Fic: "Anthony"
Jul. 4th, 2010 09:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cyusTitle: Anthony
Characters: OC, Jack
Length: 700 words
Rating: G
Summary: Torchwood's left Cardiff, but that doesn't mean that they took everything alien with them.
Notes: I originally came up with the idea for WIAD 4.02 (Prompt: "waking up" + "two foreign words") before I wrote the story I eventually submitted because the prompts never quite worked with this idea and the word count limit
Anthony doesn't play well with the other children, that's what his teachers used to say whenever Anthony knelt at the utmost edge of the pier, handful of chips stretched out for the taking. The seagulls swarmed around him, and while everyone else would point and stare, the teachers busy with tittering jokes, he'd watch the gulls glide on wings and pick at the food with sharp beaks, and he'd notice none of them even there.
Now Anthony's seventeen and he's changed his embarrassing school shorts for hipster clothes and attitude and the handful of chips has turned into a bottle of wine that he takes down to the Norwegian Church when he's back in Cardiff.
The sun's warm, the grass only just damp under Anthony's back and once in a while a family walks past in front of him along the promenade to walk across to the barrage. It's a Saturday, families do that. It's quiet otherwise, and the waves provide a soft lull.
"They like you."
Anthony looks up. A seagull is sitting on his chest, and he shoos it away, half embarrassed. He squints past it at the man in the long coat, American accent. "Long time no see," he says, playing with the mouth of the bottle. There's the edge of fear or grudging respect, only because he's heard too much about him second-hand.
It's been years since he's swapped smokes with Ianto down by the pier, before his parents had decided that school in Scotland would be better for their strange child than a city that had him out late by himself, watching the stars and watching the birds. He'd seen all this go up in flames on the telly in the common room of his dorms, and even rebuilt it isn't the same now.
First time he'd been back the Plass had still been smoking, and he'd spend hours standing there, waiting. And again every holiday he is down in Wales.
"Where's the bloke with the suit?" Anthony asks and beckons a seagull closer that waggles around them curiously. It picks at the bottle of wine and he lets it have a taste.
The American doesn't say anything, only kneels down to stare at the seagull and sighs. "Can I have a sip?" he says, and Anthony laughs and hands over the bottle of wine. "You remember him?"
"He had stories about aliens," Anthony replies, caging, judging. "I don't know. He'd give me fags."
The man laughs. "I bet he did. You were, what? Thirteen? Fourteen?" He looks out towards Penarth.
They lapse into silence, until Anthony says, "You've been gone, haven't you? I don't know who you are or anything," he says immediately, "but I figured you'd left."
The bloke sits on the grass next to Anthony. "You were his pet project. I let him have it. Only felt right to..." he trails off and leans across, question in his eyes.
Anthony nods and stays still when the bloke draws down the neck of Anthony's t-shirt and rubs a thumb over the feathers, the thin bones. Anthony ruffles the feathers with an embarrassed laugh that he hates, he is such a child sometimes, and the bloke lets the shirt snap back. He reaches for the bottle and takes a healthy swig.
"He's still around then?" Anthony asks, rubbing his hot cheeks on his shoulder.
The bloke doesn't reply, doesn't say anything.
"Still owe him a pack of smokes. And a thanks."
The American bites out a laugh. "Yeah, don't we all." He lies back in the grass, blinking at the sky, fond smile for the sea gull that hopps over him to get to Anthony, or maybe the wine. "It's fine."
Anthony looks at the guy and looks out at the sea and back at his bottle. "Gets lonely," he says. "Being different."
Ianto would have had a word of comfort, or a naff dirty joke about what's under birds' skirts, but the guy has nothing, only silence. Cardiff feels different, even when it looks the same, and they exchange tight smiles when the bloke leaves, coat billowing in the breeze.
Anthony leaves his bottle of wine at the door on the pier and walks away. "Cheers, mate."
Characters: OC, Jack
Length: 700 words
Rating: G
Summary: Torchwood's left Cardiff, but that doesn't mean that they took everything alien with them.
Notes: I originally came up with the idea for WIAD 4.02 (Prompt: "waking up" + "two foreign words") before I wrote the story I eventually submitted because the prompts never quite worked with this idea and the word count limit
Anthony doesn't play well with the other children, that's what his teachers used to say whenever Anthony knelt at the utmost edge of the pier, handful of chips stretched out for the taking. The seagulls swarmed around him, and while everyone else would point and stare, the teachers busy with tittering jokes, he'd watch the gulls glide on wings and pick at the food with sharp beaks, and he'd notice none of them even there.
Now Anthony's seventeen and he's changed his embarrassing school shorts for hipster clothes and attitude and the handful of chips has turned into a bottle of wine that he takes down to the Norwegian Church when he's back in Cardiff.
The sun's warm, the grass only just damp under Anthony's back and once in a while a family walks past in front of him along the promenade to walk across to the barrage. It's a Saturday, families do that. It's quiet otherwise, and the waves provide a soft lull.
