A/N:-Famo problemos + rhubarbs + nose bleed from over powerful punch in Jujitsu at school + plain laziness = SORRY, CHEESE FOR ALL, and… a late update! Anyways, as always, thanks for your groovily groovy reviews!
Disclaimer: If I own Doctor Who, you'd think I'd get some power to control what happened in Torchwood in Day Four, don't you think? Because… WHY IANTO?! WHY?! *releases hounds on the BBC* I already know many peeps who are utterly DEVASTED at the outcome last night, but I thought it was CHEESE and thrice COOLIO with dandelions! Me say no more, for major spoiler alert. Now…What did YOU think bout it?
And as for Pushing Daises; yes, YES, OF COURSE I own it. That's the exact reason why Pushing Daisies is cancelled, and Anna Friel is back in Angleterre. Non. Talk to my psychiatrist. =P
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Chapter 10 – Rowdy Crowds and Secluded Corners
The Coroner was not a happy man. In fact, for the past one hour, thirteen minutes, and twenty-seven seconds, he was quite the opposite. One reason for this was the operative fact that he couldn't distinguish the differences between blood and metal.
The second reason for this was that, in the one hour, thirteen minutes, and twenty-seven seconds he had sat there, staring at the white washed walls: one Private Investigator, two blondes, one former 'dog expert', one redhead, one optimist, one Golden Retriever – claimed to be professional help, and one skinny excuse of a Big Headed Babble Mouth had walked in. Yet only three of the eight suspicious folk, had evacuated the building. The man known as the Coroner suspiciously suspected that their long visit had something to do with being 'weird'…
Nonetheless, the third reason was still in tact; the third reason being the deaf-awakening and loud fact that the piano piece "Hands on the Wall" had abruptly boomed out of the speaker system - stopping only twenty minutes and three seconds later. This did not please him. Besides, he wanted to have his lunch before the morgue's Body Freezer, over-froze his tuna and potato salad. And he couldn't do that, until five Suspicious People vacated the vicinity.
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The facts had been stated, of the eventful life of Charlotte "Chuck" Charles, and all was silent.
For now.
"But, if you're alive, who had to die in your place?" Rose asked suddenly, with slight reproach, to Chuck.
"One Lawrence Schatz," the Doctor provided, "Funeral director."
"But, he was a very, very bad man: he stole stuff off dead people and sold it on the Internet. You can check, it's all in the obituary," Ned stated.
"Oh, so just 'cos he was 'very, very bad', that makes you feel better," Donna spat, voice dripping with scorn and disapproval. "Isn't that benevolent."
"That's not right though. You can't just kill someone, and be over with it. Even if he was a scab and grave robber. They have prisons and police for that; not death," Rose argued, agreeing with Donna.
"It helps," Ned continued, "I try not to let it happen, but there are… exceptions. And complications. Childhood dogs like Digby, for one."
"We were right!" Donna and Rose gaped at each other, grinning with shock.
"Runaway dads for another."
"But, Ned, he hasn't run away," Chuck said. "I'm his Button; he wouldn't do that to me. He's here, watching out for me, I can feel it. Besides, remember that button I found? And that time when you and Olive were just about to fall into the ravenous realms of the sea, and a bandaged figure helped you up?"
"I'm not even gonna ask," Rose said.
"Pretend I'm Ned," Donna started, "And I'm prancin' about with my magic finger--"
"Which is physically and theoretically impossible, to begin with," the Doctor cut in crudely. But if looks could kill, the Time Lord would've been reduced to a pile of banana mush and custard, by the four pairs of beady eyes "staring" at him.
"I don't prance either," Ned added.
"So, it's like a maths sum," Donna verified, eyes narrowed in bewilderment and fingers bent, as she ticked off the facts as she saw them. "My magic fingerplus dead body equals second life, no touch, and death for another?"
The Doctor nodded wildly. "Yup."
"Alrigh' then, prove it," Donna stated decisively and crossed her arms, nodding at Ned. "Ned."
"Prove what to you? You already know and saw my power, gift, curse, magic in the happening. You saw what I could do, when you three, very rudely and intrusively, burst into the room and set off Emerson's impatience," Ned reminded hurriedly.
"It could've been a hoax, or some sick joke, for all we know."
Chuck frowned and inclined her head to one side slightly, reasoning, "Why would we set up a hoax, involving the morbid act of using a dead body and making it walk and talk, like a twisted ventriloquist; when we didn't even know you were going to come here, in the first place?"
"You wanted to see someone faint? You're Soothsayers in disguise? You're aliens? Do I look like I know?" Donna tried with an air of defiance. She sighed and rubbed her forehead jadedly. "I jus' want to make sure that I'm not dreaming, and this is real. Non-fiction real. GMTV real. Now real. Real, real!"
"Anyone got some fruit?" Ned asked, surrendering. "A dead one?"
The Doctor rummaged around in his coat pockets.
"Just a minute," A pause. "Where's my KitKat gone? Yes, yes, I know you need a fruit, not a chocolate bar, but I'm absolutely positively 102 percent sure that I--" A sniff. "Ah. Faint traces of animal Deoxyribonucleic acid," A pout. "Digby," An exclamation. "Anyway!" An elated cheer. "Will a half-mouldy banana do?"
