A/N; Hello people. Hope you enjoy this chapter.
Donna stayed close to the boys. The boys stayed close to Donna. The Doctor walked a little ahead of the group, peering around cautiously. The rest of the group couldn't see his face, but he was looking around every corner, his eyes darting around, looking suspiciously into every shadow.
It was a strange planet. They seemed to be in some sort of marketplace, or bazaar. There were tents set up on both sides of the street, all sorts of aliens selling their wares. One resident of Raxacoricofallapatorius (not in human uniform) called out to Ringo, and babbled incoherently about his wares, motioning back and forth rapidly with his claws between Ringo and whatever he was selling (which looked somewhat like raw haggis, but perhaps a stage past rotten). Ringo was a little terrified and a little green in the face after noticing the wares (with both his eyes and his nose). John, holding his breath, put his arm around Ringo's shoulders and pushed him to walk on. John gasped in a breath of slightly fresher after getting a fair distance away.
It was rather a rather harsh climate. It was quite cold, and the street had patches of some slick substance on it. It was like a partially dried, brown goo of a rather jelly-like consistency. It smelled as well. Donna covered her nose and mouth to keep from getting sick.
The architecture was nothing to rave about here on Montezuma 5. The only sort of shelters that any of them could see besides the tents were lean-tos built of scrap metal.
Just then, Paul stepped in a large deposit of the mysterious brown goo. Donna saw his face become rather gray as he lifted his Cuban heel up to inspect the bottom of it with dismay. He choked a little as the smell started to drift up to him. The aliens nearby were snickering at him as if he were some sort of novice.
"Here,", said Donna, guiding him on before there developed too much of a scene.
Paul limped along, trying to step lightly on the afflicted boot in an attempt not to ingrain the substance in the tred of his sole.
"What is it?", he whispered to Donna. "Is it crap?". His despair may have been comical if it would have been in a different time and place.
"I dunno,", said Donna, peering with disgust at another deposit of the mystery goo a few feet away on the ground.
Then, at that moment, the Doctor heard a little hissing sound to the side as they passed a dark alley between shacks and tents.
"All right, 'ey, man, it's good to see ya back in N'Orleans, man,", said a gravelly voice. Everyone silently took a little breath, except George, who know just what to say.
"'Listen to what the man said,", he said, trying to sound like a very posh Southerner.
To onlookers, this was a rather odd scene. To those on the TARDIS team, it was clever use of codes supplied to them over the phone to identify their contact and to identify themselves to him. And to Donna and the Doctor (and no doubt anyone with experience with an album called "Venus and Mars"), it was yet another obvious nod to the future of the four oblivious lads from Liverpool. It was occurring to Donna that it was rather eerie that everything to do with this criminal gang seemed to be based off of her new friend's lives and work. She didn't know what to think about it, but she knew it was a clear indication that they should all proceed carefully. Even more carefully than they ever had thought to do before.
After making contact with the shady figure whom none of them could see in the shadows, the party followed him cautiously at his bidding. They were winding down the very dark alleyway, following what they could only tell was a dark and cloaked figure, still totally anonymous. John, Ringo and Paul were huddled together, bringing up the rear. Donna tried to look like a tough, rough character, chewing on a toothpick she had happened to have in her pocket, walking in front of them. She thought maybe this would make her look like someone no one would want to tangle with (and she was rather succeeding). The Doctor and George walked closest to their mysterious contact, but at a safe distance. George tried not to let the chilly wind make him shiver. He turned up his coat collar, hunching over his shoulders, trying to look as mysterious as the contact that seemed to be leading them further into darkness, and somewhat downhill. The Doctor had a set expression, and his sharp Time Lord eyes kept scanning around, making sure that there was no one about to ambush them. He knew better than the rest of them what to expect from this kind of place, and he didn't want to share the details with them.
"Fellows, let's try'n look like thugs, instead of cowering schoolgirls,", John mumbled under his breath to the drummer and bass player.
