(Untitled)

[whatsatisfiesme]

Day: 77
Characters: Gilbert Cocteau (whatsatisfiesme), Ianto Jones (readystopwatch)
Summary: Gilbert sneaks down for a little night-time rendezvous in Ianto's cell. OR: yet another log that sounds dirty but isn't.
DAY/NIGHT & Time: NIGHT, shortly after cells unlock
Status: Incomplete...possibly open to Kagari, if she wants in?

Comments

...baw, I already feel bad for picking on Ianto like this. ):

[whatsatisfiesme]

Gilbert would not have been quite sure how to react to being put into a group with Jack Harkness and stinger-armed aliens.

"It's no problem."

Fortunately, he didn't have to, and the task that did present itself - settling down on Ianto's bed - was one he was much better equipped for. So, he sank onto the mattress as if it were all plush and pillows, rather than the uncomfortable, lumpy thing it actually was, and promptly slid himself across the border of it. The little consolations to Ianto's dignity from before didn't enter into the equation, this time: he tried to shift just so that the stretch of bed separating them was all but gone, slight enough to him to lean over and rest himself against the man's side. But he smiled through the whole move like this was perfectly normal and innocent, like he was just getting close to offer Ianto a sip of tea and a tray of cucumber sandwiches.

"I don't know where we should start...I said we could talk about where we were from, before. Do you want to do that?"

One hand tapped its fingers against his own cheek, as he angled himself so that he could look up towards Ianto.

"Or something else?"

D'aw, Ianto, so brave.

[whatsatisfiesme]

"Mine's dull."

But he hefted his back into an obliging shrug and nodded agreement. It must have been agreement, anyway, or else the shrug and nod would have just been an excuse to curl his arm around one of the other man's as it relaxed and to nestle his head against a bare shoulder when it stopped its brief bobbing. That kind of pretense, though, would have been less than subtle and rather inappropriate...so, clearly, Gilbert was only showing that he was fine with talking first.

"Have you ever been to Provence? That's where I'm from. I was born near Marseilles, but I came here from farther south, in Arles. There's a boarding school near there, where I stay...it's called Lacombrade."

And, with the place names out of the way, he went quiet for a moment. Perhaps he was hoping that his slow squirms closer would prompt some reply, or maybe he was only trying to puzzle out what else he could say about "home" without making the moment turn chill. It wasn't a happy place to talk about.

Complaining about academics was normal enough:

"We sit around and learn Latin and Greek and say prayers. When the professors aren't barking at us."

Well, that too, yes.

[whatsatisfiesme]

"I told you it isn't exciting."

Gilbert must have been feeling merciful, because, at least for the moment, he almost kept still. The arm wrapped around Ianto's curled tighter, a kind of casually possessive motion, but he didn't try to move any closer. There was no need to press his case just yet...and he had something warm to nestle against already. By itself, that eased some of the tensions that had been working on him for the past days. He could settle for that, at least for the time being.

"It's only the school - it's all nobles' and merchants' brats - and the town. That's not much, either. I suppose it's respectable, but it's not somewhere interesting. It's not even Marseilles...I don't go home, often."

The last sentence there came almost thoughtlessly, but as soon as it was out, Gilbert looked like he regretted it. His lips twitched lower into a lightly frustrated frown. Home wasn't something he spoke of often. It wasn't something he thought of often, not in any proper way. It was just something that he'd imagined Ianto might ask about, and he'd filled in the record before he'd realized he didn't want to.

The man's arm got the worst of it, alas - the boy punctuated those unwanted words with a kiss across a tricep. When he looked up from it, he'd righted his expression into a smile, though a hint more terse than his last.

"What is it you do for work?"

[whatsatisfiesme]

Gilbert sighed.

"I'm 'from' 1881. The same as everyone."

It was a pity, but he should have expected it. This was a mental institution, and even the safe and polite-seeming lunatics were bound to be a little deranged. Still, hearing that - the question about the year and then the talk of "a rift in time" and "space anomalies" - was enough to make his face fall again. The upperclassmen at Lacombrade were louts, but at least they were sane. They didn't talk about the years like there was more than one to choose from, didn't think they were something out of a Jules Verne novel...

