Thank You, God, for everything.
DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own Doctor Who. I haven't been posting chapters or stories lately, but that's because of the age old excuse: I haven't the time. And I'm still writing a lot, though. It's weird. :/
The Doctor was very pretty extra sure that no one had seen him leave. He had been sneaky, tiptoe-y, acting as if he was in a spy movie and being chased. Of course, this was not really the case. Not today, anyway. Instead he was walking around a confused studio with a little green pod in his hand, and he was not looking very sneaky at all. But he liked alluding himself. Lying. It was for the best, with him.
Using his psychic paper, he was easily able to make it out into the streets. He said, "Hello! Hello! Hi, very nice to see you! Lovely hair! You're going to be famous one day! For a scandal, terribly sorry," to the various paps, who were all make-uped and crowded around the studio. There was a news reporter, and she tried to get a hold of him, but he smiled and hurried away before she could get much of a statement out of him.
He was followed by a crowd of people with microphones and cameras, shouting and calling and commenting with bright lights in the wonderful sun. The Doctor, however, instead of being overwhelmed, straightened his bow tie and turned with a rolling of his eyes to his adoring crowd of wondering people still wondering what the hell had just happened in there and who the hell he was.
"Sir, why were you in that studio?" someone called, shoving a microphone in the Time Lord's face, making him close his eyes and shake his head slightly, like a wet puppy.
"Please move that, I can barely breathe," the Doctor said. The microphone was removed; he brightened with a smile, now able to breathe as he said, flicking his bow tie, "All right, one minute. Use your time wisely, I'll only answer the questions I find unusual, strange, or unusually strangely appealing for me."
"What is your name?" someone asked.
The Doctor looked a little ruffled and annoyed. "Well now, that's not an unusual or strange or an unusually strangely appealing question to me. Still," he straightened, "I suppose it's a fairly vital question. That's what you're going to put in the papers, aren't you? My name? Oh, isn't this wonderful. Dear goodness, well, it's the Doctor."
"'The Doctor'? Is that your real name?" the same someone asked, a woman with pink hair and a reporter's uniform on.
"You think it's not real? It's perfectly real," the Doctor said, sounding slightly offended.
"Are you in character, sir? Are you heading off to a set? For what show or movie is this Doctor going to be into?" the someone said.
"You," the Doctor said, pointing at the someone. "What is your name?"
"Lany Jiggs," the someone, now identified, said.
"Lany, now, dear Lany, here's some information for you. Be sure to write this down," the Doctor said, pointing to the paper pad in her hand. He tapped it then, and said, "I am the Doctor. I am NOT in character. Well, I am. Rich in it, actually, but I am the Geek and that's all at the moment, minute's up." He turned on his heel and said, waving his hand, "Cheerio, Hollywood people," and he began to run run run run until he had outpaced the crowd and was at the door to the TARDIS. He held up the gas pod admiringly to the shining sun, which glistened off the pod. He went back and forth from opening and closing his eyes at intervals, and said, "I'll figure you out." He turned and entered the TARDIS, slipping the key into his pocket as he hurried to the console, saying cheerily, "I'm back, Sexy!"
The TARDIS let out a cheer, and he looked at the top of her with a grin. "Miss me, old girl? Someone is getting sentimental." He held up the gas pod and said, "I found a Something. Isn't it pretty?" The TARDIS chirped. The Doctor nodded and put it on the console and pulled out his screwdriver. "Time to figure out what planet this is from."
Camille Burnett was a very conniving person. She knew that, and as with many of her flaws, she embraced it and used it to her advantage. She had her celebrity as well, and a worried look was the exactly the thing an actress like herself could portray perfectly. She straightened with her face perfectly concocted and, her high heels clopping against the ground like she was some horse, she made her way into the studio where James Peering was pointing fingers at a very angry looking Roman and some redhead with her hands on her hips, looking indignant.
"It's my script, and I'm not changing what I wrote!" James Peering said, tapping the papers in his hand.
"But I'm not kissing anyone but Rory, no one else, thank you," Amy said, tilting her head and not looking like she could be manipulated.
"I won't be ordered around like this," James said angrily.
"And what exactly are you going to do about it, then?" Rory said just as Camille came up, looking very worried.
"Goodness, James, what happened to the studio? It was so strange. I didn't know what to do. What caused that?" Camille wondered.
James looked annoyed. "Why were you still in the studio?"
Camille patted the large bag at her side. "Collecting my things."
"Why're ya doing that?" Amy wondered.
