When Enough is Enough
This is inspired by MD, and some people's reactions to the new series. Spoilers! Don't read until AFTER you've seen Categories of Life! This is dedicated to Solsbury Girl.
NC 17,
Characters: A confused broken soul, a dastardly villain, 2 kind rescuers.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, none of this is real, just the blithering of a poor sad soul.
TWTWTWTW
He was tied to the metal office chair with some kind of bunggie cord and duct tape arrangement. He had struggled repeatedly to try and wriggle free, but to no avail. His feet and legs were firmly secured to the chair legs as well. He couldn't just...stand and scoot away. He was a helpless, terrified prisoner, enduring the most unspeakable torture imaginable.
The little warehouse had obviously been long abandoned. There was evidence of rat, mouse and cockroach invasions. The place stank of molds, dampness and rotting cardboard. There was no longer any electrical hook up. His torturer had brought some portable spot lights run by batteries. She tottered back and forth, waving a cane and the notebooks she was reading aloud from. Oh, God...those notebooks.
The notebooks were full of the most awful drivel ever spewed out by an unbalanced mind. What the captive found the most agonizing was the fact that, here and there amidst the dreck there was the odd, occasional gem. A line, a plot twist, a scene description, sometimes a bit of dialogue. All of it was fanfic, all about the show his own infernal mind had given birth to. And what gave him bone deep agony was that even though this crazed woman's work was an amateurish babble, there were these little perfect jewels strewn throughout, that he himself, a writer of great acclaim, had never come up with.
As the addled creature finished reading a page, she would tear it out of the book and shove it in her captive's mouth, thereby effectively muffling his pleas for help and mercy. His eyes, like big hysterical boiled stones, bugged out at her behind askew glasses. Somehow during his abduction and abuse he had managed to retain them, and had a clear view of his situation. Not that it helped.
His abductor finally paused in her recitation, and tossed her book aside. Quivering, she waddled closer to the man in the chair. He could see by the cold light of the spotlights that she was over weight, short and shabbily dressed. Her hair was a grizzled mess of mousy brown and frizzed gray. It hadn't been properly cut or styled in....years? He knew her own glasses were long past due for replacement; they clung to her face crookedly, and had to be thrust back up her nose repeatedly. She clung to a sturdy cane ; movement obviously pained her joints. How had she been able to bring him to the ground? He was much bigger and stronger...ah, she was waving about a taser.
Tears were pouring down her pale saggy middle aged face. "Why?", she begged. "Why do you have to kill all my friends? What have I ever done to you?" She sobbed, ducking her head as she wept brokenly. " Taking Tosh and Owen from me wasn't enough! No, you had to take MY IANTO!!" The anguished wail was directed upwards towards the roof, as she threw her head back and moaned in fresh grief.
The man tried to explain about ratings, market shares, actor salary caps and production costs, but gagged as he was his lecture was a garble. Just as well; the mad woman was in no mood to listen to his lame excuses.
She waddled back and forth, shaking her head and mumbling. She stopped and thrust the taser out at him. " And what have you done to poor Jack? He is half the man he was...he's so fragile and lonely without his Ianto! That Esther girl is so kind and caring with him, just like Tosh.." She pushed her tear dripping face into his personal space, " I'll bet you have something HORRIBLE planned for her, don't you!", she snarled. Her jowls wobbled with the force of her emotions.
He leaned back as far as he could, sniveling in fright. This....hysterical woman...could do anything to him and no one would ever know. He was at the complete mercy of a demented aging fangirl.
"And why is Rex so mean? You let him say terrible things about Torchwood! Tosh, Owen and Ianto died saving the world! They're HEROES! This CIA jerk talks about them as if they were fumbling ineffectual GITS!" She stopped in her tracks, tottered back to her captive. "Torchwood has been there for CENTURIES! Queen Victoria started it!" she shrieked. "Torchwood has faced off against monsters and aliens for centuries, that's why we're all still here!"
