I. Jones (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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applesaucedream2014-11-29 06:18 pm
i_jones) wrote in applesaucedream2014-11-29 06:18 pm
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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.
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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"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.
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"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."
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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."
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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.
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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."
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"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.
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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.
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"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."
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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.
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"Don't suppose you could send me back to my home universe. " Ha! Ha.
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"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?