"James and I got into a . . . disagreement, and I've been ordered away from my job, which is now in your possession," Camille said, with an almost poisonous venom in her voice. This made Amy narrow her eyes and look at the actress with a little suspicion. "I was still here when we all turned into zombies. We looked worse than Zombie Movie 43 zombies. THAT was an embarrassment to Hollywood."
"Why are you still here, Camille?" James wanted to know.
Camille put a hand over her heart. "I-I was just checking along, making sure everyone was okay and back to normal again."
"Well, we are, and so you can leave now," James said.
"What caused it, exactly? Do you have any idea who? Why? A motive of some sort?" Camille wondered, her voice dripping with worry.
"We haven't a clue, and that's why we've got a specialist working on it," Amy said.
Camille raised an eyebrow. "Oh, good. Who?"
"Someone who isn't here right and now and has probably gotten lost," Amy said, and Rory raised an eyebrow and said, "Can anyone hear that?"
"Hear what?" James wondered.
"Oh, I can," Camille said. She smiled and puffed up her hair with her hand. "I can recognize that sound from a mile away."
"You've got a very good pair of ears, then," Amy said.
"That's the sound of the paps," Camille said.
James cursed and rolled his eyes. "That's great. What are we supposed to tell them? Strangely enough, 'no comment' won't hold them forever."
"I think I'll go and have a look-see at the progress of it all," Amy said. She patted Rory on the shoulder and whispered, "Good luck," and then quickly hurried through the studio, her high heels making thumping noises as she tried to push her way through the throngs of demanding people.
"Where's a security guard when you need one, aye?" Amy said, pushing past the paps to the gate. "Oi, move or I swear I will shove you away," Amy said venomously as she fumbled her way out of the gate and onto the sidewalk, which still had an unholy amount of people walking around and asking for an autograph or explanation as to what was happening in the studio. She'd roll her eyes and say, "It was extraterrestrial, okay? Geez," and she hurried (nearly leaped) for the next two minutes until she was safely able to sneak into the TARDIS and plant her back against her door. Breathing heavily, she looked up when the Doctor said, "Were you being chased, Amy?"
"Having the Japanese army pounding after me would have be easier than that," Amy said lightly, unsticking her back from the door and walking up to the TARDIS console. "So, what are you doing? Got any news?"
The Doctor looked up from where he was looking at the gas pod with goggles that amplified his eyes so he looked like a bug. He was pouring this and that on the gas pod, torching it and sprinkling it. He set his sonic screwdriver on it once more, though it did little help. "I am trying to figure out what planet is the origin of this. It doesn't look like it's from the Planet of Non-kooks, but the Astro Belt in the Left Field thinks highly of such packaging. The gas might be from the Kiki animals that reside on Tatsu-Vivi, but then again they usual vaporize it into a powder which can be in travel packs. It's a bit illegal, almost like your drugs. This won't get you high and dry, though. Doesn't have the same compounds to make the regions of your brain that control your thoughts do that sort of thing."
"You really are the Geek," Amy said, smirking.
"Oh," the Doctor said, but he had no witty comeback for Amy, for he was indeed acting terribly like a geek. "Shut it, Pond."
That only made Amy smirk harder.
The Doctor shook his head at her and blushed at his ears as he said, re-examining his sonic screwdriver. "My screwdriver isn't picking up any traces of anything from the planets and places I've been to, though the TARDIS might remember, seeing as this thing" - he banged at it with the palm of his hand - "hasn't seen everything like Sexy has, have you?" He must have received an unsatisfactory answer, for he "bahhed" and threw the screwdriver at the console and turned back to the pod. He placed the pod on a platform and stood back, taking his goggles off his eyes and onto his hair as he looked up at the TARDIS top, making Amy do the same, and said in a delighted voice, "Go at it, Sexy!"
There was a noise as a laser passed over the gas pod, analyzing and picking up traces of anything and everything.
"What's she got, Doctor?" Amy said, and she let out a slight gasp as the Doctor grabbed her arm and dragged her to the screen displayed near the top of the TARDIS.
"Oh, that makes sense," the Doctor said, his face lighting up with a glee. He let out a giggle and twisted Amy's hand, making her twirl. She came to a stop and looked at the Doctor with a completely serious face. "Are . . . you okay?"
"It's from the Subtan Land. I had to wear a special suit with gloves there. Wasn't able to touch or taste or smell anything. So, couldn't really identify it."
"What do the people from there look like?" Amy wondered.
