[Ianto really could have done without the whole neural implant business. Never mind the whole being drugged and kidnapped away to a place he's never heard of part, they've also taken it upon themselves to modify him. He wouldn't be surprised if there were a tracker in that chunk of metal somewhere, and of course they had to shave his head to do it. Of course they did.
The suggestion that he should have a new power is ludicrous, however. Or so Ianto is convinced, up until the moment when he triggers it. He'd been trying, he'd really been trying not to let this place get to him. But he's here on his on his own, without his team, without Jack, with no idea how or why he's there or if he ever stands a chance of getting home again. So yes, one might say that he's a little stressed. Doing his best to keep his anxiety to himself as he attempts to explore the city. At least up until he reaches for the handle of the shop door he's trying to enter, and sees -- feels? -- a flash of the door that morning. The shopkeeper flipping the sign to OPEN for the day.
He stands struck and dumbfounded, his hand tightening on the handle and the flashes continue. The door a different color, when it was a different shop. The door when it was first hung and the workers hanging it. The door as it was built. The wood it had come from. The trees --
Ianto steps back, nearly falling to the ground in his haste to tear himself out of the tumble of imagery.]
Jesus.
003. enjoy the festivities
[The hoverblades are tempting, but Ianto reins himself in and uses the opportunity to explore the festival itself. He watches the videos they offer, and grows increasingly uneasy about what exactly it is that they're celebrating. History is written by the victor, after all.
He tries not to think too hard about it. Choosing instead to make his way towards the food offered by the hundreds of trucks lined up for the festivities. There has to be something familiar on offer, though after spotting a few stalls with bugs on the menu he has to wonder just what it is about this place that makes chocolate-covered beetles appetizing.
In the end, he just has to purchase a bag for himself.
He’s peering warily at the treats in question before he realizes he has an audience. Holding up the bag with a raised eyebrow.]
You're welcome to try some, if you like.
009. where there's smoke
[Ianto doesn't live in the apartment building that the fire breaks out in, but it's curiosity that brings him nearby in the aftermath. He's not hero enough to think he could run into a burning building and expect to make a difference. But perhaps on the ground level?
He hadn't figured that offering help would be quite so literal as it turns out to be, however. He reaches out a hand to brace the first person who stumbles towards him, their teeth bared in rage even as they choke on the lingering fumes, and he feels it. Their anger, their rage, and then it all stops. It hurts a little, of course, but it feels good too. It feels good up until the point where it really doesn't.
He stumbles from the other man, mumbling a brief word of apology as he struggles to get away. To find himself some peace and quiet. Grateful he managed to do something — he had managed to help, hadn’t he? — but it’s too much.
It’s just his luck that in his haste to get away, he stumbles right into another person in turn.]
God, sorry, I’m sorry—
(ooc: feel free to tag me with either action or prose, i am happy to write in either style! c: )
ianto jones • torchwood
[Ianto really could have done without the whole neural implant business. Never mind the whole being drugged and kidnapped away to a place he's never heard of part, they've also taken it upon themselves to modify him. He wouldn't be surprised if there were a tracker in that chunk of metal somewhere, and of course they had to shave his head to do it. Of course they did.
The suggestion that he should have a new power is ludicrous, however. Or so Ianto is convinced, up until the moment when he triggers it. He'd been trying, he'd really been trying not to let this place get to him. But he's here on his on his own, without his team, without Jack, with no idea how or why he's there or if he ever stands a chance of getting home again. So yes, one might say that he's a little stressed. Doing his best to keep his anxiety to himself as he attempts to explore the city. At least up until he reaches for the handle of the shop door he's trying to enter, and sees -- feels? -- a flash of the door that morning. The shopkeeper flipping the sign to OPEN for the day.
He stands struck and dumbfounded, his hand tightening on the handle and the flashes continue. The door a different color, when it was a different shop. The door when it was first hung and the workers hanging it. The door as it was built. The wood it had come from. The trees --
Ianto steps back, nearly falling to the ground in his haste to tear himself out of the tumble of imagery.]
Jesus.
003. enjoy the festivities
[The hoverblades are tempting, but Ianto reins himself in and uses the opportunity to explore the festival itself. He watches the videos they offer, and grows increasingly uneasy about what exactly it is that they're celebrating. History is written by the victor, after all.
He tries not to think too hard about it. Choosing instead to make his way towards the food offered by the hundreds of trucks lined up for the festivities. There has to be something familiar on offer, though after spotting a few stalls with bugs on the menu he has to wonder just what it is about this place that makes chocolate-covered beetles appetizing.
In the end, he just has to purchase a bag for himself.
He’s peering warily at the treats in question before he realizes he has an audience. Holding up the bag with a raised eyebrow.]
You're welcome to try some, if you like.
009. where there's smoke
[Ianto doesn't live in the apartment building that the fire breaks out in, but it's curiosity that brings him nearby in the aftermath. He's not hero enough to think he could run into a burning building and expect to make a difference. But perhaps on the ground level?
He hadn't figured that offering help would be quite so literal as it turns out to be, however. He reaches out a hand to brace the first person who stumbles towards him, their teeth bared in rage even as they choke on the lingering fumes, and he feels it. Their anger, their rage, and then it all stops. It hurts a little, of course, but it feels good too. It feels good up until the point where it really doesn't.
He stumbles from the other man, mumbling a brief word of apology as he struggles to get away. To find himself some peace and quiet. Grateful he managed to do something — he had managed to help, hadn’t he? — but it’s too much.
It’s just his luck that in his haste to get away, he stumbles right into another person in turn.]
God, sorry, I’m sorry—
(ooc: feel free to tag me with either action or prose, i am happy to write in either style! c: )