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.

I woke to the slanting light of evening. No one had come. The air was heavy with heat. I thought, they must come soon, his body will not withstand it. But no breath of corruption came from him; he seemed no more than sleeping.

Always the life in him was stronger than in other men. I felt at his heart in vain; his breath did not mist the mirror; yet somewhere deep within him the soul might still remain, preparing to depart, but not yet gone. I spoke to that; not to his ears, I knew they would not hear me, but to whatever of him might hear.

"Go to the gods, unconquered Alexander. May the River of Ordeal be mild as milk to you, and bathe you in light, not fire. May your dead forgive you; you have given more life to men than you brought death. God made the bull to eat grass, but the lion not; and God alone will judge between them. You were never without love; where you go, may you find it waiting."

At this, the memory came to me of Kalanos singing on his flower-wreathed bier. I thought, He has kept his word; he has put off for his sake being born again; himself having passed in peace through fire, he is here to lead him across the River. It eased my heart, to know he was not alone.

"I would go with you," I whispered, and held his hand. "I would follow you, anywhere." He could no longer hear me, and it seemed there was no more reason to be careful of my words. If his soul heard, they would only bring him peace, or so at least I hoped. My head bowed; I could feel the thick lines of kohl heavy on my eyes. "I would give anything to go with you."

I closed my eyes, and lay my head on his chest. There was no heartbeat, nor would there ever be again, but still I listened for it, prayed to feel its soft rhythm beneath my cheek. So much did I dream of it that everything else, for I do not know how long, must have faded away.

When I opened my eyes again, the light was bright against them. I could not have slept until morning? I could feel the absence of his body like an open sore, and despaired; they had come to take him away from me and I had not even stirred. I felt as though my heart must be missing, and I suppose it was.

Someone should close the curtains, I thought, it is too bright for death. I meant to stand and see to it, but I could only stare around me in surprise. Where the bedchamber should have been was a sandy shore, and a sea more blue than any I had ever seen. At first my heart, that I thought absent, leapt--he had called for me, truly, and I had gone to him. If this was death, and he was here, then I would welcome it.

But he did not appear, and slowly my joy wilted. For whether this was life or death, I was alone in it.

[See post on spaced_out. Then play.]

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.

It had been a very long time since Ianto had been in the archives, otherwise known as the basement of The Compound. He still rather liked 'The Hub' rather than 'The Compound', but he hadn't been here first, which, he laments, was rather unfortunate for The Compound (which would always be, in his mind, The Hub).

He goes through his lists, a cup of fresh brewed coffee in his hand. They were running low on supplies, which clearly meant that it was about time for the pocket universe to absorb some other universe or spaceship or...something. Like an Absorbatron. Or Absorbamabob. Absorbaloff.

He muses over the right adjective while he sorts through the table of uncatalogued objects. By now the population on the island had stabilized that everyone was well aware of the procedure: If you found something new, bring it to the basement, and Ianto would catalogue it. And things that Ianto didn't recognize were put on another table for Jack, or Dari, or Fionnchadd, or the Doctor to poke at. So far, there hadn't been need for another table after that.

Cataloging was a soothing ritual, Ianto found. And it was the British way--making order out of chaos, one list at a time.

Jack knows there's likely to be hell to pay from at least one quarter, if not more, for his unscheduled walkabout. He already knows Ianto's upset, and Ukyo's not likely to be too pleased, either. Still, that's no reason to act like he's worried, which is why he wanders into the kitchen whistling "The Sign" by Ace of Base, a string of fresh-caught fish in one hand, acting as if he's been right where he belongs the whole time. Happy-go-lucky Jack Harkness, not a care in the world, that's him.

When Jack tries to seduce the Doctor and it goes about as well as expected, our galactic con man goes walkabout--much to the consternation of one Ianto Jones, who goes to ask for answers from the one person he thinks might have them.

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.

I have been here long enough now that my English has much improved, though I do not speak it so well as Ianto. And thought I am no braver than when i came, it is time to do some things I promised long ago.

Pursing my lips and gathering my strength, I head outside. Though honestly, this is as far as I had planned on getting. I don't go into the woods very often; I can't guarantee I won't get lost.

The morning dawns cool, a light mist clinging to the tops of the trees. A small dinosaur on a harness darts into the underbrush and a man wearing a smart looking suit and matching waistcoat appears shortly after. Ianto hasn't given up on the idea of lead-training Angharad. He and the dinosaur have reached a truce on the issue, each one understanding the other's motivations and desires, but each one not wanting to give in.

As he went over a rise, following Angharad from a distance, he could see the ocean to his left, and the jungle to his right. He follows the well-worn path near the coastline and thinks that this is one of the only things on the island that make him think of Wales. Walking the rocky coastline in the early morning used to be an escape for him then, as it is now. A time where he's alone with his thoughts, which frequently need sorting. He watches the waves break against the shore, and thinks, only half seriously, how they're a metaphor for his own emotional state.

