http://stopbleepingme.livejournal.com/ ([identity profile] stopbleepingme.livejournal.com) wrote in [community profile] taxonomites2010-04-27 10:17 pm

[holo] arrival

She's got to do it. If she's not worth anything else, this can make up for it all, right? That genetiwhatsit thing, it would kill all of the Daleks, yes, but everyone else would be okay. It would be a justified sacrifice, wouldn't it? Self-defense, to help all those frightened people. All she can think about are little babies, and the children who were probably out playing without a care in the world that was stolen with them in it. People dying trying to stand up to the most fearsome creatures ever to exist.

One foot in front of the other, she makes herself focus. Just like the Sontarans, nothing to focus on but picking up that gun and shooting Davros down. She's got it in her hands, her stupid fumbling hands (why can't it just be a keyboard, she knows how to type up memos and useless rubbish, why does the gun have to have so many wires?) and she knows she won't figure it out. Even as Davros points at her and she squints her eyes because she somehow knows what's coming.

But it doesn't come. In fact, it's suddenly much more silent than it was seconds ago, with the chaos and the blood rushing in her ears. Her face is scrunched up something fierce when she opens her eyes and looks around her. Immediately, she calls out: "Hello? Doctor, what's going on?"

It's not the dungeon, it isn't the TARDIS and it doesn't look like anywhere on earth she's ever been. Which naturally means...well, could be a lot of things, when you run with the Doctor. Common sense tells her-- not all that much since she's busy panicking a little bit. So, the alternative? Lots of yelling. Obnoxious, blue-in-the-face, calling the cows home yelling. Very vulgar, hardly polite.

"Whoever you are that's done this, I demand you let me out! You hear me?" It continues for awhile, until no one responds and she spots the tablet. "Oh, well. Little posh piece of equipment, aren't you? Oi, you couldn't spring for a full touch screen, though?" Yes, because that is the issue here. She starts to flip through the functions and the records (oh, Donna does like records) and finally comes across the fact that hello! She's been recording. Or, broadcasting, rather. Finally she gives whoever may be snooping on her a cross little frown and huffs.

"Is someone going to tell me what the hell is going on here? And what is that smell?"

That open door behind her? Someone would do her a great kindness to point it out.

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