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*cackles*
With the goading gentle encouragement of ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
karenhealey, I'm writing the Torchwood story that I keep talking about (at least in meatspace) - in the year-that-wasn't, the Hub goes into automatic lockdown. With the remaining members of the team in it. And they are stuck there, together, for a year.
What could possibly go wrong? IT'S A RECIPE FOR SUCCESS. So far I'm up to about2800 3100 words, and am sporadically gaining and losing my funny. But it may be something I tack parts on to for some time, so who knows how it'll end up?
I love writing Tosh!
And now I should probably sleep, as tomorrow is a big day.
karenhealey, I'm writing the Torchwood story that I keep talking about (at least in meatspace) - in the year-that-wasn't, the Hub goes into automatic lockdown. With the remaining members of the team in it. And they are stuck there, together, for a year. What could possibly go wrong? IT'S A RECIPE FOR SUCCESS. So far I'm up to about
"If we're going to be stuck in here for god knows how long, I'm not going to spend the whole time chasing down the same dead ends over and over." Tosh felt Gwen's eyes bore into the back of her neck, but ignored them, continuing to click and drag the files onto her screen into their new, improved directory structure. The third new, improved directory structure she'd developed in five days.
"I think we should keep ourselves occupied," Gwen continued.
"Sex," Owen said immediately, clearly paying attention despite the forearm he'd thrown over his eyes in pretense of disregarding Gwen's speech. Then again, he might not be paying attention; his interjection wasn't so unusual, and in fact got more and more frequent--and more of a non sequiteur--every time. "We should all have sex."
[...] Gwen made a swift, repetitive gesture with her wrist to indicate either that Owen was a wanker, or that he should just go and have a wank. At this point, frankly, Tosh was inclined to agree. With both interpretations.
"We should at least have a schedule--get some work done. Or," Gwen continued swiftly when Owen began to moan again. "At least have some fun."
"With a schedule."
"A schedule of fun," Gwen insisted, and the hair on Tosh's nape stirred uncomfortably at the fervour that hadn't so much crept as pounced into Gwen's tone. "Activities. Team building exercises. Jack would want us to--"
"Jack would want us to all have sex," Ianto interjected dryly, and it's not so much that Tosh forgot he was there, just that his suit had become as much of the landscape of the Hub in the past fourteen days as the water tower was. How he managed to keep it pressed and not unpleasantly fragrant was beyond her; all she knew was that his laundering secrets were not being shared with Owen. That, at least, was beyond a doubt.
"Well that's certainly not happening," Gwen said primly, hands smoothing over her thighs once more, and Tosh found herself meeting Ianto's eyes, certain his expression reflected hers in its foreboding of another tear-filled breakdown about Rhys.
"There are at least four levels of archives below us that haven't had data compiled on them since the seventies," Ianto offered with a degree of hopefulness, his gaze flicking over to Gwen's.
"Fuck that," Owen said. "I'm not spending the next however-long compiling data on bloody alien lava lamps."
"It's a rift in space and time, Owen," Ianto explained with more tetchiness than patience.
"How do you explain that alien disco ball, then?" Owen retorted.
"It's not a disco ball, it's a hyper-detection sphere for--"
"It's round and covered in bits of mirror. And Jack hung it from the ceiling."
I love writing Tosh!
And now I should probably sleep, as tomorrow is a big day.
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