asgardcoda | MINGLE LOG: WEEK ONE

Entry tags:

!mingle,
!week one

MINGLE LOG: WEEK ONE

Who: Everyone!
What: The MINGLE LOG for Week One of the Asgard Eventide Reunion!
When: March 1-7
Where: Anywhere in town!
Rating: PG-13 tops! Anything higher than that should be taken to a private log, please.

[ OOC NOTES: Whether you're making a return to the city or this is your first time setting foot into Asgard, the gods and Natives alike sure are happy to see you. This is a catch-all mingle log for Week One! Please check HERE for a run-down on what's cookin' this week. You can feel free to make your own headers, create your own events, or post your own logs elsewhere as you please. Please put [OPEN/CLOSED] along with the time/location of your character in the title of your comment.

As a note: we were super fortunate to have a few of our old NPC handlers volunteer to pick up their old Gods for the reunion! We currently have Hel, Heimdall, Baldr, Thor, Freyr, Mimir, Honir, Asgard!Loki, and also Frigg available for threading. If you'd like to request an appearance from one of these kids, please say so in the title of your comment. Some of us may make our own top-level as well, so be on the lookout for that! A million thanks to our NPC team for being so fantastic, we love and appreciate you so much.

Don't forget to check out the IC Inbox Mingle and the Network Post Mingle in the network comm! Let us know if you have any questions! ]

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[1.]
In one moment, he was sitting at a bar in the Telavian system, a hyper vodka in hand, flirting heavily with a gorgeous Gotal mercenary- flirting his way out of a head hunt, coincidentally, he always did enjoy luring his would be executioners into bed- and the next? The next he was somewhere he would have never expected to be again, not least of all because he didn't remember a thing about the place until the moment he was there again. And then the memories hit with a vengeance.

Asgard. His first days here, torn away from a life now long gone, thrown into an unfamiliar city full of familiar faces. The Doctor- the Doctors- and Ianto Jones. Rose Tyler, the TARDIS herself. A glimpse of the future- his past now- from a bite of an apple. Being so very human again- and then the abilities, gifts from the gods. He remembered shared homed full of people, so many people to care about. He remembered floods, and a puppy, and pain, and death. He remembered the Master, and loved ones returned from the dead. He remembered- Gray. And grey, and fighting and war and then-

Nothing. Nothing except the life he'd returned to, and everything he had lost in that life, and now. He was here again. Asgard. In the midst of some massive celebration, and there were the natives of Asgard shouting with joy, a party of the kind only Asgard could throw, and if he was here, then maybe- maybe...

He pushed away the memories of pain and anguish and the hurt that had happened here, and he focused on what being here might mean, and he pushed through the crowd. Searching, focused, seeking. Pushing through people without regard, uncaring if he shoved someone out of his way, or brushed past someone forcibly. He looked for anything familiar, anyone familiar, and for the first time in longer than he could remember, Jack Harkness allowed himself to hope.

[2.]
Eventually his furious search gave way to a calmer exploration, because there were familiar faces here. He'd found them, and knowing that, Jack found he could relax and smile. That was when the lanterns caught his attention, only after he finally halted his desperate search for the people he cared about. There were names on them, he could see- and there were names he recognized. Travellers, like himself. It was enough for him to begin searching for his own name, being careful not to touch any of the others. He wasn't sure what touching someone else's lantern might mean, but considering some of the things that tended to happen in Asgard?

Eventually he found his name, drifting lightly through the air. Cautiously he reached for it and- it glowed, bright enough he had to look away for a moment, and then there was the feel of an unfamiliar weight in his hands. When he looked back, a small stuffed pterodactyl there.

He couldn't help it. Jack grinned. Then he set off through the crowd, a kind of warmth and joy he hadn't felt in years- or decades or maybe longer- washing through him. And to anyone he encountered as he went? Well, if people thought Jack was a heavy flirt on a normal day...

"Your eyes are gorgeous, I could stare into them for centuries. And let me tell you, when I saw centuries, I mean it. I really could."

"Has anyone ever told you how hot you are? Hotter than the twin suns of Denevi, two of the hottest burning stars in the galaxy. I could burn up in your orbit, die happy, and come back for more."

"You would look absolutely stunning bathed in the jewels of Hanagra. You'd actually put the jewels to shame, and that's hard to do; Hanagrian jewels are considered the most beautiful jewels in the quadrant."

"You know what I need right now? A defabricator. Because I would love to defabricate you."

And well... he was more than happy to hug or kiss- or more- with anyone who wanted.

Edited 2016-03-03 20:55 (UTC)

Clara wasn't expecting to hear words like that come out of Jack's mouth. She had known him when they were both here before, but his attention toward her hadn't ever been quite so...flirtatious. She wasn't ever one to turn away from a friendly flirt though, so she smiled and arched an eyebrow as she looked up at him.

"Let me tell you, when you say centuries, I really could too. Think one or both of us would get bored with the staring eventually. And the last thing you need to be, Jack, is bored."

To be fair, he'd been in something of a different place the last time he'd seen Clara, the last time he'd been here. He'd had time, since then, a lot of time, unencumbered by the pain of Asgard, to deal with the storm of grief and loss that was being an immortal in a galaxy of mortals. To deal with actually losing Ianto Jones- and everyone else he'd lost since.

That, and after catching his lantern, he felt really good.

