Broken Space

The temperature has skyrocketed over the last few days, and Bran's been confining his outside time to very early mornings and late evenings, when it's a bit less miserable to get wrapped up against the sun's violent glare and venture out. Delia never minds taking Cafall for walks, anyway, when he needs to do more than just dart outside into the garden for a few minutes.

But right now even the dog doesn't want to go out, stretched out lazily on the floor right in what seems to be the coolest spot, at least judging from how many he discarded before he settled on it. Bran, doing his best to hide in a slightly shadowy corner, has the big harp pulled up to his lap, fingers dancing over the strings.

He warms up with The Ash Grove, then wanders into Guide Me O Great Jehovah, which just sounds weak and tinny on a lone harp, so he moves on to a more spritely, if haunting, movement of Bach's Sonata in G Minor. That slides neatly into Aberhonddu, which involves singing, and leads inevitably to Calon Lân. That's a dangerous path to follow, since it tends to make him homesick, so he distracts himself by jumping to something completely different--a nearly breathless arrangement of Scott Joplin's Maple Leaf Rag that leaves his sore by the end.

But oh, it's fun.

[I fear most of the time writing this post was spent on YouTube. Please make the quest worthwhile by tagging in. :)]</a>

Cal had gotten the idea to host a movie night after he'd found not one, not two, but three Chuck Norris movies. Clearly something like that was a sign, and so he'd scrounged up some blank paper and made a few signs to post on doorways and the bulletin board.

He wasn't really the kind to head the refreshment committee, but he'd set out some juice and punch (and sweet tea made by Alec) and cups, and whatever he could find in the kitchen: fruit, stuff to make sandwiches, a plate of cookies that someone had baked up and left on the counter. If anyone else was feeling ambitious, they could add to it, he just wanted have some basic offerings.

He got everything set up and ready to roll on the first movie, then sat back with a banana and waited for people to show.

[Gathering post! Tag in, tag each other, enjoy some cheesy 70s and 80s Chuck Norris movies. They will be watching Breaker! Breaker!, An Eye for an Eye, and Firewalker, which can all be found on wikipedia or IMDB if you need more info about them. ;) This post serves to fast forward us by three months, too, so keep this in mind if anything significant has happened to your pup in the interim. :)]

( Cut for Spoilers for episode 7x01 )

He closes his eyes and covers his ears and waits to die, but it doesn't come. The light fades, though it's still bright, and there's still white noise, but it's different too. Soft. Like one of those cds that sounds like the ocean.

Dean cracks open one eye and squints into the bright light which is, he realizes, not an angel's true form but sunlight. Ridiculously bright sunlight shining off of water, but still just sunlight. And the sound of waves? Actual waves. Because instead of the lab, he's on a beach.

"What the fucking fuck."

Ephram didn't generally consider himself to be a beach person. Who wanted sand in uncomfortable places? Seriously? Not him.

But on occassion he enjoyed spending time on one of the rocky outcroppings that had unofficially become patios, with camp chairs and umbrellas underneath palm trees. He'd caught Ianto sweeping the sand away once, so at least he had the reassurance that it was as clean as an anal retentive Welshman could manage it.

So today was actually not bad. Yeah, it was sunny, and hot, but there was a nice breeze blowing, and he had a pitcher of iced tea. So with the sound of the ocean and a new manga, he could almost forget that he was trapped on a desert island with his pregnant ex-girlfriend, who could or could not be speaking to him depending on the day, and that he and his boyfriend still hadn't really talked about what Madison being there even meant.

The plot to Ranma 1/2 hadn't been this complicated.

After a certain number of years on the island, Bran has learned not to ask questions. So when he takes Cafall out in the morning and sees a neat, bright row of yellow daffodils have sprouted up overnight in front of the Hub, he just cuts a few to take back inside and doesn't spend too much energy on it.

"Although," he says aloud, "if you really want to make me happy, you'll find a way to send over the rugby results." The island makes no promises.

Back in the kitchen he puts on the kettle, and spends a moment or two deciding what to make for breakfast before mixing up some pancake batter (his sort of pancakes, not Ephram's, though he can probably manage both if pressed), humming to himself as he works.

(Happy St David's Day!)

