[ If anyone happens to be near the atrium, they might notice a panicked young woman dodging through trees and past bushes to get to the rest of the ship.
It happens to be Gwen Cooper, and she is currently outrunning an alien who looks an awful lot like her hairdresser. Which she only knew because she had a trim scheduled for today, which is why her fringe keeps spilling into her eyes as she runs. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she is thinking about the irony of wishing she'd been able to get a trim before running from an alien who had somehow absorbed the very person who was meant to deliver said trim. Behind that thought is another one saying, sullenly, this is your life, Gwen Cooper, what exactly did you expect?
She has her gun in hand, which is doing her little good at the moment since she is distracted by running and unwilling to start blindly shooting. The good news is, for as strange as it is for Gwen to be lost out in space and adjusting to an entirely new kind of life, one thing she is very well versed in is the part that has to do with running from aliens. Granted, for the most part, she is usually running towards the aliens, seeking them out to take care of them in whatever Torchwood fashion is necessary; but in this case, she doesn't have the slightest idea as to what this thing even is, much less the fastest way to make sure it is properly disposed of.
Right now, she is just shouting at people she passes: ]
Move along! Nevermind the man-eating alien, unless you know what the hell its doin' here!
[ Gwen finally skids to a stop and stoops behind a bench, peering over the top. The atrium seems oddly quiet, too quiet, which means whatever it is had decided stalking was a better option than outright pursuit. Gwen shutters, her gun tight her hands. She's not looking forward to having to take out whatever is left of her stylist. ]
Now would be a great time for someone to show up and tell me what the hell is goin' on.
[ UN: HEDDLU // VIDEO ]
[ It's Gwen Cooper on the network, her wide eyes staring without humor at whatever audience she might have. Her dark hair is in disarray around her head, some blood is smeared on her cheek and it looks like there is some kind of green-brown sludge all over her. ]
Can anyone suggest a decent hairdresser? Unfortunately, mine was eaten by an alien.
Gwen Cooper | Torchwood
[ If anyone happens to be near the atrium, they might notice a panicked young woman dodging through trees and past bushes to get to the rest of the ship.
It happens to be Gwen Cooper, and she is currently outrunning an alien who looks an awful lot like her hairdresser. Which she only knew because she had a trim scheduled for today, which is why her fringe keeps spilling into her eyes as she runs. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she is thinking about the irony of wishing she'd been able to get a trim before running from an alien who had somehow absorbed the very person who was meant to deliver said trim. Behind that thought is another one saying, sullenly, this is your life, Gwen Cooper, what exactly did you expect?
She has her gun in hand, which is doing her little good at the moment since she is distracted by running and unwilling to start blindly shooting. The good news is, for as strange as it is for Gwen to be lost out in space and adjusting to an entirely new kind of life, one thing she is very well versed in is the part that has to do with running from aliens. Granted, for the most part, she is usually running towards the aliens, seeking them out to take care of them in whatever Torchwood fashion is necessary; but in this case, she doesn't have the slightest idea as to what this thing even is, much less the fastest way to make sure it is properly disposed of.
Right now, she is just shouting at people she passes: ]
Move along! Nevermind the man-eating alien, unless you know what the hell its doin' here!
[ Gwen finally skids to a stop and stoops behind a bench, peering over the top. The atrium seems oddly quiet, too quiet, which means whatever it is had decided stalking was a better option than outright pursuit. Gwen shutters, her gun tight her hands. She's not looking forward to having to take out whatever is left of her stylist. ]
Now would be a great time for someone to show up and tell me what the hell is goin' on.
[ UN: HEDDLU // VIDEO ]
[ It's Gwen Cooper on the network, her wide eyes staring without humor at whatever audience she might have. Her dark hair is in disarray around her head, some blood is smeared on her cheek and it looks like there is some kind of green-brown sludge all over her. ]
Can anyone suggest a decent hairdresser? Unfortunately, mine was eaten by an alien.