2 posts tagged “monsters”

these are just some random rambling dribbly things i've been writing down lately. most don't make much sense. and yeah.... i'll TRY to section them all together with the characters involved. (I.E. whoniverse will be one color, heroesverse another, random al bits in green or something, etc.)

enjoy. :)

Doctor Who/Torchwood universe

The Alabaster bits.

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"You save the universe. Ran an intergalactic organization. And are currently on the run from said organization and you're... you're BLOGGING!"

"What?" he asked. "Jack and Martha get to blog whenever THEY save the universe. Why can't I?"

--------------------

"James?"

"Sorry Quincy. Did I wake you?"

"No," he said sleepily, turning on his bunk and burying half his face into his pillow. "I was just drifting is all."

-----------------------

"Someday, it'll be the end."

"Don't talk like that Doc."

"I've only got 3 regenerations left Jack. And when the last one's come and gone, she'll have nowhere else to go. Our home is gone. She won't be much trouble. She'll lock down to one spot-"

"I have an idea," Jack said as a smile slowly spread across his face.

-------------------

"You have a sister," he said. "Half-sister really."

"Oh?"

Jack nodded. "Her name is Jenny. One day, you'll meet her."

-------------

"Dad, there's something I need your help with."

"Yeah, make it quick," Jack said, slowing his running pace a bit. "I'm in the middle of something."

"Who's calling you at a time like this? Hang up and keep running!" the Doctor shouted back to him.

"I died," the voice on the other end said. "Twice."

"What?" Jack said, stopping dead in his tracks.

The Doctor skid to a stop. "Come on Jack! Goombas! Flaming turtle shells and rolling mushrooms! Deadly to the universe!"

"In a minute Doc!"

"We don't HAVE a minute!" the Doctor shouted back, throwing his arms in the air as he glanced down the corridor ahead of them.

"Okay," Jack said, ignoring the impatient Time Lord. "Is your face still the same?"

"Dad, what the hell-"

"Just answer the question."

"Yeah, but I don't see-"

"Good. Don't worry. It happens. Part of being an alien. Don't tell anyone. You'll be fine."

"But-"

"Gotta go. Running for our lives. Daddy loves you," Jack said, turning off the mobile and dropping it into his pocket.

"What was that about?! Come on!!!!"

Jack laughed, looking over his shoulder to see a giant mushroom with big enormous eyes rolling towards them. He took a few jogging steps before breaking into a full run. The Doctor took the cue and started running again.

When Jack caught up with the wiry man, he laughed. "You owe me a trip to the nearest pleasure planet!"

"What? Why? Who was that?"

"The kid died twice. Didn't regenerate. I win! You so owe me!"

-------------------------

"Jack Harbourne. Writes The World That Wasn't book series."

"Those were pretty good," Gwen said.

"The hero is a nameless man called Traveler. And the villain, also nameless, called the Emperor."

"Sounds a little too close to home," Martha said, looking to Jack.

He knew that look. "Add that to the curiosities stack," he said at last.

------------

"Why aren't we pursuing this? He knows about things no one is supposed to-"

"Orders from higher up," Jack said.

"You ARE higher up. Or was it-"

"Martha. We leave the Harbournes alone. They're on the shortlist, understood."

"But-"

"Do not aproach. Don't even observe."

-----------------------

"There was a story when I was young. One I was told over and over again. The story of a man who was fire and ice, and who burned like the sun at the center of Time. A noble lord who longed for nothing more than adventure and the vastness of space." He smiled down at the cup between his hands. "Gramps told me such stories. Stories, he said, I could never tell mum."

--------------------------

"John? Is that you boy?"

He nodded. "All grown up," he said, glancing back at the door where he knew a younger self had left just hours before. "And oh what a tale I have to tell you."

"You found him. That Doctor and his blue box?"

Again he nodded and pulled over a chair. "I did. But that's not the story I want to tell. I've been out there, gramps. I've seen strange galaxies and alien worlds and so many wonderful, terrifying things..."

