andhiswife: (serious)
[personal profile] andhiswife
It's not that she's been avoiding Iman, exactly. Greta's had good reason to leave her be - several good reasons.

Lilly would be the big one. The child has kept Greta busier than she has been since before ROMAC's fall. She might not be quite as demanding as the twins, at least. She's old enough to entertain herself (though what she tends to find 'entertaining' are the sorts of things that leave large messes behind). It's her limited vocabulary and almost nonexistent manners that have presented the biggest challenge. Granted, they've both been improving, especially since the dog arrived (she even got Lilly to submit to a bath after coaxing an unenthusiastic but cooperative Ruckus into the tub, first), but she still has a long way to go.

All things considered, there might not have been much point in reaching out to Iman before now. Lilly hadn't been ready to meet her, and Greta hadn't been willing to push the girl back to Aziraphale for minding while she visited Iman on her own. They'd needed time to settle in, and for Greta to get a better sense of what she's dealing with, before worrying about anyone else.

Not that she hasn't been worrying, anyway. Their last conversation - if you could even call it that - consisted of Iman objecting to the idea of her taking Lilly in, and Greta brushing her off as if her opinion didn't even matter. Never mind that Iman offered to bring Greta home with her, an offer that doesn't necessarily extend to any children Greta might take in. Never mind that she can't even excuse the whole thing as temporary when Lilly's in the same unfortunate boat as herself. She had no business taking in a child without at least talking with Iman about what it might mean for both of them. Yet, here they are.

What if Iman doesn't like her? What if Lilly doesn't like Iman? What if it doesn't matter? Even the most charming child in the world would be more responsibility than Iman signed on for, and she'd have every right to declare it 'too much,' and… and be done with it all.

She doesn't know what she'll do if that happens.

At least Iman seems to respond well to the only somewhat desperate invitation Greta works up the nerve to send her. This might not be so bad. Still, she impresses upon both Lilly and Ruckus that they're to be on their best behavior (it feels a bit silly, dropping into a crouch and addressing them both, not least of all because Ruckus listens with as much solemn, close attention as Lilly does - if not more). Iman is a dear friend, and they'll hopefully probably be seeing a lot of her, and this is important.

And then she makes tea, because she needs to do something besides anxiously pace while she awaits Iman's arrival. When the knock finally comes, Greta swipes her palms nervously down her skirt and makes a deliberate effort to not hustle too quickly over to the door. Ruckus lets out a quiet cough, more acknowledgment than alarm, and sits down next to Lilly as Greta swings the door open.

"Hello," she says, her smile a little anxious, but warm. It really is good to see Iman again. Her arms twitch in an aborted move to hug her before it occurs to her that Lilly might find it alarming, so she steps back instead, ducking her head sheepishly. "Come in, please."

Door shut, she turns to her charges. "Lilly, this is Iman, the friend I told you about." She raises her eyebrows meaningfully. "Iman, this is Lilly. And Ruckus," she adds, prompting the dog to open her mouth in a broad, relaxed grin.
andhiswife: (profile - uncertain)
[personal profile] andhiswife
The practical, sensible part of her knows this might not be a good idea. It's too sudden, too quick, too much responsibility striking like a bolt of lightning out of a clear blue sky. Greta's still raw and aching, the Witch's blunt exposition and the Balladeer's more gentle but no less horrible refrain replaying themselves in her mind with exhausting regularity. She shouldn't even be alive; what business does she have taking in a child? Especially one who, from the sounds of things, might as well have been raised by wolves?

Well. She doesn't have any business, full stop. That's rather been the problem, these past few days. Waiting to go home had been her chief occupation, and there's no point in that, anymore. If she doesn't find some way to fill the hours, all the loving support her friends can offer won't be enough to keep her from going mad. She needs to do something.

She can do this.

Her apartment was already neat as a pin, and it's been livened up with some art supplies and a few toys. It's not enough for the long term - the child will need far more if Greta's going to care for her indefinitely - but she thought it best not to jar the girl with an overwhelming display. Aziraphale only asked for help, after all; it would be rash of her to act as if it was a given that Lilly would be staying here forever. Maybe she'll only end up watching the child for a few days. Maybe Lilly won't even like it here.

Greta really hopes she does, though. Now that a potential purpose has been dangled in front of her nose, she can't help but grasp at it. And if she's a little too eager, well, that's better than the numbing fog she's been drifting through of late.

How refreshing, to want something she can actually have.

