Short Fic - Three Girl Rhumba
Jun. 15th, 2007 01:16 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
custodianTitle: Three Girl Rhumba
Disclaimer: Being a bloke who likes to slash pretty men doesn't make me RTD, I don't work for the BBC, and as much as I might like to, I don't own Jack or Ianto or any part of Torchwood. I do, however, order pizza under that name on principle.
Pairings: None. My god, I'm writing random fluffy genfic.
Rating: PG for a tiny bit of language, mention of someone else's sex life.
Notes: It's the spring of 2000 and Ianto Jones is sick of University, sick of London, and sick of his roommate. He seeks solace in a cup of coffee. What could possibly go wrong? Has absolutely nothing to do with either girls or dancing.
A chance encounter,
You want to avoid
the inevitable.
And so you do,
Oh yes you do,
The impossible.
-- Wire, "Three Girl Rhumba"
Ianto was sick and bloody tired of London.
He was sick of Uni. He was sick of the smug looks he got when people heard his accent. He was sick of being angry, sick of feeling lonely, and absolutely fucking sick of his roommate Craig (who was, at present, going on at more length than absolutely necessary about a recent sexual conquest). He wanted to close the blinds, turn out the lights, and hide from the world for a while. None of which, at this point, was looking even remotely possible.
He grabbed his keyring. "I'm going out for a coffee. Want anything?"
"Huh? No."
"Right. See you."
# # #
"Triple dark mocha, please. Uh, to go." Ianto handed over some coins to a cross-looking barrista, then moved down the bar and waited for his coffee. He didn't usually go for the flavored stuff, but chocolate sounded nice. He could do with a bit of comfort. Maybe he could go find a park bench and watch the pigeons or something.
"Oi! Triple?"
Ianto nodded and took the paper cup. "Thank you."
London wasn't a bad city, really. For one, it was more colorful than he'd imagined it. It was always all grey and red on television. In real life, there were always things to look at. It was almost terrifying in its scale compared to Newport, or even Cardiff. He still got lost sometimes, even after two years.
He'd only just stepped out of the coffee shop and raised the paper cup to his lips when, out of nowhere, a slender man in a brown suit slammed into him. Ianto landed hard on the pavement and watched as his coffee took flight. It exploded on impact with the ground, covering a pair of women in sticky brown liquid and melty whipped cream. Before he knew what was happening -- or had a chance to apologize -- the man pulled him to his feet and dragged him running down an alley.
"Sorry about that. Bit of a hurry. Name's John Smith." The suited man opened a thin leather wallet to reveal a police ID. The colors seemed weirdly excitable for a piece of official documentation, but it looked real enough. Even if there was no badge attached. Maybe that was something that police only had on television?
"Ianto Jones." He was panting. He wasn't used to carrying on a conversation at a dead run.
"Nice to meet you, Ianto Jones. Listen, I don't suppose you'd be willing to do something for me?"
"Huh?"
"Duck."
Ianto yelped with surprise as Detective Inspector Smith tackled him and pushed him down behind a skip. Before he had a chance to voice his disapproval, there was a sharp metallic crash. The skip rocked and nearly tipped onto them.
"Was that a bullet?!" Ianto stared in disbelief at the skip.
The Inspector was off of him in a flash -- did the man ever quit moving?! -- and on the other side of the skip, picking something up. It was about the size of a basketball.
"This," Smith began, "is a standard Kemen A-18 bounty droid. See that thing there? Void circuit. Rhodium solenoid. Doesn't work the way you'd think it does. Lets it follow where and when it shouldn't be able. Tricky business. Ruined now, of course. Sorry about dragging you in on this, by the way. Couldn't be sure it wouldn't pick up on your signature after I knocked you over. They've got a reputation for that. Trust me, you wouldn't enjoy it." He chucked the thing into the skip, then extended a hand. Ianto took it.
"It's a superconductor?" He managed, trying to scramble his way into something remotely like a conversation.
"In a manner of speaking, sure. I mean, it's all sort of beyond nuclear magnetism, technologically, but --" The man stopped suddenly, a far away look in his eyes. "Wait. Ianto Jones? Huh. Who'd have thought?"
"Er, what?" He fought down the urge to grab the man's lapels and dare him to make less sense.
"Nothing. Forget I said anything." He gave Ianto a reassuring pat on the shoulder, took a deep breath, and looked around as if to get his bearings. "Right! Unless I'm mistaken, Ianto Jones, I believe I owe you a cup of coffee."
