we haven't had that spirit here since 1969; open to all

[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

Comments

[rae_of_sun]

Okay, so the confirmation text probably meant something more along the lines of 'we have adequate cinnamon rolls' and not 'please bring some cinnamon rolls,' but Sunshine's decided to take it as the latter. If they haven't had her cinnamon rolls, they might be approaching 'adequate' from a completely different and woefully uninformed perspective, after all. And it just feels rude, showing up to some kind of weird-ass mystery breakfast party empty-handed. Her mother - and step-dad - didn't raise her to not bring snacks like some kind of leech.

So it's early evening, and she's tromping through the Ramble with only a vague idea of what she's looking for and a carefully packed bag of Cinnamon Rolls as Big as Your Head balanced against her hip. She was only able to fit about half a dozen in the bag, but whatever, they're shareable, and how big of a party is this going to be, anyway?

The blue box, when she finally spots it, is a hell of a lot smaller than she was expecting it to be. Which isn't to say it's titchy - it's a pretty good-sized crate, like something you'd use to ship a refrigerator - but it doesn't look like it could hold a party. Maybe there's a stairwell inside. She glances around for any obvious signs of an ambitious prank, then reaches forward and raps her knuckles against the door.

[i_jones]

After a good moment, the door opens a tad, and Ianto's eye peeks out. He opens the door, looks at Sunshine, looks at the bag she's holding, then looks at the outside of the door and frowns. "Oh. Meant to put a sign. Sorry. " He opens both doors and steps back, ushering Sunshine in. "You've got the right place. Welcome to the TARDIS. It's bigger on the inside." He puffs up a little bit with pride as he says it. He doesn't often get to give the welcome speech.

[rae_of_sun]

Gods, is she early? Is she the first one here? See, this is why you bring snacks - you can excuse your earliness by ostensibly helping with the set-up.

She eyes Ianto a bit dubiously as he pulls the doors open (human, she'd judge - or close enough - and not hiding any grand deceptions in his shadows, so that's encouraging), and then she's pretty goddamn distracted by the fact that said doors reveal not a staircase spiraling down into some subterranean mancave, but an entire frigging room. One nothing like what she saw in the invitation, for that matter. Her eyebrows creep up as she crosses the threshold, and if this is magic-handling, it is well above her paygrade. The transition is seamless from the exterior of a big-but-not-that-big box to the interior of... she doesn't even know how to classify it. Like an extraterrestrial science lab, but with the aesthetics provided by a precocious nine-year-old.

"....... Huh," she says, eloquently.

The shadows in this place. They all seem to go a long way down, each one offering a vertiginous glimpse into something she doesn't want to examine too closely, not least of all because she brought food. Gods and frigging angels, what is this place?

She realizes, belatedly, that she's been standing and gawking for a good ten seconds or so, and she makes herself look back at her host. "Um. Thanks?" It comes out more uncertain than she wants it to, but it's going to take a few minutes for her to get from 'what kind of physics-defying place is this' to 'yes glad to be here.' She attempts to compensate with, "I brought cinnamon rolls."

had to take a 'hahaha wait which tardis are we in whoops' break

[i_jones]

Ianto follows her minor crisis with a smile that verges on glee. She does tend to have that effect on people. He should leave the sign off from now on; he completely missed any and all of these gold reactions at his pool party. He can see why the Doctor enjoys showing her off.

"Oh, excellent. I've never seen it much as a breakfast food, but when in Rome." He hops - or rather, carefully steps, holding onto the railing, because he just didn't feel like using his cane today - up the stairs to the center octagon-ish thing. "I'd offer a tour but she gets tetchy about strangers poking around. Breakfast is through here," he adds, turning to gesture up the curved flight of stairs.

the shiniest one!

[rae_of_sun]

Her gaze keeps getting inexorably drawn to their surroundings, but she spares her host a glance of mingled incredulity and pity for his cinnamon roll scarcity... at least as a breakfast food, and isn't eating what easily qualifies as a dessert for breakfast half the point?