The writer shuddered in his bunggie cords. Oh, lord, she was well and truly delusional. How was he going to get out of this alive? How was he going to get out of this in time for the cocktail party his L.A. agency was throwing for him tonight? All the right people would be there....there would be the best little noshies from the finest catering firms, lovely vodka and gin cocktails, all the beautiful people in pretty party clothes and jewelry...Heaven! Squeezing his weeping eyes shut he clung to his dream.
"What have you done with Martha and Mickey? Where is UNIT? They should be all over this! You've done something dreadful to them as well, haven't you? They wouldn't desert Jack and Gwen like this! And you're going to have poor Gwen's Dad thrown into the oven, aren't you? You can't wait to make her suffer! Well, I won't let you! I'll stop you, you can't torture and kill any more of my friends!" She leered horribly at him, holding out the taser. "This was Ianto's taser..." She stroked the little instrument, turning it on so that the current jumped and spat between the prongs.
The man struggled futilely, trying to hop the chair back away from the evil cackling hag. Who would save him? He was doomed, DOOMED! She was moving closer, sneering and gabbling, playfully darting the frizzling taser around his body. He screamed into the wad of wet paper crammed into his mouth, his eyes rolled back in his head....Was there no escape, no hope? Dear God, was there LIMO service in Heaven?
Just then, behind the capering crone's back, a door thudded open. Two figures strutted in. The trapped man squealed in joyous relief.
The pair came towards them with commanding strides. The woman was tall, slim and quite beautiful. Her skin was the colour of rich milk chocolate, her facial bones were delicate and refined. Her eyes were large and glowed with a luminous peace and grace. Her walk covered the ground effortlessly, as she had strode around the world.
The young man with her also had darker skin, his was the colour of perfectly blended coffee and cream. Warm humour sparkled in his eyes. A mischievous grin quirked his cheeks. He walked to the right and just behind his woman friend; the place of a solid right hand man and sergeant.
They were both dressed casually in fatigue pants and tshirts. They never knew when they would be called upon to fight weevils or alien despots, it was always a good idea to be prepared.
The demented fangirl had seen and recognized the pair. "Oh, it's you!", she cried out joyfully. She dropped the spitting taser which immediately shocked the man in the chair. He shrieked and toppled the chair backwards and mercifully blacked out. He also immediately wet himself.
The woman gathered the trembling fangirl in her arms. " Oh, you poor dear! I bet your joints are hurting you, aren't they? What are you doing in this smelly damp place?" She stroked the grizzled gray head resting on her shoulder. "I've got some aspirin in the van, we'll just get you out of this nasty place." The tall young woman put an elegant hand on the older woman's cheek. "I bet your poor head is aching too, isn't it? Come with us, let's go out to the van, alright? We've got some nice hot tea in the thermos, how's that? I bet you've caught a chill here, haven't you?" So saying, the two young people gently led the tottering woman outside.
They carefully helped the weakening woman into the back of their van, mindful of her painful joints and exhaustion. Tea and aspirin were administered, as was a good deal of sympathy and kindness. They covered her drowsing body in a car blanket to help her worn out bones stay warm. They were going to take her to an island that they knew of, populated by other sad broken people who had been ruthless brutalized by the monster still in the warehouse.
As one, the two heroes turned back to the warehouse. They had saved the victim, there was still her torturer to be dealt with.
They stood over the heap of drooling blacked out man and chair. The young woman crinkled a perfect forehead and wrinkled up a pert lovely nose. " He SMELLS! How are we going to get him back to the van?" Her plump upper lip curled up in a sneer of disgust.
Her partner snorted. " We'll just grab the chair legs and drag him out." He put his hands on his hips, shook his head. " What a useless wanker. No one to blame but himself. Look, should we take that stuff out of his mouth?"
The young woman shook her head, pulling on a chair leg. "No,I don't want him coming to and bothering her. She's only just got to sleep, poor thing. I've got a plastic tarp we can wrap him in so he doesn't mess all over the back."
They dragged the toppled chair and it's stinky contents towards the door. The young man said, "We'll just dump him at the nearest street corner where there's people. Then we'll take her to Flat Holm."
