Broken Space

It's been three days.

Three days since Dean discovered his brother's body unconscious on the beach. Three days since he'd carried his brother's unconscious body to the clinic. Three days that he'd cursed the fact that there was no doctor who could help Sam. Jack had helped to get his brother stabilized with an IV and catheter, but that was all they could do. Nobody could get into his brother's head and find out what was going on.

He'd been here too much over the years. Sitting by Sam's bedside. Waiting for him to wake up. And he wasn't sure how much longer he could take it.


(Open to all! Dean is unusually vulnerable right now, which might result in conversation, or grumpiness.)

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...

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?"

Over the course of the last nine hundred years, the Doctor has travelled space and time, to the furthest reaches of the universe (and one or two others), back and forward in time from Vesuvius to the post-apocalyptic ruins of a far-distant New York. He's seen aliens and creatures in infinite variety, many of them very dangerous and possessing numerous combinations of claws, venom, spines, wings, weaponry and very sharp teeth.

So one might think, after all this vast experience, that walking back toward the TARDIS one day to discover one such very nasty creature standing between him and it, staring at him licking its distinctively vicious chops would not be quite such a shock as it is.

"Ah, right," he says, staring at it, and takes a step backward. Must think, must think. The creature's lionish, sinewy body lowers toward the ground. Its head, vaguely human but with three rows of nasty, jagged teeth, makes a clear, trumpetish noise that sends shivers down the Doctor's spine.

Speaking of spines, there are some on its tail. "Right," the Doctor says, moving his hand very slowly toward the sonic screwdriver in his pocket, and scanning the area for Ways Out Of This Fine Mess. "Nice...kitty?"

[The Doctor seems to have found Fionchadd's manticore. He would like some help, please.]

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!]

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!]