[Theatrical Muse] Response
Lines.
She had never been good at queuing, especially as a child. Impatience had always gotten the better of Sarah Jane. She’d want to see around the corner if the line was particularly long. She’d want to be out of the store minutes before Aunt Lavinia actually reached the till lady to pay for the groceries. And perhaps, worst of all had been the queue to board the school bus when going away on class trips; she always wanted the window seat and spent most of that line worrying she might not get one.
But no line in Sarah’s years had ever been more nerve wracking than the one she currently waited on. If everything went her way, this investigation was to be her big break. A step away of writing articles on Women’s Lib for the Metropolitan and a step towards investigative journalism and more pertinent articles. Who’d have thought volunteering to house sit her aunt’s home on Bannerman Road during the other woman’s tour of American universities would lead to such an opportunity?
The nerves she forced down seemed endless. Pushing a strand of hair out of her face, she checked the documents again. She had the letter in hand, the one UNIT had sent requesting Dr Lavinia Smith’s presence at a safe house until they put an end to the rash of missing scientists. She had one of her aunt’s old IDs, where the photograph was faded enough to resemble Sarah and the birth date scratched enough to manipulate it into a more reasonable year.
There wasn’t much more needed, she had figured before leaving for the institution. However, the long wait (for only three bloody people) made her think otherwise. What could be taking so learn? Had she not brought enough documents, enough proof of being Lavinia Smith?
A soldier (lieutenant by the look of things) glanced in Sarah Jane’s direction, knocking the woman out of her reverie. She smiled and waved back, perhaps looking a little flirtatious. The man came over and nodded, taking off his beret before offering a hand.
“Doctor Sullivan at your service, ma’am,” he spoke as she shook his hand gingerly. “It’s the longest queue I’ve seen since we started this round up. Sorry about that.”
Sarah laughed. “Has this been going on for long?”
“Only a couple of days, since Britain’s top minds started to disappear. But rest assure, miss, we’ll find who’s in char-” He stopped talking, eyes looking beyond her to the front of the queue. “Looks like you’re up. Again, sorry about that wait. I’ll see you inside, eh, Miss-”
“Smith,” she answered, slipping in to what Sarah Jane considered the greatest acting role of her life. “Doctor Lavinia Smith.”
He tipped his cap at her again. Sarah was about to respond before another (less polite) soldier snapped something about absent minded scientists. She turned around to face this man with a scowl but quickly pushed it aside. She’d have to hold her temper if she was going to succeed in her investigation.
“Right,” she responded instead, shoving the documents into the man’s face. At the very least, she could be slightly temperamental. Didn’t these soldier types expect that from brains, after all? He gave her a look that she ignored, smiling pleasantly instead and babbling on about how she hoped not to have to say wrong given the important research she had been conducting back at UCL.
Time to get off the line.
She had never been good at queuing, especially as a child. Impatience had always gotten the better of Sarah Jane. She’d want to see around the corner if the line was particularly long. She’d want to be out of the store minutes before Aunt Lavinia actually reached the till lady to pay for the groceries. And perhaps, worst of all had been the queue to board the school bus when going away on class trips; she always wanted the window seat and spent most of that line worrying she might not get one.
But no line in Sarah’s years had ever been more nerve wracking than the one she currently waited on. If everything went her way, this investigation was to be her big break. A step away of writing articles on Women’s Lib for the Metropolitan and a step towards investigative journalism and more pertinent articles. Who’d have thought volunteering to house sit her aunt’s home on Bannerman Road during the other woman’s tour of American universities would lead to such an opportunity?
The nerves she forced down seemed endless. Pushing a strand of hair out of her face, she checked the documents again. She had the letter in hand, the one UNIT had sent requesting Dr Lavinia Smith’s presence at a safe house until they put an end to the rash of missing scientists. She had one of her aunt’s old IDs, where the photograph was faded enough to resemble Sarah and the birth date scratched enough to manipulate it into a more reasonable year.
There wasn’t much more needed, she had figured before leaving for the institution. However, the long wait (for only three bloody people) made her think otherwise. What could be taking so learn? Had she not brought enough documents, enough proof of being Lavinia Smith?
A soldier (lieutenant by the look of things) glanced in Sarah Jane’s direction, knocking the woman out of her reverie. She smiled and waved back, perhaps looking a little flirtatious. The man came over and nodded, taking off his beret before offering a hand.
“Doctor Sullivan at your service, ma’am,” he spoke as she shook his hand gingerly. “It’s the longest queue I’ve seen since we started this round up. Sorry about that.”
Sarah laughed. “Has this been going on for long?”
“Only a couple of days, since Britain’s top minds started to disappear. But rest assure, miss, we’ll find who’s in char-” He stopped talking, eyes looking beyond her to the front of the queue. “Looks like you’re up. Again, sorry about that wait. I’ll see you inside, eh, Miss-”
“Smith,” she answered, slipping in to what Sarah Jane considered the greatest acting role of her life. “Doctor Lavinia Smith.”
He tipped his cap at her again. Sarah was about to respond before another (less polite) soldier snapped something about absent minded scientists. She turned around to face this man with a scowl but quickly pushed it aside. She’d have to hold her temper if she was going to succeed in her investigation.
“Right,” she responded instead, shoving the documents into the man’s face. At the very least, she could be slightly temperamental. Didn’t these soldier types expect that from brains, after all? He gave her a look that she ignored, smiling pleasantly instead and babbling on about how she hoped not to have to say wrong given the important research she had been conducting back at UCL.
Time to get off the line.