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May. 19th, 2008

hands on hips


This whole wedding planning thing's a bit much for me.  How do normal people find the time?

Apr. 5th, 2008

sad: pretty ponytail

ooc: so about that Season Finale...

Spoilers, of course!Collapse )

Mar. 10th, 2008

casual: leaning back

[tic] Catching up...

I guess it's time I got back into the swing of things around here, hm?

... I'm not sure how I feel about this one.Collapse )

ETA: Clearly Rhys is getting a good deal, here.Collapse )
at work: pensive blue lighting

[tic] [post-Sleeper]

[Filtered to Torchwood]

Right now I hate this job. I hate it.

She was a person. She had enough humanity in her to make you all kill her. I get that you had to. I'm well-acquainted with that part of our jobs by now. We can't help them all, and I shouldn't want to as much as I still do. I get that.

But today, this minute, I hate it.

Sep. 11th, 2007

love & naievety

theinteretcafe [episode: Random Shoes]

[As before, backdated, because the mun's RL has been extra-demanding of late. Sorry for not catching tags!]

I hate to say I told anyone so, but, well...

I'm glad my intuition was worth something, at least this once.

[Filtered to Torchwood]

All right, maybe a little bit of I told you so. I'm glad things got sorted for Eugene, at least. That he knew someone took him seriously at least the once before he went on to... well, wherever.

I feel better about all of it, though I do hate that poor Eugene had to die for anyone to pay any attention to him. We're all just too busy to pay attention to anything these days, it seems.

Let's try not to be? When we can, I mean. If we can all just slow down once in a while and just live for a few minutes out of every day... when things aren't immediately crashing down on our heads here, I mean. It's so easy to lose ourselves here.

I don't want to be that kind of person, the one who's too busy to spare five minutes to listen to another human being.

Sep. 4th, 2007

concerned: hands folded

theinternetcafe [episode: Random Shoes]

Well, this part of the job is familiar, at least. Finding out someone you knew just in passing was killed and having to tell their family never gets even a little bit easier. Why's it always got to be the bad things that never change, no matter how different your life becomes?

[Filtered to Torchwood]

Well, damn. Damn, damn, damn. I'm sorry, everyone, for the wasted trip. I just thought... poor Eugene, he did try so hard. I really feel sort of awful, honestly. He seemed a really sweet guy, you know? I hope he wasn't running to show us something this time, that it wasn't our fault even indirectly like that.

Do you all really think it was just an accident? I mean, I know they happen, like I said up above, I've seen people I sort of knew from my neighborhood get killed, just random car accidents and that sort of thing, and I always felt a little bit worse about those just because I could remember them alive, and it was weird, but...

I don't know. I just had a feeling about Eugene. It keeps bothering me. More than it should, I think. Maybe I'll go out for a walk, grab some tea, clear my head a bit.

[Filtered to Owen]

If you're not busy tonight, I could use some company for dinner. We could have that talk?

[ooc: backdated to the same day as the other, obviously, but taggable as people get to it: no rush! Owen-mun, I'll email you and we can set up a post for them, too.]

Sep. 1st, 2007

at work: pensive blue lighting

Oh dear... [locked to theinternetcafe Torchwood]


I've just gotten a call from one of my contacts over at the police. It's about Eugene Jones. You know, that fellow who always calls and emails about some new thing he's got to show us? The one you always tell me to ignore?

Well... I had a friend keep an eye out just in case, you know, in case his name came up regarding anything shady, and...

Well, he's been hit by a car. Died instantly, they said. It's probably not anything to do with us, but I think it would be best if we'd just head over there and make sure.


Aug. 5th, 2007

neutral: watercolor blue girl

oncoming_storms prompt 1.14: Generations.

Emma Louise Cowell, born 1940, now still just age 18. I've gotten a few letters from her, a phone call here and there, and I'd swear she could've been born in 1989 instead. She's taken to it all so well in just a few months. It's funny to think she was born before my own mum was; just the odd phrase here and there, something just a little too earnest about the way she reacts to things that are new -- that's all the difference there is.