And didn't look at him like that when he kissed them, either. The glance he'd earned might have been ignored, otherwise, but surrounded by so many other things that irked him, he answered it by dipping his lips right back down against the same spot in a quick but pointed peck. Ianto could look at him like that when he wasn't sitting around and talking like he was a voyager from another time. If he was going to use his mouth to say ridiculous things like that, Gilbert supposed he ought to be free to do what he liked with his, just the same.

"Situations like getting locked up in asylums?" he asked, voice more than a little dry - he'd passed over the question about home quite airily - and gaze a few degrees harder than it had been before.

"I'm not surprised, with a job like that."

[whatsatisfiesme]

"Two-thousand and nine."

Gilbert's voice seemed to curdle over the last word there - at least Ianto wouldn't have to puzzle over whether he'd decided to believe him or not. The reality was, the boy had quite easily dismissed all the signs that his fellow patients were misplaced in time. They were madmen, after all. They were expected to say ridiculous things, believe them, and even be eerily consistent about their delusions.

His quiet contempt for such talk was quickly shunted to the side when Ianto moved away from him, though. Alas, he must have been more easily offended than the Welshman'd imagined, because he took the request like a slap and stared down at the little stretch of mattress that had been put between them with a kind of confused, forlorn expression. (Actually getting slapped or even snapped at would have been easy to deal with, but he was just...brushing him off!)

"So, you're a professional hero? Rescuing people lost in time or whatever it is?"

The sarcasm in his voice might have been more cutting, if he'd been able to bring himself to raise his eyes back up, just yet.

"When will the rest of your little bureau show up to save all of us, then?"

[whatsatisfiesme]

"You do look like a butler. That part makes sense."

That was hardly a compliment, but it wasn't quite meant as an insult, either. Ianto had a sort of clean but not especially well-bred look to him that, at least from Gilbert's perspective, would fit well on an upper-crust servant. (His own butler back in the day had been old and much uglier, but he'd always imagined that the man had been more crisp, when he'd begun his service to the Cocteau family.)

As for the explanation about messages and rift manipulators...that flew right over the boy's head and far off into the aether. He'd zoned out from it before it was half over, dismissing it as babble, and taken to contemplating the hand on his shoulder. Grabbing it was a tempting thought, especially as bitter as he was feeling, but in the end he only tried to slide closer and to take up the space in the curve of Ianto's arm.

And he offered a small reply to show (contrary to fact) that he'd been listening:

"They won't just notice that you've fallen into a crack in time? Not very observant..."

[whatsatisfiesme]

"Wait."

Here was a surprise - the curious look glinting in Gilbert's eyes was quite earnest all of a sudden, and, even if it came along with a bemused smile, it kept him sitting still instead of trying to climb all over the man once more.

"You can't mean your plan's to leave a note here and hope no one touches it for a hundred years. It can't just be 'stick it in the corner and bet no one ever cleans.'"

Gilbert tilted his head back and all but giggled at the idea. Funny, really, how the man could look so calm - he really did have a "butler" air about him - and be such a nutter beneath the surface. That was a good laugh, at least. But, eventually, he tilted his head to one side and looked back towards Ianto, only occasionally adding another snicker to the ones he'd already let out.

"Alright. What 'exotic' thing should I tell you about, first? It's all the same to me."

[whatsatisfiesme]

"You haven't told me so much. Not anything normal, anyway."

Still, he went quiet at the request, gazing up at the ceiling in an attempt to conjure up something to say. What could he tell him? It was tempting to mention something that would scandalize the man, as squeamish as he was acting, so far. But it was hard to think of anything that came before Auguste - and just thinking about life before Auguste made his stomach clench sickly, while talking about him aloud would have felt like spreading secrets.

"Fine. The Cocteau family has an estate off near Marseilles, out in the countryside - that's where I grew up. It's my uncle's land, though - "

That was a lie, but an idle and thoughtless one. It was his parents' land, and he would inherit it himself eventually. It was just that Auguste had run it for long enough and that Gilbert cared little enough about it to elide the mistake. Having done so, he paused and only started again after a wry laugh:

"It wasn't a bad place to live. It was quiet, and there was always space to play in. My uncle tutored me at home, then...he's a poet, so it was an interesting education."

Well, he'd kept that clean enough. Except for the slight bat of his eyes up at Ianto's and the strange way his tone trilled over the word interesting, the whole thing was almost boring. He might as well have told him about the servants' pay.

"I went off to Lacombrade, when he had to leave Marseilles for Paris; I've stayed there, since."