Double Drabble: Flocked
Title: Flocked
Author: badly_knitted
Characters: Jack, Ianto.
Rating: PG
Written For: Challenge 817: Herd at tw100.
Spoilers: Nada.
Summary: The Rift is having fun with Torchwood again.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, or the characters.
A/N: Double drabble.
Rift retrievals out beyond the city limits were always an adventure; the Rift seemed to take a perverse pleasure in dumping its gifts in the most inaccessible places it could find. In Cardiff that meant leaving them in locked buildings, on window ledges and roofs, behind immovable dumpsters, in junkyards, and on buses. In the countryside, its favoured spots were the middle of mud puddles, inside haystacks, on ledges halfway up cliffs, at the bottom of a river, somewhere in a wheatfield, or in with some farmer’s livestock.
“Looks like it’s in with that herd of sheep,” Jack said gloomily.
“Flock, Jack.”
“Huh?”
“Cows come in herds; if it’s sheep then it’s a flock.”
That earned a scowl from Jack. “Stop splitting hairs. What does it matter whether it’s a herd, a flock, a pack, or whatever?”
Ianto shut up, because for once Jack was right; the proper terminology wasn’t really important right now. What mattered was finding what they’d come out here for, preferably before one of the milling sheep stepped on it. Who knew what that might do?
“Fine, let’s get in there and locate it.”
Jack stepped back. “After you. You’re better with sheep than I am.”
The End
Author: badly_knitted
Characters: Jack, Ianto.
Rating: PG
Written For: Challenge 817: Herd at tw100.
Spoilers: Nada.
Summary: The Rift is having fun with Torchwood again.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, or the characters.
A/N: Double drabble.
Rift retrievals out beyond the city limits were always an adventure; the Rift seemed to take a perverse pleasure in dumping its gifts in the most inaccessible places it could find. In Cardiff that meant leaving them in locked buildings, on window ledges and roofs, behind immovable dumpsters, in junkyards, and on buses. In the countryside, its favoured spots were the middle of mud puddles, inside haystacks, on ledges halfway up cliffs, at the bottom of a river, somewhere in a wheatfield, or in with some farmer’s livestock.
“Looks like it’s in with that herd of sheep,” Jack said gloomily.
“Flock, Jack.”
“Huh?”
“Cows come in herds; if it’s sheep then it’s a flock.”
That earned a scowl from Jack. “Stop splitting hairs. What does it matter whether it’s a herd, a flock, a pack, or whatever?”
Ianto shut up, because for once Jack was right; the proper terminology wasn’t really important right now. What mattered was finding what they’d come out here for, preferably before one of the milling sheep stepped on it. Who knew what that might do?
“Fine, let’s get in there and locate it.”
Jack stepped back. “After you. You’re better with sheep than I am.”
The End