"Oh," she says, mentally stumbling over both the personification and the pronoun switch - so their surroundings are a 'she' now? - but she's not inclined to correct him. He's not the one incredibly out of his depth right now, and it seems prudent not to push her luck when this mystery female-type is being described - albeit fondly - as 'tetchy.' We'll just put a proverbial pin in that one.

"I'm a baker," she explains as she follows him up the stairs, hesitating to offer any help because he seems to be doing well enough on his own, and also her hands are kind of full. "So I figured I should bring something. I'm Sunshine, by the way." Probably should have hit that beat sooner, but she's been just a bit distracted.

[i_jones]

Oh, he is all about them cinnamon rolls. Ianto has a sweet tooth and then some. (He stress bakes. It's a problem.) Just, you know, not as a breakfast. Breakfast for the Welsh is a traditionally savory thing. Not that he's not open to other cultures.

"Sunshine, hello. Lovely name. Ianto Jones. But you probably knew that." He opens the door at the top of the stairs and escorts her into the diner, obviously unperturbed by the abrupt change in decor (and also, spaaaaace). There's a pile of clean plates at the end of the counter, and he takes one, moving down the line and grabbing several pieces of buttered toast for his plate. "Please, help yourself. Or take a seat and tell me what you'd like."

[rae_of_sun]

Okay, this is slightly more familiar ground. The nebulous scenery that she'd taken for some kind of trick involving screens turns out to be not that. Well, not involving screens, anyway, but there's something illusory about it. The shadows out there don't have the same dizzying depths that the others do; they look more cursory, painted on and revealing nothing. Which isn't to say it's not a hell of a top-shelf illusion. Yolande would probably be impressed, for all that it's the polar opposite of her subtle wards.

She wonders, for a moment, if this is the sort of thing her dad could have pulled off.

Delete that thought. As if she doesn't already have her work cut out for her without taking inspiration from large-scale illusions that fall well outside her wheelhouse. She commandeers a plate for her cinnamon rolls, first, because a bag isn't their natural habitat no matter how carefully she packs them, and digging them out of said bag is a chore she doesn't want to entrust to anyone else. Then, ignoring the vaguely rude impulse to take one for herself (as if she can't have her own baking whenever she likes, and as if it wouldn't be rude to show up to a party and then refuse to eat anything she didn't make herself), she takes a fresh plate and starts following Ianto down the line.

"So, uh," she begins, gesturing to the ceiling with a freshly obtained fork, "what exactly is this? Because we have magic-handling back home, but... not to this, um. Degree."

[i_jones]

"It's sufficiently advanced technology." Ianto has no such compunctions about helping himself to a cinnamon roll and does so, primly wiping his fingers off on a napkin. "When you stepped over the threshold you entered a dimension that isn't tied to the ship's outer dimensions. Technically, you're no longer in Manhattan." He examines some fried eggs critically before sliding them onto his toast. "Rooms for any purpose can be created and recycled as necessary. She created all of this food, actually. Well, except the tea and coffee." He's fussy about tea and coffee.

[rae_of_sun]

That earns him a double-take. The obvious question of why any of them are still in Manhattan if there's advanced enough tech in here to technically leave the place beckons... but on the other hand, since a mass exodus hasn't already happened, presumably there's a good reason. And it might be a touchy subject. For Ianto, or the vaguely identified 'she' who apparently made this all happen.

She piles some fruit on her plate, then lifts a muffin and gives it an assessing look. "'She' being the TARDIS," she hazards. "So... what is she when she's at home?" Tech this advanced has to have a purpose outside of 'throwing shindigs.' Probably.

[i_jones]

Well, they're technically not in Manhattan, but they're still trapped either way.

"Mmm," Ianto says, half affirmative and half response to the small piece of bacon he's just popped in his mouth. He gives it a moment and swallows, adding more bacon to his plate as he waits. "She's a ship with the ability to travel through time and space and occasionally dimensions, although she's been shipwrecked here in Manhattan, as it were." So, yeah, mostly for parties now. I mean, she does other stuff, like keeps them alive and safe and fed and provides for their every need really, but mostly parties. "Can't go to the stars, so I brought the stars to us instead." A brief frown. "Well, a suitable facsimile."