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One minute, one seconds passed. There was a small gasp, as the vase of pastel-coloured lilies, in the corner wilted almost instantly – the lush greens and soft yellows decaying into dark, uneven browns and olive greens.
Ned promptly tapped the vibrant, yellow banana again and suddenly it flashed bright blue, changing back into its previous mouldy, rotting black form.
"Do you believe me now?"
"Ye--"
"Oh, HELLO!" the Doctor exclaimed happily, as all eyes swiftly turned to the one man occupying the doorframe. His voice was high; feigning innocence and "subtly" displaying that there was nothing out of the ordinary being said, or in the happened.
"Ya'll have to leave," the Coroner said suddenly in his usual monotonous tone, and gazed around the room, unfazed. He stepped into the little room, emotionless with hands by his sides – as usual. He jerked his thumbs behind him, left and right, to two burly men-in-black. "I got him and him to help me."
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They all filed out the building. Ned and Chuck kept to themselves, chatting away quietly, just a couple of metres away from them.
"Cheryl Cole?"
"Yup!"
"Johnny Depp?"
"I'll say no more! You decide."
"Kylie?" Donna asked.
"Nah! 'Course not!" A dramatic pause. "Just half cyborg."
Donna nearly missed a step. Rose practically stumbled.
"Simon Cowell?"
"Originates from the City of Austere Critic. Member of the Board. Tough, heartless critics them. Suckers for optimism. I should know – argued with the Mayor. Got put into prison."
"Jordan?" Rose tried.
The Doctor merely raised an eyebrow, "I'd have thought the fact was blaring, right from the start."
"Don't you dare say Leo DeCaprio's alien! He's not alien, right? Right, Doctor?!" Donna exclaimed, almost pleadingly.
"Nope, good ol' Leo's as alien as aliens can get! Big cheat, actually. Uses aphrodisiac perfume."
A look of pure shock passed both Rose's face.
"You. Are. Joking!" exclaimed Donna, eyes wide.
"How else did you think he attracts all those women? Charm?"
"I'm never lookin' at Leo in the same way again," Rose sniffed, hands up in mock surrender.
"Remind me to slap 'im, next time we happen to visit Hollyw--"
SNEAKERSS ARE DISAPPEARING! LATEST ROBBERY AT SNEAKER EXHIBITION!" a young boy screamed crazily, as he ran wildly into view, arms flailing and legs akimbo. Suddenly, he whipped out a tall pile of newspapers from goodness knows where – he certainly didn't have a bag in sight. "READ ALL ABOUT IT!"
"Trainers? Robberies? What happened to the bees?" Donna said, rolling her eyes.
"How much?" the Doctor asked the boy, producing some junk from his pocket. "I've got a torch, three and a half buttons, a half-eaten ham sandwich, two pennies and marble."
"Two dollars," the boy replied decisively, clambering up a couple of steps.
"Anyone?" the Doctor prompted the four others behind and next to him.
Chuck rifled through her coat pockets – sunglasses and scarf already on.
"I think I've got some change," Chuck replied.
"He's a rubbish date," Rose supplied, grinning.
"I'll give you one dollar fifty."
"One dollar eighty."
"Seventy," Chuck bargained.
"Seventy-five."
"Seventy-six or no deal."
"Seventy-nine, or you won't get to read 'bout the alien."
"Alien, did you say?" the Doctor interrupted.
Faster than Pigby could've sniffed out truffles, the boy had already flung the newspaper at Ned's head, scooped one dollar and eighty cents off Chuck's hand, and bolted. The Doctor's eyes skimmed the newspaper headline and sped-read the news story.
"Additional to the several hundred or so posters of missing shoes; we've got 783338 missing shoes in our hands. 3338 alone have gone missing in the Papen County and Couer D'Couers regions. They all seem to have been happening in the past couple of ideas."
Donna sighed and said, "What the Doctor's trying to say is…"
"We've got some snooping to do," Rose completed.
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"Chuck, have I ever told you that I was claustrophobic?" Ned asked Chuck, as the Doctor pushed them into the busy Muse Museum, which was heaving with overly obsessive Trainer Fanatics.
"Not that I remember," came her subtle reply.
"Would now be the right time to tell you?"
"MY SNEAKERS HAVE GONE MISSING!" a woman yelled through the crowd, and that was all it took.
The mental alarm was triggered… and the correct answer to the Pie Maker's question was a pure, blatant no. Ruthless and obsessive, the crowd's panic rose and the merciless struggle of shoving, pushing, and screaming commenced. It was every man, woman or dog for his/her/its shoe.
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"They're goin' crazy!" Rose shouted, as she watched a dog and young girl fight for a pink ballet shoe.
"Too many shoes have gone missing in the past couple of. The loss of more shoes, amidst the event of one great, big Trainer Exhibition, has only gone and set the crowd off!" the Time Lord explained, to no-one in particular, raking a hand through his hair. "I think our Trainer Thief is asking for trouble."
