written in awe by a puzzled man [closed]

[i_jones]

Ianto is on a mission. He's got a wheelchair - not because he needs one, really, the TARDIS is just really big sometimes and her libraries tend to be so disordered that hobbling around with his cane would be a really inefficient search method. He rolls down the aisles, pulling a book every so often and stacking them in his lap. He lingers in the science fiction section, or a section that just happens to have a lot of science fiction in it, noting the occasional interesting title and taking what he assumes to be an alien tabloid. He could use a little gossip.

He stacks the books on a table he finds near the center, or what feels like the center, anyway, if the hub and spoke design of the space is to be believed. He's found a new diary as well, and a new phone, and he sets these out too, trying to make sense and give order to what he's gathered. Should he use the first letters of sentences? The last letter of the book? Chapter titles? He left himself a few options. He's already done book titles, he doesn't want to repeat himself. Important decisions, here. He twists around to reach the pocket on the back of the chair and pulls out a thermos. Hot cocoa, no coffee, because he needs to ease back into caffeine slowly. It's perfectly hot, sweet, and chocolately, and somehow the little marshmallows in it have not dissolved into foam.

Leaving the drink at his elbow, he changes tacks and pulls out a different book from the pile, checking the table of contents before he flips to a particular page. He taps his pen against the edge of the page, contemplating its contents, before he starts to take down details of a certain magical Prefect bathroom in his diary.

Comments

[starlightcalliope]

Calliope just about lives in the library some days, buried deep within the multifarious pages of endless alien stories, not coming out until hunger and sleepiness make taking a break regrettably unavoidable. Human literature is still her very favorite, of course, but lately she's started dabbling in the written records of some other cultures as well, when the fancy strikes her for something even more mysterious and charmingly puzzling than humanity.

She's currently balancing three such tomes of fantastically unfamiliar fiction on her way back to her nest base of operations, which is tucked away in a side row by a lovely perpetually warm fireplace. To get there, she confidently strikes out towards the center of the room, a path through this labyrinthine hall of learning she has taken many times. Except there had never been another person seated at one of the tables before. That's, well, that's quite a shock actually, and she stops dead in her tracks to stare at the back of this person from behind the tower of books in her hands. Quickly she glances around for the Doctor, because when there's strangers in the TARDIS he can normally be relied on to be close by fussing about them, but she seems to be rather alarmingly on her own with this person.

To make matters worse, on account of all her staring she doesn't notice her sketchbook slipping out from under her arm until it's too late, clattering to the floor with a mortifying whump. Mortifying and startling, actually, enough so that she jumps and drops all the rest as well, a dreadful cacophonous avalanche of paper and leather and her in the middle of it, perfectly ready to sink into the floor in embarrassment. Unfortunately she seems to be quite stuck with wide-eyed staring instead.

[i_jones]

It's hard to move quietly in a place like this, and Ianto assumes the quiet footfalls echoing around the space are the Doctor trying to skulk around unnoticed. Why the TARDIS would put them in the same room, Ianto doesn't know, but if the Doctor wants to catch up on his romance novels he's going to have a find a different space to do it. The noise behind him still catches by surprise, and he whips his head around to confront the... grey little girl? He stares for a moment, feeling as much at a loss as she looks, and then catches himself staring and looks away. This must be her, that little girl the Doctor is trying to foster.

He undoes the brake on his chair and spins the wheels to turn it around, trying to look friendly. "Hullo," he says slowly, pushing himself closer until he can pick up the nearest book. "Am I in your spot?"

[starlightcalliope]

At long last the spell of making rude goggle-eyes at strangers is broken by his movement and friendly greeting, and she quickly bends down to see about fixing the mess she made. "Oh, not at all!" she hurries to reassure him, picking up the largest of her books and daring a furtive glance up at him through the fringes of her hair. "I, um, I am sorry to have disturbed you." Just because she's never seen him in the TARDIS before and he doesn't seem to be a guest of the Doctor's doesn't mean he has any less right to peaceful studies in this grand place than she does, after all.

[i_jones]

Will the onslaught of British aliens never cease? Idly, he tries to place her accent, and fails. "Doesn't matter," he assures her. "I was at a boring bit anyway." He leans sideways to pick up her sketchbook as well, adding it to the pile balanced on his knees. If they've bumped into each other in a space this nigh-infinite, it's probably for a reason. "You're the Doctor's friend, yeah? The TARDIS mentioned you." See, he knows names and people and things, he's cool. "I'm Ianto."

[starlightcalliope]

So the Doctor and the TARDIS do know of this person, that's quite reassuring. "I'm called Callie," she replies, picking up some confidence along with the last slightly crumpled book. "Pleased to meet you!" She is pleased, it's always nice to meet new people, but she's also eyeing the sketchbook in his lap with some concern. This one doesn't contain any too embarrassing illustrations, luckily; she's not exactly awash in shippable characters around here, and drawing her old friends just makes her sad. But there's still a handful of unfinished pieces and half-cooked troll pirate Doctor ideas she'd rather no one saw yet.

"The Doctor and I are friends, yes. But I'm rather afraid he has not mentioned you," she admits hesitantly, still a bit unsure what to make of this encounter. And the TARDIS just doesn't talk very much, if he's expecting her to recognize his name that way.

[i_jones]

"No, he wouldn't." Ianto laughs a little in a way that suggests it's some sort of inside joke between he and the Doctor, rather than the two of them not actually having met yet. "I've always been closer with the TARDIS, anyway." Which is a lie, of course, but a good description of present events without getting into the history of it all. It's simpler that way.

He sees the way she's looking at the books in his lap, nervous. He can only assume it's some sort of diary. Dear diary, today I had to make my own breakfast because the Doctor was off doing something and he doesn't know how to take care of children, probably. He holds the books out to her. Nothing to worry about here. "I could use help with something, if you're not busy."

[starlightcalliope]

It seems he knows something about the Doctor she doesn't, which is certainly not unlikely. For all she knows, the Doctor hasn't mentioned her to anyone either. And the TARDIS hasn't struck her as someone one could be close with, more like a wonderful, faraway benevolent force, much like Skaia. But Ianto does seem perfectly kind, and he's even returning her books to her. Calliope shuffles forward until she can carefully add them to her pile, now precariously balancing the tomes as gracefully as before she abruptly made a mess of them.

His request comes as a pleasant surprise - they've only just met, and he wants her help already? - and she smiles shyly over the top of her literary burden. "I would be delighted to be of assistance, love! How may I help?"

[i_jones]

"Excellent." Love? Did she learn English from an octogenarian gran? Or the TARDIS is giving him the closest approximation of whatever endearment she used. Or she's insulting him and the TARDIS is trying to be kind, the alien equivalent of 'bless your heart'. You can never been quite sure with aliens.

Ianto spins his chair around and rolls back to the table, opening his book back to the right page and picking up his pen. "We're having a party here in a couple of days. I could use some help planning it. Food and decorations and the like. I was hoping to find some inspiration in here but no luck as yet."