----------------------

"Oh this... This isn't natural," he said. "This is, well... It's supposed to be impossible."

"What Doc?"

"There's... Now, I'm ecstatic that I've found this, but at the same time, I'm severely concerned."

"Well?"

He took off his glasses for dramatic effect. Whether he knew this or not made little difference, because it worked. "This sample contains Time Lord DNA."

"What?!"

"More specifically, my Time Lord DNA." He nodded, back to all business. "I'm going to need more time to anylize the samples, but this is definately not supposed to happen."

"You got me pregnant?!?!" Jack shouted, suddenly angry, but could do little more than sit there with his slightly bigger than normal stomach. "I thought you said-"

"Well, it's not exactly a science, you know. Plus, we did have a lot to drink."

"You had ONE banana daqueri! ONE!!!"

"And you had 17 hypervodkas and a shot of tequila. I'm suprised you're not pissing straight alcohol."

-------------------------------------

"This is how it ends," he said. "It's always been how it ends. No matter what we do..."

Quin grabbed his hand. "You did your best."

"I'm sorry."

The American smiled. "I wouldn't spend the end of the universe any other way," he said. "Now, fancy a cup of coffee before we march to our deaths?"

"Yes please. Two sugars with a bit of that hazelnut creamer."

"All we've got is black."

--------------------------

"I know you..." she said. He nodded.

"It's me mum. It's your Johnny."

"My head," she whimpered. "It burns."

"It's okay mum. I'm here. Everything's going to be okay. I'm going to help you."

"John..."

He looked up at Wilf with a sad smile. "Next time you see me..."

The old man nodded. "You look after her, you hear. You take good care of my Donna."

"I will," he said, wrapping her in his greatcoat before lifting her up some.

-------------------------------

There was a flash. Brilliant and blinding in the central work area of the Hub. When it subsided, a man stood with weapon raised, aimed straight at his head.

"Help me!" he shouted as the woman in his arms, wrapped in his coat, screamed savagely.

"Who-"

"Commander Harkness!" he snapped. "Help me get this woman to a cryo unit!"

---------------------

"Roland, what the hell!" Jack shouted.

"I'm sorry," JJ said, emerging from the morgue. "I didn't know what else to do. There wasn't any time."

"You did this?"

"No," he said.

"Donna Noble died, kid. She died 40 years ago. And now you're telling me-"

"40 years?" he said, staring at him in confusion. "Wait... we time jumped? Shit. I'll have to get this thing looked at again. Trust John to fuck up anything he touches..."

"What happened?" Jack demanded.

"She remembered. She remembered everything. I had to get her frozen before we lost her for good."

-----------------------------------------------------------

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"Your skin is so cold..."

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Don't be."

---------------------

"This is an altered world," he said. "One touched by the hands of gods, not men."

------------------

"You and your companions," he said thoughtfully. "You're an odd lot. An angel, a demon, a mortal and... whatever you are."

The older man smiled and sipped his tea. "Is it so hard to believe? You're a walking corpse, married to an angel who, by the way did what no man should ever be able to do... twice. And you cavort with mortals all the time."

He nodded his defeat. "True. But your lot, you're different. I can't put my finger on it."

The other man continued to sip his tea. "We are bound by different rules than you and your's."

"How so?"

He grinned. "For one, we are more closely tied to this world than you are. We are more than what we seem, like you. However we can and do often die. God holds no power over us, because we serve no masters other than ourselves. Even Lucifer himself holds no sway in our dominion."

"Pagans," Al said at last with a nod of understanding. "And what dominion is that, may I ask?"

He set down his cup and wiped his mouth with one of the rather fancy looking cloth napkins on the table. "Purgatory, my old friend. Neither good nor evil. Only a state of perpetual balanced existence."

----------------------------------

"Dragons? Are you serious?"

"Is it really so hard to believe, Alabaster?"

"Now that I think about it.... YES!"

"And like being a demon prince from hell is much better?"

"Hey, at least I don't breathe fire," he replied.

"No. You just fuck anything that crosses your path."

