I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING! I especially DO NOT own the awesome art work this small parody is based on. But…if I DID…*Entertains bad thoughts*
I'm a member of DeviantArt, (And if you DON'T know what it is, go Google it, you pitiful human being.) And I stumbled across a comic, "Search for the Truth."
And, from then on in, I was completely and utterly HOOKED on the genius of this comic. The sheer GENIUS is just mind-boggling!
And then a few little ideas popped up in my head, and refused to go away. So when I asked the artist very nicely if I could write a fic, she said YES!
And so here we are.
I give you, Search for the Truth, in fic form.
Chapter One – Torchwood Watching in the Cardiff Rain
It was all very quiet in central Cardiff. All that could be heard was the soothing sound of water rushing down the tall, imposing, (And awfully blatant) tower that sat in the middle of the square. The infamous building opposite caused gorgeous reflections in the films of water that ran down the side of the glass, but no one was there to pay any attention to them.
For the residents of Cardiff had looked out of their windows, and decided it wasn't worth going out today. And this was because the weather was simply quite awful.
Rain drummed down upon the square, causing that sharp little smell that is only ever bought about when concrete is wet. The sound of thunder rippled in the grey, overcast sky, and lightening flashed within it regularly, as if to make it quite clear that its presence was required to complete the storm.
No one really cared. Everyone was cooped up inside their homes, playing board-games because the weather had mucked up their satellite televisions. It seemed that everyone shared the same view - Monopoly was a better option than facing the world outside.
Except for the seventeen year old sitting on top of that block of flats over there.
She sat with her legs folded neatly underneath her, the rain drumming against her upright figure. Her hair hung limp around her shoulders, but she seemed to hardly pay it any notice at all, and the jeans she wore were turning a deep blue from all the rain she'd been sitting in. She wore a red UNIT cap backwards upon her head; it was quite limp with all this rain, and it was this limpness that made it resemble the main body of a dead jellyfish.
Her elbows rested on her knees to hold up the pair of binoculars she stared devotedly through.
And the T-Shirt she wore simply stated, "PWND."
'They'll have to come out some time.' She muttered to herself in her American accent. 'Won't they, Lars?'
Allie Nielsen was not alone though. What resembled a small jam jar sat beside her, and it grumbled at her moodily. Allie interpreted the grumble as a noise of agreement, and gave it a firm nod.
'That's right, Lars. They will come out soon. And they'll bring Owen with them, too.' A hungry look suddenly passed over her face as she got lost in thoughts that aren't really very suitable for people under the age of twenty one.
Something chirped in her back pocket, and the annoying little noise distracted her from her very entertaining thoughts. Muttering darkly to herself, she pulled out the phone and held it to her ear with her right hand, while the left steadied the binoculars.
'Yo.' She greeted whoever was on the other end of the call.
'Get inside, Allie. You're getting wet.' Another American voice informed her. The once hungry look turned into one that contained a vicious snarl as Allie began to yell into the phone.
'NO WAY! I'M STAYING OUT HERE UNTIL ONE OF YOUR LOT COMES OUT OF THAT TOWER! YOU HEAR ME, LYDIA?!'
There was a small pause.
'Yes, I do hear you, Allie.' The new voice almost sounded bored, as if it knew that its friend's obsession with Torchwood had been discussed several times with no positive results. 'And we see that, too.' It added reproachfully.
Allie was on her feet in an instant with an exited squeal, her binoculars lying forgotten on the floor. The sheer abruptness of her movement dislodged her jam jar from where it was sitting comfortably on the concrete and onto its side; it uttered a surprised squawk, which soon turned into a roar of agitation as the wind began to roll it around.
'HI LYDIA!' Allie yelled into the rain and at the Torchwood hub. 'HI TOSH! HI OWEN! HI JACK! HI IANTO!' Her left hand suddenly found itself empty, so it waved madly at the tower while Allie offered it a beaming grin.
'Is that Allie again?' A woman with a Welsh accent could be heard in the background.
'Yeah.' The first voice sighed. 'Allie?' She asked warily.
'CAN YOU SEE ME WAVING, LYDIA?!'
'Yes. We can see you waving.'
'THAT'S SO COOL!'
'Torchwood is not for your freak-like friends, Lydia.' Another distinctly male American voice chided.
'I know…I know…' The first voice muttered.
'I blame you.'
'You said that last time!'
'I still blame you.' The second voice finished darkly.
'Does she need a tea?' Said a British voice hopefully.
'I think she was born with caffeine in her blood.' The voice named Lydia mused, and it was beginning to sound more and more agitated.
'HI GUYS!' Allie continued to yell, hardly noticing that her poor jam jar was begin to emit squeals of panic as it teetered on the edge of the roof.
'JUST GET HER OFF THE DAMN ROOF!' Jack Harkness yelled after five more minutes of "CAN YOU REALLY SEE ME?!" and "SAY HI TO OWEN FOR ME!"
'I don't know how!' Lydia barked back, becoming obviously frustrated with the whole situation.
'What's happening to her jam jar?' Asked Gwen Cooper.
'Oh gosh…ALLIE!' '
Allie's head snapped to her right, just in time to see the thing in the jar topple over the edge of the building with a squeak of terror.
'OH CRAP!' Allie yelled, and promptly dropped her phone to dive for the jam jar. She caught it flimsily, and juggled it in her hands as she attempted to hold onto the wet glass. She finally got it steady, and she looked down at it. She was kneeling on the edge of the building, and she cradled the unfortunate jar in her hands.
'SORRY LARS!' She panted. The purple thing in the jar turned to give her a beady and angry eye. Its many tentacles pressed up against the glass in what was perhaps the Dalek equivalent of a rude and obscene gesture.
'Return…me…to…my…shell!' It demanded, its body bulging with the effort of its words.
Allie decided she couldn't hear the Dalek's demand, and so threw it another apology before bringing it up to sit it beside her again. The Dalek grumbled at her, crossed its tentacles and swirled in its jar to face the other way. Allie sent it a scowl, before she began to wonder what had happened to her phone.
The unmistakable sound of plastic and metal coming apart and throwing itself over several yards came from the pavement below her; Allie peered over the edge to see that her phone was in several pieces, and was strewn across central Cardiff.
'Oh.' She said lamely.
Allie realized she was suddenly quite wet indeed.
And she also wanted an umbrella of some sorts.
She sneezed quietly into the Cardiff rain.
GO AND READ THE COMIC NOW, FOOL! http://girl-on-the-moon(.)deviantart(.)com/gallery/#The-Search-for-the-Truth (Remove all brackets) And prepare to laugh your socks off!