Broken Space

Tory swears he's imagining it all. He's standing under the spray of the shower, having all but sweat through his monk's robes at the Halloween party. Not the most romantic way to end what has been a very romantic evening with Colin, which is why he hit the shower before bed. Colin, perfect as Tory thinks him, is probably immune to the heat and already asleep with three or four kittens curled up beside him.

Which is why it's so weird. Tory can swear he hears Colin's voice in the shower, though he can't quite make out what he's saying. Probably some trick of the sound of the water echoing off tile and wall and whatever else.

He shuts off the water and it's gone. Maybe he's tired, since he can't be drunk - he didn't drink anything for Colin's sake. He steps out of the shower, and as he's toweling his hair he can hear it again. Shaking his head and tucking his damp hair behind his ears, he finishes drying off and wraps the towel around his waist. He decides it's too late to be modest, and Colin's probably asleep anyway, as he opens the door and pads into their room.

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!]

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]

Tory has such fond memories of the kitchen. Well, nothing's really happened in the kitchen but it's where he made the date with Colin that led to things going very well with Colin. So, he has fond memories all the same.

He's not trying to cook or anything ridiculous this time - just making a snack before bed. Ah, bed. He's looking forward to crawling into bed because guess who's there?

If Tory were thinking clearly at the moment, he'd recognize just how much he's lost it. Fortunately, he doesn't have to worry about that.

A year ago, if someone had asked Tory how he thought he'd be spending his 18th birthday, 'stranded on a magical desert island' would have been, approximately, number 1,554 on the list.

And yet, that's where he is. The laundry room, in it's own quirky wisdom, had provided a battered but serviceable Burger King birthday crown which Tory wears proudly on his head as he labors at his latest task.

Pie.

He'd wanted a birthday cake, but poring over a few cookbooks, he found that pie was the easier option, given the abundance of fruit on the island. And it shouldn't be that hard to make: cooking is just chemistry, after all.

And yet...well, he has the mangoes and the bananas ready to go. But he isn't sure the lumpy mess on the kitchen counter can be called dough. Yet.

[Feel free to tag with anyone! I wanted to get this posted but I will not be back to tag until tonight.]

Tory isn't really thinking when he gathers up Colin and a hastily assembled backpack of his things and walks out of the house he's been sharing with Edward. Because this is just over. He isn't a pair of shoes to just belong to someone.

He slams the door behind him but the sound is lost in a thunderclap, and it's then that it occurs to him that there's some really bad rain going on and he's only wearing shorts and a t-shirt. He's soaked to the skin in moments, but he has too much pride to go back in. Instead, he puts Colin's carrier under his shirt to shelter him from the rain and makes his miserable way to the compound, slipping in the mud, head bent against the wind, falling to his knees several times and accumulating various scrapes and bruises.

He's dripping wet by the time he gets there, like he showered with his clothing on. His sandals are next to useless and he kicks them away. Shivering in the cooler air, he pulls the kitten out, finding that he's only a little ruffled and apparently hungry, but otherwise just fine.

Most people seem to be in their rooms, so after getting some milk for Colin in the kitchen, Tory heads to his.

It's only when he's halfway through the door that he realizes it's not his room anymore. And who it does belong to. "Shit, sorry," he mutters, pulling the door back so he's behind it, hoping he wasn't interrupting anything.

[locked to Colin]

Tory's been scouring the library for Torchwood stuff. It's a pretty standard day for him and one that generally keeps his mind occupied, which is good at this point. He's so intent on finding research materials that he's wholly unprepared for the 8 1/2 by 11, black, spiralbound journal that falls into his hands.

He doesn't even have to open it up to know what it is. But he does anyway, fingers tracing the faded lettering:

Saturday, September 25th. Somewhere in the vicinity of 12:41 A.M. to 1:25 A.M., Colin Stephens moved into 346 68th St., Woodridge, Queens, NY. But who can remember the time of this event precisely?

Tory closes it quickly, heart pounding, hands trembling slightly. How in the world? It's impossible. He pushes the books on the shelf out of the way, wondering if there's some sort of magic portal to his bedroom closet behind them. But it's only the wood of the bookshelf.

"What the hell is going on here?" He says out loud, to nobody in particular.