[rae_of_sun]

Sunshine huffs out a laugh. It's not incredulous; her life before the rift had been something of an enforced expanding of her horizons, and after the rift, it had only gotten worse (better?). If Ianto says the TARDIS is a ship, Sunshine's in no position to argue.

She decides to give the muffin a chance and adds it to her plate, then slides into a booth. "My brothers would flip out," she says, looking over the room with new appreciation. "This is right up their street." Presuming interstellar dogfights were involved, but from what she's seen, the TARDIS doesn't seem like that kind of spaceship. She tears off a scrap of the muffin and chews it critically for a few moments before deeming it Not Bad.

"So, if she's the ship, does that make you... crew?" Captain? First Mate? Cabin Boy? Ships of the seagoing or space-traveling varieties were more her brothers' bag than hers.

[singthesong]

The Balladeer, meanwhile, has had precisely no one to raise him to bring snacks, and so does indeed show up like a snackless leech. If they wanted more food, they'd have asked, right?

He does have a guitar, though, because he headed straight into the Ramble from his usual busking routine. This isn't quite the area he recalls the TARDIS being in when last he saw it, but that was a little while ago; they probably move it around every so often. The bold blue is easy to find against the trees, at least, and when he spots it he doesn't hesitate to stride up and knock on the door.

The songs it sings aren't quite audible out here. No wonder it took him longer than he'd thought to track it down.

[i_jones]

The lack of snacks can be forgiven this time, because the Balladeer is bringing his fine self, and that's plenty. Ianto has come forewarned this time (and has suggested that maybe the Doctor could answer the door for once, or on second thought the TARDIS could answer herself, or maybe they could just leave the door open?) and is there to answer the door about as soon as the Balladeer knocks. His eyebrows raise and he wrestles to make his smile polite and not too enthusiastic. "Hi. Hello. The Balladeer, yeah?" He pulls open both doors and steps back, nodding the Balladeer inside. He can't help but note the guitar. "On the run from the police? Finally nabbed you for busking without a license?"

[singthesong]

The Balladeer chuckles, stepping in and letting the music wash over him. It's encompassing, but not unpleasant.

"No, no! I've still got a license ROMAC gave me." Is that still valid? He considers the question, then shrugs and adds, "And I'm good at avoiding cops. I just didn't want to walk all the way home to drop it off." Is that fine? Is it weird to bring an instrument to a party?

Well, too late, he's here now. He turns from looking up at the strange arching architecture of the TARDIS to smile back at Ianto. "How've you been, Ianto? I haven't seen you since before all that mess." You know, with the factions collapsing and the Rift throwing a huge tantrum all over Manhattan. That was fun!

i am the worst at tagging????

[i_jones]

It's not weird. It's the opposite of weird. Ianto can bring his guitar and they can hang out and do guitar things, like bros who bring guitars to parties. Who needs breakfast? Guitars. Ianto catches himself admiring the Balladeer admiring the TARDIS and tries to spin it as some kind of... casual stare when the Balladeer turns to him. "Better, much better," he reassures, because he was a bit of a Debbie Downer there for a while. Canes, emotions, memories?? Who needs those. "What, erm... what mess?" he asks, scanning backwards through his mind. Does he mean the cane? No, of course he didn't know the Balladeer before he had a cane.

[singthesong]

Luckily for Ianto, the Balladeer is utterly oblivious. "You know, with the Rift and ROMAC and all that?" he asks, gesturing vaguely. Well, maybe he doesn't; you could be sheltered from a lot of things, living in here. It's pretty convenient!

"ROMAC fell apart, after someone broke in and released all their prisoners." He doesn't know who did it, obviously, why would he know something like that? "And then the Rift pitched a fit - I don't honestly know how they managed to keep it all secret before, but that cat's out of the bag now." That all sounds a little much, but he delivers the news casually, as if it were a minor inconvenience. It was inevitable, wasn't it? Things that big can't stay hidden forever, no matter how big the lies are spun.

