Not ducks! So soz. :/
About a month ago, I asked for freewrite prompts and Chaos gave me "glass." I scribbled this up while sitting in my car waiting for friends to show up, and just now typed and revised it.
268 words, early S1, Gwen and Owen, PG
"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.
268 words, early S1, Gwen and Owen, PG
"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.