Misato'd heard the story, of course--the mini mart world turned into a crime scene, the whole thing marked off-limits till they could be sure there'd been no lasting damage. She'd offered at one point to go and check it out in a military capacity, but so far there hadn't been a need. The offer still stands-it would be something to do beyond examining the bits of technology the others find washed on their metaphorical shores, and most of that she does just to make sure it's not any part of the Eva project. Oh, she's learning--she can't help that; she's a quick learner and pretty good at figuring things out--but she still worries sometimes that one of them will turn up some day, and the rest of Torchwood will have put it together before she can stop them.

But for now, there is nothing new, and she's indulging in a hobby she didn't have much time for back home--sunbathing. She'd always had a thing for hot springs and beaches, and so now she's taken a blanket, a book, and a six-pack of beer and headed to the beach for some well-deserved lounging.

The water still makes her think of LCL sometimes, and the island is nothing like post-Second-Impact Japan, and the beer is something cheap and American that barely tastes like beer at all, but it's hard not to let her thoughts stray back home sometimes. She pops open one of the cans and holds it up to the sky before she tilts it back. "Ritsuko, Kaji...kampai."

Colin is here, now. That's still a thought that's sinking in with Tory. It's a thought that makes him smile randomly, and a thought that makes him feel guilty as well. Mostly for the random smiling. Jealous as Edward can be, he'd have to be stupid not to realize something's up, and so accordingly Tory's been spending more time at the Hub. Partially, he's hoping to run into Colin, because he can't just get up the nerve to drop by and say hello more than once every couple of days.

Which is why he's sitting at the counter in the kitchen with a book and a half-eaten sandwich.

The first stop on the tour was Germany.

Colin hated Germany. It was the food, mostly, and the smoking. Clouds of cigarette smoke outside of buildings, and the lingering scent that clung to everything. Sort of like Nazism, he supposed, but that wasn't an opinion he shared out loud.

Not that he was ever asked his opinion. Opinions were Dr. Garrett's province. He was the poster boy, the prototype, the money shot.

Sometimes it felt that dirty. Despite the good that he hoped would come of it. That Dr. Garrett assured him would come of it.

He wraps his leather jacket and scarf more tightly around him, hands shoved into his pockets as he makes his way from the convention centre to the car.

Winter was always the most difficult season. Everything was in hibernation, and Colin wanted to be there too, buried under the soil, hiding away until spring. The fact that he couldn't just sleep through winter like the rest of the planet made him resentful, although he tried not to be.

Still, the cast of fluorescent lights on his skin that was a mockery of the sun's warmth made him ache for its heat. He closed his eyes and turned his face up towards the light, imagining he could feel it, the hot burn on his eyelids, the musky, humid air that was so full of life you could almost feel it, breathe it.

A car horn sounds, and Colin opens his eyes with a jolt, expecting to see a truck barreling down on him, but instead there's an open sea, and Colin realizes he's standing on a beach, and that really is sun shining down on him.

If this was a side effect, it's one that Dr. Garrett never mentioned before...

Dairine had told Ianto once that she meant to look for cat wizards. What she had actually found, or rather, what Rua had found for her, were kittens--tiny, furry, wriggly, playful, too adorable for words kittens. When she'd first found them, they had been tiny mewling balls of fur with squinted, stuck-shut eyes, but they've been growing at an astonishing rate, and when their mother hadn't seemed too fussed about letting Zelda take one of them, Dairine thought the rest must be ready for homes as well.

Really, it's best. Because if she doesn't give them away soon she's going to try to keep them all, and that is a dangerous number of kittens.

She looks down at them, hands on her hips. "Dai stiho," she greets. "I don't suppose any of you are wizards?"

The nearest kitten mews and rubs against her leg. Dairine isn't really sure if that's an answer.

[Free kittens! Come get one if you want one. They're adorable. Fluffy kitties, free to good homes!]

Having spent the night in his old room in the Compound (without telling Edward), Tory returned to the house they shared in something of a more calm mood. Still, his stomach was a flurry of anxiety as he opened the door. "Edward," he called. Not happy, not angry. Just his name, like he was anyone else.

Only he wasn't, and Tory had no idea how this was going to go.

Tory's doing Torchwood research in the rec room, his legs thrown over one arm of a chair as he leans back against the other. Edward's been in an...interesting mood, he might call it, for a few days, and he's not sure what's been going on. Not that Edward would say - he's not always so forthcoming about his feelings.

Regardless, Tory's got work to do and while he could do it at the house, he doesn't especially feel like it, with Edward being broody. So here he is, in relative comfort. There are worse ways to live a life, he thinks.