"How do we do that?", whispered Ringo hoarsely.
"Talk like Jerry from the shipyard,", suggested Paul.
"I don't feel like swearing right now,", returned Ringo skeptically.
"No, just the tone, mate, the tone,", said Paul.
"And hunch your shoulders,", said Paul, pushing Ringo and John's shoulders over.
"And spit on the ground,", said John, spitting a gob (Donna cringed).
"And fight amongst ourselves,", said Ringo, shoving John. John shoved him back. They started giggling as Paul 'started to aim a punch' at John's face. They were starting to have a bit too much fun.
This continued for a few more moments until Donna turned round, looking rather tough in her big coat, toothpick between her teeth.
"'Ey, cut it, boys,", she said in a well-executed gravelly voice that sounded like it had been the long-time victim of heavy smoking.
The boys shrugged. Donna was doing it better.
They followed the figure for a long while before the Doctor felt the need to break the golden rule; ask a question.
"Where exactly are you leading us? I haven't got all day, young man. I have a lunch appointment with the Archduke of, of Smithsonian, you know,", said the Doctor, trying to sound posh. Hopefully this contact wasn't too familiar with the British nobility or American museums.
The figure simply growled, sending a chill down Donna's spine that she couldn't stifle. It was indeed a horrendous growl.
This shut them all up, including the Doctor, but not for long.
The continued to go down, down, down, and the air seemed to be getting warmer. There was still no sign of light. The surface of the ground seemed to be smooth now, like new pavement instead of craggy like in the marketplace above.
"Left!", rasped the voice all of a sudden, and the Doctor turned a sharp left, tugging George behind him. Everyone but this mysterious contact and the Doctor were completely blind in this total darkness, following the sounds of the footsteps of the person in front of them.
The company were now in a narrow hallway with a low ceiling. George thought he felt moisture under his boots lapping slightly as he stepped in it. The walls were wet too, as Paul would find out, bumping into it. The surface was rather sticky. Paul cringed, peeling his coatsleeve off it.
It soon came to the attention of the group that it didn't smell too good down here in the tunnel. Not to say that any of the planet smelled good (Ringo was still feeling a little queasy from the haggis episode), but this smelled particularly not good. John gagged, and before he could think blurted out, "Cor, what's that smell?".
No one answered him, because no one knew and no one wanted to know.
Gradually, the Doctor and George felt the water rising up around their ankles, and then all the way up their legs, until they were sloshing along quite unmerrily.
"Where are you taking us?", the Doctor finally demanded of the figure who was leading them.
"You wanted to see the Sergeant, didn't you?", he growled back at him.
Ringo whimpered as he started to wade in what he was imagining to be stagnant water, though he couldn't see it in the dark. It had an absolutely putrid smell, and all of the party were reduced to covering their noses and mouths to prevent choking on the smell. It was somewhat acidic, burning one's nostrils, but it had a ripeness to it that was the real kicker.
Finally, they turned a sharp corner to the right, and light stunned their eyes. As soon as their eyes adjusted adequately, they saw that there was a grating covering an opening in the ceiling, and there was a ladder leading up to it.
"Climb,", demanded their contact gruffly.
By now, the water was up to about waist-high, and the lower portions of their big coats were soaked, weighing all members of the party down. Paul was thinking to himself what Brian was going to say when they all said they needed new Cuban heels as he felt moisture filtering in on his socked feet. George was the first to haul himself up and out of the water and onto the ladder.
As she was waiting to get up onto the ladder, Donna felt something slither around her ankle. She let out an involuntary yelp.
"What is it?", Ringo whispered up to her.
"God, I felt something go 'round my ankle,", Donna rasped.
Ringo nervously jerked on the knot in his tie, loosening it from around his throat. He didn't tell her that he had felt something slither past him too.
At that moment, John's face and neck muscles visibly tensed, his eyes staring straight forward. He was feeling it crawl around him too.
