Yikes. Even Antichrist looks kinda rosy, the way things are going here, and that had (CONTENT DELETED- FOR THE SAKE OF MOOD/COPYRIGHT*). The sandman that just passed between HH & the nag, like the embodiment of a communal hug that went a bit rogue and decided to kill people; that was freaky.
I wonder if red sand always does that if you pour blood onto it, or get it wet. I don’t want to risk finding out. I’m dreading the next time HH feels he has to sneeze. There might still be some left, as there always is with sand and the human (ish) body for a good few days after the initial introduction. And how did it get there? He can’t be into drugs, surely, but if he is…well, I guess I shouldn’t be all that surprised that this is what he picked. It’s reasonable to assume that snorting Time Lord will eventually try ANYTHING. And it would explain a lot. The hat, for one thing.
I don’t actually have a damn clue about most of what just happened, to be honest. HH’s shrug sums it up for both of us. One minute he’s singing, then he’s snarling, then he’s arguing with himself, then he’s weeping, then he’s belching out a man made of sand…without so much as a drop of alcohol. You can tell. I can’t smell any on him.
Alice seems a bit dazed too. I didn’t see her face during the whole angry undead argument thing, understandably, but she’s not looking at all happy right now. Imagine a six yr-old who’s been told they need to go to school on a Saturday. That’s Alice’ face right now.
Naturally, I leave this for HH to deal with. I smell food. It’s strange, admittedly, that food exists here, but as it does I will surely find it. I haven’t eaten in…well, ever** I suppose. I hope it contains squid. Preferably fried. A dash of lemon. Delicious. Know why I love squid? Because it tastes delicious. Can’t beat squid. Ned I am HUNGRY. Where is it hiding? There’s all sort of chemicals here…wait, should I…umm…agh, why the hell not? Mmmm…
Sh@t! He noticed.
“Yuur- I mun- yeuurs?”
“Womble- wait-tell me you’re not eating that?”
Which is true. All those sulfides, and…stuff…smelt so good, I had to try something. Now, however, there is a hole in my stomach, and I appear to be leaking some sort of angry violet light. Eating is no longer a priority, not least because- BANG! BANG!- my legs have gone. I can feel swelling, somewhere- possibly everywhere. Whatever it is that’s doing the swelling is the only part of me that has any compulsion to move right now.
“Alice…would you be so kind as to put the gun down, and tell us why you decided to shoot my friend with it?”
Ah, good one HH. I’m on the verge of death here and you want to know why. At least your gribbly side didn’t share your incessant desire to ask open questions at a time like this.
“He’s supposed to be DEAD!”
“…I can still hear you, you know.”
Alice, by the way, is looking very angry, at an angle, and somewhat tearful. The gun is now pointing at HH, because- as she has correctly concluded -pointing it at me would be rather pointless. She’s already disabled both legs, my stomach, and a reasonable sized portion of my right lung.
Even if I don’t die- which, disturbingly enough, seems entirely plausible right now-I’m sure as hell not going anywhere without assistance. Which leaves her with just two bullets with which to take down a Time Lord.
“Me or him?”
This is HH, the eternal pragmatist. I can’t see anything now. Next time I see Frank/if I see Frank, there will be quite the discussion about the moment he decided to replace my blood with evaporate Ribena pixies.
“Both of you! This wasn’t supposed to end up like this…”
Heard that before. It accounts for just about every failure anyone has ever produced. The only time you’ll hear otherwise is from a successful insurance provider, who- regardless of how they actually feel about the way things had turned out -will nonetheless do their very best to pronounce the words “I told you so.” in a clear and measured tone.
“Well I’m sorry dear, but we can’t have everything. Now about that gun-”
“Fine! Fine. What is the problem, though? If you’d planned on shooting us, why bring us here in the first place? Explain, please.”
“Shut-up! You were supposed to do it! And then- and then he’d take me home…but you didn’t. What the hell did you do? You’re meant to be dead!!”
Enlightening as this all is, I feel HH is being rather too casual about things. He has two targets and she has one bullet. I’m fairly sure we could play Q&A after he’s wrestled the gun from her hands, after I’ve been to seen Frank, and after Alice has had enough time to get over the fact that we are so dismally not dead.
“Who set you up to this?”
“What? How could you-?”
“You are still a child, Alice. At your age, not even a Time Lord could have planned this over the course of two planets set in different time periods, and you do not look like someone with a plan. Who told you to do this? What did they offer in return? Your parents? Possibly your planet?”
“…they would do it. They can do anything. You have no idea what they’re like. You must die. Now! Please…I’m sorry…”
“Alice, don’t! We can fix this! I’m a Time Lord, for Ned’s sake- I can help you!”
*Yes, I can do (THIS) now- mwa ha ha ha!- Great Intergalactic Prairie Chicken
** Womble has a tendency to share the same perception of food as a Labrador; in a state of hunger, both will assume that this is because they are dying of starvation.