"Oi! Not the girls!"

"Okay. Unless they're a girl."

------------------------------------

"Interresting..." the stranger said without lowering his sword. "I had not counted on another of my kind here."

"If I pull the trigger," Al said. "Will you get back up?"

"Yes."

"Which crown do you serve, swordsman?"

"I serve no crown," he spat out bitterly.

"Then I've no quarrel with you, sir." Al slowly lowered his weapon, but the stranger did not reciprocate.

"And you?" he said, pressing the blade's tip into his flesh. "Which crown do you kneal to?"

"I forfeit my crown, sir."

Navy eyes softened, and the sword was quickly sheathed. "My apologies, Lord-"

"No formalities," Al said, raising a hand. "Just call me Alabaster."

"Many like us I've cut down in my journeys. You are the first to encounter me and survive."

"There are others?"

He nodded. "Yes. But they are not of the peaceful mind. Most seek to destroy. Others... merely pawns of Lucifer's generals."

 

i've been having these strange dreams the last 2 nights. these are what's come of them.

enjoy the fresh dribbles of Who-ish-ness. n.n

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 It was a Thursday when it happened.
 Then again, Earth had a thing about it being the end of the world on

Thursdays. There was a Saturday here or there, but generally, Thursday was always the

day.
 Unfortunately for planet Earth, this particular Thursday was no false alarm.

It was not a near miss. It was, in all truth, the full scale event.
 No one knew why it had happened. Actually, they had. But they could not

decide who had done it. It was fairly certain that no human had done it, rather, no

Earthling, had bombed the world of ape descended bipedal creatures. Oh no. The ones

who had devestated the planet Earth were from the skies above, or the skies to the left

and right and every possible angle that is both conceivable and non-conveivable in the

universe. That is, if one were to get technical about it.
 But that Thursday morning, humanity was not concerned with the how or

the why or the who of it all. Oh no. They were far more concerned with simply

surviving it.
 There were, of course, pockets of survivors. But for every one, there were

dozens more invaders of many different origins. Metal men marched the land, while

extraterrestrial pepperpots soared through the skies shooting their beams of bloodless

death and utter extermination.
 And soldiers, short, baked potato-like killed everything in their path as they

stormed the cities.
 And those too large and too slow to run away fell, only to rise again as a

costume skin which opened with a zipper at the forhead, just barely in the hairline.
 One pocket of survivors were a group of five siblings. Two brothers, and

three sisters. Somehow, they had survived in a small, shabbily built room in a basement

of a house that was built into the side of a hill. The first among them was the younger

brother, and fourth sibling of the five.
 He had run far and fast, a mesh bookbag strapped to his back which he had

held onto for dear life. Notebooks and papers now rendered useless. And among them,

what few treasures he posessed that he had returned to his home to reclaim in the last

fleeting moments of obscurity he had managed to create.
 He was the first to find the basement, and he barricaded himself inside,

keeping silent. Keeping still. Hiding in the darkness in hopes that he may never be

found by the horrors of what existed outside.
 Then, he heard a scraping of something on the cold cement floor. He held

his breath, and in the dim light that crept into the shabby room, there were two figures.

A tall, lanky figure, with another shorter, equally thin form.
 "Shut the door, quickly," the taller one hissed, and the one in hiding slowly

let out his breath as the door was shut. His eyes had already adjusted to the darkness,

and he was following the vague shapes of the figures through the room.
 "Where's the torch?" the taller one's companion hissed before a beam of

light broke the darkness, briefly flickering before becomming a steady stream of hope.
 "Shine it here."
 There was a rustling, and he watched as the light was cast on the taller one's

face. The younger sprang out of his hiding place, clinging to the taller man. "Jay!" he

exclaimed, then clamped a hand over his mouth, looking around. He was 15, but he felt

like he was a child, frightened and alone in this horrible, terrible place.
 "Not so loud," hissed Jay, the taller. "How did you get here?"
 "I ran."
 "The whole way?"
 He nodded. "The whole way. After I went back for my books."
 "That was stupid. You should have come straight away. No stopping."
 "Shhh..." the third whispered, dousing the light and creeping towards the