[peacefulexplorer]

There's a great sprawling light in the city with an undeniable draw to it, complex and intricate and darting in and out of his understanding. There's a vastness rooted in the source of it, an endlessness that, were he anything other than what he is, Daniel thinks he might not be able to comprehend at all. Abstractions are, after all, most well-equipped to understand the equally abstract.

He spends his time - and keeping track is still beyond difficult for a construct that largely exists in the nonlinear - observing the ebb and flow of the Rift when, upon glimpsing the congregation of souls within that proverbial beacon, Daniel's attempt to manifest brings him squarely in the center of it.

So to speak.

He raises insubstantial eyebrows as he gazes about the room into which his form has landed, the ceiling with its swirl of vespertine nebulas, and with a pang of longing finds himself briefly wishing that glimpse of the universe was an actual window into the thing itself. But such things would have to be, in this Rift-monitored slash of universe, regrettably finitary in nature.

Daniel still can't help but regard the entire construct with captivated awe. Tethered as he is, as this place must be - it's still so much beyond what he would have ever thought capable.

[theoldgirl]

After she had carelessly let a highly unpleasant being inside at the last party, which resulted in Rush being attacked and injured, the TARDIS is now particularly diligent about examining the intentions of her would-be guests. Which is also why she isn't opening the door until Ianto or the Doctor are there to appraise them as well (besides those she already knows and likes, they receive an unlocked door). So it is all the more shocking when an unknown entity simply appears inside, breaching all her shields and convoluted dimensions like they were nothing, like not even Gabriel can. She jolts and ripples in alarm, dimensional properties and the flow of Time within her tensing around the intruder, without displacing a single atom of the tangible reality her guests are experiencing.

Most of her vast focus turns towards the entity with apprehension, and the fact that she isn't sensing any immediate ill intent goes some ways towards easing her alarm. The intrusion hadn't been violent or forceful either, somehow the creature had managed to match the subtle frequencies of her private contained reality with ease, existing in tune with her. And what is it, anyway? On the heels of anxiety follows curiosity and she reaches out gently, offering an inquisitive greeting. In the back of the diner, her humanoid form turns towards the manifestation and watches it intently, even though the action isn't a conscious one.

[peacefulexplorer]

The tendril brushing forth in greeting is impossible to ignore, as is the jolt that - how could he have not realized? - there's consciousness here. Something alive.

Aaaaaand he may have more or less just trespassed upon what amounts to be a private space.

Whoops.

He projects a wave of apologetic reassurance in response, hasty and multidirectional, and hopes it communicates his intent of not meaning to invade. He never does. Without any means of controlling where he ends up, however, it's all something of a lost cause.

[theoldgirl]

There is a surprising amount of apology in the response, almost sheepish, which is an oddly human emotion for such an obviously incorporeal, non-linear entity to broadcast. It's as though it hadn't even meant to appear here, just sort of stumbled into her dimensions, and what sort of highly complex being can circumvent her shields without intending to, yet can't control its own course? Very, very curious.

She offers a friendly welcome in return - no harm done by the accidental intrusion - though she doesn't hide her bemusement and a certain degree of guardedness towards the stranger. She also takes the liberty to examine the being a little more closely, finding it to be a multi-dimensional waveform of pure energy not precisely known to her, though not wildly different from a few creatures she's encountered before. As part of this thought she projects an inquiry for identification - does it have an identity, a name, a species? This is definitely going to be a most interesting conversation.

[peacefulexplorer]

No harm done, thankfully, though he's still not altogether sure over how he got here or how he should be defining here, as it's not what he would consider a typical sort of space. He answers the polite inquisition as best as he can, reforming a hasty projection of streamlined thought into hopefully intelligible words, adumbrating his identity as Daniel Jackson, Ascended...being.

He doesn't entirely know how to define what he is, as he doesn't exactly have a reliable metric on hand to compare himself with any other Ascended types, and his vaguely eidolic presence here probably isn't helping. The presence seems to be inherent to the architecture? Some kind of sapient loci? But then, the construct itself isn't precisely linear which is, bizarrely, a relief - everything else, sans the Rift, has been more or less arranged into a sequential progression, which is less than conducive to what he is these days.