It's been one week since Madison arrived, and Ephram isn't dealing. He's really not dealing. So, as he usually does when he's not dealing, he's at the piano composing. Although composing what is a good question. He can't seem to hold his thoughts together long enough to get a melody together, so rather than music, he's a stuttering, stopping, unmusical mess. Which just makes him more annoyed. Not only has Madison shown up carrying his unborn son, but she's disrupted his ability to compose.

Madison was still pissed at him. And this was totally not his fault. He hadn't done anything but try to make things easy for her. It's not like he hasn't tried. He's tried. He helped her move furniture. And he'd sicced Delia on her because nobody could resist Delia. And if he'd promised to let Arya teach her more of that swordplay if she happened to mention how supportive he was and how much he cared about their baby that was definitely trying, wasn't it? And yet...

In short: life sucked. A lot.

It's an annual tradition, and this year Johnny is feeling particularly celebratory. The island seemed to have gone easy on them this year, for some reason. A few people coming, a few people leaving, and mostly not craziness. In fact, it was so incredibly mundane that Johnny was going stir-crazy. He wouldn't even have minded if the dinosaurs came back, so long as something interesting happened. So this year he'd decided to ring in the next year with a particularly exceptional party in the hopes that something would happen--even if it was just another baby in nine months. With any luck it wouldn't be his.

There was alcohol. Lots of alcohol. And a feast of barbecued boar, roasted fish, fresh vegetables and fruits. There were torches lighting the path from the Compound to Summerfell, and on the beach a large bonfire burned. Best of all, he'd spoken with the sciency types and they'd managed a very special countdown for midnight.

Fireworks. Raw, experimental--but still big explosions of sparks and light. It was going to be awesome.

Working sheepdogs who are not actually working have a lot of energy, and need a lot of exercise. Cafall, used to both working and having the run of the north Welsh mountains, has never taken to a great amount of resting inside, and tends to require several walks a day if Bran doesn't happen to be spending most of the day outside.

And sometimes it's a nice ritual, really, for Bran and Ephram to take him for a walk along the beach about sunset. The three of them are there now, two boys strolling along with the dog walking alert and collected at Bran's heels, ignoring the seagulls that swoop from the sky to taunt him.

[Tag Bran, or tag Ephram, or tag both. Game on. :)]

Time slipped by so easily on the island, so it was no wonder that Jane had forgotten to mark her birthday on the day and only realised it when she sat down to jot down some thoughts about her stay. As she glanced at the notebook, which was now full of ramble, she realised the day of her birth had occurred two days past.

Putting the notebook away, under her pillow, Jane sat up on her bed and frowned at the wall, blinking to combat the prickle of wistful tears stinging her eyes. True, she never had wild parties back home, but she could guarrantee on a phone call from her parents and brothers at least, and now it was so long since she last heard from them. Jane sniffed and then shook her head. Moping about and feeling lonesome wasn't going to help. She needed to do something.

After considering and discarding options, Jane decided to bake a cake. That way she could seek out Bran, Will, Jon and others, and actually have a bit of a party. She could say today was her birthday, rather than two days ago (although Will might call her on that she figured he would let the lie slip this time), so no one felt bad about missing it.

Feeling more energised, Jane tidied up, and went to the kitchen. Pulling on an apron, she set to work mixing a bowlful of ingredients, using a recipe she had in her head for a chocolate cake. Once the cake was in the oven, she sat down with a book to wait for it to finish baking.

Since finding out that Amelie's birthday is today yesterday, Ianto had been hurriedly attempting to make plans for a celebration. He'd asked Bran for a cake, as had threatened to do, but in addition to the cake, had made plans to take over the lobby, their usual party location.

It was last minute, but Ianto didn't want to disappoint, and so had spent the morning preparing fruit punch, tea, and of course, coffee. Entertainment was a little harder to come by, but after bemoaning the situation to Alec and Lilly, Lilly decided that Ianto was far too uncool, and that she would take care of it herself. Ianto had no idea what she had planned, but he hoped that it would prove entertaining.

Luckily, getting word that there was a last minute celebration was not an unusual occurrence on the island, and Ianto had faith that people would show up, since any excuse for a celebration was generally embraced by the local population.



[Gathering post! Informal cake & punch, and Lilly promises special entertainment later. Even I don't know what she has planned, but I'm willing to bet it involves things that will make Alec blush ;) ]

The problem with being a musical genius (well, one of them, anyway), is that when things aren't perfect it can be maddening. Two years, a few hurricanes, and a snowstorm later and the dear old Steinway was having problems holding its tune. Which was driving Ephram batshit.

