I. Jones (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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bigapplesauce2015-10-03 11:26 pm
i_jones) wrote in bigapplesauce2015-10-03 11:26 pm
mercy, mercy, show me mercy; open to multiple
This is it. Ianto has reached the end of his proverbial rope, the metaphorical straw that broke the camel's back. He can't take it anymore. He has had it up to here [not indicated, but probably a spot well above his head].
Aliens. He's going to go mad if he has to spend another day living with aliens inside of another alien. There was a nice period after Callie settled in where everything was a bit domestic and relatively quiet and nothing went unmanageably wrong. He wonders now if he wasn't just resolutely ignoring all the little things that were driving him so slowly up the wall that he hasn't noticed 'til now that he's at the ceiling. He can't even recover with a stiff drink because his house, which is actually an alien, won't let him near any alcohol, ostensibly for his health, which the house (the HOUSE WHICH IS AN ALIEN) claims he has been neglecting. So he's gone on a long walk (for his health) to the riftie Pub for a drink (for his mental health). It's refreshing and slightly bizarre to walk the relatively normal streets of Manhattan. The strangest people he walks past are a welcome change, just for being people. Even the unsettling man in the alley before the door to Wilmot's is some kind of a relief.
He orders a pint of cider at the bar and sits at one of the little tables, trying to soak in the warm and extremely human surroundings, and maybe work his stomach up for some definitely human food.
Aliens. He's going to go mad if he has to spend another day living with aliens inside of another alien. There was a nice period after Callie settled in where everything was a bit domestic and relatively quiet and nothing went unmanageably wrong. He wonders now if he wasn't just resolutely ignoring all the little things that were driving him so slowly up the wall that he hasn't noticed 'til now that he's at the ceiling. He can't even recover with a stiff drink because his house, which is actually an alien, won't let him near any alcohol, ostensibly for his health, which the house (the HOUSE WHICH IS AN ALIEN) claims he has been neglecting. So he's gone on a long walk (for his health) to the riftie Pub for a drink (for his mental health). It's refreshing and slightly bizarre to walk the relatively normal streets of Manhattan. The strangest people he walks past are a welcome change, just for being people. Even the unsettling man in the alley before the door to Wilmot's is some kind of a relief.
He orders a pint of cider at the bar and sits at one of the little tables, trying to soak in the warm and extremely human surroundings, and maybe work his stomach up for some definitely human food.
no subject
"That's a big job. Reckon you'd need a pack." He ruffles Ruckus' fur. "I wouldn't mind a day off of that. I feel like a childminder. Keeping him away from small appliances and sugar. Not to mention Callie."
no subject
"The TARDIS might already have a pack in there, somewhere," Daine points out. "All I'd have to do is have a chat with them." She tries to imagine the Long Lake Pack taking up Doctor herding. Honestly, she can't decide if she'd feel more sorry for the Doctor or the wolves.
For a moment, Daine just watches Ruckus list into Ianto's lap, a soft smile on her face. Then, she lifts her gaze back to Ianto. "So that explains why you're out and about." After a brief, considering pause, she adds, "Callie's fair sweet; I can't imagine minding her would be much trouble." The Doctor's a different story. He's such a grump this time around.