applesaucedream | what's happened to these buildings? they all look rundown and so forlorn [open to all]

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what's happened to these buildings? they all look rundown and so forlorn [open to all]

Imagine a street in New York City. Well, you're not imagining it, someone else is. One of those long avenues where you could stand on the sidewalk in Harlem and see all the way down to the Statue of Liberty, if you could see that far. Which you can't. I mean, you literally can't see that far, but you also can't see an end to this avenue. It just keeps going, which is scary sort of in the way that the expanding universe is. What is it expanding into? Is there an edge? Is it really donut-shaped infinity? You read about that somewhere.

If you explore further, you find that it is sort of donut-shaped, or it must be, because you keep coming back to the same block. Or maybe you never leave it. Every window is - not dark, precisely, but the stores aren't open, and the apartment dwellers are asleep. Actually, not every window. Two wide windows frame a glass door and they're all spilling warm, welcoming light onto the sidewalk from underneath the scalloped hat of an awning. You can't read it if you try, and yet you know that it's inviting you into a diner. It's a really nice looking diner. Not nice like fancy, but nice like, that's exactly the sort of diner you'd like to go to late at night. Hey, it's nighttime. It's so quiet for the nighttime, especially for New York City.

You want to go to that diner, don't you? Yeah, you do. You might see through the window, or as you walk in, that it's full of worn and comfortable (but empty) leather-cushioned booths. Stools (also empty) file along the linoleum-topped counters. Nothing is dirty, but it doesn't look clean, either, like everything from the 70s. And there's just... there's a lot of pie. You probably noticed that first. Some diners might have a choice of two pies, or even three, but this one just might be run by someone who can reanimate things by touching them. It's not, don't get excited. But it could be. That's how dedicated this diner is to pie. They probably serve other food too, since it's a diner. Or they would if there was anyone to serve it. Looks like you're stuck with pie.

What? You don't like pie? Well, you're wrong. But that's okay. Ianto does. He'll eat it for you, after he's finished eating the slice he's picking at in the booth halfway down. Have you met him before? Does he even go here? You know what, it's hard to remember.

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The TARDIS knows the atmosphere of this dream, the calm and the slight disconnectedness and the faint taste of loneliness. Although she always feels a little like mourning, inasmuch as she can understand that sentiment, when she encounters it in the telepathic current, she's also glad for the opportunity to meet a friend.

And of course she likes pie. She picks up a slice of chocolate meringue pie from the counter before walking down the neatly kept diner and taking a seat in Ianto's booth. "Hello," she greets him with a small smile. "This is a nice place." She's seen him dream worse, anyway.

He's run out of nightmares, he thinks, which is why his dreams have been so oblique and aimless of late. At least now there's a modicum of influence from his waking hours to steer his unconscious - this one was inspired by the slice of strawberry rhubarb that Zachary the nurse snuck onto his plastic tray for lunch.

"Very Edward Hopper," he agrees, though he hadn't intended to be a night hawk. Dreams don't care much for intent. He swirls his fork in the cream atop his slice of banoffee pie. He has a napkin tucked into his collar in case of spills, of course. "It's good to see you." Which might be the understatement of the year, if not the century so far. "How are... things?" Also, stuff.

She smiles much more warmly at his greeting, not needing him to elaborate to sense his fondness. Though her smile falters just as quickly at his question. "Things are... a strain, as usual," she sighs, thinking that she'd much rather have something nice to report. She takes a bite of her pie and enjoys the taste he is dreaming up pretty convincingly before continuing. "A new Doctor arrived recently. New to me, even, which is... difficult." To say the least.

"His current self was taken away by the rift soon after," she adds and doesn't manage to ban her sadness and worry from her voice. It's hard not to wonder where he might have ended up, or if he survived the trip at all. Perhaps if she hadn't let him go outside she could have protected him, but of course she is completely blind to the web of possibilities and consequences in this universe.

