Voice Post//Action for TW3 Flat

[kissesandbangs]

[Slight hum of someone phasing into the flat.]

Don't look now but...

[It seems empty, he sounds surprised, then sounds a 'pft'.]

Well the undead must've gotten to this lot. I'll help myself.

[To that famous coffee--something trills in a high pitch, then a crash and struggle!]

SHIT.

[Whoosh, and the trilling squeals into the distance

Comments

[handsomejack]

"Don't get eaten by zombies," Jack warned his team, before setting Tosh down on her feet with a small, firm nudge to make sure she kept following Gwen.

Specifically if there were zombies out there, they'd need to watch each other's backs.

Jack went back to glaring at John. He wanted to be pissed at John. Wanted to throw around all sorts of threats, demands tha John never come to the apartments again, promises to beat his ass later, howls of unfairness and chest thumping declarations of 'how could you be so cruel'.

But he didn't do any of those things. Because he knew how it could happen. Knew how the training worked and after all hadn't Jack taught John some of his tricks?

"I can redirect their focus to looking for him for now. However, you'd be well served to find yourself a hole and get in it until we can find Ellington because if you cross paths with a young blond man wearing blue, you're going to be on your own."

Jack looked down and away, still disappointed and perhaps trying to remind himself that the Doctor had given him a chance. Maybe John needed the same.

[*Beats you with a wet noodle of dooooooooooommmm!!]

[warped_inside]

Tosh returned that challenging glare straight on, grabbing her PDA off the floor and then taking off out the door. It would probably be best for her own safety if the rest of the team made sure she was safely kept in the flat at night for the next little while.

Those still in the flat might have heard and angry clang from Tosh kicking the fire escape at the discovery of the inky splatter.

[ooc: Ellingtooooooon!!! D:]

[kissesandbangs]

And the training was ace and John considered himself the fucking poster boy for when good skills go bad, or something to that effect. He was no Face of Boe or Rear of the Year, but he was damned good at what he did. It was a matter of having proper motivation beyond vice. John only pursed his lips, the kind he did when he was resentful of such judgment. Jack might've recognized it. John should've known better really, he was a rogue time agent after all, for an agency in shambles.

"Advice taken, Jack," said the other Captain in a cool manner. He flipped the leather cover and pressed a few buttons. "Give me a ring if you need the back up," to find the star baby if necessary, god, but John's specialty was better suited towards dispatching the undead. He beamed out with a--