After scouring the library he came across a Tune Your Own Piano book. A little more scouring in the basement (what Ianto insisted on calling the Archives, but would always be the basement/laundry room to Ephram) and he had everything that he needed--a collection of tuning forks, a little LED flashlight, some wooden wedges that would have to do for the rubber ones the book said he was supposed to have, and a hefty looking wrench for the actual tuning.

But the actual tuning turns out to be more difficult than he'd thought. It's not that he can't hear and tune the wire--he can--he just can't get the wrench to do what he wants. So, the book is flat on the piano bench, and Ephram is frowning at it, and the open piano top, with a thoughtful looking expression.

It was a sign, Ianto thought, that when he woke up this morning, Angharad was curled up on Fionchadd's green shirt and Ianto's white dress shirt, with the early sunrise shining on her skin with a red glow. It struck a chord with him, and he was surprised to discover just how homesick a facsimile of his beloved homeland's flag could make him.

There were no daffodils here, but Ianto found some small yellow flowers that he decorated the Hub with, which made him feel a little better. He also wore his best suit, and put something resembling a leek into his buttonhole.

But, other than that, he didn't really know what to do with himself. He doesn't feel like burying himself in the archives on his national holiday, and so decides to take Angharad for a walk, slipping her into her harness and tying on the rope Ianto insisted on attaching for her safety, despite Fionchadd's amusement.

"Come on, then," he murmurs to the disgruntled dinosaur. "You like being outside. Surely a leash is a bearable compromise?"

Bran is in the kitchen, mixing batter, singing under his breath, "...gwelwch chi'n dda ga'i grempog..." Butter is bubbling away happily, coating the bottom of a skillet, and Cafall, alert and businesslike, is guarding the entrance to the kitchen just in case anyone comes in and attempts to gain the treasures before they're complete.

He scoops a ladle-full of batter into the pan, watching it spread, and scrapes it with a spatula before flipping it expertly. "Gwelwch chi'n dda ga'i grempog!" he sings again, finishing the verse, and tips the pancake onto the plate.


[Shrove Tuesday ritual! The pancake is what those of us accustomed to proper American pancakes would call a 'crepe', perhaps a little bit thicker. Come get yours. Only I'm about to fall asleep, so getting it tomorrow works too.]

For a variety of reasons, Amelie is throwing a masquerade ball. It had not occurred to her until the later stages that this meant that she would be attending a party. Thankfully, she had found a suitable dress in the basement. Elizabethan, by the look (and feel) of it, but it had a matching mask. Both were light green and embroidered with gold. The mask also had golden feathers.

Of course, there were too few people here for her to be truly anonymous, but that hadn't actually occurred to her until just now.

She tries not to panic - breathing too quickly might make her faint - as she surveys the room. Food, music, and she had found flowers as well. Now all she had to do was hope everything went all right. And play matchmaker. And hope no one talked to her.

She took the biggest breath she dared to take. Should be easy.

Amelie is trying to be good. Well, to keep herself busy, at any rate. And so she finds herself sitting outside on yet another perfect day with a sketchpad and some watercolors.

Her painting is going very slowly, though. She had stuck in a rabbit and an armadillo, walking side by side on the beach, only they keep talking to one another about how Ianto had been so kind in welcoming them to the island.

With the pettiness of a someone who is sure she will be able to justify such things later, she paints over them both with black splotches. This doesn't shut them up so much as provoke the rabbit to say, "I say! It gets dark quickly around here, doesn't it?" And the armadillo to answer, "Yes. Shall we ask Ianto what people normally do here when it is dark?" The rabbit replies in the affirmative, and in her mind's eye, Amelie watches them badger Ianto into doing something for dinner.

Amelie decides she doesn't like art.

After the New Year's disaster with Robb, Jon has kept to himself. That's what he'd wanted--what he'd insisted he'd needed. Time to find himself. His actual self--the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark--and not the self he'd been brought up believing himself to be--the bastard son of Eddard Stark.

Today, he is at the Compound. Normally, he wouldn't be anywhere near the building, but if he wants to avoid his family, the Compound is the best bet, most days. Outside the Compound, however, is as close as he can bring himself right now. That, and he doesn't particularly want to force Ghost indoors. One thing he can't bear to give up is Ghost. Even if he's no long Eddard's bastard son, he's still a Stark, and all Starks have wolves.

