Broken Space

"...there is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are the ones who have gone over." -Hunter S. Thompson

Sam was trying to get familiar with his new surroundings, but the whole situation was surreal--and that was saying something, for someone who'd led the kind of life he had. He still wasn't entirely convinced that his mind hadn't just entirely snapped (for more than one reason, but he was ignoring that).

The place seemed real, if too good to be true, and he'd spent some time exploring the more civilized areas in the last few days, whenever Dean would let him out of his sight. He understood how Dean felt, but if what his brother said about this island was true, it wasn't as if he needed supervision. No demons, no ghosts, no skinwalkers, shapeshifters, werewolves, vampires, none of it. A magical island without a trace of the supernatural. It was as if the universe had decided to send them to the only place where they could truly relax.

Sam wasn't relaxing, wasn't letting his guard down. The world was never what it seemed, and Sam had seen the dark shadows that accumulated in the corners if you didn't keep an eye on them. He knew how deceptive trusting face value was. He was a Hunter, and this place didn't change any of that.

He went into the kitchen and poured a cup of coffee from the pot someone else had prepared, stirring a little sugar into it and surveying the room with a sigh. He didn't flinch when a darkly cheerful voice spoke up. "Settling right into Fantasy Island, aren't we, Sammy? Gosh, it's nice. I haven't had a vacation in millenia--not one you'd want to send a postcard from, anyway." There was a chuckle, and even though Sam pretended not to see or hear anything, he could see Lucifer moving in his peripheral vision, strolling into the kitchen and perching on the table, hands clasped loosely between his legs.

"Maybe I'll learn to surf. What do you think? Satan on a surfboard, now that is a photo op. You could join me, get some sun on that pasty skin of yours." Sam didn't answer, gave no sign of hearing, and Lucifer tsked and shook his head. "You may as well enjoy your time here, because it won't last forever. I have plans for you, Sammy-boy. Big plans." Sam's jaw tightened and he took a sip of coffee through clenched teeth, eyes narrowing. He was so busy ignoring the fact that he was either hallucinating or being haunted by Lucifer, he didn't realize an actual flesh-and-blood person had entered the room.

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. :)]

Madison had come into the kitchen on a mission: To bake some cookies. She'd been thinking about fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies for nearly a week, and she woke up full of energy today, so she decided to do something about it. She'd even found a somewhat faded but still quite serviceable apron, all blue gingham and ruffles. It made her grin to put it on, and she'd wondered if maybe there was a 50's housewife dress around somewhere to go with it, but that was as far as she'd gotten with that train of though. Properly attired for a pregnant cookie-baking mother-to-be she'd headed for the kitchen with a spring in her step. Surely she could find enough ingredients to throw some kind of cookie together.

But when she'd started poking through the cupboards and found a can of cherry pie filling, her plans had abruptly changed. Cherry pie. That sounded really good. And a pie crust was fairly simple to make, so she'd thrown one together, filled it with the filling (and stolen a spoonful of filling for herself, not willing to wait for the finished product), and now she was waiting for it to finish. She's already cleaned up her mess, and now she's looking through the fridge. There's no ice cream to be had, but maybe some whipped cream would make a good stand in...

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.

It's ridiculous how many points pregnancy books can manage to disagree on while still being about the same subject. Madison had started out reading everything she could find, but after a while of comparing contradictions and variations and getting frustrated and a little scared she'd finally decided she would just pick one and trust that it was the right one. What to Expect When You're Expecting is the one she's actually heard of, so that book is the one she kept, and is the one currently under her tea saucer as she relaxes in an armchair with a paperback, a murder mystery.

She sits forward without looking up from her place, reaching for her tea when she suddenly freezes, eyes widening as she lifts her head. "...Oh my god," she gasps, her hand going immediately to her stomach, tea and book forgotten at the flutter she just felt. The baby moved. It moved.

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!)

Calvin hadn't set out to start a party or anything. He'd been out hunting earlier and had shot a few wild chickens before stirring up a boar's resting place completely by accident. Fortunately Cal's tree-climbing skills got him out of goring range, and a few well-placed arrows from above meant there was a lot of boar meat to cook up, as well as the fowl.

So what was a guy to do? He cleaned and butchered the meat, then built a small bonfire on the beach and got it burning. Now it's fading toward dusk, the fire is getting to just the right point to start cooking, and Cal's made a few more trips to get some fruit and vegetables, as well as juice (and a kettle of boiling water, in case anyone wants tea), and he's just hanging out, prepping the meat by threading it onto carefully cleaned and sharpened sticks and waiting for anyone to respond to the "Free meat on the beach" sign he'd tacked to the refrigerator.

"I think I need to talk to Ephram before I decide." Madison looked at Andy with an almost apologetic smile. "What'd he say?"

Andy gave her a strange look. "Nothing." He moved from behind the desk to close the office door as Madison watched him, confused.

"I don't understand--"

"He doesn't know." The conversation was just getting more confusing as it continued, really. That wasn't how it was supposed to go.

"You haven't told him."

"No. And I don't plan to."

"What?" Madison's stomach knotted as she frowned at Andy.

"I don't want him to know that you're pregnant."

"He would want to know. He deserves to know," Madison argued, going cold. She'd trusted Andy, taken him at his word, and now this? Why?

"That's true. But it really doesn't matter. I'm going to tell you something and you may not understand it, but that's fine. You don't have to." Madison looked at him in obvious disbelief. "Just listen." Andy paused and Madison waited, feeling her head start to pound. "Ephram lost enough of his childhood when his mother died, but I got lucky. He got lucky. He somehow...managed to salvage that innocence. If he hears this now, all of that innocence is gone. And it will be the end of a childhood that isn't finished yet. Don't do this to him. Please."