If there's any better use for eidetic memory than recreating the taste of pies in his dreams, then... tell him, because he's sort of run out of ideas and he's extremely bored. He pulls a face at the revelation of a new Doctor. A new Doctor. How novel. Ianto vacillates somewhere between extremely interested and utterly done. He's still not sure where he stands with the Doctor, with any Doctor. Yeah, the bad blood is between him and one very specific Doctor, but they're all the same, at heart.

"Never even got to say hello." Ianto takes a bite of his pie, mulling that over. It's probably for the best they never met. That would not have gone... it just wouldn't have gone. "What's he like? The new one. Or is it a she?" Man, just once.

She's having some similar thoughts about the notion of Ianto meeting the other Doctor; he would have just fallen victim to the human assumption that he's looking at the person he loves and mistrusts, while the Doctor wouldn't have even known him. She probably would have judiciously kept them apart if she'd had a say in it. But now that's not a concern anymore.

"He is male again." Or a reasonable approximation thereof. She doesn't see what sort of significance that's supposed to have, but oh well. It's the easier question to answer out of the two, and she frowns down at her pie while considering the other one. "Him being an incarnation I am not at all familiar with is difficult, but he himself is that too. He has not been this prone to careless rudeness and disregard since his sixth body, or even his first." And it's doubly disconcerting that she feels affected by that now, to a degree.

"Outwardly, he isn't anything like the two incarnations of his that you were most fond of." So don't get your hopes up, Ianto. Possibly it might be best if he doesn't try to befriend this Doctor at all. Still, she's not quite doing him justice, and musters a small but sincere smile when she adds, "But he is still the Doctor. Nothing of importance has changed. And he has already amassed a number of strays." The last is said with the customary degree of affectionate annoyance that she would have been displaying for centuries if she'd had a body for that long.

So he's an asshole? That's great. He's usually somewhat of an asshole, somewhere along that scale, so that's nothing new. Ianto takes a sip of the root beer float at his elbow and chokes on it, but covers that masterfully with a cough and a few good clearings of his throat. You are doing him all sorts of justice, girl. He's the crazy companion lady who lives at the end of the street. Got it.

Ianto coughs again and settles a little more comfortably in his seat, looking positively pink with amusement. "So he has a heart of gold under his stony exterior, but he... isn't cute?" That's what she meant, right? That's definitely what she meant.

What, what did she say? All this spluttering seems a very odd and disproportionate reaction to anything she just said and she frowns at Ianto, both startled and bemused. It doesn't take long for his amusement to palpably color the atmosphere, though by then she's already thrown off again by his question about the Doctor's... appearance? Really, that's what he took away from her discomfort with the whole situation? Humans.

"I'm not certain how you would quantify such an attribute?" she ventures, intensely confused. "He is... comparatively tall." Humans tend to assign cuteness to small things, don't they. Why is she even trying to answer this. "Honestly, why are you so amused?" she scolds, though underneath all the righteously confused indignation she's glad to see him experiencing positive emotions.

Sorry not sorry, but Ianto's trying to imagine exactly how one might differ from his two Doctors. Short hair? No hair? Angular features? Not set during the Edwardian era? Just average cheekbones? Not a boy in a man's body? He could be all of these things and more! How not that exciting because he isn't really keen on meeting any Doctor again ever, but still, it's alright to daydream.

Ianto shakes off the daydream within a dream ~~BRAAAAAAAAAAP iantoception~~ and focuses again, the corners of his mouth curling. "Just imagining what he must be like." Tall compared to what? It'd be nice to look him in the eye for once. "He's not ours, then?"

Well, she's glad that whatever Ianto is imagining is apparently more amusing than the actual reality. But maybe it would be helpful for him to be familiar with the reality, if only so he can be forewarned should he ever encounter him here. So she tweaks his dream until the Doctor's shape appears by their table, motionless and uncharacteristically expressionless.

"No, he isn't from our universe," she says regretfully, glancing up at the image. "He would not know you. He even has trouble adjusting to my humanoid form." It's all quite troubling, and she can't just ignore or avoid it.

