Author Topic: Backtrack  (Read 7359 times)

Sam

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Backtrack
« on: December 01, 2008, 08:25:08 pm »
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It was a typical summer day in a small Kentish village.  Well, not typical.  It wasn?t raining.  No, for once it was actually sunny and warm, and all one could think of doing was lounging out in the back garden, sipping ice-cold lemonades and chatting inconsonantly about the cricket results and how the weather is actually what it should be in June; or just letting Radio 2 talk at you about that all by itself.  If one was not in the mood for talking or indeed listening then they would simply flop on the shadow dappled grass and drink in the view of the rolling, green hills dotted with trees that surrounded the village, or perhaps close their eyes and listen to the natural beauty of the sounds surrounding them: the birds twittering their displeasure of a passing car, who?s engine a gentle soothing whirr as it whizzes past; the playful babble of the river as it gushes it way through the valley it carved; and, of course, the gentle rustle of the leaves in the trees blowing in the light wind.

However, a new noise quite rudely presented itself.  It would?ve made the one who had just gone to all that trouble to finish whatever it was they were doing to lie down just for once in the shade for 5 minutes blow jerk upwards in annoyance.  It was a steady ?thwack, thwack, thwack? of a hammer driving a nail into wood.

In the small village square someone was indeed hammering some nails into some wood.  This was not, however their idea of fun as there was a purpose involved ? people around here were not so primitive to see a hammer and nails and decide to bash them into the nearest bit of wood just for kicks, like (as some who live in this sort of area would claim and stand by) people ?up North?.

A boy, no older than seventeen and with long, sandy-blonde hair, was standing on a small stepladder, nailing a poster to the village notice board which stood on the edge of the playing field.  Around him were gathered a small group of locals, many of whom were young with an age range of about thirteen to nineteen years old.  A few adults were also gathered, but standing somewhat apart from the young group and watching from a distance.

?Never thought I?d see the day that the youngsters would be so interested in politics,? remarked one man to another as they sat in the shade of the pub opposite the group.

?Well, goes to show really,? said the other, taking a pull on his beer.  ?If this guy has these people interested he must be doing something right.?

The first man chuckled.  ?I?ll drink to that,? he said.  The two men chinked their glasses together and drank deeply.

At the notice board the boy was hammering the third nail in place.  Another boy, about the same age, pushed himself to the front of the group.

?Wow,? he said, admiringly.  ?Nice one, Sam.  Didn?t think anyone would have the balls to put this up on the notice board.?

Sam grinned and continued hammering.

?We?ve got them up in our windows, why not here?? he asked, carefully positioning the final nail.

?Well, you know? not everyone in the village is for him, right?  You know about John in the corner shop??

?So what?  All I?m doing is showing my support.  If John wants to put up any posters on here as well, he can.  No-one is stopping him.?

The other boys face cleared.  ?Yeah,? he said.  ?You?re probably right.  I?m sorry.?

?Don?t worry about it Rich,? said Sam, hammering the last nail in place.  He stepped down from the stepladder and stood back to survey his work.  The group broke into applause.

?You?re a village hero now Sam,? chuckled Richard, making a mock bow.

?Ha ha ha,? said Sam.  ?Come on guys, that cricket game?s not going to start itself.?

The group rushed around the notice board and onto the playing field, leaving its contents on display to everyone else.  The one single poster that had been nailed up stood out clearly amongst the mingled flyers for jumble sales, local businesses and something about happy hour at the pub.  People would often stop to look as they went past.  Sometimes cars would hoot appreciatively upon seeing it as they drove through the square.

The poster that had generated so much interest was simple and clear, with one single, well-made intention.  It was this:

« Last Edit: December 01, 2008, 08:48:40 pm by Sam »

Offline Magz

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Re: Backtrack
« Reply #1 on: December 02, 2008, 01:14:54 pm »
Torchwood House - Nr Dinnet
N. East Scotland


Megan had been working all night in the Hub, trying to piece back together a particularly complex bit of alien tech. She had been working on it for days and was almost finished. It was nice to throw herself into her work again.

