no matter how much John loved it and craved it and probably couldn’t live without it, it always ended up here in the end. In Cardiff, which mean Torchwood, unless he was lucky enough to land in a time when there was no Torchwood. Well, except that wasn’t that lucky, because then it was a Cardiff where soldiers ruled and creatures like him were rounded off and tranquilised, and then woke up in a holding pen waiting to be experimented on. That had been an odd day. It was lucky he’d had detonators on him, really, otherwise he’d have had to break out in a manner which had required effort. That hadn’t been that long ago, really. He needed to change...he was still wearing the shirt that had been stained from that guys knifed open artery. But hey, he was back to blondie hair again, so red and blonde did look rather interesting.

But this time was, apparently, not like then. But it was a time with Torchwood. But considering the fact that he’d just used the last of said detonators to blow up that researching facility (which would, probably, be a good thing when Torchwood got to that time) he didn’t think Jack would mind if he went snooping into his weapon store. As long as he didn’t play with any of his pets, and hey, he wouldn’t do that. He’d met more interesting ones already. Besides, it wasn’t as if he could go anywhere. Rift travel was fun, but it meant that his rift manipulator had to sleep for a while afterwards, recharging. Short jumps were ok. Jumps off a planet? No chance. He doubted the piece of tech would even reach the moon in the state it was in now. And it was all quiet, and dark, and boring outside. Of course, there would be clubs, but all of them were closed now as well. Damn Earth. It was only...what...well, it was early, but who cared. He didn’t. But still...

He didn’t have to use the rift for a short distance teleport, which was a shame, because the rush of the rift was amazing, but also a good thing because it meant that Jacky wouldn’t be able to track him. He materialised in a rather gloomy corner of underground (there had been for a name for it, he was sure Jack had mentioned the name of his sewer-chic base, but he’d been distracted by the fact that he lived in the water tower to pay attention), after using his wrist strap to lock onto the signal being given off by a few of the more interesting things the ‘secret’ (he snorted. Secret did not mean driving around in a car with the secret organisation’s name on it) team had to offer. He had to kill time until something interesting happened in some way.

He was humming to himself now, as he rummaged through the boxes, in what he soon realised was something like an armoury, and something like an attic, but quite a bit more organised than both. He didn’t know it, but it was the more ‘dangerous’ room of the Torchwood archives. He just thought it was a treasure trove, which, for some reason, seemed to contain an awful lot of alien beauty implements, but hey. Maybe Jack had developed a new fetish. Which...could be rather interesting, he had to say. Hmm...

The boxes (oh, wait, they were metal...files? Whatever) were dusty, very dusty, but they all had rather neat labels that he could read once he brushed the dust off. Of course, they were wrong, but hey, it was quite amusing. In fact, he was having so much fun following the labels direction and pretending a hand dryer was in fact a multi-organism blaster (31st century, pretty shabby, and he could see why it had been labelled as a hair dryer. It probably wouldn’t sell for anything on any black market), that he failed to notice the sound of footsteps approaching until they were close to the door.

And by that time, he only shrugged. What the hell, why shouldn’t he enjoy company. He always had before. Hopefully it was one of the more interesting little pets.

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TAG; anyone!
WORDCOUNT; seven.two.four
OUTFIT;break in
CREDITS; coding, mine,
LYRICS; KT Turnsdale 'Glamour Puss'
NOTES; ---

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[mdowenharper]

It was a long night. He was home bored to death. That was no exaggeration either. He was after all a walking dead man. He was scared that night. He knew he could walk through the streets of Cardiff at night. He had no fear because the Weevils feared him. He was scared because he was.

Owen strolled slowly in Torchwood about early morning. So, here he was in Torchwood going over to his work station. He pulled out his swirly chair. He clicked a key on his keyboard to check the cells to see how the inmates are doing. Everything seemed fine. The red flashing light was still rotating shooting the red rays across the HUB. He glared at the alarm. Something was inside Torchwood. It was not in the corridors of the alien captives.

Touching a few keys, Owen observed that there was a blonde man in the armory. Gritting his teeth, Owen knew who it was. “Bloody hell,” Owen quickly stood up. He grabbed his hand gun, checked to see it was loaded.