Ianto only startles a little at the arrival of the not-Doctor, who is... not at all what he was imagining. "Very vintage. Does he wear capes?" And spend time in a laboratory? Asking the important questions. "He looks very, erm..." Eyebrows? "Stern." And not blindly optimistic, maybe that's what the TARDIS meant. It's hard to tell from a representation in a dream, but he looks very no-nonsense. Maybe he's a new, gritty Doctor.

Ianto reaches out to prod the representation of the Doctor in the thigh, hoping for a reaction. It's not even solid, and he waves ineffectually at the hem of its coat. It hasn't moved, but it seems like those eyebrows are judging him even harder now. "He'll settle in soon enough. He has to."

Unexpectedly, it is sort of amusing to watch Ianto's reaction to the new Doctor and what he has to say about him. She wouldn't call him stern so much as irritable, but that may be a feature easier to determine through personal interaction. And what is it about him that would make Ianto think he would like to wear capes? She'll never understand any human mind.

But Ianto also has a good point. "Yes, indeed," she agrees, though it's as comforting as it is disheartening to think he is forced to settle in. Settling into a cage is not something either of them have ever done willingly or well. Still, "I think perhaps the child someone brought him will help. He was travelling alone in his own universe. You know that is never good for him in the long term."

Ianto takes a preparatory breath and opens his mouth to speak, then closes it and exhales through his nose. "Erm," he starts, twining his fingers together, then deciding otherwise and laying his hands flat on the table. His food and drink blink from existence, forgotten in the intense amount of thought Ianto has suddenly put into... whatever it is that he's focused on.

"I'm going to give you a chance to rephrase that," he settles on - rather magnanimously, he thinks, "and, if you don't mind a suggestion, a good place to start would be the child someone brought him."

Oh what is it now? Perhaps Ianto's prolonged injuries are starting to affect his mind as well, how sad that would be. Or he really is just profoundly confused by something she thought was very straightforward. Being the more pleasant and more likely options of the two, she decides to assume the latter and frowns at him, letting the Doctor's image fade.

"Was I not being clear?" Perhaps he just needs a little more context. "A scientist named Iman Asadi brought him a child the day after he arrived. They had previously met in one of the rift-facilitated inter-universal dreams, and since she had just arrived, he decided she ought to live with us. He is already quite attached to her." But not in any way the TARDIS has reason to mind. Especially since the child is a tolerable inhabitant.

Oh, well, now that she's explained it, that's actually not at all better in any way. So it's a riftie girl, now essentially an orphan. It sounds well-intentioned, but it also sounds a bit like 'hey, I found this scientifically interesting little girl, let's do science on her', and even if it's not that (which it probably isn't) then any child near any of this rift/ROMAC business seems very, very wrong to him.

"Lead with that next time," he suggests, disgruntled, and he imagines a slice of custard pie and a cup of coffee back to give his hands something to do. "Saying that anyone's been brought a child is..." He shakes his head. It's not worth the explanation. It's not worth admitting that the idea of bringing children to someone makes his skin crawl for reasons other than morals or ethics.

"I really - absolutely tell him this - I really doubt the suitability of the Doctor as a foster parent."

Well that is actually fairly rude, particularly since the TARDIS can't tell what Ianto's problem even is. Sometimes the Doctor runs into people, sometimes they stow away, sometimes he kidnaps them, and sometimes they're introduced through someone else. No way of making friends seems more or less acceptable, as long as her interior ends up being filled with more cheer than gloom. And it's been a long time since there was as much happiness in her console room as when he realized the little girl had become newly alive. Really, Ianto, so far it's working out rather well for everyone.

"He has been a parent before, you know," she points out, frown intensifying. Though that was 'before her time', which as a concept is very nearly unfathomable to her. "As well as a grandparent, in human terms. It has been a very long time, for him, but I think he has retained some degree of sense for it. And you are all children to us, at the core of it." And besides, she's not going to let the child starve when the Doctor temporarily forgets she is on board.