The young woman gave him a bewitching smile. "Good plan."
End.
NC 17,
Characters: A confused broken soul, a dastardly villain, 2 kind rescuers.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, none of this is real, just the blithering of a poor sad soul.
TWTWTWTW
He was tied to the metal office chair with some kind of bunggie cord and duct tape arrangement. He had struggled repeatedly to try and wriggle free, but to no avail. His feet and legs were firmly secured to the chair legs as well. He couldn't just...stand and scoot away. He was a helpless, terrified prisoner, enduring the most unspeakable torture imaginable.
The little warehouse had obviously been long abandoned. There was evidence of rat, mouse and cockroach invasions. The place stank of molds, dampness and rotting cardboard. There was no longer any electrical hook up. His torturer had brought some portable spot lights run by batteries. She tottered back and forth, waving a cane and the notebooks she was reading aloud from. Oh, God...those notebooks.
The notebooks were full of the most awful drivel ever spewed out by an unbalanced mind. What the captive found the most agonizing was the fact that, here and there amidst the dreck there was the odd, occasional gem. A line, a plot twist, a scene description, sometimes a bit of dialogue. All of it was fanfic, all about the show his own infernal mind had given birth to. And what gave him bone deep agony was that even though this crazed woman's work was an amateurish babble, there were these little perfect jewels strewn throughout, that he himself, a writer of great acclaim, had never come up with.
As the addled creature finished reading a page, she would tear it out of the book and shove it in her captive's mouth, thereby effectively muffling his pleas for help and mercy. His eyes, like big hysterical boiled stones, bugged out at her behind askew glasses. Somehow during his abduction and abuse he had managed to retain them, and had a clear view of his situation. Not that it helped.
His abductor finally paused in her recitation, and tossed her book aside. Quivering, she waddled closer to the man in the chair. He could see by the cold light of the spotlights that she was over weight, short and shabbily dressed. Her hair was a grizzled mess of mousy brown and frizzed gray. It hadn't been properly cut or styled in....years? He knew her own glasses were long past due for replacement; they clung to her face crookedly, and had to be thrust back up her nose repeatedly. She clung to a sturdy cane ; movement obviously pained her joints. How had she been able to bring him to the ground? He was much bigger and stronger...ah, she was waving about a taser.
Tears were pouring down her pale saggy middle aged face. "Why?", she begged. "Why do you have to kill all my friends? What have I ever done to you?" She sobbed, ducking her head as she wept brokenly. " Taking Tosh and Owen from me wasn't enough! No, you had to take MY IANTO!!" The anguished wail was directed upwards towards the roof, as she threw her head back and moaned in fresh grief.
The man tried to explain about ratings, market shares, actor salary caps and production costs, but gagged as he was his lecture was a garble. Just as well; the mad woman was in no mood to listen to his lame excuses.
She waddled back and forth, shaking her head and mumbling. She stopped and thrust the taser out at him. " And what have you done to poor Jack? He is half the man he was...he's so fragile and lonely without his Ianto! That Esther girl is so kind and caring with him, just like Tosh.." She pushed her tear dripping face into his personal space, " I'll bet you have something HORRIBLE planned for her, don't you!", she snarled. Her jowls wobbled with the force of her emotions.
He leaned back as far as he could, sniveling in fright. This....hysterical woman...could do anything to him and no one would ever know. He was at the complete mercy of a demented aging fangirl.
"And why is Rex so mean? You let him say terrible things about Torchwood! Tosh, Owen and Ianto died saving the world! They're HEROES! This CIA jerk talks about them as if they were fumbling ineffectual GITS!" She stopped in her tracks, tottered back to her captive. "Torchwood has been there for CENTURIES! Queen Victoria started it!" she shrieked. "Torchwood has faced off against monsters and aliens for centuries, that's why we're all still here!"