"Not so much people as mud creatures. They bathe in mud, look like mud, take a nice evening walking through the mud. All blotchy and dark brown like chocolate, only better because they talked and chocolate doesn't, though I like chocolate. Milk's the best, though; milk with the chocolate chip cookies is the best thing, but you have to have milk with the fat, none of that skimmed stuff, nasty, ick," the Doctor said, sticking out his tongue.
"You lost me at the chocolate," Amy said, raising an eyebrow at the Doctor.
"I WAS counting on you to keep up, Pond, honestly, why do I have you around but to listen to my clever deductions?" the Doctor said brightly as he went and picked up the pod.
"I thought it was Sexy here" - Amy patted the TARDIS - "who deduced that."
"Yeah, whatever," the Doctor said. He turned and ran toward the door, making Amy immediately follow him.
He closed the door and locked it behind him, saying as he slipped the key into his pocket, "Usually I would just leave this unlocked, seeing as Hollywood is used to weird things like this appearing in their streets, but there is paps, and paps are VERY dangerous people, Amy. They're ruthless, like mercenaries."
"You could say that again," Amy said, nodding.
The Doctor looked at her incredulously. "Don't make me repeat that."
He then hurried (with Amy at his heels) back to the studio.
"We need to locate the director and Rory," the Doctor said as he forced the gate open.
"Why's that?" Amy wondered.
"The director because I need a big ol' megaphone to broadcast to the invading populace that there may be more of these pods, and Rory because he's my mate and I'd rather not lose him," the Doctor said. "You know how he is. Wandering around, poking his big nose into everything."
"Wouldn't that be a good thing if you were searching for pods?" Amy wondered.
The Doctor opened the gate and turned to Amy with a very turned up smile. "That's what I like to hear, Pond."
"What, exactly?" Amy said as she hurried after the Doctor once more.
"You using your brain, using your mouth to spew out knowledge and tactics and gosh, I love that," the Doctor said.
"Okay. . ." Amy said. They passed a number of paps and rushed past them, too busy to be polite to people trying to pry into their lives. "So why are these pods here?" she said loudly over the sound of the questions of the wondering populace.
"Someone has planted them. The gas, it seems, has the ability to make people act crazy, limbs go up and down, you know, like robots, or zombies, zombies are very interesting," the Doctor said. He sighed and said, "WOULD YOU PEOPLE PLEASE MOVE? I AM TRYING TO GET THROUGH HERE!"
But, of course, no one listened to him because people don't like being told what to do and they like being annoying to people because that makes them happy.
The Doctor sighed and mentally decided to visit another planet (hopefully, if he felt up to it) and not Earth when this crisis was overcome and continued, hoping that Amy hadn't been pushed back so that she couldn't hear him. "It might be a military tactic, though I highly doubt that. It's most like a single being doing this, trying to gain the power over the people."
"Does the person who set the gas pod want to control the people? Because I don't think making people act like zombies is going to accomplish many evil plans," Amy said.
"Yes, Pond, but it is a way to scare people, assert authority, like, 'I can control you and there is nothing you can do; if you want your life back, listen to my orders.' It's a way of intimidating people, Amy," the Doctor said. He jerked his head for her to turn with him, and they peeked their heads into different rooms, not even bothering to even go and ask people where James Peering was. This was their system, and they weren't going to change it.
They finally peeked their heads into a studio that had the start of a cooking show. Amy sighed and said, "Jimmy boy, where are you?"
"This is giving me a crick in the neck," the Doctor said, cracking his neck with a grimace on his face.
"Oh, you too? Yeah, I noticed," Amy said, turning her head from side to side.
"See them?" the Doctor said in a low voice, taking in the camera crew and people all over the set.
Amy shrugged. "Don't know, well, is that him. . .?"
"Yes, hey, Jimmy!" the Doctor said, hurrying to James Peering. It seemed that the man was also the director of this show, for he was using his hands to gesture and talk to a person in big poufy clothes that should never be near a stove for fearing of it being flammable.
"Hey-o, here," the Doctor said.
James turned to him and looked very angry. "Is this about changing the script again? No, I'm not, I already told your friend that I'm not changing around the writing."
"You have a very one-track mind, don't you?" the Doctor said. "WAIT, no, no, Jimmy, that's not why I'm here. I need your megaphone, I need to tell you something-"
"Save it. I'm behind schedule, we just got the eleven-thirty slot," James said. He nodded to the woman in the huge clothes and said, "Ready in ten, Sylvia."
"Sure, doll," the woman said in a voice that sounded more like a man's than the Doctor's.
"Jimmy, Jimmy, wait," the Doctor said, raising a hand, but his words were drowned out by a countdown as the director took his seat and they were live to all of Hollywood.
Thanks for reading!