Boy, she is really selling this to him. He did a thing that one time a thousand years ago, so he's probably still great at it. Ianto used to shoot aliens with handguns and run ten miles per hour four years ago - that doesn't mean he'd be good at either of those things now. And all the people who run slower than him doesn't mean he's going any faster.

"People change," he counters, cutting his slice with the edge of his fork and stabbing at the piece. Especially over centuries. "Susan, yeah?" He contemplates as he chews. Wasn't there someone else in there too? Andrew? Colin? Not that the Doctor was much involved in his great-grandson's life. "How did that work out for him?" he asks, staring down at his pie to avoid her gaze.

The TARDIS can certainly sense the tension in the atmosphere, but she still can't quite identify it. She's perfectly aware that Ianto harbors complicated feelings with regards to the Doctor, for reasons she doesn't entirely fault him for, but it irks her that he thinks this entitles him to judge her pilot on someone else's behalf. And that her word is apparently not good enough.

Nor does she appreciate that Ianto is apparently being fractious on purpose and trying to worry at the complicated matter of the Doctor's grandchild without possibly being able to understand. Her expression darkens, and she sets the fork down on the plate with a delicate clink before tightly folding her hands on the table. "The way it always does," she replies coolly. "She chose to stay in one place. We carried on travelling and he found new friends. Whatever else may change in him, his desire to care for those he loves does not." And if anyone can say that with any authority, it's certainly her.

"Jack cared for his grandson." And we all know how that turned out. Intent is meaningless; the best laid schemes o' Time Lords an' men gang aft agley. It's bad enough that the girl is trapped in this universe, trapped in Manhattan, surrounded by rifties of dubious goodness. Add that to living with the Doctor and you're just asking for trouble.

Ianto leans back, abandoning his pie, trying to ease up a little. He knows he's being harsh, but he feels that someone must be the voice of reason here, if no one else is going to say 'hey, you can't just pick up lost little girls and drop them on the doorsteps of well-intentioned but dangerous men without maybe informing them about other options or calling child services or anything but doing what you did'.

"I just don't think it's safe," he tries, which is a slightly different argument that maybe the TARDIS will find more palatable. "The Doctor attracts danger when he's standing still. Anything bad in this city will inevitably involve him. Adults can choose to stand by him, but children... that isn't fair."

Yes, she definitely knows how that turned out. It would have turned out as it was supposed to, if it hadn't been for the Doctor's attachments. People live and die, and sacrifices are made to avoid yet worse consequences, and none of that is the point here at all.

"Your lives are never safe," she counters, unimpressed. "Who else would you have take care of the child? Both of the rift-aware factions imprison and torture innocents. And neither of them could protect anyone against the highly powerful malevolent beings currently residing in the city." She raises her chin, less in defiance of Ianto now than of her own circumstances. "I may be as trapped as everyone else, but I am still the safest place here. And she feels safe with him." The Doctor and her might not agree on terribly much at the moment, but they both need this, and so does the girl.

Now he's dreaming about diners. It's a little bit like the one where he met Gabriel the other night, though not exactly, and for a moment he worries his 'imagination' is getting stronger, Heaven forfend, but he relaxes himself after a moment of contemplation. This isn't his dream; it belongs to another, a presence that feels reassuringly human and unfamiliar to him. And at least he knows he's dreaming this time.

Well, perhaps he was brought here with a purpose. It would be better, he thinks, if the Rift absolutely insists on making him sleep, if he slept with purpose. If the dreamer was always someone who needed him. That was how he'd met Sunshine and Melanie, after all. Dreams aren't all bad.

He sighs and steps into the diner.

As usual, with these Rift dreams, everything is wonderfully authentic. The warm smell of various pies is pleasant and comforting, and he smiles vaguely as he passes a glance around, gradually settling on a young man sitting alone in a booth. That'll be the dreamer.

Aziraphale doesn't recognize him, but that hardly matters. He approaches, distantly aware of the sweet-smelling slice of raspberry-peach pie he seems to have acquired, and stops at the table's edge.

"Care for some company?" he asks. Better to start open-ended.