That's when he sees it.

A once proud ship lies beached on the sand, the wood bleached silver from the sun. A tattered flag--red, with a gold lizard emblazoned--blows in the light wind, listlessly. Ianto draws nearer, remembering the Viking boat he and Fionchadd had made love in last summer (Christ, had it been a year already?). He looks over the ship with a faintly sad expression--another casualty of the Rift, it was obvious. But where was its captain?

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 ;) ]

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, someone had told the Doctor that everyone dreams. He remembers that, though whether he had agreed or protested is a bit more blurry. One, two, three thousand years, even when he thinks he remembers everything, it fades together in time.

But he dreamt tonight, though he can no longer recall the specifics--there had been mechanical aliens and black holes, stars with a lifespan so brief they were little more than a flash in a great darkness, and a fire that burnt in a grate for years on end. Already the things that had played through his mind are fading, as dreams do, but the haunted feeling they prompted in him is not so easily got rid of. He thinks a walk might clear his head, and at any rate there's little else to be done, so he climbs out of bed and wanders out through the TARDIS and into the night.

The sky is clear, as the sky here so often is. The sound of night birds is faint in the trees, and further in the distance the slow quiet crash of waves against the shore. A very old Time Lord sits on an overturned log in striped pyjamas, playing absently with a bit of grass, and humming to himself in the night.

[He's outside the TARDIS, just thinking. While it's obviously easiest to stumble on him if you're one of the ones who lives in the TARDIS, there's no reason anyone else can't be staying over, skulking around, or just wandering by. :) I have a bit of downtime before bed.]

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?"

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.

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!]

"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.

Since the Rift activity had slowed following the eradication of the zombies Ianto had taken the opportunity to set up what he'd been wanting for some time now.

An official archive.

He took over one of the storerooms and, like he had in Cardiff, he organized it properly, creating a master list of all artifacts, no matter how banal they might seem upon first inspection. Jack had taught him that. It might look only like an overly large marble, but it might, as was the case, turn out to be a Dogon Sixth Eye.

Currently, the so-called leader of Torchwood Five was sorting through another pile of recently collected Riftwood, as he'd named the items that slipped through the Rift without particular attachment.

"And what are you," he murmurs to himself, touching a brass coloured box with markings in an unfamiliar language about the size of a shoebox.

By the time Amelie is finished moving in the furniture, she's exhausted. She had meant to decorate Ianto and Finno's room in two days, painting the first day and decorating the second. But painting had gone faster than she had thought, and she had been so excited - and Ianto and Finno were still distracted - that she had decided to rush. So now, the walls are painted blue, with the trim painted brown to make it look like wood (if she got the chance, she would paint in grain), and there are old tables with old lamps and some lace and curtains and she had found a new bed set to match, and even though she's tired, she has to get the furniture moved into place before Ianto and Finno get home. She's rather looking forward to falling into the bath after this.

Oh, no. The bathroom. She sets down the figurine she'd been holding and moves cautiously to the other door. After a second's hesitation, she steps inside and looks around. Should she do this as well? Not today, obviously. But... but maybe?

So, there were, as the Doctor had said, opportunities. They just needed to figure out how to use them.

Which was why Ianto was in the Torchwood Lab. Because if there were opportunities, he wanted to make sure that everyone was going to get them. So he's interviewing Misato about her astral travel, trying to see if she can sense where the Void might be leaking. Fionchadd is there not only for moral support, but will get his turn as well.

But new powers are unpredictable, and thus far there's been more frustration than success, which has left them all a trifle edgy.

"Shall we try it again?" Ianto asks, his smile strained.

Things are getting pretty weird. Not that there's a better way to describe a day, or a week, that starts with getting knocked out of bed because your girlfriend's sprouted wings, especially when that morning finishes off a night where your best buddies can now both change into stuff and the stone you thought was dormant is very much awake again and hungry for blood.

But there's more to it than that. It started when his eyes started tingling. It was the weirdest thing, they just started burning a bit from the back, like when there's a wind blowing too hard in your face--only there wasn't, just a flicker of something silver, and then things were back to normal for a bit.

Only it keeps on happening, and every time the flashes of silver get a little stronger, a little thicker, until he thinks he's not imagining them anymore. How could he be? How could he imagine a long, straight, shimmering line of flickering silver stretched across the island in front of him and out to the west, across the water?

A Straight Track. Silver, not gold, but a Straight Track all the same.

"Fuck," he whispers, rubbing at his eyes. "David, this is so your department. I'm not supposed to have this shit." Not all the the stinging is from the Sight, but it's a good excuse. "Where the hell are you, man?"

[Sad!Alec is sad. Open to anyone, though especially wanting Finno and Calvin.]