As soon as they were all on their way up the ladder, they were glad. When the last member of the party reached the top (which happened to be Paul), they expect their contact to follow them. Instead, what they got was a violent closing of the grate behind them, and a low growl that resonated throughout the hollow tunnel beneath them.
"All right, then,", said John, raising his eyebrows.
They were all alone now, strangers in a strange land.
"Where to now, fellows?", said Paul, having a look round.
They were now in another tunnel, though this one was bigger and was thankfully dry. There were little gaslights hanging from the ceiling, but if one followed the light, they only led in one direction. The other direction (behind them) was total darkness.
"Ugh!", Donna suddenly exclaimed.
"What?". They all said.
"Look!", she said, pointing to the grating where they had just emerged from. On it said "MZ5 Sewer, No. 797AQ45".
They all stood in a moment of disgust, looking at their wet clothes (some trying very hard not to throw up).
"Ah, well, it's over now, isn't it, fellows?", said George, shaking a bit of goo off his boot.
"It's certainly over for my boots,", moped Paul. "I got these in America, you know,", he said, squishing in his now ruined footwear.
"Buck up, Macca!", said Donna, only to get a very stern look from the Doctor. "Er, Macintosh!", she pretended to correct.
"So which way to the place?", said John, looking around.
"Follow the lights?", proposed Donna.
The Doctor started scanning with his screwdriver.
"Hmm. Good thing we're not relying on you, Donna,", said the Doctor, which earned him a very indignant expression from the redhead.
"So which bloody way would you suggest, Marsian?".
"Security system down that way. It's armed. The one down this way is disarmed at the moment,", said the Doctor, starting to lead them into darkness, shining his screwdriver to light the way.
They walked some distance this way before they heard through the wall to their left the sounds of... People. Laughing and talking.
"We're here,", whispered the Doctor. "Remember the rules, mind,", he reminded the others. He started searching around in the dark for something on the wall that looked like a window or door.
"Lads,", the Doctor said, turning back to them as if just realizing something.
"What is it?".
"Comb your hair to the side,", he said, looking at their Beatle cuts as if he distrusted them.
"Lend me your comb, Ringo,", said John, feeling in his own pockets and coming up empty.
"We've got to go home,", replied Ringo, singing.
"Don't sing, lads! We can't let them know who you are or you'll never come out of here alive!", insisted the Doctor frantically.
"Sorry, mate. Habit,", said Ringo, passing his comb around.
There were various chatterings among the group as they tried to restyle their 'hur'.
"It's sticking this way, lads!", said George, exasperatedly trying to comb his hair back, but it just kept flopping back over his forehead.
John had just discovered that he had a massive cowlick when he tried to comb his hair to the side, causing everyone to laugh at him.
"Here,", said Donna, combing all their hair for them hurriedly in any way besides forward.
They looked a bit weird, but at least they didn't look like themselves, and that was what the Doctor was looking for.
He looked them all over.
"I could still recognize you. Here,", he said, taking his glasses off his own face and putting them on George. George did good until he staggered and fell down.
"Strong bifocal,", he said, giving them back to the Doctor and rubbing his eyes.
"Well, I guess this'll have to do,", sighed the Doctor. "Turn your collars up,", he said. They did, and it covered their faces up to about cheekbone-level.
The Doctor then made a discovery. He knocked around gently on the wall until he found a spot that had a slightly different sound, rather hollow.
"Hey, gang, we've got something,", he said, smiling. He then gave a firm four raps on the wood. This suddenly brought back a tremendously painful memory, so he added another knock.
Then, to all of their total shocks, the wall opened.
Once inside what the owners of the place called the 'Pit', the gang inquired discreetly if Rita would like to take some tea with them (another code supplied to them over the phone meaning 'we want to see the Beatle collection'). At that, they were looked over skeptically by a couple of thugs following their 'host', who was wearing a red velvet smoking jacket and had a rather obnoxious mustache. Their 'host', who had previously been tending a card table, then led them through the myriads of gaming tables, rather frightening characters slouched, crouched, and otherwise gathered around them. Mostly alien were the patrons, a but there were enough humans to be able to pick them out of the crowd (human at least in outward appearances).
