InsaneJournal

Day Eight - Morning
Who: clone-Ianto Jones, Ianto Jones, and OTA museum-dwellers
What: Enigmas collide
Where: Out on the porch of the museum
When: Day 8, morning
Rating: TBA
Status: Active



A slow, intentional blink of his eyes and deliberately indulgent roll of his neck was the first thing that Ianto Jones felt when he came into existence. From the tree line, knee deep in snow and shielding his eyes from the sun, he looked out at the building before him. The museum. Yes, this was where he lived. He thought. He was almost certain. Slowly, a grin that didn't quite meet his somewhat menacing eyes spread over his lips and he rolled his neck and shoulders one more time before heading toward the building.

There was a jagged movement of his head to the side, a bit like a tic, as he made his way up the road, flexing his fingers and studying his hands in front of him as he did so. So this was what it was like to have a body. Things were still a little fuzzy in his mind. There was a blonde girl...and a slew of men ranging in age from teen to mid-life, at least by appearance. That much, he knew. And he knew that he was inside, or maybe that he should be. Ianto wasn't entirely sure, actually, what had become of his original self. He didn't care. Hopefully, the original had been taken by those who had created this version of Ianto; it'd be easier to infiltrate if he didn't have to come face to face with himself, after all.

He stopped on the porch, bending to brush the snow from his pants uselessly even as he stood in it and he scooped up some of the snow, then, standing rigidly erect as he balled it in his hands, awed of the sensation. Wet, but solid. Cold, but warming against his skin. He chucked the snowball, then, and watched as it soared through the air before dropping out of sight into a drift of snow across the road and Ianto leaned forward, his hands on the railing, staring out into the nothing and everything of the town.

Going indoors was an option, but he'd prefer waiting to see if anyone came out, first. Or, perhaps after a few moments of settling into this new body and muddled conscious mind, he would peek in the windows to assess the current situation inside. He felt no cold other than the tangible tactile sensation fading in his hands from having held the snowball; the sun was still coming up and the wind was blowing, but he couldn't really feel the warmth on his face or the bite of the breeze on his skin. Interesting.