(Untitled)

[darbyfield]

The door of Dick Maynard's flat shuts firmly, solidly, irrevocably behind her. Tessa sighs, leans back against it, stares up at the ceiling; her hands are trembling, and she's aware in a very cold way that the feeling sweeping up from the pit of her stomach is halfway between fury and sheer bloody humiliation, and it's a few deep breaths before she

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[dichotomos]

For someone who used to appear out of thin air all the time, you'd think it would get less weird to see other people doing it. I think the way the island did it made the difference: There was no hint of anything happening, just some poor sod suddenly in front of you, wondering where the fuck they were.

"Jesus," I hissed under my breath when this chick popped into existence a little way down the beach. "Fucking newbies."

Sweaty and shirtless, I jogged over and gave the woman a quick once over. "You've got really shitty luck, lady, because you get me as a welcome wagon."

[darbyfield]

Tessa quirks an eyebrow, looking the young man up and down. She'd have to be more than slightly disoriented not to take in the scars, or the way he carries himself, but nothing about him reads agent, of any service whatsoever.

Which in no way rules him out as a threat -- the boy she sent after Lermov was anything but official -- but does at least provide a certain set of basic parameters to work from, and nothing in his posture is suggesting any immediate danger.

"In that case, you might be able to tell me what the hell is going on," she says coolly, unwinding her scarf from around her neck.

[dichotomos]

"If you were someplace that made any sense, maybe I could, but that isn't going to happen here," I replied, already annoyed by her haughty British accent and the superior way she'd looked me over. Guess what, lady? I'm not a dirty peasant, I'm the monster under the bed.

"You're on an island called Tabula Rasa. I don't know how you got here, so don't ask. No, you cannot get back home, no, I do not know why you're here, and no, you aren't dead. I'm on my way up to the Compound, you can get a place to sleep and something to eat there. You can follow me if you want or you can stay here, I don't give a shit. Welcome to paradise." I tipped her a quick salute and a chipper smile, turned and began plodding up the dunes toward the closest pathway.

[darbyfield]

Definitely not an agent, although the speed and the disdain with which he rattles off his little speech is enough to call to mind the entirely incongruous image of a younger Harry.

If Harry had been American, or an interesting bit of rough, or at least hadn't given quite so strong a first impression of having been born in a suit.

The content of the speech is so flatly nonsensical that she nearly decides to dismiss it altogether, either as lunatic ramblings or as a painfully transparent bit of manipulation, but under these particular circumstances --

"I'd advise you against a career in tourism brochures," she says, ignoring the pounding of her heart and the sinking feeling that something absolutely out of any rational experience is going on; as hard as she tries to remember, there are no gaps in her memory whatsoever. The transition from the doorway to the beach had been absolutely seamless, and she'd be feeling the aftereffects of drugs even if someone had managed to knock her out and snatch her.

Whatever the hell is going on,

[sal_romano]

He’s trying, really trying, not to worry too much about the dinosaurs. After a few pointed questions, he’d discovered they were all fenced to one side of the island, and it really was mostly safe to wander around the compound and the surrounding beach. After his first morning at the bakery, he finds his afternoon free, and decides to risk the possibility of the wildlife to get back out to the beach and sketch again

[darbyfield]

American.

And not, when she turns to look at him, exactly like one of the cousins -- he's got a bit of the frozen-in-time aura that a few of them still have, but the posture's entirely off, and he doesn't look like he'd know what to do with a gun if his life depended on it.

Appearances can be deceptive, but he doesn't feel dangerous, for all her nerves are attempting to convince her that anyone in the vicinity of what's just happened is in all probability a threat.

"Do you know, I've got absolutely no idea." She offers him a small, bitter smile. "I seem to have mislaid the entire damn city of London."

[sal_romano]

She might be surprised that at one point, his life had. Years ago, now, and he does his best to forget. Instead, he’s contented himself to live possibly too comfortably, and even after so little time on the Island, he’s already begun to relax into it. There’s a rhythm here, and if he follows it, he doesn’t have to think too much about the whole issue.

He moves closer as she answers, though she looks no more welcoming, and registers surprise briefly at the statement. The island does seem to love that one nationality.

“Oh,” he answers, and realizes she’s new and - is there a protocol? What was he really supposed to do? His moment resolves itself into a smile, a careful one, though kind.

“You’re on Tabula Rasa,” he explains, turning his palms up to indicate a sort of helplessness - and that he wishes he could explain. “If that’s news to you, I can find you someone to explain back at the compound.”

[darbyfield]

Every word in that statement is recognizably English, and it makes no sense whatsoever, although Tessa's ears prick up at the mention of a "Compound"; it seems, at the least, to indicate some form of human habitation.

Some form which happens to be completely foreign to her, but first things first. You deal with what's directly in front of you.

"I think we'd better go back to first principles," she says, forcing herself to stay calm. "Assume I've no idea what you're talking about and go on from there."

[coffee_sir]

Funny, how things worked. After what had seemed like forever without having to greet a single new arrival, here was, in less than a week, a second woman dropped blinking and confused onto Ianto's path. He had two dogs with him this time as he strolled along the beach, which might have been intimidating were one not an excitable corgi and the other a mutt with floppy ears.

"You look lost," he observed, mostly innocent. It wasn't as if he had done anything, after all, or knew the right answer to any of the questions probably popping into her head. "Can I help?"

[darbyfield]

Tessa's never been overly fond of small animals, but a pair of dogs that small and that exuberant is a sign, if anything is, of someone not overly concerned with his own personal security at the moment. The last thing anyone needs in a fight is a corgi nipping at their heels.

Whatever's going on, there's a fairly good chance that at the very least, this man hasn't kidnapped her, and he looks at home enough to have some idea of what's happened.

"I don't know," she says. "You haven't got the Thames in your back pocket, have you?"

[coffee_sir]

Ianto managed a sympathetic wince, though, truth be told, he wanted to laugh. Old habits died hard, and one developed the habit of laughing at the uninformed and out of their league when in Torchwood. It was either laugh or sink even further into misery.

"Sadly, no, but we do have an ocean," he said. "Not the same, but at least this water's clean."

He strolled nearer until there was a safe four feet between them, close enough to speak but still not present any threat. "You've gone on a bit of a trip, I'm afraid."

[darbyfield]

"That was becoming apparent." She looks the man up and down, slow and assessing; harmless-looking enough, although that's not a guarantee of much, and she can hear the laugh hiding underneath the words. Not that that predisposes her to dislike him so much -- she's sure she'd be no better in his position, whatever the hell that may be. "I take it you know something about this."

[spirited_hero]

[darbyfield]

Tessa lets that hang in the air for a long, pointed moment while she studies the young man; there are admittedly worse sights to be confronted with, but most of those would be far more explicable.

The tattoo is interesting, but it doesn't register as anything but a pointless bit of decoration -- none of the organizations that practice tattooing use that design, as far as she's aware, and most of them go in for some degree of concealment.

"I'm afraid I've got absolutely no idea," she says dryly. "I was rather hoping you'd be able to provide an explanation."

[spirited_hero]