got a regiment and plan for the day [Open]

[ceciiil]

Cecil is more than a little overwhelmed by his new surroundings. The move from a sleepy desert town to the busiest city in the country is quite a jarring one, even without accounting for inter-dimensional travel. Plus, it's cold. Not even supernaturally so, just...cold. Outside. Cecil considers himself an open-minded and worldly man, but why would anyone do this deliberately? Ugh.

So after a modicum of getting settled (frankly the prospect of decorating, which his new space sorely needs, had been too much to contemplate on top of everything else) he'd fallen back on a timeless classic. "Drink to forget." Also, what better way to learn the ropes, right? Someone had mentioned the bar, err pub, and it seemed like a nice way to kill some time. Try to formulate some kind of...life strategy.

Of course it's nothing like he'd expected. But the pub is nice and homey, and after a brief dispute with the barperson about the definition of rocket fuel vs brandy, he settles in to do some peoplewatching/life reordering. He's dressed in a smart, casual sweatervest, with the addition of the atrocious yeti coat acquired upon his arrival, and projecting his best air of approachability.

Comments

[i_jones]

His glass halts on its arc away from his mouth and Ianto brings it back to take another, smaller sip. Undying and ceaseless things. Indeed. The warm, comforting nostalgia is turning dense and cold in his stomach, a reminder of how far away home really is.

"Aliens," he answers, with absolutely zero consideration of whether or not he should be divulging this information to what amounts to a stranger. He struggles for a second to remember the right word - aggressive? Aggressive aliens? "Bad ones." Then, "And well-intentioned ones, sometimes." And just plain old good ones, occasionally, but he's not particularly proud of that. "Apparently there's a plaque honoring me back in Cardiff. Very sleek and appropriately doleful. So I've heard."

He's rambling now, just a bit, and that (at least) sets off an alarm at the back of his head, a you're drinking and talking to a stranger, stop doing that thing that you're doing klaxon. "Are you..." Baffled, "Are you interviewing me?"

[ceciiil]

Oh, so it was aliens after all, and not any of those other things. Yeah, Cecil figured as much. Cecil makes sufficiently impressed, agreeing, and melancholic noises, at the appropriate points in Ianto's slightly inebriated narrative. Let it never be said that Cecil isn't an attentive and active listener, when the tables are turned.

Ianto's question catches him off guard, and he looks rather sheepish. "Sorry. Old habits, etc. It's just what comes naturally in a new place surrounded by interesting new people. It's not like I'll get a chance to report on this 'interview' anyway." He scare-quotes the word with just a tinge of disgruntlement; Ianto could have announced an intention to run for mayor of New York and he still wouldn't get to report on it, because he won't get to report on anything. "I didn't mean to pry."

[i_jones]

"No, it's not, er, I don't..." He fumbles, shrugs, picks at his chips with less enthusiasm. "I get it. Old habits." Sometimes that's all he is. Setting out clothes the night before, even if he's not going anywhere. Brewing an extra cup of coffee or four. Hiding bad things in basements. Yeah. Old habits.

"It's nice, anyway," he admits stiltedly, with a half-smile that falls into a flat line. "Talking to someone who isn't... a box. Not to be boxist." He holds up his hands defensively, on the off-chance the TARDIS is inexplicably witness to their conversation.

[ceciiil]

Cecil notes that Ianto seems to be sinking into a state of melancholy, though it was a nice almost-save with that bit about being boxist. Boxist! As if that were a thing. Cecil snorts appreciatively at the joke.

"Well, I'm definitely not a box. Have you had trouble connecting to people here? Who aren't boxes?" He sounds quite sympathetic. "Listen, it's very easy to get sort of...detached. From reality. I mean, the rift already did half the work there for you. That kind of detachment can be dangerous." There's real solicitousness under the PSA-ness. Not to mention a little concern for his own future.

[i_jones]

"I'm not..." Ianto waves away the intangible cloud of blatant misunderstanding because come on, come on, he is Mister Attached to Reality. So firmly. Literally bolted to it.

"I've just been busy," he clarifies, speaking a little too clearly to ward off any further miscommunications. Then, "Working." He wavers, starts to reach for his drink again, decides against it. "I work for Romac," he admits, a bit glumly.

[ceciiil]

Cecil isn't sure that's the whole truth of things, but okay, alright, enough with the prying into the emotional makeups of strangers. Apparently that constitutes 'boundary issues' and he should really not 'report on peoples' personal lives on the radio.' Whatever.

"Oh, that's what I'm hoping to do." Fingers crossed, anyway. "Well, probably not what you do. What do you do for Romac?" His stage whispering is still in excellent form. "Or can you say?"