[oo1]

[twatular.livejournal.com]

[When Owen arrives on the Plane, he seems to have been mid-coffee, bunch of papers - medical printoffs or something - in hand. Understandably, he nearly chokes on the coffee, looking around.]

Fuck -- what now? Tosh? Ianto! Gwen, Jack! Bit of a problem... [annoyed and somewhat panicked sigh] Hello?

[Eventually he stops pacing around, finding no exit in sight, opting to stand still -- maybe they're already working on getting him out of... wherever the bloody hell he is. This would be about where he starts muttering under his breath, shifting somewhat uncomfortably, stuffing the papers under the coffee arm:] Bloody typical. 'Go get those papers sorted, Owen; we know you're busy and all, but we really need you down to get those completely irrelevant printoffs'... [he closes his eyes] You lot had better be working on getting me back. Tosh, work that Rift-tracking brilliance of yours. 'Cos if I'm stuck hanging about, breathing in outer space 'til the Earth explodes, I... shit.

All right, patience is up. Get me the fuck out of here, you lot!

((ooc: Replies will be spotty for now. I have a production log due tomorrow. :C))