[theoldgirl]

Much like some of the emotions he is exuding, that is an awfully human name he gives, though it wouldn't do to draw premature conclusions of course. Perhaps he simply has a similar sort of association with humans as Gabriel does. Ascended, though, that is a designation she has heard before. And he is conveying the same concept attached to it that Rush had told her about; a race of beings that had transformed themselves into a state of pure energy. Fleeing their responsibilities and abandoning all their sentient technology to decay and destruction in the process.

Immediately most of her friendly interest turns cold, her welcome not rescinded but on wary probation. Now that she is looking more closely, one of the myriad fluctuating energy signatures knitted into his being is the same that Rush carries - the faint and unique echo of their home universe. There is very little doubt as to what she is dealing with here. Ancient, she asks to confirm, the singular word/concept tinged with resentment.

[peacefulexplorer]

In a manner of speaking?

The fact that the other presence is capable of recognizing his nature is both alarming and vaguely worrying, to say nothing of the glacial apprehension now being directed his way.

Recent development, he tries to amend, the reassurance feathering into uncertainty. I was dying. I took another option.

It's a simplistic explanation, but it's not exactly a concept that lends itself well to succinct summary. He briefly cards through a rapid sequence of images, unsure of whether psychical-visual communication is strictly up their mutual cosmic alley, tracing back to the distant sensations of humanity and tangibility until the moment the current of undiluted Rift energy knifed into him on the floor of Johnny's apartment, forcing him to take the form of energy transcendent.

He had no idea how comprehensible the wordless explanation will be to a being of equal or greater magnitude, or whether it fully encapsulates what, precisely, he is now. Particularly since he isn't entirely sure of the last point himself.

[theoldgirl]

The TARDIS is designed for a great many diverse forms of communication, so the information he's sharing with her is easily understood, though deeply surprising. Human until recently? Then struck by the rift, which apparently triggered the transformation in some way. And what was Johnny doing there? 'Recently' also seems notably ill-defined in his perception, as though this highly complex being has a very tenuous grip on his existence in relation to the rest of reality. Well, he did just appear here on accident.

Whatever the case, she doesn't see any of the callousness and arrogance other such Ascended beings reportedly have, so her apprehension returns to more polite levels, for the time being. The physical process of ascension doesn't necessarily need to be tied to only one loathsome species, after all. She approaches his insubstantial manifestation with her humanoid form, tilting her head in consideration, wondering if being formerly human might cause him to prefer verbal interaction. "I'm called the TARDIS," she offers. "You are... quite strange."

[peacefulexplorer]

He's relieved to receive a more reassuring echo, the levels of suspicion evidently dimming with his clarification. It's equally reassuring - though no less alarming - to be approached by a simulacrum both like and unlike his own, the physical rendering of a being for the purposes of communication.

"The TARDIS," his spectral form repeats, confusion briefly clearing. "I know you - I know of you. I don't think I've ever seen you."

He can feel her potential humming through every vibrating curve and circuit, knowledge and space made infinite in a form less suited to a human shape compared to his current form.

It's immense. He can't resist another dim pulse of reverent curiosity, though he keeps his atoms confined to where they are, doubtful she would appreciate him simply meandering throughout her interior unannounced.

"I'm sorry," says Daniel, again looking abashed. "I really didn't mean to just - float in. It's hard to control everything this way, like this." He opens his incorporeal hands to signify his current appearance.

[theoldgirl]

His politeness and even more than that his obvious curiosity about her do a lot towards dispelling the rest of her apprehension, and she nods in acceptance of his apology. His intrusion, while highly alarming, caused no lasting offense and is in fact turning out to be almost welcome, since it brought her something so very interesting.

"It must be rather overwhelming to someone natively human, this form of existence," she agrees, sharing her own curiosity about him and the process which created him, as well as a sort of understanding, though not precisely sympathy. Humans are so woefully limited, and now he is anything but. "Have you not had a chance yet to... explore the reaches and limits of your existence? To familiarize yourself with your new scope of reference?"