"Don't think we'd be here if I didn't," he says with a shrug. After a while in here, you figure out how to keep to yourself when you want to. Or when you don't want to. It ends up happening a lot. He frowns down at his pie, sighs, looks up at the newcomer, and nods to the seat across. "Sorry. Yeah. You can't begin to imagine. Or maybe you can." Maybe this newcomer has a very vivid imagination. Maybe he's not even new. Ianto's not really been getting out lately. It's strange to see new faces, new people he's never actually met.

Oh, dear. This human seems very unhappy indeed. And he seems to realize he's dreaming, or at least that's what Aziraphale is given to presume, what with that knowledgeable reference to being here. He helps himself to the opposite seat, setting his pie down neatly. He wants to eat it - can't hurt, what with it being dream pie - but that seems rude, before introductions have been properly completely. He rests his elbows on the table and laces his fingers together primly instead.

"Do you dream specifically for the company, then?" he asks curiously. What with all his strange ventures in the dreaming, he's suddenly developing an almost Jungian fascination with what everyone else has to say about it.

"A little company, a little keeping my mind sharp, a little avoiding the black void of unconsciousness." He takes a sip of a chocolate milkshake that has always and has not been there at his elbow. "Well, avoiding PT, now. I was in a coma," he explains matter-of-factly, dabbing at his mouth. "Took my time waking up. Spent a while in here. Not here, that is." Months in a diner, Jesus, even he doesn't like pie that much because he loves it even more. "Just a way of passing the time, really. Not much else to do." He pauses before putting the next forkful in his mouth. "Ianto. Jones."

"Oh," says Aziraphale, a rather inadequate response, but he's working his way up to something better, surely. He forgot to introduce himself, how rude. "Aziraphale," he replies, opting against offering a hand, what with all the pie-eating.

"I'm... sorry to hear that," he says uncertainly. Is he sorry? He doesn't really know enough about Ianto Jones to say. He's probably sorry. But is it rude to say so? Too late now. He commences picking at his pie. "You're waking up now, though?" seems the polite next step. Let's make sure that's taken care of.

"Yeah." He grimaces, nose scrunching, and pushes his thumb at the spot between his eyes. Fucking ice cream headaches. Sometimes his imagination is a little too good. Good thing that his milkshake is not actually a milkshake and is really hot cocoa. "I mean, I am. Awake. Just... not right now." He clears his throat and takes a sip of the hot cocoa. Yeah, that's leagues better. What if, bear with him, Ianto talked about anything other than his physical and mental health? That would also be great. "And you? You're new? New-ish."

"Rather," says Aziraphale, reasonably cheerful. They can talk about whatever Ianto likes, as far as he's concerned. It's good news the human is waking up. That means all is well, surely. "I just passed the one month anniversary, in fact."

Goodness, has it only been a month? Quite a lot has happened. Too much, if you ask him. Ianto hasn't asked him, yet, and Aziraphale gingerly tips the conversation back to him with, "How long have you been here - through the Rift, I mean. Since before your coma?"

"What is it, August now, yeah?" Last he checked it was August, but it's been a few days since he looked at a calendar. "So, er, seven months, about. Missed spring, most of the summer." And that's a bummer, really. Going from winter right back into fall and winter." He was rather looking forward to his first hot, sticky, American summer. "Been in here longer than I was out there," he realizes as he says it. "Jesus." He pauses, stabs a piece of apple in his pie. His apple pie. That's what it is. "Have I missed anything good?"

Aziraphale's sympathetic frown fades at that last question, leaving him looking mildly taken aback. He can only presume by good Ianto means noteworthy, and he's not particularly keen on answering that. But he's not about to lie, and what's the point in skirting around it, anyway? Better that everyone's aware.

"Well," he says delicately, prodding his pie with his fork. "Lucifer came through. The Devil, I mean. I wouldn't call that good." He frowns vacantly at the table for a moment. "But it was certainly eventful."

