Remy LeBeau (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} ace_of_clubs) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} vas_captio_rpg,@ 2009-08-22 00:35:00 |
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| Entry tags: | !complete, day 20, location: museum, remy lebeau, the doctor (nine), the doctor (ten) |
Who: The Tenth Doctor, the Ninth Doctor & Remy LeBeau
Where: The Museum
When: Day 20, 7:15am
What: Remy wakes up and is attacked by birds!
Rating: PG-13
Status: Complete
After dropping the young Doctor off at the gym, Remy had decided to head back towards his barn, sniffling and sneezing the entire way there. The Doctor had been right, he'd spent the entire day in the rain the previous day, and now he had a cold. It was awful. So he'd laid around in his large bed in the barn for a while until the sun had gone down and he'd headed back over to the gym to glance in on the kids. After watching for a bit, he had finally decided to sleep in town tonight, instead of way out in his barn, so that when the others awoke, he'd know quickly if they were still children, or if they had returned to their normal state. So the red-head had staked out a place to sleep not too far away from the museum, and had settled down on a park bench on his back and had tipped his fedora low over his eyes to get some sleep.
Come morning, he had felt someone tugging at his sleeve.. then the tugging turned to pinching. And it was only when his hat was knocked away and tons of little hands were pinching him that he finally opened his eyes and realized that they weren't little hands at all-- they were beaks. Bird beaks. About fifteen of the dark animals were pecking at him, grabbing at his clothing, tearing his duplicate coat, biting through his clothes, causing his flesh to bleed. And as he sat up and started swatting them away with gloved hands, they got more vicious. They pecked at his face, sliced open his cheek, his lip, above his right eyebrow, all along his arms through his clothes, his jeans-- and all the red-head could do for the moment was break into a run to try and escape them, shouting curses in French and Lord knows what other languages. He just barely made it up the stairs, in his torn and ruined coat, before he forced open a door of the museum and stumbled inside, actually tripping on the doorstop and falling inside onto his knees, before he quickly spun around and threw up both gloved hands against that door and slammed it loudly closed, locking the birds out.
And locking everyone else in.
The Cajun was panting hard and was quickly pushing back up to his feet so that bloody hands (they'd pecked at his exposed fingers, the pinky and pointer on both hands) and had caused them to bleed) could flip the old lock on the door and hold it shut, then he leaned forward against it. He didn't know what was going on, but he certainly didn't like it. Not one bit. It was like a freaking Alfred Hitchcock movie!
Come morning, he had felt someone tugging at his sleeve.. then the tugging turned to pinching. And it was only when his hat was knocked away and tons of little hands were pinching him that he finally opened his eyes and realized that they weren't little hands at all-- they were beaks. Bird beaks. About fifteen of the dark animals were pecking at him, grabbing at his clothing, tearing his duplicate coat, biting through his clothes, causing his flesh to bleed. And as he sat up and started swatting them away with gloved hands, they got more vicious. They pecked at his face, sliced open his cheek, his lip, above his right eyebrow, all along his arms through his clothes, his jeans-- and all the red-head could do for the moment was break into a run to try and escape them, shouting curses in French and Lord knows what other languages. He just barely made it up the stairs, in his torn and ruined coat, before he forced open a door of the museum and stumbled inside, actually tripping on the doorstop and falling inside onto his knees, before he quickly spun around and threw up both gloved hands against that door and slammed it loudly closed, locking the birds out.
And locking everyone else in.
The Cajun was panting hard and was quickly pushing back up to his feet so that bloody hands (they'd pecked at his exposed fingers, the pinky and pointer on both hands) and had caused them to bleed) could flip the old lock on the door and hold it shut, then he leaned forward against it. He didn't know what was going on, but he certainly didn't like it. Not one bit. It was like a freaking Alfred Hitchcock movie!