Double Drabble: Fragile
Title: Fragile
Author: badly_knitted
Characters: Ianto.
Rating: G
Written For: Challenge 700: Glass at tw100.
Spoilers: Nada.
Summary: Something beautiful falls through the Rift.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, or the characters.
A/N: Double drabble.
The Rift was notorious for being less than gentle with its gifts, ejecting them with such force that many items that might have been intact when they got sucked in were anything but by the time they reached Cardiff. That was what made this item so special; somehow it had arrived intact.
It sat there on a soft patch of moss in Cathay’s Cemetery, and how it had missed being hurled into one of the many lichen-encrusted headstones was a complete mystery, considering how many there were compared to the number of softly cushioned landing places. But miss them it had, coming to rest right side up, and sparkling prettily in the sunlight.
Ianto crouched beside it, captivated by its beauty. A mere five inches tall at best, it resembled a cluster of delicate blown-glass flowers, tinted in subtle shades of lavender and palest pink, their arching petals spread wide around convex centres, all of them cupped within what appeared to be a pair of ten-fingered glass hands.
With the utmost care, he lifted the glass sculpture from its bed of moss, placing it gently in a containment box and activating the stasis field. Perhaps he’d give it to Tosh.
The End
Author: badly_knitted
Characters: Ianto.
Rating: G
Written For: Challenge 700: Glass at tw100.
Spoilers: Nada.
Summary: Something beautiful falls through the Rift.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, or the characters.
A/N: Double drabble.
The Rift was notorious for being less than gentle with its gifts, ejecting them with such force that many items that might have been intact when they got sucked in were anything but by the time they reached Cardiff. That was what made this item so special; somehow it had arrived intact.
It sat there on a soft patch of moss in Cathay’s Cemetery, and how it had missed being hurled into one of the many lichen-encrusted headstones was a complete mystery, considering how many there were compared to the number of softly cushioned landing places. But miss them it had, coming to rest right side up, and sparkling prettily in the sunlight.
Ianto crouched beside it, captivated by its beauty. A mere five inches tall at best, it resembled a cluster of delicate blown-glass flowers, tinted in subtle shades of lavender and palest pink, their arching petals spread wide around convex centres, all of them cupped within what appeared to be a pair of ten-fingered glass hands.
With the utmost care, he lifted the glass sculpture from its bed of moss, placing it gently in a containment box and activating the stasis field. Perhaps he’d give it to Tosh.
The End