the lights are going out all over television

[beiteverso.livejournal.com]

Who: Dorothy Gale, Cap'n Jack Harkness, a certain grumpybutt Coordinator of the CIA
What: Adventures with Creepy Monster Attacks!
Where: Near Queequeg's in Mog Hill
When: After the ~creatures~ begin popping up to creep on people.
Notes: Probably gonna be slow tags all 'round, so no stressing. :3
Warnings: Violence! Language! Angry Time Lords! Barking dogs! Spilled coffee!


Househunting is a new adventure for Dorothy. When you've lived in the same farmhouse for the largest portion of your life the way she has (and in a magical city full of sorceresses and talking animals the rest of the time), needing a new place to live never really enters into the situation. But when transplanted into a new place, it becomes a necessity.

So Dorothy's taken to wandering around various places in the city, looking for places for rent, trying to find somewhere in her price range that allows dogs and has plumbing that doesn't turn the water brown and smelly. It is more difficult than she had anticipated. Still, she's learned a lot about the city itself, like there's a pretty nice coffeehouse that makes quite frankly some of the best damn coffee she's ever had in her life, and that's saying something. And that there seems to be a biblical plague level of black birds swarming all over it.

Disturbing as that is, it doesn't seem to be a problem. There's a lot of them, sure, but all they do is stare! It's not like they're attacking! ...Yet! Even by Queequeg's, they gather in huge numbers, peering down from rooftops and gables, watching as she leaves sipping her coffee and unties Rex's leash from the bike rack outside. She can feel their eyes on her, and she'd shudder, if she didn't think they'd see that too. For some reason, she thinks it'd be a good idea if they didn't know how she feels about them.

But it's alright. She's got her dog, she's got her (frankly spectacular) coffee, and now she's back to looking for a place to call her own. What could possibly go wrong?

Comments

[51stcentury]

Jack stands his ground as the girl took the lead in dragging the man under the awning with the dog, getting him out of the open. It seems that the birds are dispersing, but without the man there in the open to attack anymore, Jack doesn't want to take any more chances in case the birds start to turn on him and his fellow rescuer. He can't exactly hear what the man is telling her, but the look that he gets is enough to make him roll his eyes. Christ, he knows that look. He's saving the man from getting mauled by birds. Beggars can't be choosers. Get over yourself, the look that he sends back seems to say, before he fires at another group of birds.

The girl seems to have the right idea in that they're leaving, and that they shouldn't let up now lest more come to the stragglers' aid. So Jack nods and does what she says, firing his gun at the groups of birds while she picks off the stragglers, until most of them are gone. Good thing too, since he's used up all the rounds in his gun.

[timecoordinator.livejournal.com]

Beggars can't be choosers, perhaps, but in this case Narvin would have preferred nothing over having a bunch of dirt kicked in his face, which was about as much help as he'd been. Narvin hasn't mastered facial expressions to communicate such a message over a distance, and so hopes that frustrated glare (of which he is quite skilled) back will suffice as he helps them in what limited way he can, unwilling to step out into the open again, but shooting anything he sees that falls in the categories black, with wings, and flying straight at him, the girl, or whoever the other person was.

Finally -finally- the last of them disappear, and Narvin resists the urge to sit down hard with a sigh and put his head to his knees, take a moment to gather his senses and all the rest of it, but ever the unreasonable professional, he remains on his feet and examines his stazer as running low on energy. His mind already begins to run the possibilities and methods of recharging it, and the rest...

"Look, as grateful as I am, if those birds come back, I would like to be able to stand here and at the very least know what I could do to stop them from trying to pick the marrow out of my bones while they're still inside me."

[beiteverso.livejournal.com]

The birds finally disappear, and Dorothy drops down to one knee next to her dog, giving him a thorough petting. Part of it is gratitude that he was smart enough to find some shelter on his own and direct his people to it (she always was a good judge of a great dog), and part of it is just trying to come down from the adrenaline high in the least embarrassing way possible.

"Are you a witch?" It's an honest question. "By the looks of you, I'd say no. If that's the case; probably not what I did."

Dorothy hadn't wanted anyone in this city to know what she was or what she was capable of; at least not right away. Showing her hand this early was never a part of her plan, but then again, neither was a terrifying monster invasion. At this point all she could do was hope these two were halfway trustworthy, and pray they could keep secrets.