Good. Yeah. I mean, not good, that's obviously... what the Devil is. Absolutely. It just, you know, it sounds really exciting. And it's so hard, for so many reasons, to take that sort of thing seriously anymore. But he'll try. Look how concerned he looks! Oh yes. That frown. Those furrowed eyebrows. The Devil. Totally bad. Ianto coughs into his napkin - see how taken aback he is by the Devil visiting, he nearly choked on his pie. Really serious stuff.

"Has he?" He clears his throat again, reaches for his hot cocoa, decides coffee would be better, and takes a sip of his coffee. "And he's, erm, he's smiting people? Or is that more God's bag." The jukebox in the corner - what, you didn't notice it? - whirrs, clunks, and quietly kicks in with some ambient Elvis Presley.

Aziraphale sets his fork down, staring in lip-parted bafflement at that winner of a reaction, and then turning slowly to stare narrow-eyed at the accusatory jukebox.

"It's more mine, thank you," he says rather coolly. "What Lucifer does is not righteous. Which is a prerequisite to smiting. He is an extremely powerful glorified murderer." He materializes himself a glass of good full-bodied Merlot and takes a judicious sip. "And I don't know if this 'song' is a coincidence or an underhanded attempt to imply something, but I will have you know I am an angel."

Ianto feels like he should have heard about a glorified murderer devil running loose. Maybe it hasn't hit the news yet. Also, wine does not go with the established decor at all, so hopefully Aziraphale enjoys his water. He won't debate the existence of angels and devils - he went to Hell or something like it that one time, he believes it. Well, he believes that in some universe somewhere, they definitely exist. Maybe just not every universe.

He shrugs off the accusation. Did he suspect something or was it really just the first devil-related song that popped into his head? Anyway, thank you for volunteering that information. "Well, that's good for us, then, as Lucifer's about."

Aziraphale hasn't exactly been shy about volunteering it so far, no matter what Daine initially recommended. Why shouldn't people know? Especially with Lucifer about, as Ianto says. So there we are.

He takes a sip of his wi- oh. He stares at the glass for a moment, then at Ianto. He assumes it's only that he's dreaming - and probably that he's been at it for a while - that allowed him to perform that inversion of one of the oldest tricks in the miracle book, but even so, Aziraphale does not appreciate having his drink choice trifled with.

"I am doing what I can." He sets the glass down and aside after a brief debate over changing it back. Not worth it, he decides. "Lucifer is far stronger than me. He has already come near to killing me twice." He says this grimly, not wanting to cast too dark a shadow over the world Ianto's only just coming back into, but neither is he willing to sugarcoat things.

"I will do everything in my power to stop him regardless," he says, hoping that sounds remotely comforting. He only feels a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach.

What Ianto's getting from all of this is 'don't associate in any way with Aziraphale, because then you'll enter the murdersphere of Lucifer'. There's obviously a lot of preexisting drama there he doesn't want to get in the middle of, or even on the sidelines of. He had a very minor death wish, but that's all cleared up now, probably, so the Devil and all of this is very close to the top of his list of things to avoid.

He wraps his hands around his mug of coffee and inhales the smell, wishing desperately that it were real and that he was allowed to have coffee in hospital. And that they would provide him with the necessary coffee-making equipment, because there's no way he's drinking hospital coffee. "Have you heard of the Doctor? Should get in with him. He's a 'do what needs to be done' type. Fixes the unfixable." Ends justify the means, hurt your companions for their own good, etc. A dark look flits across Ianto's face. "Bet he'd love your Lucifer problem."

Aziraphale raises an eyebrow, half curious and half uneasy. Rather a grim undertone there, and he's not certain he wants to know why.

"I have, yes," he says. "I met him recently, in fact. He was investigating the Rift from the outside, but... I believe he's been pulled in now." So much for that. Not that it's very surprising. "Or one of them. I gather there's more than one? Not entirely sure." He shrugs, picking at his pie again. "He's been somewhat apprised of the problem, as it were. Whether or not he can resolve it is... to be determined."

He doesn't really want to ask anyone to do that, anyway. It feels like his responsibility. If he can just figure out how.

