#timecptn

[stormlit]

( @timecptn / starter call )

        everyone else has gone home; ianto leans against the doorframe to jack’s office ( it became his again quickly, a space that was always meant to be inhabited by him ), but he doesn’t say anything immediately. there are questions burning the tip of his tongue, wanting to know where he was, what he did, whether he missed him ( him, specifically; not the whole team ), but ianto swallows them down. he ignores, too, the snide, bitter comments he’s had in his head, over this four months, the abandoned feelings and the way that they all stepped up and coped just fine without jack. the way gwen was a good leader, and ianto’s more confident than he’s ever been.

        ianto does want to know where jack was, but he thinks it’s worth letting jack be the one to initiate that. instead, he clears his throat.  ❝ you look different. ❞

[twelvetm]

@timecptn || sc

‘  WHATEVER  YOU’RE  THINKING  ,  ’  the  doctor  said  ,  pushing  his  coat  out  of  the  way  so  that  he  could  sit  down  on  the  leather  chair  ,  pulling  the  keyboard  towards  him  &&  wiping  away  some  of  the  crumbs  left  over  .  ‘  i’m  NOT  listening  .  ’  he  began  tapping  away  before  reaching  into  his  pocket  to  find  his  sonic  screwdriver  .  flicking  a  few  of  the  switches  ,  he  pressed  it  up  against  the  screen  then  drew  back  .  ‘  actually  !  ’  the  doctor  prompted  ,  tapping  at  the  keyboard  some  more  .

‘  i  stopped  listening  APPROXIMATELY  three  minutes  &&  fifty-two  seconds  ago  .  ’  he  smirked  at  his  little  joke  ,  though  it  wasn’t  really  a  joke  .  more  of  a  honest  comment  on  the  whole  thing  .  typing  away  ,  the  doctor  brought  up  the  systems  he  needed  then  plugged  in  the  final  bit  of  code  .  then  curiosity  got  the  better  of  him  .

‘  okay  fine  !  ASK  AWAY    .  i’m  NOTHING  without  an  audience  .  ’

[docere]

@timecptn liked for a starter

         “Funny -- I don’t remember asking for your opinion.” The Doctor can’t help it. Even here, even now -- with centuries and at least three entirely different faces occupying the space between their last encounter and the present moment -- she still feels compelled to wrinkle her nose in Jack’s general direction. It’s not that she doesn’t like him. There’s a certain fondness there, underneath her open annoyance at his dubious moral code, but he’s not the ex-companion that she would’ve liked to run into, given the choice. Rose, River, Amy, Martha, Donna, Rory, Bill -- they all would come first.  But the universe has never bothered to take her feelings into account, so Jack Harkness is here, in her TARDIS, being a general disruption.                    “ -- Just don’t touch anything.”

[stormlit]

( @timecptn / starter call )

        ❝ copy of that analysis for UNIT. ❞ she places it down on jack’s desk almost reluctantly, letting go of a lifeline; now toshiko has nothing to do with her hands, and her fingers twist before she folds her arms instead, a defensive barrier across her chest. ( she hates UNIT. she’s scared of them. having to do anything for them twists her stomach into knots. )  ❝ jack, they’ve requested an in person consultation. they...don’t really know what they’re doing, here. ❞

[stormlit]

( @timecptn )

        it’s snowing already. ianto checked the forecast this morning, so it’s not a complete surprise, but it wasn’t expected for another couple of hours, at least. there are flakes melting in jack’s hair as he laces up his skates, though --- and it’s not like they can really get any colder than they would anyway, on a giant sheet of ice, is it? ( his internal monologue is going on about the bloody weather because it gives him less butterflies than the fact that he’s here with jack. and they’re good butterflies, great butterflies, but they’re fluttering up a frenzy inside his stomach all the same. he’s already got enough of a job trying not to fall on his arse, or something equally embarrassing. )

        ianto finishes lacing his own skates, and stands up, shoving his hands into his pockets.  ❝ ever been skating before? ❞

[stormlit]

( @timecptn / astrid sc. )

        ❝ a webley, seriously? you have access to, like, any weapon you could want, and you choose a six round revolver? jesus, harkness. ❞ astrid has no idea if he even recognises her --- she probably wouldn’t, were it the other way around --- but he’s kind of distinctive. it’s that coat. has he just...not gone shopping in over a decade? she raises her hands as though it’s a big ask, almost looking bored. you have one gun pointed at you, you’ve had them all. there are bigger things to be scared of.  ❝ you can stop pointing that at me, now. i’m torchwood. ❞

[stormlit]

( @timecptn / starter call )

        she doesn’t mean to scream; when you’re dressed as anachronistically as she is, it’s a sure fire way to draw attention to yourself, and given that most people here seem to be unfazed by what’s going on around them as they hurry to...somewhere, it’s not the best idea. but then pippa was not expecting projectiles to fall from the sky and make the house she’s standing next to explode, sending her reeling backwards, steadying herself on the shoulder of a man and finding herself too shocked to even manage an apology.  ❝ um... ❞

        what the blazes kind of era has she ended up in this time? falling explosions.

[stormlit]

( @timecptn / amari sc. )

        she can breathe, up here; three years in caves and abandoned buildings, three years burrowing and fighting, and for the first time in almost as long as she can remember, amari can stand here, on this rooftop, and have nothing above her but the stars in the sky. until her vortex manipulator vibrates on her wrist, she’s still, watching the people of this era going about their lives, releasing tension with each puff of clean, quiet air --- but her wriststrap is still set to alert her to movement nearby, and up here---

        amari turns in a single movement, drawing her pistol from beneath her jacket and pointing it, aim steady; her other hand raises, a universal signal for stop. don’t come any closer.