Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Mark's POV
"I hate these things," wined the Nurse, smoothing the maid outfit she was now wearing. "I mean I hate skirts at the best of times. But these things are just ridiculous."
"Well, it was your choice to become part of the help, and not a guest which I wanted to be," retorted Mark, straitening his bowtie.
They were in the back of the Worthington House, getting ready for the party which was due to start in a half an hour. And Mark was kind of angry for finding out that he had to serve drinks and tiny bites of food to people all night, instead of relaxing and talking to people, including his sister.
"Well, the help is never noticed. And we don't want to be noticed," stated Nurse, fiddling with the necklace she was supposed to wear.
The Nurse had made it clear that it was best if they weren't detected. That they went unobserved and stayed in the shadows, away from the spotlight. That was one of the rules that the Nurse had made after she agreed to let Mark go to see his dead sister. There were many others. This universe is like a gingerbread house full of sweets with a deadly witch daring you to eat the sweets, or that was how the Nurse described it. She didn't look too pleased about sneaking into the party. But she had no say on the matter really, thought Mark. I would've probably gone without her if she didn't agree. And who knows what would happen if I did.
"I can never get these things," grunted Nurse, still trying to put on the necklace.
"Here, let me help you," said Mark moving over to her.
The Nurse sighed and handed Mark the necklace. He took and then placed it on her neck and linked the clasp. He felt his heart flutter as his fingers brushed her skin. But the Nurse hardly seemed to notice.
"Thanks," said the Nurse, moving away from Mark. "I could never put on those things. Why do you think I never wear them? Anyway…We best be getting back to the kitchens. I think they're calling for us."
Martha's POV
"How do I look?" questioned Martha, twirling around in her dress.
They were in Martha's bedroom. After she had gotten dressed, the Doctor had appeared again, but this time with a tux on.
"Good," the Doctor said offhandedly, still trying to put on his bowtie. "Did I mention how much I don't like tuxes? Especially, bowties. I can never seem to get those things."
"Here, let me help you," said Martha moving over to him.
The Doctor sighed and let Martha take over. She took the piece of cloth and tied it into a perfect bowtie. She felt her heart flutter as her fingers brushed against his chest. But the Doctor hardly seemed to notice.
"Thanks," said the Doctor moving toward the mirror, leaning in to fix his hair. "I can never seem to put those things on. That's why I never wear them. So," continued the Doctor stepping away from the mirror and turning towards Martha. "Ready to go?"
"Yah," replied Martha fixing the clip in her hair. "As ready as I'll ever be."
"Good," responded the Doctor with a smile. "Then let's go."
And with that the Doctor started out the door. Martha quickly grabbed her hand bag and the invitation and hastily followed the Doctor out of her house.
***
They arrived there at exactly 8 o'clock. After a bit of a hassle at the front door, which included the Doctor saying that he was part of the Jones camp and that he should be on the list, even though he was not, the guard eventually let them in. Inside, they were led to a huge and very extravagantly decorated ballroom. Within the room were people of all different ages and different social standings. Some were wearing diamond necklaces and cufflinks while others were wearing their Sunday best, which in some cases was only a nice pair of pants and an ironed button-down shirt. There were people that looked about 90 years old to people that looked like they were barely out of high school. It was indeed a random selection of the common public.
Martha took her eyes away from the crowd and looked the Doctor. His face was one of contemplation, like he was trying to solve a puzzle that he couldn't quite grasp.
"Do you see anyone unusual?" quietly questioned Martha.
"No," said the Doctor, eyebrows furrowing and nose sniffing. "I just smell something…odd."
"What? Like 'bad garbage' odd? Or like 'too much perfume' odd? Or something else?" asked Martha.
"Something else. Something I can quite put my finger on…," muttered the Doctor.
Mark's POV
It was 8 o'clock and they now held trays in their hands, offering Champaign, wine or fancy little bits of food, to the diverse crowd. Mark was keeping an eye out for his sister, but so far she hadn't shown up. The Nurse was nearby, serving red wine to a couple in their mid-30s, when another couple walked in. The man was tall and lanky, with spiky brown hair. Mark didn't know if it was the strange expression the man wore on his face or the way he held himself, but this man reminded him of the Nurse is some weird way. The woman next to him was black and had straightened shoulder length hair. She had a certain air of beauty around her and reminded him of someone, though he couldn't quite tell who.
Mark looked over at the Nurse to see if she noticed the new couple walk in. It was hard to say that she did. Her expression was thoughtful, like she was trying to solve a really hard math problem. She was sniffing around too. Odd, thought Mark. He walked over to the Nurse to see what was up.
"Something wrong?"quietly asked Mark.
"Yah. I'm smelling something very strange. I think I know what it is, like it's on the tip of my tongue, but I can't quite place my finger on it," muttered the Nurse.
But before she could say anything else, someone began to knock on their glass, trying to get crowd's attention. Mark looked where it was coming from. There, up against the wall was a man in his 60s with a glass and a knife in hand, which it was using to silence the large group of people. And next to the man was his sister, Regina Jones.