Tory really wouldn't say it, but after all the social type things revolving around Bran and Ephram's wedding that he attended alone, he was kind of bothered, but wasn't sure how to bring it up.

There was that and the drunken flirting. But that wasn't going to come up. He could squelch a certain amount of guilt, and that could be his little secret for a while.

But all of that was in the back of his mind when he came home from the library after the Torchwood meeting, still reeling from the attack on Fionchadd. He deposited his usual stack of books on a counter, and called Edward's name tiredly.

If the ceremony itself had a limited guest list, the party afterward is open to everyone. It's casual affair, with a bonfire on the beach and a few makeshift tables filled with snacks, treats, and what alcohol is left from the previous night's debauchery.

It's simple. It's unpretentious. It's perfect.

There is music playing--probably Dairine's iPod again, and the speakers Alec had made out of broken parts. The moon, a tiny sliver in the darkening sky, glimmers from the violet-streaked sky. It looks as if the horizon is painted in watercolours, the perfect backdrop to a brilliant day.

[Wedding reception! Everyone invited, slowtimed through the weekend if necessary. :)]

Tory has moved out of the building itself, but he still finds himself at the Hub nearly every day. He likes the work he's been doing for Torchwood Five, and library has obliged, giving him new and interesting books all the time. He has a notebook full of data, and it makes him feel good to be doing something, though he's not sure how inclined he is to leave the island anymore. But, others might, so he keeps at it.

At the moment, he has a stack of books on the table in front of him, and is scratching furiously in his notebook as he reads The Journals of Stanislaus Grumman, oblivious to the world, otherwise.

[open to all but Torchwood peeps are certainly encouraged! Also, this can wait till bachelor party/wedding stuff is done - just wanted to get it posted.]

Bright was actually pretty familiar with how Ephram's brain worked, and that when he said he didn't want a bachelor party, what he actually meant was that he didn't want Bright's kind of party.

And Bright knew that already. Because every time he'd ever known Ephram to go to a party, he hovered in the back and left early, or else just spent the whole time drunkenly playing Ms. Pac-Man and totally failing to realize that there were hot girls there totally trying to score with him. Ephram was kind of a loser when it came to noticing the scoring potential directly under his nose.

Not that he was going to need to score with girls at his bachelor party the night before he tied the knot with a guy, but it was the principle of the thing. And the fact that Bright actually did know how to make his best friend have a good time, and unlike every other red-blooded American guy in existence, it wasn't with booze and loud music and chicks.

He drafted Alec into helping him clear out one of the spare rooms, found a deck of cards and a couple of board games, and bribed Dairine for the use of her iPod and a couple of speakers. The fridge was full of leftover Japanese food--God, he was glad Ukyo was back--and he figured once he invited Johnny he could get him to bring some hard cider (which was, all things considered, better than beer. At least better than cheap-ass Coors he was used to drinking back in Everwood).

He stood back to admire his handiwork and flipped the iPod onto 'shuffle'. The speakers crackled and some old Journey song started playing.

Let Ephram never say he didn't get a good party.

[In theory guys only, but Bright has never been too fussed about party crashers. *g* May be top-levels at varying points to determine when stuff goes on, and there's to be a debut here later, but other than that, total freestyle.]

For the first time, Ephram is wishing for just one of the thousands of pawn shops in New York. But barring an entire pawn shop displacing itself and ending up here, he knows someone on this island has to have a ring.

Just one. That's all he needs. One ring. Preferably that fits his fiance's finger, but that part is negotiable at this point.

Ianto's told him that things appear randomly, and so Ephram's trying to track things equally randomly, looking behind books, in boxes, and even outside, feeling like a magpie by his reaction to anything shiny.

Currently, he's in the laundry room, checking the lint traps of the dryers.

Robb gives Tory swordfighting lessons. They wear themselves out and Tory finally gets the stories he's wanted.

Cassie can't exactly remember the last time she's been lucid enough to really notice everything around her. A few days have passed, she's sure, but how many? And, oh god, how much had she eaten?

She's wearing a shirt she's never seen before and one shoe. There's a pile of organize pills beside her-- separated by color and size, strategically ordered. They look unfamiliar at first glance, but that's hardly surprising. She must have binged again... the clinic would be so disappointed.

Head pounding, Cassie pulls herself to her feet and staggers out of her room. Impressive enough that she managed to find it.

Where was everyone?