John Hart was the double cross time agent who had cause trouble to Torchwood. Owen could feel the sting sensation in his hip where John shot him. It was the memory that stayed in his head. The pain would be nice to feel again. The pain was to show he could feel. But he had no sense of tactical sense.

He had hoped the others will be close by, he grabbed ear piece, and looked at it. He wasn’t sure John deactivated it. He slipped it in his right ear. “Team, we got intruder and its name Captain John Hart in the armory.” He had waited for a reply. He opened his mobile phone and sent text message to everyone.

<Captain John Hart in Armory>.

He could not wait for the team. He did not want to deal the man alone. He had one option. Shoot the bastard. That was the fear in Owen feared. Someone like Captain John Hart would harm him and he had no chance healing. He knew John Hart liked to inflict pain. He had no choice. He had to go stop Captain Hart.

He quickly ran down the corridors to where John Hart was. He had to activate the security pass to open the door and that was no way to surprise the time agent. Cursing under his breath, Owen had no choice. He pressed the buttons of the pad to unlock the door. He leaned against the wall, holding the gun read to shoot the man when he stepped out. It was a decision he had made. He cared not Jack does not like it. Owen wanted to put the braggart down. Not to kill. But disarm him and lock him up.

[nyx]

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John turned as the door slid open, quirking an eyebrow, ready to smile innocently and charmingly at whoever was there...and was faintly disappointed when he realised that in fact, there was no one there at all. Well, at least no one that he could see, but these little pets weren't stupid, were they? Na, course they weren't, besides being human anyway, and they couldn't really help being human. You couldn't help your genetics. No, what John really, really wished he could help, was that he didn't have to make a joke about the whole thing.

"W-who's there?" he said, making his voice sound all quivery...and then just laughed. Oh, no, that wouldn't work at all, wouldn't it? He couldn't do weak and afraid, not voice wise. So he just hummed, skipping forward, the hairdryer poised and ready to take aim. Of course, it was a hairdryer, but these idiots didn't know that. And he believed he had suddenly contradicted himself, but oh well. "Ooh, hide and seek game? I like that!"

He'd given away the element of suprise, but if someone had come down and opened the door because he'd been in there in the first place, he'd never exactly had it had he? So there was no point in pretending he had done, and no point being irritated by it. So after a moment...he just shrugged and walked out the door, still spinning the hairdyer in his hand.

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TAG; owen; anyone!
OUTFIT;break in
CREDITS; coding, mine,
LYRICS; KT Turnsdale 'Glamour Puss'
NOTES; ---

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[mdowenharper]

Owen shook his head. The time agent was a lunatic. The intruder had tried to sound sad and he laughed. Owen could hear Jack’s ex skip. That man was dangerous. That’s why Owen not going to regret shooting the man.

BLAM!

Owen pulled the trigger on his gun when he saw the blowdryer in the intruder’s hand. He was aiming for the hand. Owen was defending Torchwood. He could do treatment on John after he takes the con man out. Or tell Jack the news he killed John.

BLAM!

He shot a second shot because he knew the first bullet most likely miss its target. The second shot usually hits the first one misses. He told Jack that in the shooting range.

(ooc up to you what happens. He does get shot or not

[nyx]

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John was expecting an angry face, or a raised eyebrow, or perhaps several guns in his face. Actually, guns in his face was what he was expecting most, really, seeing as Torchwood was so trigger happy. Not that that was a bad thing, because hey, John was trigger happy. Only, that didn't happen. No, instead the sound of a gun retort filled the narrow corridor just as he stepped out, with the hairdryer.

Damn the hairdryer. Perhaps he should have used a gun instead. The first bullet missed, the faint whisper of displaced air alerting him a millisecond before, enabling him to jerk his wrist in a reflex-like reaction. That movement meant he managed to miss the first one, but even he knew that the second bullet would hit where the first happened. The movement enabled him to avoid getting hit as worse as he probably would have done.

Searing pain spread through his wrist, and a hoarse scream like sound issued from his throat. Hey, he wasn't going to hide it. He was going to make a stinking fuss, because he'd been shot. Shot in the soddin' wrist! How lame! The hairdryer fell from his limp hand, clattering against the floor and he instantly curled in on his burning arm, swearing in Althracian loudly.