door. They heard muffled crying on the otherside of the door. The handle jiggled, but

the door didn't open.
 "Please," someone on the other side. "Let us in. We know you're there."
 "It's Doria," the youngest of the three snapped, feeling his way around in the

dark to find the door. He pushed the other out of the way and fumbled with the lock.
 The door swung open and a pair fled into the darkness quickly. The door

was shut and locked back, and the beam of light was brought back up.
 The smallest of the two new arrivals clung to the teenager's side, sobbing

into his shirt. He wrapped an arm around her, trying to console her as he led her

carefully through the now dimly lit dark to where he had hidden himself before.
 The other three crowded together across the room, the tallest with his back

against the cinderblock wall and facing the door, keeping his big blue eyes peeled for

any sign of danger.
 "We thought you were dead," the oldest, Jay said.
 Doria, a ginger, shook her head. "No. She got sick at school, so I went to

pick her up early. We were clear across town when it happened. What about you two?

Anyone else?"
 The third, the blonde, shook her head. "Just us, and Tem. We were in Wal

-Mart, and managed to hide out in a bathroom before making a break for it."
 "If Lee hadn't managed to hotwire that BMW we never would have made it."
 Doria nodded towards the chair in the corner where the younger two were

cuddled up, and the little girl's sobs had stopped for the moment.
 "Says he ran the whole way."
 Doria's eyes widened, not that the other two could see in such feeble light

anyway. "He ran? From Adairsville?"
 "Didn't say from where. Just he ran," Jay said quietly.
 "He's got Japanese first period. There's no way he could have made it here

from there on foot. Not this fast."
 They shrugged. Jay handed Lee the flashlight and went to his younger

brother and youngest sister.
 The five of them, a pocket, a literal handful, rode out the end of the world in

the basement of their childhood home. None of them dared to think about what had

happened to the house's new occupants before they had come running to the safest

place they could ever remember.
-------------------------
 The others had laughed at him then. But they weren't laughing now. They

had called him insane for going back into the school to fetch his bag. They had called it

a stupid move. But that stupid move had provided them with things they needed to

survive for the time being.
 Funny, the things you discover are quite useful only when they seem to be

the silliest things in the world at the time.
 That day, seven years ago, had been the day that his friends had given him

back all of the books they'd borrowed from him. Silly things, those books. All works

of fiction, supposedly.
 But out of the siblings, only two, only the brothers, realized they had truth to

them.
 After all, history had a way of turning science fiction into science fact.
 Who knew silly little novels about a time traveling alien and his various

friends would come in handy one day? Or that the notebooks filled with ideas and

fantasy blueprints for technology that didn't yet exist based off of a fun little tv show

could, in fact, be useful in trade and negotiations?
 It was his bizzare facination with the strange and obscure that had kept him

alive all this time. As for his siblings... one he knew for sure was long since dead. He'd

killed her himself with his own bare hands.
 He had no choice.
 She had become a spy.
 The other three... one of them he'd left behind five years ago. She'd found a

pocket of survivors, mostly children, and would not leave them. But he couldn't stay.

He had to move on. His youngest sister, Anne, had stayed with her.
 And Jay...
 He hoped against hope he was still alive somewhere, fighting the good fight

still. After all, it's what they had decided to do once they realized their... unique useless

knowledge could be the key to saving their people.
 He sighed, flipping through the well-worn pages of his latest aquisition.

