themanclion: (journal - frowny)
Right, I leave the tower to find a place with a decent curry and end up nowhere at all for two months, only to come back in time for a little girl to get killed.

Cartwright, I want to know what's gone on so far that I might've missed, and if the entire rest of Chicago's just been sitting with its thumb up its collective arse with the Gene Genie gone.

Tyler, I'm sor just let me know you haven't been killed again or hit by another car or jumped off something.
themanclion: (journal - frowny)
We need to talk, you and I. There's some news I'm not going to trust to a journal where for all I know you'll decide to see if you can fly all over again.

My room. Whenever Torchwood can spare you.
themanclion: (rip your scrotum off)
[One heavily crossed-out section: what little remains legible seems to simply be a collection of curse words.]

So, tell me, Tyler, what does a civilian do around here when he's completely useless? Shall I take up crochet and calmly wait to get eaten by a wall?

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Gene Hunt

April 2009

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