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

[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.