Printed on computer paper. Bound together by large, thick staples in a stack. Technical

specs of imaginary machines and impossible flying ships.
 But in the aftermath of Invasion Day, as they'd come to call it, nothing was

impossible anymore. If the world hadn't ended, he guessed he may have made it to

MIT after all. Or maybe, he'd still be at home, eating potato chips and watching his

favorite television series... The irony of that gave him a small grin as he flipped through

the pages still.
 He heard a noise, and quickly shoved the fan-made manual into his pack

with his other few key pieces of survival guides. His other hand reached for his pocket,

feeling inside for something, anything that may help him. His fingers found a yo-yo. It

would have to do.
 "Show yourself!" he snapped. "By order of Article 16 of the Shadow

Proclimation I demand parlay! State your purpose and planet of origin!"
 That piece of once fictional script had become the single most useful phrase

right after "Where is the toilet?" in any number of languages. Not that it had always

worked. Not all of the monsters he'd come across in the last seven years even knew

what he was talking about. Certainly, the zombies didn't know. They didn't know much

of anything for that matter.
 He felt the yo-yo, and wished he'd thought to grab something more

substantial from the last Pocket he'd found. At least they were somewhat armed to

defend themselves, unlike him at the moment.
 He heard the noise again, and cursed himself as he pulled his hand out of his

pocket. It was closer now, and it didn't sound friendly. It didn't even sound human. He

knew those sounds. Metal clanging against cement.
 He hitched up his pack on his shoulder and bolted as fast as he could.

Cover wouldn't do. They would find him. He had to run, and keep running. He

couldn't stop until he was either dead or out of breath. Preferably out of breath, and

even then he'd push himself still further.
 Cybermen were nothing he needed to deal with while unarmed. Especially

while unarmed. And now, his trek through the city was fruitless. He couldn't head for

the Pocket he'd heard was there. They might not even still be alive. And if they were...

he intended to keep it that way, and not lead the invaders straight to them.
-----------------------
 "Hey you!"
 He jumped out of hiding, his yo-yo in hand, the string hooked to his middle

finger. The monster didn't even turn. Not that he had expected it to do so. He dropped

the yo-yo, letting it fall to the end of its string and wind back up before giving it a

swing. It bounced off the back of the undead thing's head and came back to him.
 It turned. That time he got its attention as it slowly ambled it's way around.
 "Get out of here now!" he shouted, flinging the yo-yo again as the children

scrambled to escape.
 "God, I hate your type," he said, taking a step back but keeping his eyes on

the children until they were out of sight. He flung the yo-yo one more time before the

string broke and the small yellow toy bounced off and away. "Always hungry. Never

stopping long enough to savor the people you eat. You never know, you might like

dark meat better than white meat. Or maybe a bit of ginger is more your style?"
 He found he couldn't back away any more. His back pressed against a brick

wall. He searched his pockets as the monster loomed closer. He found nothing he

could use to defend himself. He cursed himself for never thinking this far ahead.
 And certainly his manuals and books wouldn't help him now.
 He spotted a twisted rod, a clump of concrete stuck on the end. As the

monster lunged, he ducked under it's arms and rolled, grabbing the rod on his way. It

was heavier than he expected. Though, he wasn't sure what he'd been expecting. It

took two hands to hold it up, and whistled. The monster was slow moving. It must

have been a first generation of the horrid creatures then. Though how it had survived

this long was a mystery.
 And his fatal swing of the concrete tipped rod at its head would ensure that

such a thing remained a mystery.
 The monster went down, and he gave the rod a heave, slamming it down

against the skull twice more before he was satisfied that it wouldn't be getting back up.
 But he couldn't leave it. No. Should a wild animal, or, God forbid another of

the creatures happen upon the carcass, the mutated disease would spread much like in

those old Resident Evil games and movies he'd been so fond of as a teenager.
 No, there was only one solution.
 Extermination by fire.
 "Spending too much damn time with those Daleks," he muttered, shaking his

head as he dug around in his pockets for a matchbook.
---------------------------------------
 He's been running for days. He can't remember if there was a time when he

hadn't been running. That time was so long ago. An entire lifetime away, it felt like.
 He'd found another book, one he hadn't had before. Unlike all of the others,

he didn't devour it. No, this one he savored, like a fine wine. The Story of Martha. He

read it, and he sympathized with the fictional heroine. But in the back of his mind, that

same little voice chimed away at him. She may not have been fictional after all.
 He had to hope that somewhere, out there in the universe was a man in a

blue box that would come save them. After all, his enemies in that science fiction

universe were real. Oh they certainly were real, and had become a mainstay on the

planet Earth for three years shy of a decade now. Why then, wouldn't He exist, too?
 He ran on, a new yo-yo in his pocket. A new set of matches he'd scrounged

up at what was once a titty bar in its glory days so long ago. He had to get there by

nightfall. He had to make it to the next Pocket. He had to be like the great Martha