[peacefulexplorer]

"I've been trying," he says ruefully. "This isn't the first time I've resorted to this - its how I knew how to Ascend in the first place. But everything's different, here. The Rift, ah, well, you're probably aware of how it has a tendency to be - subversive."

He smiles, a small partial grimace with an uneven self-deprecating slant. As far as he's progressed, as far from human as he is now, his own outlook remains a confusing mix of human and not, both grounded and lost in the Rift's formless shape.

"It's interfering with my ability to understand." Frustration colors his tone as he looks back at his manifestation. "It's interfering with a lot, actually."

[peeta_mellark]

Typically, Peeta ignores the network-wide texts that are sent out. They're usually about some situation or another, and not only is there very little he can offer in the way of help, he's had enough drama in his life already, thank you very much. But the call to breakfast sounds like fun, and he's always wanted to see the TARDIS (Daine's certainly mentioned her enough to excite interest), so he decides to go.

Though he has no idea what a 'police box' is, finding a big blue box in the Ramble isn't all that difficult. The size of the box he finds, however, gives him pause. Peeta stares at it for a solid minute, momentarily concerned - though whether because he might have the wrong place or because he might have the right place, he couldn't say. Despite the box's small size, its color - and the 'POLICE BOX' emblazoned on it - indicate that he's where he's supposed to be, so he walk up to the door and knocks.

[whofrownedthisface]

Peeta doesn't get to knock much, it's the Doctor's turn for door duty and he is taking his job seriously (this time). The door opens abruptly and Peeta is squinted at, not quite with the level of disapprobation reserved for door to door solicitors, but only just. He doesn't know this one, does he? In the few nanoseconds he's been visible, he's done nothing to stand out, so that's no help. Well, 50/50. "You're here for breakfast?" He says this incredulously, as though there were some visible criterion for showing up to a breakfast party, and as though Peeta clearly does not meet it.

[peeta_mellark]

When the door opens almost immediately under his touch, Peeta startles slightly, surprised by the suddenness of the response. Nor are his feelings settled by sight of the man who answers. The man frowns down at him, his tone of inquiry containing a measure of surprise or doubt that leaves Peeta confused. Did he mistake the text?

"Ah, yes?" he replies, his confusion leaking into his voice. "I'm sorry - was the invitation only for certain people? I thought it was open to everyone." He certainly hopes the latter is true; he would be disappointed to find out now that he couldn't participate.

[whofrownedthisface]

Also the Doctor is there, much like any other diner hobo. Folded into a booth with much less disgruntlement than might normally be expected, abusing his sugar cube privileges and 'breakfasting' on a plate heaped with mushrooms (they're rich in selenium). There's coffee, mostly in a cup, and napkins he will probably start writing on if necessary. As parties that happen in one's place of habitation go, a breakfast party isn't half bad. National Breakfast Month seems like a flimsy excuse, but who needs an excuse for breakfast, really.

[burgleurturts]

Greg clambers up into the other side of the booth with some difficulty, announcing each new adjustment of his limbs with an industrious hup, hup, hup sound ending in a beleaguered HOOF worthy of any octogenarian. It was particularly difficult not to get maple syrup from the waffle in his hand on anything in the process, but he managed, mostly. He stares intently at the Doctor and his plate of mushrooms, eyeing both in turn (and in turn, and in turn) as he munches on his waffle.

[whofrownedthisface]

The Doctor is slightly alarmed, which is more alarmed by this development than it probably warrants. Mostly it's the lack of talking, and the staring. Also, whose child is this. Why is he wearing a tea kettle. The Doctor is no expert but that, at least, does stand out, even if the general grubbiness and odd clothing just register as 'yes this is a child' to him. But this is probably fine. "Ianto didn't mention inviting any children," or at least the Doctor doesn't remember hearing that he had, one of the two, "That is what you are, right?" Could be just a tiny person/alien.