Disclaimer: Being a bloke who likes to slash pretty men doesn't make me RTD, I don't work for the BBC, and as much as I might like to, I don't own Jack or Ianto or any part of Torchwood. I do, however, order pizza under that name on principle.
Pairings: None. My god, I'm writing random fluffy genfic.
Rating: PG for a tiny bit of language, mention of someone else's sex life.
Notes: It's the spring of 2000 and Ianto Jones is sick of University, sick of London, and sick of his roommate. He seeks solace in a cup of coffee. What could possibly go wrong? Has absolutely nothing to do with either girls or dancing.
A chance encounter,
You want to avoid
the inevitable.
And so you do,
Oh yes you do,
The impossible.
-- Wire, "Three Girl Rhumba"
Ianto was sick and bloody tired of London.
He was sick of Uni. He was sick of the smug looks he got when people heard his accent. He was sick of being angry, sick of feeling lonely, and absolutely fucking sick of his roommate Craig (who was, at present, going on at more length than absolutely necessary about a recent sexual conquest). He wanted to close the blinds, turn out the lights, and hide from the world for a while. None of which, at this point, was looking even remotely possible.
He grabbed his keyring. "I'm going out for a coffee. Want anything?"
"Huh? No."
"Right. See you."
"Triple dark mocha, please. Uh, to go." Ianto handed over some coins to a cross-looking barrista, then moved down the bar and waited for his coffee. He didn't usually go for the flavored stuff, but chocolate sounded nice. He could do with a bit of comfort. Maybe he could go find a park bench and watch the pigeons or something.
"Oi! Triple?"
Ianto nodded and took the paper cup. "Thank you."
London wasn't a bad city, really. For one, it was more colorful than he'd imagined it. It was always all grey and red on television. In real life, there were always things to look at. It was almost terrifying in its scale compared to Newport, or even Cardiff. He still got lost sometimes, even after two years.
He'd only just stepped out of the coffee shop and raised the paper cup to his lips when, out of nowhere, a slender man in a brown suit slammed into him. Ianto landed hard on the pavement and watched as his coffee took flight. It exploded on impact with the ground, covering a pair of women in sticky brown liquid and melty whipped cream. Before he knew what was happening -- or had a chance to apologize -- the man pulled him to his feet and dragged him running down an alley.
"Sorry about that. Bit of a hurry. Name's John Smith." The suited man opened a thin leather wallet to reveal a police ID. The colors seemed weirdly excitable for a piece of official documentation, but it looked real enough. Even if there was no badge attached. Maybe that was something that police only had on television?
"Ianto Jones." He was panting. He wasn't used to carrying on a conversation at a dead run.
"Nice to meet you, Ianto Jones. Listen, I don't suppose you'd be willing to do something for me?"
"Huh?"
"Duck."
Ianto yelped with surprise as Detective Inspector Smith tackled him and pushed him down behind a skip. Before he had a chance to voice his disapproval, there was a sharp metallic crash. The skip rocked and nearly tipped onto them.
"Was that a bullet?!" Ianto stared in disbelief at the skip.
The Inspector was off of him in a flash -- did the man ever quit moving?! -- and on the other side of the skip, picking something up. It was about the size of a basketball.
"This," Smith began, "is a standard Kemen A-18 bounty droid. See that thing there? Void circuit. Rhodium solenoid. Doesn't work the way you'd think it does. Lets it follow where and when it shouldn't be able. Tricky business. Ruined now, of course. Sorry about dragging you in on this, by the way. Couldn't be sure it wouldn't pick up on your signature after I knocked you over. They've got a reputation for that. Trust me, you wouldn't enjoy it." He chucked the thing into the skip, then extended a hand. Ianto took it.
"It's a superconductor?" He managed, trying to scramble his way into something remotely like a conversation.
"In a manner of speaking, sure. I mean, it's all sort of beyond nuclear magnetism, technologically, but --" The man stopped suddenly, a far away look in his eyes. "Wait. Ianto Jones? Huh. Who'd have thought?"
"Er, what?" He fought down the urge to grab the man's lapels and dare him to make less sense.
"Nothing. Forget I said anything." He gave Ianto a reassuring pat on the shoulder, took a deep breath, and looked around as if to get his bearings. "Right! Unless I'm mistaken, Ianto Jones, I believe I owe you a cup of coffee."