Madison wanted to ask what about her, what about all of the plans she'd made? Because this? Put a serious kink in her life, too. She felt the tears that had been threatening start to overspill her eyes and wiped them away with a small gasp that did nothing to alleviate the tightness in her throat and chest. She needed to sit down, felt as if her life which had already been spiraling out of control had just suffered admission to free-fall.

Andy came over to her. Apparently he wasn't finished sucker punching her. "Listen to me, Madison. Whatever you choose to do, if you want to end the pregnancy, if you want to keep the baby, I will pay for it. I will support you. I will see to your comfort and security. Whatever you want, for as long as you want it. But Ephram is not to know."

She couldn't even look at him, felt dirty and cheap. Not that she couldn't use the money, but--God. Andy Brown, the man she had trusted to help her, had just offered to buy her silence. All she had to do was sacrifice her integrity and her love for Ephram, a love that was still there despite them not working out. Lack of emotion had never been the problem after all. "I think this is a mistake." Her voice was thick with tears, but she didn't care.

"Fine. Let it be my mistake." He said it as if it was just so damn easy, as if just sitting back and not telling Ephram would solve everything. But it wouldn't.

"How. How could I do that?"

"You go." And there it was. She was being asked to not only keep her silence, keep something as huge as a baby a secret from Ephram, a secret she felt he deserved to know--now she was being sent away on top of it. This was all too much to deal with at once, especially when she'd thought she made the right choice coming to Andy in the first place.

"I can't--I have to go. I'll...think about it." Andy opened his mouth and before he could say anything else, she promised, "I won't do anything before I talk to you. I won't...go to him." She got to her feet, edging toward the door to his office. "I won't tell him."

"Madison, I know you think--" Madison shook her head as Andy started talking again, raising a hand.

"I really can't, right now. I'm sorry." She turned and fled his office, the converted train station he'd turned into his practice...and came to an abrupt stop as her feet hit sand, looking around in shock and the first tendrils of fear. Day had become night in the blink of an eye, and there was a fire nearby and strangers all around and...

...and Madison sinks to the sand, eyes wide and scared, and hugs her knees to her chest. "What the hell just happened?" she whispers to no one in particular.

[A bit belated, but the island's newest resident has arrived in the middle of the NYE party. BRING IT ON. ;)]

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.

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 ;) ]

Amelie sits on the beach in a chair she had found in the basement, along with an umbrella and a bikini, all of which she had carried to the beach.

Of course, the bikini was safely covered up with an oversized shirt, and her eyes are hidden behind huge glasses, and her head it hidden under a huge straw hat. But her legs and hands are visible, as well as the book of quotations on her chest.

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.

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.

There was, Bright thought, something pretty cool about being able to have a New Year's party on the beach. He'd made a bonfire, got some brews, fired up the grill, and harassed everyone he knew into hauling a whole lot of food down to the main beach. His iPod was hooked up to some speakers Alec had gotten working again, and there were some towels and cushions tossed onto the sand for people to sit on.

Success was his.

"Happy new year celebration in progress!" he yelled. "Let the party begin! Who's got karaoke?"

[NYE party! Tag now/late/slow/whatever at will!]

The weather wasn't right for it, but the season was, so the calendar said. Which meant that it was time for lythfish.

Kaeldra had never been good at fishing, but she'd tried, and wished fervently for the dragons. But it turned out that wolves were almost as good at fishing as dragons. Grey Wind had found her when she'd been sitting by the river, and a few swipes of his jaws and claws later there was a stack of fish. She'd shown her appreciation with a fish of his own.

She had tied them to racks to dry, and they'd dried in the air until they were as hard as wood. It took longer in the warm weather than usual, but Elythia was warm too.

The next step in the preparation of lythfish was to be buried in the ground in wooden barrels soaked with lye, which she'd done a few days ago. Today she needed to check on the fish, and see if the lye was soaking properly into the fish, so she was up to her elbows in sandy water, wearing the heavy blue dress that was sturdy enough for her chores, singing a song in native Elythian that she remembered from childhood.

"Deck the halls with boughs of holly..." Vermouth sang as she balanced precariously on a ladder to pin up the tinsel she'd found in a box stashed in the very recreation room she was now decorating. She had strong suspicions that the box and its contents had not been there earlier, and the decorations had been provided by the powers-that-be in much the same way the Halloween costumes were back in October.

Those who knew Vermouth's true nature might be surprised that a woman who could shoot a man without qualm would be so enthusiastic about Christmas. However, it was one of her (many) little quirks that she actually liked the holiday and enjoyed celebrating it. Back in the real world, some of that enjoyment came from driving Gin crazy - since Christmas and its message of peace and love were completely foreign to his nature. On the island, Vermouth saw Christmas as something to do and another excuse for a party - and who didn't love a party.

"Tis the season to be jolly..." she stretched out, up on tiptoes to drive the last pin in.

"You are so gorgeous," Johnny murmurs, and drops a kiss lightly on his object of affection's forehead. "Seriously gorgeous. The softest skin, the bluest eyes..." He caresses said skin, a small, intimate smile on his lips. "Without a doubt you are...absolutely perfect," he sighs, as if to a lover.

There's no doubt. Johnny Storm is in love.

He's sitting on a couch in the lobby, holding the object of his desire in his arms, both of them freshly bathed and dressed.

Curiously, Sansa and Dara aren't there, as Dara is being looked after by her grandmother and Sansa is still showering.

Three guesses to whom Johnny is speaking, and the first two don't count.

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!]