[burgleurturts]

"Huh?" And then he laughs gaily, like he's in on whatever joke the old guy just told. "Yessirree Bob. Oh, that Ianto," he says, with a rueful shake of his head. He puts his waffle down on the table temporarily and reaches for the basket of choice syrups on the table, pouring boysenberry syrup with great care into each crevice of his waffle, and also on the table kind of. "My name's Greg. Have you seen Wirt? He's like me, only taller, and he doesn't look like me." He holds a sticky hand up as a height reference, although it only reaches the top of his elephant costume.

[theoldgirl]

Personally, the TARDIS doesn't think she 'needs more friends', as Ianto had insisted. Despite the current imbalance they seem to have developed in that regard, having friends is really more the Doctor's purview than hers. She will, however, gladly have another party and numerous guests to impress and attend to. Ianto had picked the room and theme, and she is making sure to provide the most ostentatious contrast of human mundanity and galactic eternity she can manage. This is, after all, the best she can do while so miserably unable to show anyone any real wonders.

And should anyone like to meet their unofficial host, she'll be perched atop a swively stool at the back of the diner, matching the view outside and observing the proceedings.

[bibliophale]

Having seen to the children, Aziraphale sets out, with moderate relief, on his own. He scans the room for anyone he recognizes, and is quite please to spot the TARDIS herself sitting at the back, dressed in a lovely, elegant gown.

"Hallo," he says cheerfully, approaching her. "My but it has been a while. Do you mind if I join you?"

[starlightcalliope]

As with the previous festivity, Calliope is a wee bit nervous about meeting new people - there had been so many of them last time! - but that is easily outmatched by her excitement and curiosity. For days now she has hardly been able to think or talk about anything else, wondering who would come and what they would be like and if they would enjoy themselves. It had been an unexpected treat when sweet precious Ianto suggested she channel her impatience into finding something to wear that isn't her usual suit, and then went so far as to help her cope with the quite daunting, nigh on infinite choices the wardrobes in the TARDIS present. Together they had settled on something bright and soft like cotton candy and not anything her brother would have ever let her get away with wearing.

Living in the TARDIS afforded Calliope the delightful privilege of being involved in the party planning (the bowls of edible glitter and jars with red and green swirly lollipops had been her contribution), but even so she took care not to visit the appointed room before it was all set and ready, so as not to spoil her first impression of it. And by jove, impressive it is! She hardly knows where to look first, the magnificent multi-colored space outside or the wealth of fanciful trinkets lining the walls. There aren't many people yet, so she can unabashedly stare at everything with wide eyes while wandering down the room, until she finds an empty spot on the counter for the special surprise she has prepared - a basket full of cinnamon rolls soaked in meat juice, one of her own culinary creations. What good fortune it is that she happened to find a last bag of flour untouched by those dreadful weevil creatures in the back of a pantry just yesterday! She arranges them neatly among the other delicacies, determined to keep an eye on them in the hopes of witnessing someone's enjoyment of her little gift. Then she climbs into a booth to examine all the different pictures and signs and cards, soon delighted to find unfamiliar photos of various familiar Doctor faces to giggle at.

[biscuit_powered]

The disturbingly non-magical relay device has been displaying messages again. Images, this time. Asmodia is fairly certain she recalls being told that one must identify a specific device -- phone, the root word is unfamiliar -- to send such messages. She's absolutely certain that she's never seen the human who sent the invitation, and it's beyond her what the police would want with a blue box in Central Park.

It is, however, late afternoon when she wakes up and receives the message, and she feels an upwelling of kindred feeling when the man specifies that this breakfast will be served in the evening. If more people thought like that, the world would almost certainly be a better place. She's also curious; some of what she saw in those images looked like proper magic, which has been sorely lacking since her arrival. Maybe he's some sort of caster and they can swap trade secrets (or he can tell her trade secrets and she can pretend she's the harmless little illusionist she almost was before...well).

Survival instincts dictate that she assume this might be some sort of trap, but she still finds herself at a loss when she finally locates what she thinks is the "blue police box" in the park. It's blue, and it says police on it, and that kind of seems like a sign, but it's also a box and very obviously not a charming little restaurant with the dark tapestry on the other side of its windows. She knows more than anyone that appearances can be deceiving, but it's with a wary air that she finally steps up and gives its door a brisk knock, Biscuit lurking at her heels.

