So take my hand, you're treading water, and I feel sand slipping away from underneath our toes...
Gwen is waiting in the lobby of the Kashtta for Sam and Owen to get back. There might also be a Tosh hovering somewhere in the vicinity, sitting by the receptionist's desk with her laptop... just in case she's needed for anything
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Owen crosses his arms, looking around at all of them before finally jogging after Gwen. "Hey!" he shouts, maybe a bit louder than is necessary, but to hell with that. "We're not finished yet."
Yeah, because he has a brilliant plan. ...not really. He just doesn't want to lose to a fucking Time Lady and her damn dog.
"We've still got the gun, right?" he asks, as he catches up. "I mean, the gun didn't blow up or anything."
The gun had better not have blown up. That would make an unbearable situation full-on murder-worthy.
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"No, it didn't blow up, and if you're about to ask if you can have it, the answer is no. And if you've got a brilliant plan, Owen, tell me now, because we are running out of options that don't include blowing up the city!" And even that's not a viable option, really, because Thane would survive it. She's not much thinking about what she's saying now.
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"We can still take the arm," Owen says, sounding like he bloody well knows they're at the end of their rope and floundering. "Thing can make his head explode, maybe it can take his arm off at the shoulder. they we lose the teleports but we can keep emptying bullets into Thane until we've got him tied up. Look, I know it's not a good plan-" He can't quite shake the image of Thane as some terminator-like monster who'd lose an arm and come at them firing one-handed with blood coming out of the stump in spurts, "-but this would have worked. We were one bitch away from being done with this."
Never mind that Thane might not give them an open shot. Never mind that Thane can walk into the tower and kill them all. Or destroy the gun. Or possibly find some way to circumvent it. Or set up a trap for them assuming they'd try again. Or seems to have the entire universe of luck on his side.
They are not done yet. They're Torchwood, and Torchwood comes through ( ... )
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She probably shouldn't be shouting like this. As the leader of Torchwood, she should probably be keeping it together, at least maintaining a modicum of calm, but she is so far beyond that right now.
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"Nĭ tāmāde tiānxià suŏyŏu de rén dōu gāisĭ!" He has no intention of providing a translation for that, but from the way the words are forced out through gritted teeth, one can guess that it's not pleasant.
A moment later, the mask of calm snaps back into place, though there's fury behind his eyes. This should have been over. And hard as his actions were to justify, the fact that they were for nothing -- no, not for nothing for less than nothing, given how someone with Thane's training is likely to react? Oh, this makes things a thousand times worse.
He wants, very much to just go back to being a simple preacher. This crapsack 'verse he's in doesn't seem to be terribly obliging on that matter, though.
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Instead she darts down the stairs, ducking past Sam with a muttered "HeySamsorrytheworldsucksI'lltotallybringyouguyssomebourbonlater" and homing in on Tosh as the least likely one to disembowl her.
Then she ducks behind the reception desk and wraps her arms around Tosh. Tosh won't punch her! Tosh is nonviolent! ...she wonders if now would be a good time to bring up their hypothetical Movie Night.
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"Hi," she says quietly, and there's not much she can really say from there. Hi, so a dog ruined our best chance of capturing Thane and getting Jack back, and there's a possibility he might come to kill us all in retaliation just isn't the sort of thing you can really say.
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"I, um, brought you a lounge," she offers. The lounge is good. The lounge will cheer people up. The fact that she payed roughly $75 and a bottle of Jack Daniels for the lounge need not be mentioned. There will be movies, and if Tosh does not thoroughly enjoy herself at least she will boggle at the spectacle of a blue-haired woman fighting a squidmonster in a forest of wiring in zero-g with an electric tai chi blade while the earth may or may not lose its molecular cohesion and someone plays traditional Chinese instruments on the soundtrack. A boggling Tosh is better than a depressed Tosh, and Dmitri isn't above carrying her up there and sitting on her to make her watch it. Or... trying to.
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