Alexander Burns marched into the Hub, as punctual as ever for the beginning of his shift. He nodded stifly at Megan as she looked up and smiled.

"Morning Alex," she greeted.

"Morning Ms Smith," he replied gruffly as he made his way to his workstation. Megan sighed and returned her attention to the strange components in front of her, knowing it would be pointless to try to strike up a conversation with their Military/Law Enforcement Liaison.

She doubted very much that he would ever fully accept her position as Director here. After Michael had accepted the transfer to Torchwood Tower last year, Alexander had fully expected to take over. He had been at Torchwood House long before she had joined five years ago and had had much more experience.  She was well aware that he was not the only one who thought that she had only been given the postition due to her relationship with Michael. Sometimes she wondered that herself.

In many ways, she wished he had handed over to Alexander rather than to her.
« Last Edit: December 02, 2008, 01:16:39 pm by Megan Smith »

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Offline Kirstieeee

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Re: Backtrack
« Reply #2 on: December 03, 2008, 07:33:03 pm »
Duh duh duh duh... duh duh duh duh...

"Quit that! It's driving me mad!"

Sophie looked up from her doodling at Kirstie who was glaring at her angrily, "Stop what?" She asked innocently.

"You know full well what!" She indicated to Sophie's fingers which were resting on the table.

"Uh... right, Kirst." She muttered, carrying on drawing over the paper, "Hey! I have an idea, how about we go camping sometime? Outside of London somewhere?"

Kirstie looked incredulously at her friend, "Are you kidding me? What has got into you, Soph? Camping?! What a joke..."

"Yeah! It could be in September. That's only three months away... it'll be great fun!"

"You are bloody kidding me."

"Go on! Say yes! Only for a few nights..."

"Whatever. You'll get bored of it after a few hours..." Kirstie trailed off and stood up, grabbing her coat.

"Where're you going? You only just got back from work," Sophie complained.

Kirstie winked at Sophie and zipped up her coat for the June weather, "I know but I promised Charlie that I'd meet the group down at the pub. You stay here, I'll be back in a few hours. Oh and if that Martha girl comes round give her that fiver on the side."

Sophie looked at the five pound note on the desk by the door, "What are you doing throwing money about?"

"I needed it a few days ago and promised I'd pay her back. She only lives a few doors away from me. Medical student or something... see ya!"

With that, Kirstie closed the door and left the flat, running down the steps and heading towards the local pub to meet her friends.

Sophie looked down at the paper she had been doodling over and frowned at what she wrote. Since when had she written that? Clearly in her scrawly mess in the centre of the page had two words screaming out at her;

Vote Saxon
« Last Edit: December 03, 2008, 07:49:06 pm by Kirstieeee »

Sam

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Re: Backtrack
« Reply #3 on: December 06, 2008, 04:51:26 pm »
A small, red van wound it's way through the twisty, somewhat unkempt roads, stopping off briefly from time to time at one of the houses.

A few doors away from where the van was parked now, the sound of loud gunfire could be heard through an open upstairs window.  The sound was punctured with occasional shouts, explosions and the rumble of engines.  It only stopped when a woman yelled from the downstairs of the house.

"Will you turn that racket down?"

Richard hit the 'pause' button on his controller.

"What?" he yelled through the closed door.

"I said turn that racket down!"

"What racket?"

"Don't be clever with me, young man!  Just because you have a friend round doesn't mean you can pump those speakers up so loud it would wake the bloomin' dead!"

Richard sighed, put down his controller, dragged himself off the bed and travelled all the way across his small room to the television set and turned it down by 2.  Sam, who took this opportunity to put his feet up on the bed, grinned at his friend.

"What are you laughing at?" asked Richard, retrieving his controller from the floor and shoving Sam's legs off the end of the bed so he could sit down.

"Nothing," said Sam, though still grinning.

Richard grinned back and drank from one of the cans that littered the floor.

"You've got nothing to laugh at anyway," he said.  "Your parents won't even let you play this at your house."

"Fair point," replied Sam, also taking a swig from one of the cans.

They played on for about ten minutes without any significant conversation, other than to laugh, shout and drink.  The only thing that stopped them was a knock at the bedroom door.  Richard hit the pause button and scurried over.