"It's the SHOE APOCALYPSE!" a grown man blurted in Donna's face and then bent down to whip the heavy, brown shoes off his feet, practically shoving them in Donna's face. "SAVE YOURSELVES!"
And he ran off, clutching his shoes tightly to his chest.
"This lot 'ave gone bonkers!" cried Donna.
"Where're Ned an' Chuck?" Rose burst out, remembering that they had come as a five, but were now just a three.
"There!" the Doctor shouted, jerking an arm at the blazes of bright yellow and woollen green, somewhere in the thriving horde of infuriate, worried, desperate people.
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"Find a nice, empty, secluded corner and just… wait!" Ned and Chuck heard/saw the Doctor direct them, who was evidently caught up with Rose and Donna, amidst the raving crowd. "We'll meet you there!"
The last flash of his tall, brown hair dissolved into the frenzied, panicking mob of people and the hunt for the empty, secluded corner began.
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Hot on the trail, Olive and Emerson had deduced that the alien had definitely came from the west regions of the Papen County. They had also deduced that the only possible place which could've stocked enough shoes and sneakers, or had so many people (wearing shoes) crowded into it, was Muse Museum where the great Sneaker Exhibition was to be held.
"I don't do dumb ideas, and this jus' happens to be a dumb idea," Emerson grunted, shuffling three centimetres into Muse Museum, before backing out again and turning to face Olive and Digby. "It's busier than China Town in there. An' it looks like some sorta angry mob's forming."
"What, is it the pitchforks, angry citizens, and blazing torches of fire type of mob?" Olive asked eagerly.
"No, it's the screaming, neurotic addicts, and talking about trainers type o' mob."
"Aren't you going in, Emerson?"
"No, I jus' told you; I don't do dumb ideas."
"Emerson, are you scared of mobs?"
"No," Emerson lied, letting his pupils casually wander to one side.
"Then why aren't you going in?"
"You go in, first."
"No, you go in first."
"No, you go in fir--"
"C'mon, Digby," Olive said, with a roll of her eyes. "let's go in and kick some butt," she looked at Emerson. "Emerson, you keep guard of the car."
"Hell, no. I ain't some sorta guard dog; that's Digby job. I'm coming with you."
With that, the tiny waitress tugged gently on Digby's collar and led them in, immediately absorbed into the bustling, raving, hysterical crowd – followed sluggishly one reluctant Emerson Cod.
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"Look, Ned. Over there!" Chuck informed loudly and pointed to a spot in a corner. It was, in fact, a nice, empty, and secluded. Just what the Doctor ordered too.
"So, what do we do now?" Ned said, standing quietly next to Chuck in the corner.
The Pie Maker watched as the crow grew more and more possessive and unruly: the requested police had dived for cover under tables, as people scuttled off clutching shoes to their chests, children crawled giggling across the carpet, sneakers were being chucked about the place, and neither the Doctor, Rose, or Donna were anywhere in sight.
"We wait."
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In the meanwhile, Emerson and Olive had trundled across the path of one Miriam Mangotsfield: victimised and shoeless. They had introduced themselves as Private Investigators, and Emerson was busy in the likes of questioning.
"So, could you describe to me who exactly stole your shoes, ma'am?" Emerson questioned.
"I— I-- I don't know!" Miriam stammered, sobbing. "One minute I had my shoes and the next: I felt this little kick, tripped over, and my shoes were gone!"
Olive tucked a comforting arm around her. "There, there…"
"Sorry, did you jus' say that you felt a little ki--"
"We already have a slight suspicion of what stole your sneakers – and we're thinking small, green, and spotty," Olive construed.
Miriam jumped out of Olive's hold and shook her head in disapproval.
"What?" Olive protested, "It's true. There we were, me and Emerson, just driving along when WHAM! This green and purple spotted alien came hobbling across the road, and guess what it was carrying? Shoes!"
"And I thought you were taking this seriously!" She suddenly gasped, "I know what you want: you want my shoes! MY SHOES!? You… You… SCABS!"
"Itty Bitty, you did it again," Emerson growled and slapped his face, resigned and exasperated.
If anything, Olive Snook seemed to be ignoring this query and chugging along her own conversational train at 120 miles per hour, next stop, trouble.
"But, how can we steal your shoes, if you aren't wearing any shoes? You're shoeless and that's why we 're trying to help you find them," A rail in her train tracks snapped in half. "Sheesh woman, I wouldn't even want your shoes anyway! No offence, lady, but judging by your bad taste in sock colour – your sneakers are as ugly as Hell. So, you should just shut up and--"
"GUYS!" Miriam yelled, "THESE SCABS ARE TRYING TO STEAL MY SHOES! MY. SHOES!"
A ripple of silence flooded the room, and all of a sudden, the thunderous roars of over ten dozen pairs of feet thudded towards the P.I. and the Itty Bitty.
"GEEEEEEEEET 'EM!"
"Uh-oh," Olive muttered.
"You think?"
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A/N:- Next chap up Wednesday. I'm almost one hundred and ten piglets certain, this time! Lolz! :S Soz for the short-ish chappie!
You know…There is a vair vair pretty white&green button below you know. Press it, and YOU RULE THE WORLD!!! *nods constantly* Me is being vair honest.