(Untitled)

[ffyddlon]

Gwen’s not having a good day. In fact, as far as days have gone, this is probably the worst she’s had in a long while. She’s in the middle of a three day row with her husband over babies (What, exactly is she supposed to do? Drop them off at the nursery with the least sign of trouble Torchwood-way? Hardly.) and she’s in the middle of a bigger

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[cibosity]

The first thing that Sawyer's eyes land on is the gun. As far as he's concerned, it's a natural response, eyes scanning immediately for threats, a habit that probably won't ever wear off- and on the island, fortunately comes into use for his role as an officer with the IPD. There's a pistol stuffed into the waistband of his own jeans, though he doesn't bother to pull it out yet, wants to keep it concealed as well as he can for as long as he can in situations like these, with potentially unstable personalities.

Or maybe she's just new.

"Hold your horses there," he says first, voice slightly raised, though his expression is calm. Nothing but a day's work. "You've got questions, I've got answers, though I'd prefer if you put that pretty little pistol away first."

[ffyddlon]

Gwen doesn't realize for a moment she's still holding the gun and when he asks, she tucks it back into her holster, lowering the torch as well for good measure. When she was still a PC, she didn't have a gun, but a club and a nice Maglite torch could knock a man out long enough to get him down to the station to sleep it off.

"A name would be nice to start," she says, cool, Welsh manners lacing her tone in order to keep it even and easy.

[cibosity]

Could be worse, Sawyer thinks. Had it been several months ago and he found himself suddenly transported to an unfamiliar place, he wouldn't have put down his gun for the world. Apparently all it takes is a smoke monster and some time travel. Either she's learned to expect the unexpected, or she isn't the sharpest tack- and Sawyer's learned never to assume the latter.

"Sawyer. Name's Sawyer," he says, not quite lowering his hands all the way. "You're on an island called Tabula Rasa, which ain't anywhere near Cardiff, I've been here for over three quarters of a year, and I arrived exactly as you did. Outta nowhere and in the blink of an eye."

[ffyddlon]

Gwen's always been skeptical, just in her nature when she was a PC and now she thinks it adds some realism to the fantastic that is her job. She likes to test things, to see how they can fit her logic and sometimes she's bull-headed and belated to come to see that not all things fit in a box. Perhaps this island is one of those things that should stay outside the box entirely.

"Gwen Cooper," she says pleasantly, teeth working her lower lip for a moment while she thinks. "Three quarters of a year? Really? All this time and you've never tried to escape?"

[cibosity]

Those few seconds aren't enough for Sawyer to get a fully painted picture of who this woman is, but the knit in her brow and the cautious tone of her next questions tell him that she likes thinking matters through, and is probably more of an intellectual than he'll ever be. It isn't that Sawyer can't reason- but he certainly acts more on instinct than strict logic. It makes him chuckle a little, reminded of Daniel Faraday, the very thought touching his tone with the lightest brush of melancholy. Sometimes, he wonders if he should be trying harder to escape.

"Me? Ain't ever tried to escape, no," he shakes his head, pleasant smile on his face. "But I can't say that for most of the people on this here island. Everyone stops tryin' so hard after they've been around for a while, though. Geniuses left and right, and ain't a single one figured out a reliable way to leave yet."

[ffyddlon]

Gwen thinks that over and wonders if Tosh were here, if she could have found a way off. Then again, Gwen's been here before (or so says Jack) and apparently she disappeared and ended up right back where she started. It's all a little confusing and she wonders if she ought to just be content with her lot and start building a life.

It's a bit early to be giving up hope, Gwen.

It is a bit early. If nothing, Gwen believes and while believing might not be worth so much in monetary value it's everything to the spirit. She's gotten through some rough spots just by believing she'll come out right in the end.

"So you've just decided to settle in, is that it? Weather the storm?"

[cibosity]

The question's got merit. Phrased that way, it's almost chilling, the thought that so many people, many of them bright, many of them geniuses in their own right, have settled. Not everyone on the island's the type to be happy doing so, and yet they're all there. Trapped. Everyone ends up pausing soon enough, hands no longer grabbing at much of anything. Sometimes it takes that newcomer's perspective for all of it to sink in.

"I figure whatever happens, happens, and there ain't much point in clawin' at thin air from day to day," he shrugs at last, looking the very picture of casual, even as there's still a slight voice that's pulled thin and plaintive, in the back of his mind. "Don't mean I'm gonna stop you from tryin' to find a way out, though, if ya can."

[ffyddlon]

"I don't guess you've some kind of task force dedicated to this particular rift, then?"

Gwen imagines if there's as many Torchwood members as she's met here, they've tried. It's what they do, investigate the odd and this island ranks up with some of the odder things she's seen. She hopes that doesn't mean weevils are going to come in droves to add to the mystery.

"Someone who tries different theories and sees what works as far as where we are and how we got here?"

[cibosity]

"You sure been in this kinda situation before, haven't you?" Sawyer asks, interest running deeper than he wants to admit to. The island, back in his world, was such a damned mystery to him, one that he still can't piece together to his satisfaction. That this woman has experience in the area tempts him, almost, to turn over the corner of that rug he's been brushing all the dust under.

For now, though, he keeps his lips pressed shut on the matter.

"Hit the nail right on the head," he drawls. "Island Task Force would be what you're lookin' for, and if you want me to take you to the Council office, where they've got records of a buncha stuff, I can."

[ffyddlon]

"It's what I do," Gwen agrees, unsure if she should tell him about Torchwood proper. If there's no Torchwood on the island, there's nothing to keep secret, really, but she's not one to break her confidentiality without a steady supply of Retcon on hand. And even that wasn't entirely foolproof.

"I'd like to go to the Council office if you've got the time to show me," she says, thinking that might be the best place to start. "Thank you."