The place was rather... Large. Very large. Even larger than the Vinvocci Embassy. The casino portion of the establishment was the size of Anfield Stadium easily, the Liverpool boys thought to themselves. The ceilings were high, with enormous chandeliers dangling from them. The entire room was draped in the same red velvet that their host was wearing. There seemed to be a constant stream of waiters in like uniforms pouring out of a door still several yards away from the group. They were all carrying trays with fizzling drinks in fancy glasses of quite irregular space-shapes.
It was quite a long walk to cross the room, but they eventually made it and were led out a small door into an immaculately white hallway. The walls were made of an indescribable, shiny, seamless white material, and so were the ceiling and floor. Their host looked rather perturbed at the thought of this party tracking over it, seeing as they had just literally climbed out of the sewer. They had dripped off most of the goo on the red carpets of the casino, so they were just making rather dry tracks now. Donna found it rather hard to believe that anyone else there had had to go through such an ordeal just to get into the club, or whatever it was. They had all looked like very clean old men.
Once they were all in the hallway, following the 'host', who had a rather sinister undertone in his voice, the Doctor had urged George to take the lead in the group. They all kept their heads down and their collars turned, which wasn't questioned because it was probably the standard for most customers of the place.
Finally, they were brought into a room about the size of a cricket field. It was round like one, at least. It had an eerie silence about it that did not go unnoticed by anyone. Donna nearly jumped out of her shoes when the heating came on with a little click.
"What were you wanting to see sir, one particular piece or all of it?", the host questioned, lightly fiddling with one corner of his mustache.
"I want to see the Gretsch,", George said flatly.
"Ah, I see, a man of good taste,", said the man, bidding them to follow him.
It was a bit like a museum. Everything was behind glass, and it was also somewhat like a maze, twisted round and round in circles until you found yourself without a way out but to try and retrace your steps. The Doctor thought to himself that there was an obvious strategy in this, and it wasn't pretty. None of the others noticed this. They were too wrapped up in gawping at the artifacts that were all centered around them.
The Doctor got behind them and herded them through rather hastily to avoid them seeing anything in too much detail. This was all very risky.
When John almost stopped to look at a picture of himself taken in about 5 or 6 years, the Doctor stepped up behind him and laid a hand on his shoulder.
"Ah,", said John, seeing his point, and then looking at the ground for the rest of the trip.
"You'll find, sir, the more priceless items are in the center of the room, here,", he said, motioning around.
"'Ey, that's Aunt Mimi's chair!", John suddenly blurted out at the sight of a tattered armchair with a doily draped across the back.
John then looked like he was mentally slapping himself in the face as the host gave him a rather stern and suspicious look.
Paul simply went white when he looked at the bedspread from his bed, neatly folded on the very sofa that he had been looking at in a London furniture store a number of weeks ago to replace his old one.
"Familiar with these items, sir?", asked the host, looking at John, who looked rather enraged that these hooligans had somehow stolen Aunt Mimi's chair.
"Yes,", said John, afraid to allow his mouth to move any more than to say that word, afraid that he would say what was on his mind; 'My Aunt Mimi's sitting on the cold floor now thanks to you, you sod!'.
"Yes, you must have received our ad page, sir,", said the man rather arrogantly.
"No, I'm afraid I didn't do,", said John, now in the mood to contradict anything and everything that came out of the man's mouth, whether it made sense to or not.
"These items are quite exclusive, sir, you must be quite an avid collector if you are familiar with this piece,", he said, motioning to the chair.
"I'm not an avid collector, and that's not exclusive. Millions of 'em were for sale at J and T in 1948.".