Jones. And hopefully... his fool's mission would pay off.
-------------------------------------
 "They took him! They took Marley!"
 "Who?" she said, trying to get the boy to focus on her. She was hardly

much older than he was, but she'd been a rock for the Pocket since their leaders had

been taken. Or killed. No one could decide on which. Some claimed both simply as a

compromise.
 "The metal men!"
 She looked over the boy's shoulder to the man standing in the back of the

room, rolling a cigarette. He'd been lucky enough to find an empty store, blocked off

by debris and left alone for much of the post Invasion Day world.
 The look in her eyes told him he wouldn't get to enjoy the cigarette he was

rolling for himself. He sealed the roll of tobacco and paper and put it to his lips. He

used one of the matches from his new book of them to light the end and inhale.
 He hadn't expected to run into her here. Another woman, perhaps, but not

her. She tended to stay off the grid, like himself. Only for her, it was for far different

reasons. It was the only way she could keep alive. He had it easy compared to her. At

least he didn't have to worry about being locked up in a camp, and shot up with god

knows what. He could sleep easy knowing if he was ever captured, he'd be killed.
 But Anne... her fate would never be as kind as his own.
 He watched as she managed to calm the boy before moving off to another

of the children. That's all they were, really. Left alone by adults who dissapeared in the

night. After a while, she managed to get them occupied with other things. Sorting out

the latest spoils she'd brought for them. Food, clothes, random things.
 She came to him as he rolled another cigarette. "Those things'll kill you."
 "Rather these kill me than the alternative," he said coldly.
 She nodded. Once, when she was younger, she would have argued over his

nasty, self-destructive habit. But these days, she prayed he lived long enough for the

cigarettes to kill him. At least then, he'd still get the last laugh out of spite to those

creatures that came to their world.
 He rolled a few more, putting them into a small, dented and scratched tin

that said Altoids on the top. He put one to his lips, and lit it up. He inhaled deeply.

"What's the word?"
 "Metal men is all they keep saying," she said. "They seem to be leaving the

children alone for the most part."
 "Of course," he said. "In the past, they'd take everyone. But upgraded

humans from children wouldn't function as well. Let the halflings mature, then take

them."
 She sighed, crossing her arms over her chest as she glanced back at the

teens and the children. "At least it's not the pepperpots," she said, trying to smile.
 But he didn't return her humor.
 "There's something else," she said, her tone dropping lower. "Jay was here."
 "What?!" he exclaimed, nearly swallowing his cigarette.
 She nodded. "One of the older girls," she said. "When the adults first

started dissapearing, she said a man came and looked after them. He tried to help them

fight back. They managed to hold up in an abandoned department store. He took off to

scout the area, and never came back."
 "Any leads?"
 She sighed sadly. He easily read the expression on her face. It was one he'd

seen hundreds of times before on hundreds of other faces. "Tell me the truth, Anne,"

he said.
 Slowly, she nodded and turned her eyes up to him. "They think it was the

clone soldiers that took him. But they can't be sure."
 He growled. Sontarans. He HATED the entire bastard clone race. If he

could wipe them out in one go, he wouldn't hessitate to do it. Though, Sontarans

weren't known to take prisoners. Not unless they were after something, or planned to

take them back to their homeworld.
 "You can't be thinking what I think you're thinking."
 "We have to rescue him."
 "It might be exactly what they want. Besides, we need to-"
 "We'll deal with the Cyberman problem now, and then I'll head out to rescue

Jay."
 She put a hand on her older brother's shoulder. "Not alone. And we'll need

help. Doria's millitiamen will come in handy."