The Ark ~ Refugees
The shy small man stepped out into the light of the only home he was likely to know now. The little Runemaster was not accustomed to this sense of dread and fear. He was too young - now - to be cowed, though. That fighting spirit was there, and he’d make this work. “Home…?” It was a park, or seemed to be one. It was after all, really quite spacious and beautiful. He glanced back, and the tremendous spacecraft form of the vehicle they had all just been on, seemed to flicker if only for a moment, and change into a humble blue phonebox. Reichenbach frowned. What was this, then? The Doctor had saved these tattered and torn refugees from across the Universes - plural - and brought them here, to this place that he recognized as either another Earth or one very like it. There were, after all, so many Universes. Most of these people certainly did not speak the same language, and some did not even have one at all. But through his talented use of signing and rune symbols, he had cobbled out a rough way for them to all communicate. He was after all, yet another Jim Moriarty. Genius.
Well, this was pretty. And so what? It wasn’t going to work. “We’ve got attention.” News crews that looked human- and very much like Gaia back home, in fact - were already racing to get to them all first.
Rude glanced back and his eyes widened: the TARDIS appeared now as a titanic spacecraft, it likely looked to these people for all the world like some sort of massive invasion. But surely when they got closer and saw this ragtag group they’d understand - they’d have to realize – and there – shit! That was an army – had to be -and the sound of choppers - he knew that sound. “Seems close to Gaia. I hope.” Truth be told, Rude was nervous. Reno’s hand had delicately clawed its way into his, and he very gently - and carefully - pushed it off and away. “Not here. Not now.”, he whispered. God, it was too dangerous for that! Who knew how they might react. Same sex - anything - might get them executed or worse right on the spot. “Could be a crime.”
“Shit, sorry.” Reno murmured in return. He was simply nervous, though if truth be told it was closer to *terrified*. He and Rude had watched the destruction of their world through the porthole window of the TTC just before it had entered the Vortex, The loss had hurt, yes, but at least he and Rude were human enough to *pass* on this new world, and that was a relief in and of itself. The news crews sticking the mics in his face engendered a feeling between wanting to cringe and wanting to nail one of them in the face, especially considering he couldn’t understand what the Hell any of them were saying. Not that they could understand when he told them to back the fuck off either, though he was sure the expression on his face spoke volumes. It was one that very clearly said *back off*. “Christ on a cracker, haven’t any of these fucking people heard of *personal space*? I don’t understand what the fuck they’re asking me. Never had to deal with this bullshit back home.” The annoyance was obvious enough, even as another man, a big black man with short curly dark hair that held himself much in the way Tseng once had, approached with a truck and whatever he had said to the reporters made them leave in a disappointed huff.
“That must be the guy in charge.”
“All right, all of you, back off.” General Farnsworth had stepped up the crowd of newcomers. “There will be time for interviews later, Prime Minister Holmes wants to see them.” the reporters groaned and backed off as they were ordered away and he turned toward the group. “Do any of you speak English so you can speak for the group?” he asked, sharp dark eye peering over at each one in turn as he did.
He had not been able to understand the young man who had spoken just then, but he could certainly read the annoyance in the redhead’s *tone* and the last thing he wanted was to deal with a fight when the group had just now landed on British soil. It didn’t take much guessing to know it was about the microphone being shoved under his nose when he didn’t know what the clueless woman who had done so was saying.
“Step forward, anyone who knows English well enough to translate for me so I can communicate with these folk.”
“It is the closest to a home that we are going to get.” Sherlock smiled down at his lover. He watched the reporters mob the group and the military man that had come on the scene disperse them, his back straightening as Farnsworth spoke. “Reich and I do.” he spoke up as he stood to his full height. “Reich is a linguist and is able to communicate with the remainder of the group, he taught all of them sign language and he can translate for them.”
At the mention of Mycroft he exchanged a glance with Reich. His brother existed here too, it seemed, and had managed to rise quite high in the positions of power here in Britain. Not that Sherlock was particularly surprised, Mycroft was a very good leader, even if he had all of the social skills of a beached *trout*. “I should like to speak with my brother myself.” Sherlock said idly.
He did not yet realize that he *also* existed here and how much conflict that could cause later on.