The two of them are seated under a tree outside. Jon has one hand on the wolf, and another paging through a book he'd found--the Chronicles of Narnia.

Winter is traditionally a time for feasting and celebration. There'd been plenty of that at Thanksgiving, a holiday that Bran has still only celebrated twice. But he knows Ephram and Delia have attachments to it, and if he can make them happy by stuffing them full of food normally reserved for Christmastime, well, it's a small price. Even if it does mean doing it all over again in a month's time.

And in between, there's always this matter of what to do with the leftovers. By the time that even Bright is complaining about eating the same thing for a week on end, it's probably time to do something else.

Which is why what's left of the single turkey unfortunate enough to appear on the island is bubbling away in a pot, surrounded by the remains of the potatoes and some herbs and vegetables out of the garden. And why Bran is crouched on the floor with his head in the cupboard, fishing out other things to pour into the pot and go on making the kitchen smell good.

[It's been a while since I did one of these; come talk to Bran, have some soup, shoot the breeze...whether you know him yet or not!]

What do you get when you combine one already creepy compound and two party addicts with way too much time on their hands?

One amazing party.

The entrance to the Compound has been lined with black and fake cobwebs, and an old tape recorder playing a casette of scary sound effects on a loop. All lights have been covered up, and the only lights one can see are at the end of the hallway.

The end of the hallway is the Lobby, and it's been turned into one hell of a party room (no pun intended). The walls are also covered in black, with the harsh fluorescent lights covered with sheer fabric and mounted squares of colored glass. There's a bar, a non-alcoholic fruit punch for the kiddies, a table full of appetizers and bowls of sugar cane sticks and other sweet things. There's not much left in the basement anymore--Bright and Johnny scoured the shelves and hijacked everything that could be used for a speaker system and begged Alec and the Doctor to help.

Well, Johnny begged. Because he's not above begging a Timelord to play the Professor from Gilligan's Island when it comes to wanting a kickass sound system.

Music from someone's forgotten ipod is now blaring, the bass so loud it makes Johnny's chest vibrate--the perfect volume, in his opinion.

And what would be Halloween without costumes? Because otherwise Johnny Storm wouldn't be the devil his sister always accused him of being and just be a man in a red catsuit, carrying a pitchfork with sparkly red horns on his head--and that would just be silly.


[Set to Halloween Night, naturally, but as we're all going to be gone...pre-play to your heart's content!]

Like basically everybody else on the island, Bright had developed a kind of routine. Most of his wouldn't surprise anybody--surfing, eating, hanging out on the beach, eating again, shooting some hoops, harassing people into having parties. The only part that would was where he got up early and read something. It didn't matter much what, and a lot of the time he didn't understand it anyway, but after the first couple months of what was basically an endless summer vacation, he'd kind of felt like he was reverting back to being dumb. He was used to being dumb, but he didn't really like it, so he tried to learn stuff. He figured this would be a prime opportunity for Ephram to make fun of him--and Delia, though Bran and his vet books probably wouldn't--so he woke up early, didn't tell anybody he was doing it, and finished the whole thing off by catching some early morning waves.

That was most mornings. This morning, he wandered out of his room and saw her.

"Baby!" Bright ran over to his lost love and threw his arms around her. "I missed you!"

"Beep-beepeep eep!" she said, because she was a totally cool vintage Ms Pac-Man arcade game and that was pretty much all she ever said. Ephram had brought her home from a party once and Bright was totally devastated when he'd gone and sold her to buy a piano. Oh, sure, he understood, Ephram, piano, blah blah blah.

He jiggled the joystick. The game beeped again. "Score," he crowed. "Still doesn't even need quarters!"

Half an hour later, he was still playing.

Tory's eyes fly open, and it's everything he could do to not cry out, not wake Colin. Another dream about his father. It's the third one this week, but why? He usually only has dreams about his father when he is stressed out, but lately, he can't be happier. It doesn't make sense.

Extricating himself from bed without (he hopes) waking Colin, he leaves their room and pads toward the kitchen, Layers in tow. He scoops up the kitten (who has been growing at an astonishing rate, as kittens do) and goes about preparing a midnight (or at this point, more like a 2 a.m.) snack.

"It doesn't make any sense, does it?" He asks Layers, feeding him a piece of meat.

[open to late night wanderers, including Colin, if he wants to get up and drag Tory back to bed]