"But look, it's all right," he says with a sudden wave of his hand. "It's not ongoing doomsday out there. Lucifer's been keeping to himself for the most part. Most rifties have warded their homes against him. Things are about as safe as they can be." Not to sound like Ianto has some sort of choice here, about whether or not he wants to wake up, but he imagines it can't be too wonderful knowing that Satan is loose in the world you're just coming back to.

"If you stay out of his way, he won't hurt you," he adds. "He generally... doesn't really care about humans."

That doesn't sound great, but it could sound a lot worse.

There's a bloody baker's dozen of them and then some, depending on the universe, and they scale from sometimes tolerable to always the worst. If he's not dealing with Lucifer now, presumably he will some time in the future, when it becomes his problem and he grudgingly does something about it - not to help people, but just because it's a problem to solve.

Is Ianto bitter much? He's had a lot of time and nightmares to let that oversteep into a really unpalatable tea, metaphorically and metaphorically literally. Their surroundings are tainted by the shift of his thoughts, a little grungier, a little moldier, less homey diner and more truck stop full of potential serial murderers. Ianto takes a sip of his cup of tea, bloomed white on the surface. "I couldn't plan on staying any farther from him," Ianto assures his guest, who sounds much more anxious about all this than Ianto feels. "I'll be living in a virtual fortress soon enough. I shouldn't worry." Assuming the TARDIS takes him back. It's either that or, like, under a bridge? Those are pretty safe too.

Edited 2014-12-23 01:49 (UTC)

"Well. Good." Aziraphale sits back, more or less comforted by Ianto's apparent lack of concern, though he takes a moment to glance around at the changing surroundings.

"Is there... anything I can do?" he asks after a moment. "To help, I mean? Here or... your physical form?" He holds up a hand and waggles his fingers, an unconscious Crowleyism, as if to show off his instrument. "There is rather a lot I am capable of."

Ianto truly frowns at the implication that magic angel powers could do anything to help his predicament. They could, he supposes, but he also knows the dangers of accepted unsolicited gifts of power from strangers. There are usually side effects or clever loopholes. "I'd be afraid of that going Monkey's Paw for me." The decor lightens a little as he notices Aziraphale noticing. Somber dreams, that's so four months ago. "No offense." For the few minutes they have known each other, Ianto gets the sense that Aziraphale is not that type. Still, he'd rather not owe an angel a favor. But then... "Could I get a raincheck on a miracle?" One never knows.

"Well - of course," says Aziraphale with a concerned frown. "It's a standing offer. There's no... catch or anything like that." 'Monkey's Paw', good grief. He'd be insulted if it was remotely worth it. "I only want to help. It's what I do."

He's not about to push, that wouldn't be very angelic after all, but he's still feeling stung about being useless against the Devil, he has to offer something.

Ianto gets it. It would be like someone declining his offer of coffee. It's an open offer. Ianto's a giving guy like that. But wanting to help, needed to be needed... yeah. He gets it. Offense taken, clearly, okay. Ianto's just an independent Welshman who don't need no angel and is also very wary of anyone claiming to have powers of that nature or anyone who says they're working on God's behalf. Because he runs into a lot of those types, and it's always bad.

"Don't suppose you could send me back to my home universe. " Ha! Ha.

Aziraphale's face falls a little bit and he refocuses on the pie. "If only," he laments. "I wish I could do that for everyone, but." He suspects Ianto wasn't being terribly optimistic on that suggestion.

"But if there's anything else," he says quickly. "You should let me know. I have a bookshop at 1st and 87th, on the east side. Next to Glaser's Bake Shop." He brightens a little. "A friend of mine works there, she's a wonderful baker. It's a nice little corner we have. So, you know. When you're... up and about. Feel free to visit." He shrugs. People like books and baked goods, right? Even more than they like free miracles, apparently. What more can he offer?

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what's happened to these buildings? they all look rundown and so forlorn [open to all]

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no YOU had finals and are tagging late and have also had some baileys

oh is THAT what I've been doing

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