The man smirked. The Doctor knew that he was starting to catch on. He was wishing that he had a sock to shove in John's mouth about now.
"Clever, sir. You must have the eye for furniture,", the man humored him.
"The Gretsch, sir, the Gretsch,", George reminded the man, trying to distract from John so maybe he could have a few seconds to cool down.
"Ah, yes,", said the man, now a knowing look in his eye that the Doctor could clearly read. He knew now that there were going to be plenty of lythm-rogs going round.
He pulled back a curtain.
There it was. Brown, with beautiful gold accents.
George tried to remain expressionless, but the rest of the boys and Donna could tell that it struck a chord with him to see it again. He took a short breath.
"It's beautiful,", he said, trying to sound like a prospective buyer.
"I don't suppose I could hold it?", George asked, very innocently (part of him honestly wanting, no, itching to hold it again, part of him wanting to grab it and run).
"I'm afraid not, sir,", said the host.
'Figures', thought Donna.
"Could I see the Sergeant?", said George immediately, sounding more like a statement than a question.
This shocked the man.
"I'm sorry, sir, but the Sergeant-", the man started to make up an excuse.
"I want this item. Right away,", said George very bluntly.
"Yes, sir,", said the man, rather taken aback, frowning a little.
"Wait here,", he said, leaving them and starting to wind back out of the maze.
As soon as he was far enough away, the Doctor starting rapidly whispering to them.
"Lads, don't forget your accents! I almost heard some Scouse just then, George,", the Doctor scolded.
"Sorry, Doctor, I just got excited,", said George.
"It's okay, but just think James Cagney. That goes for you, too, Ringo, Paul. And John; in the future... Shut up.".
"Well that's Mimi's chair, and I'm not 'aving them lay their filthy 'ands on it and put it behind glass like this! It belongs in her parlor at home, right next to the window, next' the radio,", said John, anger boiling in his voice.
"Well 'ow do ya think I bloody feel, seeing the couch that I 'aven't even bleedin' bought yet sitting there, with the blanket off me bed right there on it!", exclaimed Paul, flustered.
All the while Ringo was examining another display, labeled "Ringo's Records.". The drummer was past any emotions of anger. He didn't know what he was besides sick.
There sat half his record collection, his favorite Shirelles LP and all. He started heaving heavy breaths. Silent tears started pooling in his eyes before he could force them to stop. Donna laid a hand on his shoulder.
"It's all right. We'll get it all back. I dunno how, but we will.".
Ringo sniffed, forcing himself to turn away.
"All right boys, the turned-up collars and the hair haven't been enough. He recognizes you. Be prepared for anything,", the Doctor barely got the hushed words out of his mouth before there reappeared their host and a man of very large stature.
"Here's the young gentleman, your excellency,", said the host, grovelling.
"Hmm,", said the man simply.
Everyone was too busy gawking at him to notice that he had barely said a word. He was... Well, huge. He was wearing an a bright yellow suit the size of a tent, ascot of red, the size of a tablecloth. He wasn't excatly fat, but he was about 7 foot 5 inches.
As soon as George regained himself (which was quicker than the rest of them), he spoke up.
"You see, mister, I want to be straight with you,", started George.
The Doctor swallowed. George was just free-styling now. The Doctor had no idea what he was going to say.
"I'm George Harrison,", he said, turning down his collar and flopping his hair back over his forehead. "And that's my guitar. And that's my friend's records, and another friend's auntie's chair, and another friend's couch-to-be and blanket. I'd like to have them back, if you'd please. I'll pay you, if we must do it that way. I'll pay you even more for your people to leave us all alone.".
The man considered this. George was tilting his head back in the extreme to look the man in the eye.
The Doctor was screaming internally.
George. Dear, sweet, honest, innocent, peace-loving, straightfoward, lovely George. He had just blown everything.
A/N; Poor George! What will they do to get out of this one?!
Hope you guys liked it! Please let me know what you think!