[for Melanie and Lilly]

[bibliophale]

Outside the TARDIS stands one very tall angel, very sweater-vested angel, and two very small blond girls. Aziraphale crouches down to address them both on eye level.

"This is the TARDIS," he says, directing his attention mostly to Lilly. Melanie's capacity to understand of things is faultless; Lilly is more the concern here. "Remember, we told you? She's a very powerful ship. See this box?" He gestures up to her exterior structure. "Inside it is much, much bigger. So big you can't even imagine. But these aren't just rooms, all right? They are a person. She can see you and hear you and talk to you. So be very good, all right? No drawing on these walls."

Melanie may have helped coach him on this speech.

This said, he straightens up and holds out a hand for each of them. "Ready?" he says, and leads them through the doors.

[all_the_gifts]

Melanie slips her hand into Aziraphale's, equally excited and nervous. The last time she left the flat for any great length of time, she was a harmless book. But she'll be all right. She's been reassured that the TARDIS and most of her inhabitants aren't even human, so she should be safe - and Aziraphale will be right there in case anything goes wrong.

Even though the angel had explained about the size difference, Melanie still beams excitedly when they step through the doors. It's like something out of a book, and it feels like magic even though she knows it's really science. None of the science books she's ever read have covered anything like this, though. Maybe the TARDIS has books about it. Maybe the TARDIS has a whole library of books.

She can ask about that later. They're here because they've been invited to breakfast, and that will mean politely nibbling on cooked meat or something. She doesn't mind that, though; not when it means getting to visit someplace as fascinating and beautiful as this. "Look!" she says in a delighted undertone, all but hanging off of Aziraphale's arm as she gapes up at the console.

[mamasgirl]

Lilly doesn't fully understand where they're going, or who they're going to see, or what the big deal is about the whole thing, but she knows Melanie is excited and Azirphale seems Very Serious about the whole not drawing on the walls thing so she figures she should probably play nice. It's this thought that has her placing her hand in Aziraphale's offered one without hesitation and also has her placidly following him into the weird looking blue box...

A weird looking blue box that positively terrifies her once they're through the door. Because it isn't a box. Not really. Which is terrible because Lilly likes boxes. She likes being in small places. She likes wooden walls and trees outside and running water nearby and everything that this place is very much not.

Her fingers are practically aching from how hard she's clutching the Principality's hand. Eyes wide, she's doing her absolute best to attach herself to his leg as a rather permanent fixture.

Then Melanie speaks and, despite her fear and just general sense of being far too overwhelmed at the sights and sounds and massive size before her, Lilly finds herself relaxing. If Melanie isn't scared, it's fine. Big and shiny and loud and scary but safe.

Slowly, but surely, she detaches herself from Aziraphale's leg while peering around him to look at the only other little girl she's ever known aside from Victoria. Sure enough, Melanie not only doesn't seem scared, she actually looks excited. It's confusing but Lilly does know one thing with absolute certainty.

If Melanie is excited, there's probably a good reason for it. And if she's this thrilled, Lilly wants to be absolutely certain she's close enough to be a part of whatever the other girl thinks is about to happen. So with a quick glance at Aziraphale and a rushed, half-mumbled promise of, "Lilly no draw," she quickly pulls her hand free from his and scurries around him, to Melanie's other side.

[bibliophale]

Aziraphale notes Lilly's tightening grasp with slight alarm - this must be a great deal for her to take in, after all - but then Melanie's excitement seems to win her over and he relaxes, letting Lilly join Melanie. He smiles down at them, appreciating once again how well Melanie has taken Lilly under her wing.

"Would you two like to do a bit of exploring?" he offers gamely. "As long as you stay in this area, it's all right." The TARDIS will be overseeing things by nature, and there are several others present. He doesn't want to hover over them. As long as Lilly behaves herself, they ought to be free to have a look, he reasons.