"They like you."
Anthony looks up. A seagull is sitting on his chest, and he shoos it away, half embarrassed. He squints past it at the man in the long coat, American accent. "Long time no see," he says, playing with the mouth of the bottle. There's the edge of fear or grudging respect, only because he's heard too much about him second-hand.
It's been years since he's swapped smokes with Ianto down by the pier, before his parents had decided that school in Scotland would be better for their strange child than a city that had him out late by himself, watching the stars and watching the birds. He'd seen all this go up in flames on the telly in the common room of his dorms, and even rebuilt it isn't the same now.
First time he'd been back the Plass had still been smoking, and he'd spend hours standing there, waiting. And again every holiday he is down in Wales.
"Where's the bloke with the suit?" Anthony asks and beckons a seagull closer that waggles around them curiously. It picks at the bottle of wine and he lets it have a taste.
The American doesn't say anything, only kneels down to stare at the seagull and sighs. "Can I have a sip?" he says, and Anthony laughs and hands over the bottle of wine. "You remember him?"
"He had stories about aliens," Anthony replies, caging, judging. "I don't know. He'd give me fags."
The man laughs. "I bet he did. You were, what? Thirteen? Fourteen?" He looks out towards Penarth.
They lapse into silence, until Anthony says, "You've been gone, haven't you? I don't know who you are or anything," he says immediately, "but I figured you'd left."
The bloke sits on the grass next to Anthony. "You were his pet project. I let him have it. Only felt right to..." he trails off and leans across, question in his eyes.
Anthony nods and stays still when the bloke draws down the neck of Anthony's t-shirt and rubs a thumb over the feathers, the thin bones. Anthony ruffles the feathers with an embarrassed laugh that he hates, he is such a child sometimes, and the bloke lets the shirt snap back. He reaches for the bottle and takes a healthy swig.
"He's still around then?" Anthony asks, rubbing his hot cheeks on his shoulder.
The bloke doesn't reply, doesn't say anything.
"Still owe him a pack of smokes. And a thanks."
The American bites out a laugh. "Yeah, don't we all." He lies back in the grass, blinking at the sky, fond smile for the sea gull that hopps over him to get to Anthony, or maybe the wine. "It's fine."
Anthony looks at the guy and looks out at the sea and back at his bottle. "Gets lonely," he says. "Being different."
Ianto would have had a word of comfort, or a naff dirty joke about what's under birds' skirts, but the guy has nothing, only silence. Cardiff feels different, even when it looks the same, and they exchange tight smiles when the bloke leaves, coat billowing in the breeze.
Anthony leaves his bottle of wine at the door on the pier and walks away. "Cheers, mate."
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no subject
Date: 2010-07-07 02:46 am (UTC)and anthony... i really really like anthony - i think jack should recruit him or something
no subject
Date: 2010-07-07 02:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-12 09:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-12 09:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-12 09:17 pm (UTC)This is the beginning:
"That is alive."
Alonso Frame, midshipman from the fifty-first century, didn't particularly trust Earth in twenty-first century, and he even trusted this particular place a little less than the hypothetical rest of the world. Right now he was staring at the corner of the dwelling that had been designated as his bedroom, and while it didn't writhe he'd seen spongelike creatures that went for your brain when you closed your eyes. Just because it didn't look dangerous didn't mean it wasn't.
Jack poked his head through the open door. "Surely you've had worse."
If Alonso didn't trust Earth or this place specifically, he had at least a perfunctory trust for Captain Jack Harkness, space adventurer, time traveller and giant cock at the best of times. Well, a grudging respect that could masquerade as trust. They'd spent enough time together (funky), fought together often enough for that.
"I have to say..no, no I think this is the height of it." Alonso poked at the sponge creature spreading at the head end of his bed. "I'm loving this place already. Really. It's great."
"Hey, I bought you McDonald's!"
Alonso lifted his hand, still holding the barbie figure from unpacking the Happy Meal earlier. "I do like her hair," he said, squinting at her plastic face.
"I knew dolls would cheer you up." Jack tagged a quick grin onto the end of the sentence and ducked out into the hallway again. "It's better than Barcelona. Facilities are down here, by the way."
"Right." Alonso dropped his knapsack on the bed, set the barbie next to the pillow. "It sounded different in your descriptions."
"Can't hear you," Jack shouted while taking the stairs down again.
Alonso gave the room another cursory look, glanced out the window at the street and the gulls. On the way out he hit the slight switch. "Electricity, hm." He followed Jack down the stairs. "So your Torchwood, where is it then?" He pushed his hands into his pockets, leaned against the staircase, while Jack went through the cupboards in the kitchen. The stove looked ancient.
"We should get a dog. Would you like a dog?"
no subject
Date: 2010-07-12 10:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-12 10:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-13 12:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-13 12:26 am (UTC)