She looks around the apartment, as if to give the furniture an opportunity to object to the impending visitor. Then she picks up her phone and texts Aziraphale one last time.
i_jones: indiefairy @ LJ (guys there's all this pizza and turtles)
[personal profile] i_jones
Welcome, welcome. Not through that door. I mean, you can try it, but all doors lead to breakfast. Even that one underneath the console. You thought you were being clever. Maybe once you've behaved yourself and the TARDIS judges you to be worthy, you can explore a little more. For now, breakfast. For one night only, the TARDIS has become - or rather, has been inhabited by - King Ianto's Coffee Stop. Would you like to join the club? He has pamphlets. And buttons! But more importantly, he has breakfast. Lots of breakfast. The countertops of the cozy diner are lined with plates of breakfast foods galore - bacon, eggs, sausage, mushrooms, tomatoes, black pudding, cockles, laverbread... and okay, there are American staples too. There's your pancakes and your french toast and hash browns and cupcakes or whatever strange sweet things Americans eat for breakfast. Oh, and tea. Lots of tea. And if you ask very nicely, King Ianto himself might brew up some of his very own coffee. It's so good, it has a cult following.*

The walls are decorated with a strange collection of primarily alien souvenirs. There's one whole section of postcards from other planets and galaxies. GREETINGS FROM MARS! says one particularly upbeat postcard, featuring swathes of blue sand and a setting blue sun. Many others are unreadable. There are flags, leis of unfamiliar flora, letters of commendation (right next to WANTED signs), photographs both old and new of various people and various Doctors posing next to various monuments and landmarks, and strangely enough, what looks to be a stolen sign commemorating Ianto's death, from the management of Mermaid Quay. Have a look around! You never know what you might find. Probably none of it is dangerous. The food definitely isn't.

Oh and also the ceiling is space and outside the windows is space and spaaaaaace.**

*((Ianto has an undiscovered power: his coffee improves you. Your health, your powers (temporarily), your mood, whatever needs fixing. Please drink responsibly.))

**not actually space
bibliophale: (excuse you | no)
[personal profile] bibliophale
Aziraphale is up bright and early, in that he has been up for several days straight, finally having a bit more luck not getting trapped in the Rift's infernal dreamspace. Melanie is still asleep and he doesn't want to disturb her, so he miracles himself some tea silently and drinks it just as silently, mentally preparing himself for the task that awaits him. He promised to help Gabriel with this new child, and he will help. Melanie had seemed both excited and a little daunted by the prospect of having a real human child around, but he isn't terribly worried about how she'll get on. It's himself he isn't so sure about.

Well, nothing for it but to get on. He'd been directed to the apartment below Gabriel's - the evident home of his so-called "boytoy" - to retrieve the girl, so he focuses in on the place and the minds therein (odd little minds, both of them) and departs.

He arrives to find the young man sitting at his desk with a cup of coffee, smiling faintly at the little girl, who appears to be playing with a rabbit. Johnny startles slightly to see the new presence, looking vaguely annoyed. Perhaps he should have knocked.

"Sorry," he says. "Er, Johnny, right? I'm here for Lilly?" He looks at the little girl and offers an uncertain smile. "Hallo."

The childish crayon drawings that cover the wall have certainly not gone unnoticed. Such behavior will not be allowed at his house. That will have to be corrected.

"Nice to meet you," says Johnny in a tone that makes it very clear it isn't. What an unpleasant little man. When he addresses the girl, however, his tone becomes completely different: soft and gentle. Hrmph. Why isn't he good enough to keep the child around?

Perhaps because he allows her to draw on walls.

"Lilly," says Johnny. "This is the guy we told you about. He's gonna take you somewhere nice that you can stay, okay?" He glances up at Aziraphale. "Is there anything she can call you that isn't that many syllables?"

"There is not," says Aziraphale, mildly affronted at the suggestion.

Johnny stares coldly at him, then says pointedly to the girl, "This is Greg."

A very unpleasant little man.
mamasgirl: (pic#7748405)
[personal profile] mamasgirl
"Mama?"

Even as the word passes Lilly's lips, she knows it's pointless. She might not know where she's turned up but she knows for a fact that Mama isn't around. She was there - or, at least, Lilly had been with her. She's still wearing the crown of flowers that Mama made, is still adorned in her dirty night clothes and tattered bathrobe, and can still feel the bite in her cheeks from the wind as it whipped past her while she fell off the cliff, toward the water, safe in Mama's arms.

Without Victoria. That thought makes Lilly frown and stop in her tracks on her way to the trees thirty feet or so away. Victoria said no. Victoria didn't want to come with them. The loss of her sister is something Lilly has never experienced and therefore doesn't know how to handle. Her sister has always been there. To go anywhere, even with Mama, without Victoria, seems wrong.

That doesn't seem to matter now, though. Although unquestionably young, and certainly underdeveloped both mentally as well as physically, Lilly is far from stupid. She understands more than she lets on and she's capable of more than she normally does. This situation is no exception. She knows, with absolute certainty, that she's alone in a strange place. Neither Victoria nor Mama is here. She also knows, with equal certainty, that she needs to get to safety.

For Lilly, that's always, always the woods.

Fortunately, the trees aren't too far from where she's arrived and, after shaking off the overwhelming sense of sorrow at her sister's betrayal, it takes very little time for her to reach them. Once in an area that's a touch more secluded, she next sets out gathering up bits of twigs and brush to build an area for her to rest.

That is, until she hears the telltale sound of someone approaching. Immediately Lilly drops into a crouch. A low sound comes from her throat - similar to a sound an animal might make while warning another animal that it is encroaching on its territory - and she scurries quickly on all fours - palms and feet flat on the ground and back arched unnaturally high - to a nearby tree. She doesn't climb it, and won't unless she feels threatened, but instead she simply begins to wait for whoever is approaching to make their presence known.

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