The writer shuddered in his bunggie cords. Oh, lord, she was well and truly delusional. How was he going to get out of this alive? How was he going to get out of this in time for the cocktail party his L.A. agency was throwing for him tonight? All the right people would be there....there would be the best little noshies from the finest catering firms, lovely vodka and gin cocktails, all the beautiful people in pretty party clothes and jewelry...Heaven! Squeezing his weeping eyes shut he clung to his dream.
"What have you done with Martha and Mickey? Where is UNIT? They should be all over this! You've done something dreadful to them as well, haven't you? They wouldn't desert Jack and Gwen like this! And you're going to have poor Gwen's Dad thrown into the oven, aren't you? You can't wait to make her suffer! Well, I won't let you! I'll stop you, you can't torture and kill any more of my friends!" She leered horribly at him, holding out the taser. "This was Ianto's taser..." She stroked the little instrument, turning it on so that the current jumped and spat between the prongs.
The man struggled futilely, trying to hop the chair back away from the evil cackling hag. Who would save him? He was doomed, DOOMED! She was moving closer, sneering and gabbling, playfully darting the frizzling taser around his body. He screamed into the wad of wet paper crammed into his mouth, his eyes rolled back in his head....Was there no escape, no hope? Dear God, was there LIMO service in Heaven?
Just then, behind the capering crone's back, a door thudded open. Two figures strutted in. The trapped man squealed in joyous relief.
The pair came towards them with commanding strides. The woman was tall, slim and quite beautiful. Her skin was the colour of rich milk chocolate, her facial bones were delicate and refined. Her eyes were large and glowed with a luminous peace and grace. Her walk covered the ground effortlessly, as she had strode around the world.
The young man with her also had darker skin, his was the colour of perfectly blended coffee and cream. Warm humour sparkled in his eyes. A mischievous grin quirked his cheeks. He walked to the right and just behind his woman friend; the place of a solid right hand man and sergeant.
They were both dressed casually in fatigue pants and tshirts. They never knew when they would be called upon to fight weevils or alien despots, it was always a good idea to be prepared.
The demented fangirl had seen and recognized the pair. "Oh, it's you!", she cried out joyfully. She dropped the spitting taser which immediately shocked the man in the chair. He shrieked and toppled the chair backwards and mercifully blacked out. He also immediately wet himself.
The woman gathered the trembling fangirl in her arms. " Oh, you poor dear! I bet your joints are hurting you, aren't they? What are you doing in this smelly damp place?" She stroked the grizzled gray head resting on her shoulder. "I've got some aspirin in the van, we'll just get you out of this nasty place." The tall young woman put an elegant hand on the older woman's cheek. "I bet your poor head is aching too, isn't it? Come with us, let's go out to the van, alright? We've got some nice hot tea in the thermos, how's that? I bet you've caught a chill here, haven't you?" So saying, the two young people gently led the tottering woman outside.
They carefully helped the weakening woman into the back of their van, mindful of her painful joints and exhaustion. Tea and aspirin were administered, as was a good deal of sympathy and kindness. They covered her drowsing body in a car blanket to help her worn out bones stay warm. They were going to take her to an island that they knew of, populated by other sad broken people who had been ruthless brutalized by the monster still in the warehouse.
As one, the two heroes turned back to the warehouse. They had saved the victim, there was still her torturer to be dealt with.
They stood over the heap of drooling blacked out man and chair. The young woman crinkled a perfect forehead and wrinkled up a pert lovely nose. " He SMELLS! How are we going to get him back to the van?" Her plump upper lip curled up in a sneer of disgust.
Her partner snorted. " We'll just grab the chair legs and drag him out." He put his hands on his hips, shook his head. " What a useless wanker. No one to blame but himself. Look, should we take that stuff out of his mouth?"
The young woman shook her head, pulling on a chair leg. "No,I don't want him coming to and bothering her. She's only just got to sleep, poor thing. I've got a plastic tarp we can wrap him in so he doesn't mess all over the back."
They dragged the toppled chair and it's stinky contents towards the door. The young man said, "We'll just dump him at the nearest street corner where there's people. Then we'll take her to Flat Holm."
The young woman gave him a bewitching smile. "Good plan."
End.