TW freewrite ficlet: 268 words, PG, Owen and Gwen
As it turns out, I have a freewrites.doc file in Torchwood fic folder that I forgot about. Don't get too excited; everything else has been posted under the freewrite tag and some even got revised into proper fic. This is the only ficlet in that file that has not previously seen the light of The Internet: I totally posted it 15 months ago. :/ Soz!
"At least it's pretty glass," Gwen said cheeringly, and laid her palm against the rosy pink shot through with bubbles.
Owen gave her a sideways glance then said, "I think I'd rather it was arse-ugly, and we weren't trapped inside it." He didn't sound as caustic as he usually did, but Gwen didn't know him well enough to determine if that was good or bad. Trust Torchwood to employ people who became more amiable the more danger they were in.
"Well, not wanting to be trapped is a given," she said wryly, and craned her head back to stare, again, at the top of the cylinder. It was a very long way up. "Will the others find us soon, do you think?" she asked.
"Might do, yeah," said Owen. "Unless Tosh gets preoccupied with a program, Jack runs off on a Weevil hunt, and Ianto decides to reorganize all the files or whatever it is he does." Owen slit a smile at her and added, "But that's so out of the ordinary I'm sure it won't happen."
Gwen decided not to respond to that, and turned to face the wall again. She tried to identify the blurs on the other side-a towel, Jack's mug, the spigot of the sink-and fought the lump in her throat.
Owen let out a thick, bored sigh and settled in the curve where the wall met the floor. "At least it's a clean glass," he said. "Better than slopping around in a puddle of old cola, yeah?"
"Yeah," said Gwen, because for the moment 'at least' was the best they had.
Why don't I have any icons with Owen or Gwen in them? Oh well, too late now.
"At least it's pretty glass," Gwen said cheeringly, and laid her palm against the rosy pink shot through with bubbles.
Owen gave her a sideways glance then said, "I think I'd rather it was arse-ugly, and we weren't trapped inside it." He didn't sound as caustic as he usually did, but Gwen didn't know him well enough to determine if that was good or bad. Trust Torchwood to employ people who became more amiable the more danger they were in.
"Well, not wanting to be trapped is a given," she said wryly, and craned her head back to stare, again, at the top of the cylinder. It was a very long way up. "Will the others find us soon, do you think?" she asked.
"Might do, yeah," said Owen. "Unless Tosh gets preoccupied with a program, Jack runs off on a Weevil hunt, and Ianto decides to reorganize all the files or whatever it is he does." Owen slit a smile at her and added, "But that's so out of the ordinary I'm sure it won't happen."
Gwen decided not to respond to that, and turned to face the wall again. She tried to identify the blurs on the other side-a towel, Jack's mug, the spigot of the sink-and fought the lump in her throat.
Owen let out a thick, bored sigh and settled in the curve where the wall met the floor. "At least it's a clean glass," he said. "Better than slopping around in a puddle of old cola, yeah?"
"Yeah," said Gwen, because for the moment 'at least' was the best they had.
Why don't I have any icons with Owen or Gwen in them? Oh well, too late now.