"What is it?" he called, playing for time more than anything as Sam hastily hid the cans of Spitfire by ripping the duvet of the bed and covering them.

"The post has been Richy, there's a package for you," came Richard's mothers voice, muffled through the door.

Richard wretched open the door in a feverish excitement.

"Excellent!" he said, taking the brown package from his rather startled looking mother.  "Thanks Mum!"

"Not a problem, dear," replied his mother, looking a little unnerved at her son's reaction.  She cast around for another subject.  Her eyes fell on Sam.  "Hello Sam!" she said, smiling.  "How are you?  Is this one treating you OK?"

"Fine, thank you, Mrs. Daley," replied Sam, nodding.

"Good good.  Well lunch is on in half and hour.  You're welcome to join us if you like..."

"Thanks, Mrs. Daley," said Sam again, smiling back at her.  "That would be brilliant."

"Oh, you are a darling," beamed Richard's mother.  "Well, I'll leave you boys alone now."

As she closed the door behind her, Sam glanced over at Richard.  He was staring at the package in his hands and did not seem to notice anything had transpired since he'd got it.

"Earth to Richard," called Sam, waving a hand at his friend.  Richard seemed to jerk out of his reverie.

"Sorry," he said.  He walked over to the now duvet-less bed and placed the package carefully on the sheets.  Sam approached it with interest.  It was a lumpy, paper package, and it looked like it contained some sort of clothing.

"What is it then?" asked Sam.  "You seem to know already."

"It took a while for them to send this through, I applied weeks ago," Richard replied, now peeling the tape away from the package.  "But I suppose they've had so many applications..."

"Applied for what?" asked Sam, frowning.

In way of reply, Richard pulled off the brown packaging with a flourish to reveal a shirt.  It was a sort of military brown, with two font pockets and brass buttons.  Richard held it up on his chest.

"A perfect fit," he said.  "And look, there's trousers too."

He held up some smart, black trousers complete with a brass buckled belt.  He looked up at Sam with a sort of wild happiness.

"What do you think?" he said, a little breathlessly.

"You joined the Pathfinders?" Sam said, incredulously.

"Yup," replied Richard, his chest swelling with pride.  "They started signing up for this district a while back."

"You could've told me!" said Sam, looking with envy at the impressive uniform.  "I would've come along if you'd said..."

"You were on holiday at the time," replied Richard.  "And I sort of forgot about it.  Sorry mate."

"No worries," sighed Sam, watching Richard unfold the shirt properly to reveal the long sleeves whose cuff links were also brass.  "Not really much point in me applying now I suppose."

"Well... no," said Richard, looking downcast.  "They said they were full.  I'm really sorry."

"S'OK - don't worry about it," replied Sam, smiling.  "I've still got Scouts.  What's the letter about?"  Richard had just opened a smart looking, printed letter.

"It's telling me about my first meeting," Richard said, his eyes still on the paper.  "Tomorrow night, in the town hall.  I have to wear my uniform and some smart shoes."  He glanced up from the paper at Sam.  "Erm... can I borrow your smart shoes?" he asked a little sheepishly.  "Until I get my own.  We're going into town this weekend so I'll be able to get some then."

"Fine," replied Sam, grinning.  "But you're shining them."

He crouched and fished out a half-empty beer can from under the duvet.  Straightening up, he said: "Come on, you can't ogle that thing all day.  We've got serious matters to attend to."  He threw one of the controllers towards Richard, who was busy hanging up his uniform carefully on a hanger in his wardrobe.

"OK, OK," said Richard.  He picked up the controller from where it had landed and bounded over to the bed.

The room was once again consumed in the sound of loud gunfire.

Offline Magz

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Re: Backtrack
« Reply #4 on: December 14, 2008, 09:33:20 am »
Eventually the others filtered in. A few also shared Alexander's view of her, however the rest had now got used to things.

Colin in particular had been really supportive, something she had been very grateful to him for.

Things had been relatively quiet recently, however a sudden alert shrilled through the Hub indicating that that was all about to change...

Megan grinned. "That's more like it! Was getting far too boring around here!"

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