It's silly, but I worry for her. She should've been a grandmother by now, with old-fashioned sensibilities, and all that, and I just... I worry. I wonder what would've otherwise been, I worry that she really is just too innocent, for as much as I managed to corrupt her in just one talk and one visit to a dance club. There's this disconnect that makes me think of her as somehow both a little sister and someone whose sensibilities I ought've looked after, somehow.

And yet, she's the one who stayed. Diane was in her early thirties, only, not so much older than me, really, and she seemed an open-minded sort. And yet she wasn't willing to try to fit in here. Can it really make that much difference? Enough for her to have to leave rather than try to start over? John, I understand, at least a little. He was older - not so old he wouldn't have lived another forty years if he'd chosen to, but I guess it's harder to start over when you've lived half your life a certain way and you've accomplished all the things you wanted. All that experience, it's not a blessing if you're just going to have to repeat it, I'd imagine. I was sad for him, and I guess a little sad for Diane, because the reports never changed, she never got home. Emma wonders about her sometimes, asks in her letters if there's any way for us to search the future for her, to see if she landed somewhere new and fantastic.

It's a nice thought, but if we've got anything like that, Jack's keeping it under lock and key.

And then I wonder about me. About what I'd do, if I were thrown into the future, or the past, or just somewhere alien. If 28's too old to start over, or too young to know what the hell I'm doing. I wonder if Emma's the lucky one who just happened to find a place and time she could fit in, if even five years forward or back would've made a difference.

I think Jack could probably tell me. Lord knows how old he must be, really. You know, I've never even thought to ask? It's one more thing to add to the list of questions I don't actually ever expect to get answered, I suppose.

Til then, I'll keep an eye on Emma as long as she'll tolerate it. I think she'll be okay, in the end.

Jul. 14th, 2007

casual name

I know I'm probably asking for it with this one, but...

The interview meme, stolen from various people around here.

Ask me any 5 questions, and I'll answer.
sleepless nights


[Filtered from all of Torchwood.]

What am I doing?

I used to have such a clear idea of how the world worked. Of right and wrong. Of where I stood. Of what sort of person I was.

I don't have that any more, and in this one situation, I really don't know how to get it back. How to be fair to everyone, including myself.

[Private Entry]

What am I doing?

This thing with Owen, what the hell is it, anyway? I don't want to call it an affair -- that sounds so sleazy, and it's not, well, it is, but...

The thing is, I can't tell Rhys most of what I do. What I see. I can't tell him these things that keep me awake at nights, these nightmares that make it hard to sleep even when I come home exhausted. I suppose... I suppose the dreams, those I could paint as just my mind coming up with all sorts of weird shit, but eventually he'd start to wonder. Rhys isn't stupid. Eventually he'd dig too deep. I can't drag him into Torchwood. If I had any sense I'd leave because he is not safe so long as he's with me.

But I can't. We've been together for four years now, and I just can't. I love him. I do love him.

The thing with Owen was only supposed to be... well, no. It wasn't supposed to be at all. I just wanted someone to talk to about all this mess, and what he offered just happened to be the best sex I've had in... a really long time, if I'm honest with myself. I wasn't thinking straight that first night. It wasn't supposed to turn into a ... whatever it is.

And all this time I've been saying that we'd just stop it one of these days. That he'd get bored, or I would, or maybe my clearly malfunctioning conscience would give me a kick in the arse, or Jack would tell us to knock it off, and we would, or... I don't know. The more I try to think and predict the more it feels like planning, like something willful I'm doing to hurt Rhys.

And now I feel like I'm trying to defend myself and maybe I am. But the thing is...

After this last talk with Owen, I wonder if I'm not going to wind up hurting both of them. I never really thought it through. It sounds stupid, but... the way Owen acts, I thought he was pretty well immune to being hurt. I didn't even think we really so much liked each other all that much. It was just a... I don't know. I don't have an explanation. But the thing is, I was worried. I was really, genuinely worried for him, and I realized that even before this talk, I guess... I really genuinely like him. Not just for the sex.

I'm not sure if that makes it better or worse.
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