His head turned, wide eyed, the suprise he felt actually showing, suprise that someone in this group had a pair of wrinkilies. And then he was even more suprised. The good little pretty but useless Doctor, who he may sort of owe his life? Well, owe it if he was the life owing, debt paying kind? The dirty rotter. John couldn't help but like it.

"You shot me!" he accused, crying out loudly, angrily, and thankfully in English. "You bloody shot me! Why the hell did you go and do that?" And, damn him, it was his bad wrist as well. Ohhh, that was very annoying.

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TAG; owen; anyone!
OUTFIT;break in
CREDITS; coding, mine,
LYRICS; KT Turnsdale 'Glamour Puss'
NOTES; ---

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[mdowenharper]

Owen leveled his gun at Captain John Hart’s head. “It was be shot or be shot,” said Owen to the rogue. Owen observed John was bleeding from his shot. The dead man doctor did not trust John. Owen took a step back because he did not want to get close to Captain Hart. He wanted to keep him at a good distant from the other man. Owen knew Hart was capable to pack himself with weapons like guns, swords and knives. “Carefully and I do mean carefully and slowly drop ‘any’ weapons you have. John any sudden movements I WILL shoot.” He cocked his gun.

Owen had the usual bandages on his left hand. He had the pale look of a walking dead man. He seemed to be very calm. No heavy breathing, mind you he can’t breathe. He had his black leather jacket on. Owen looked like same since John saw Owen since Owen injected the mixed DNA blood in his chest.

Owen would not bluff not shooting Hart. Owen cared not what Jack thought. It was Jack who had brought Owen back to the living world in a dead body. The risen mitten! Thank god that thing was destroyed. The image of the glove still haunts Owen when he closed his eyes to meditate.

Owen kept his ground. He saw the hairdryer on the floor. “John,” he warned John taking a step forward. Silly, John could kiss Owen on the lips and that poison won’t affect Owen. “Move on,” Owen re-held his gun at John’s head.

[nyx]

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Oh, how wonderful. Doctor Boy was actually showing he had some wrinklies. Although, John had to admit he had been fairly impressed with how the other man had bounced back from being shot in the side the last time they'd...uh, met. Of course, John hadn't shot to kill (if he had, this guy would be dead and gone, and John just wouldn't be having this problem right now), but still, it must have hurt. He didn't know how to shoot so that it didn't hurt. Come to that, he didn't think anyone did. Shooting was a way of hurting someone. Well, if you shot someone with a gun. Which reminded him...

"You do know that's a hairdryer, right? I mean...shooting you with that? Most it would have done would be to give you a perm. But no, you had to jump right on in there. I'm pretty impressed. That shows quick thinking, that does," he remarked in a chatty tone, clasping his other hand around his mangled, shot wrist, clutching it to him. Ow, ow, bloody ow... Being shot was not a pleasent experience. But he'd already thought about that.

"Oh, I do love it when you're forceful," he said in a wistful, flirty tone, flicking his eyes up and down the...abnormally still man. Hmm. Interesting, that...He couldn't hear a heartbeat, which was unsual.Or...feel any body heat. Oh bloody hell... "What the soddin' hell has Jack been up to this time?"

He rolled his eyes, holding his hands (still joined, seeing as he was holding onto his wrist and very pleasingly not screaming in pain) up in a guesture of surrender, which should have been able to be trusted...except that it was done by John Hart. "Oh, so...movin' on. Blimey, you humans. You're not very welcoming, are you? But take me to your leader!" He paused, then grinned, "I've always wanted to say that."

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TAG; anyone!
WORDCOUNT; six.two.four
OUTFIT;break in
CREDITS; coding, mine,
LYRICS; KT Turnsdale 'Glamour Puss'
NOTES; ---

[/size]

[mdowenharper]

Owen rolled his eyes in disgust on the rogue flirty comments. “Just move,” ordered Owen. He had kept Hart front of him. He had not mentioned Jack was not in the base. Owen was surprise that Hart had not picked that up. Owen closed the armory door and locked it. He quickly saw it was actually a hair dryer on the floor.

Owen followed Hart far but when it came to the first corner, he quickly put the gun up on the back of Hart's back. “Slow,” Owen told the injured man. Not sure what would happen so Owen waited to see what the time agent do. Was he going to resist or obey?