Hey guys! This is my first ever fanfic so I would really really really appreciate some feedback. I have lots planned for this story, but if it is rubbish I will bin it completely. If you would like me to read and review anything, I would be more than happy to :
I do not own anything, so please don't sue me.
"Fantastic! London at its best!" the Doctor beamed, stepping out of the tardis and into a 'fresh' gust of evening breeze, his chocolate hair flopping onto his forehead.
Rose's nose screwed up. Why the twisting passages and filthy cobblestones? It was just a dull maze of dirt and darkness. Eerie and silent. The scene was lightened only by the flickering flames of the lanterns and even then, it only added to the gothic atmosphere by its stirring of shadows from the walls. Rose snorted, the response registering in the Doctor's mind as a blend of smug laughter and disapproval, yet his understanding of their closeness meaning he did not find offence.
"Well...maybe I was exaggerating ever so slightly, what with the lack of sanitation and all. Personally, I think you should take my choice as a compliment. Perhaps, I chose 1846 as an excuse to get you back into one of those dresses you wore for Mr Dickens, Miss Rose Tyler," the Doctor proposed.
The beginnings of a smile crept across the Doctor's face.
"Or maybe it has something to do with the fact that you are on a mission to find a certain carnivorous Garthian beast, Doctor." Rose teased, refusing to give him the satisfaction of accepting his compliment.
"Oh yeah, well, you know... that too," the Doctor admitted before stretching his arm out towards Rose and, applying his most practised Artful Dodger accent, begged of her "take me arm, me lady,".
Rose sighed in mock displeasure. She trusted the Doctor implicitly and no matter the anti-climax that their destination [18-bloody-46! had turned out to be, she knew it would establish itself worthy among her greatest adventures, because she was with him. Her Doctor.
The Garthian race was a relatively insignificant one. Isolated on their own planet, the Garthians indulged in cannibalism, even choosing a life of solace so that they may hunt at every opportunity. As the Doctor had put it, "whatever floats your boat". But, and that was a relatively large 'but', when a Garthian falls into a time-slip, as one very rarely does, on their unpredictable planet and ends up roaming through London in 1846, devouring innocent inhabitants, it is the job of a certain timelord to find a solution. It was a simple task and one that the Doctor viewed with no great interest, enthusiasm or anxiety, but rather as an obligation. Silly humanoids.
The Doctor and Rose [her attire suited to the time after a quick inspection of the Tardis' wardrobe strolled through the streets of London. Every now and then the doctor would halt, throw himself to his knees and, nose touching the sullied streets, go on to drag his tongue across a cobble stone before snapping upright and guiding Rose towards the Garthian.
Charming.
The couple turned into yet another undistinguishable passage.
"Fleet Street. I got rejected for a job along 'ere – what on earth is that smell?" Rose started, her eyes cast upwards, following the thick black billowing smoke pumping from the chimney of a pie shop.
"A-ha! Brilliant! Clever little thing this Garthian, choosing a meat-pie shop so that it may conceal itself and feed while it waits for me to pass. Not so clever in underestimating the nose of a timelord, I mean seriously, we are so unrecognised in our sense of sm-,"
"Doctor! Can't you smell that? What is that?" Rose began, her eyes unmoved from the smoke.
The stench encircled Rose, consuming her and making her light-headed. It made her feel ever so weak. She turned to grasp the Doctor's safe hand, but saw him skipping, in complete ignorance of her troubles, towards the pie shop, calling her and gesturing enthusiastically for her to join him. She drew herself away from the smoke and into the safety of the Doctor's companionship. Taking her hand, the Doctor drew his sonic screwdriver from the inside of his pinstriped suit and unlocked the basement entrance, throwing open the doors and clumsily trundling down the stone steps, their giggles echoing to the very bottom of the room below.
They were silenced.
Covering Rose's mouth with his hand so that she may not let out a cry, the Doctor pulled her behind a vast machine, settling themselves so that they may study the scene before them. The Garthian, perhaps eight feet in height, its bones jutting from its body, was stood upright and still, its mouth gaping towards the ceiling, waiting.
"What the hell is it-" Rose started, before having four spindly fingers wrapped around her mouths.
"Miss Tyler, I know full well that you share your mother's talent of a large and loud mouth so please, don't choose to demonstrate your skill right now," the Doctor whispered, before giving Rose a loving wink, "right, listen, I am going to go and shove these transbeamers into the beasty and teleport him back to his planet, you stay here and then we can go and, oh I don't know, get out of here before we bump into her Majesty Queen Victoria?"
And with that, the Doctor, with no great difficulty and with a deliberate Tom Cruise impersonation, rolled across the floor and plugged the transbeamers into the paper-thin thighs of the Garthian. The beast disappeared before it could even make a sound. The doctor jumped to his feet.
"Only the stuff of legend," the Doctor smiled, placing his hands on his hips in some sort of heroic pose.
"Well that was a pretty naff alien. I could have done that. My mother could have done that,"
"Correction, even Mickey the idiot could have done that," the Doctor retorted.
Yet Rose did not have time to respond. A clattering from above them drew the Doctor's attention to the ceiling, his ancient eyes uncomfortable in this unusual state of ignorance.
What in all the universes was that noise? It was night – no one would be awake, surely? He had certainly disposed of the Garthian...
A wooden square of the ceiling was flung open with a bang and a flush of skin, blood and guts collapsed onto the Doctor, the force and weight propelling him to the concrete floor, where his own head was slammed onto the hard surface, knocking him unconscious.
Rose's screams only rattled through her mind, her body so stricken her voice refused to respond. The blood ran through the room. Her Doctor was entangled with the flesh of the man, a man with a throat hacked and sliced and slashed and chopped. She began to run to her Doctor...
"MRS LOVETT!" a voice roared, "fresh stock has been delivered,"
Rose halted. She needed to get to her Doctor and no such voice would prevent her. She strode through the puddle blood, refusing the tears that threatened her face. She had encountered worse. She had encountered aliens and beasts and, and daleks! No, it would not be a simple human murderer that would become a barrier between her and the man that she loved so ardently. Yet the voice haunted her with each step.
"MRS LOVETT! MRS LOVETT! MRS LOVETT!" each call was as violent as the next, although rising in a higher pitch, paralleled by the monster's impatience.
"Oh I am coming Mr. Todd! What does he think he is doing delivering at this time a-night? Who would want a shave at this bloody time?"
Rose heard the mutterings echoing up the corridor towards the room, the jangling of keys informing her of the mutterer's destination; the baking room.
Ok so I think this chapter is perhaps the worst, but I will make it better, I promise! Please R&R.