|Ianto Jones | Torchwood (inasuit) wrote in parabolical,|
@ 2009-02-05 13:10:00
|Entry tags:||ianto jones, suzie costello|
Who: Ianto Jones and Suzie Costello
Where: Random street near shops
The street Ianto found himself in wasn't, by any stretch of the imagination, the worst place he'd stepped into. In fact, on a cursory glance, it seemed an improvement on his previous locale.
Moments ago they'd been approaching the entrance of a sewer, the air stained with the pungent smell of rotten fruit, oil and failing filter conditions. 'They' being Ianto and the Weevil he'd been chasing in this case, since he had once again been roped into Weevil hunting (and not the good sort) on his own, and why the hell did the scavengers always have to head toward the sewers. Not that he was surprised - he'd only been trailing this one for a few minutes, but if there was one thing all the aliens who had plagued Cardiff through the years had in common, it would be their tendency to end up in one particular place, meaning: in the worst possible location which normally involved the maximum exposure to sewer muck, leading him into the dark, in the best position to lunge at him with the extra flavour of 'last second' which resulted in yet another close shave and impossibly ruined suit.
Things hadn't got that far, and now, with any luck, he was just in a different city because of the whims of the Rift, and not on another planet where cannibalism or something was the latest craze. Yeah, that would be the Jones luck striking, he thought to himself, a crease immediately appearing between his eyes.
Picking up an abandoned newspaper from the pavement, he held it up a moment while he managed to find the date. "Right..." he said slowly, jaw jutted slightly as he turned to survey the street, letting the paper fall into a nearby bin. There was nothing in the universe that couldn't be dealt with, and this wasn't even the strangest thing that had happened to him. No, there was nothing that should feel abnormal about this, he reasoned, ignoring the apprehensive feeling that had lodged something fist-sized in his throat.