"Who says staring is all we'll be doing?" His grin was wide, and he winked cheerily at her. "And if we do somehow manage to get bored? I have some of my best ideas then."

"Oh no," Clara interjected, laughing as she held up her hand. "That's not working on me, Captain." She had a grin on her face, and as she crossed her arms over her chest she laughed once again. She hadn't been very close to him their first time here, but he was always someone she thought of as friendly. Maybe a little too friendly but there wasn't anything actually wrong with that.

"You can tell me what you've been keeping yourself busy with instead. Come on." Her arm linked through his and she guided him to start walking along with her as they talked.

"Being bathed in jewels isn't as fun as you're making it sound," he pointed out. "Though they are stunning. I had a few in my Collection and I must say the Crown of Lun is the absolute perfect setting for them. It was if the forger was blessed by whatever gods they believed in."

Braxiatel in a good mood is a complete nerd.

"If you don't enjoy a bath in Hanagrian jewels, you're bathing in the wrong jewels. Trust me on this one, I'd done it a few times." Which, being able to say he'd done something like that more than once? Well, the king of Hanagra had had something of a soft spot for Jack since the day he'd saved his husband from an assassination attempt.

"The Crown of Lun, though? Impressive."

He shakes his head. "Perhaps it's a matter of personal taste," he replied. He did smirk at the praise. "Naturally."

Ianto had caught his own lantern himself, and although it had made him feel... Warm and happy, it was hard not to feel such things, considering where he found himself again. And where he didn't find himself again, for that matter. The change of pace, the return to familiar territory, it was nice. Certainly better than the state he'd been in. He can't even put his finger on where that was exactly. If he'd even been existing there, or whether it was some sort of alternate plane of reality. Hell, maybe? The land of the ghosts. Wherever he'd sealed himself up into, with Siriath and the House of the Dead and whatever else existed with him there in that plane of existance.

So truth be told, being here again, it's a bit overwhelming. Certainly he would like to see familiar faces. But he definitely isn't expecting to find them. Not knowing how long he had disappeared for, and how long it had taken for him to return. There are so many faces here he doesn't recognize, after all. Voices he doesn't know.

But then, above the noise of the crowd, there comes one almost painfully familiar to him. He turns to locate where it's coming from. It can't be... It's not possible... Not here again, not a second time. He'd never be as lucky as that. And yet...

Ianto approaches the familiar figure from behind, holding his breath slightly, just in case he's wrong. In case it was all in his head as he swallows down his nerves and calls out in return, across the space between them --

"Has any of that rubbish ever really worked for you?"

That voice. Jack freezes immediately, his heart stopping in his chest- and it's like that day in the House of the Dead all over again. It's like hearing Ianto Jones' voice when the man had been dead six months already. Except he knows that here- here, in Asgard- it's possible for the dead to return and to stay, more than mere apparitions. More than the spirit of a man he'd loved who, instead of escaping into life given the chance, had sacrificed himself all over again for the good of the planet.

His breath tries to halt, and, before it can be noticed (at least, noticed by any of the strangers in the crowd around him) Jack turns, calling out with a leer to his tone; "It netted me you, didn't it?"

Ianto Jones. Alive. In Asgard with Jack again, except this time he's not going to let him go. Not like last time- both here in Asgard, and in the reality he'd returned to after.

Then he's moving, his feet taking him without conscious thought, in something like a dead run, to the other man, and he has no intentions of doing anything but taking him in his arms and kissing him as if he wants Ianto to be the last thing he ever sees, as if he wants the feel of Ianto's kiss on his lips to be the last thing he ever feels.

Ianto wants to open his mouth and quip something about how actually, he's fairly sure it had been more than just the other man's flirtations that had turned him on to him, but he isn't sure that he can quite get the words out. Not with Jack looking at him like that. Not with Jack breaking into a run towards him. Just about the only thing he can think of doing is bracing himself for the maelstrom that is Jack Harkness before the other man washes over him.

And wash over him he does, his arms sweeping around Ianto, his lips pressing against his own, all with such force that Ianto thinks he probably would have been swept off his feet, swept over backwards if Jack hadn't been holding on to him. If he hadn't wrapped his arms around the other man in response to the sudden contact. And wrap his arms he does, hands gripping in the other man's clothes as he kisses him back with everything that he has. Because it's the first touch he's felt in a long time, and in all honesty, if it's the last one he gets, by god does he want to make it count.

It's a kiss unlike any other they'd ever shared, unlike even any of some of the desperate kisses they'd had here in Asgard, because it had always been different before. He'd known Ianto was going to die, he'd even felt it in those very first few days, experienced it almost, through a vision, but he hadn't lived it. He hadn't had to wake up after death and know that he would never again hold Ianto Jones in his arms. That he would never again kiss him, never again stare into those gorgeous eyes, never hear that beautiful lilt, never watch his steady hands work, over the coffee machine, over his coat, over his own body as his hands worked over Ianto's body.

Oh he'd known Ianto was dead, would die. He'd even seen Ianto die here in Asgard, but- it wasn't the same. It wasn't nearly the same. Because Jack has lived that reality now. And here Ianto is, returned to him after that hopeless existence, and there is no way in the universe that Jack will ever let him go again, not even to save the galaxy itself. He's lost Ianto too many times, never again.

And it's that resolution, that drive, that need and longing for the man in his arms that he pours into his kiss, that desperation with which he held to the other man. That full blown love and desire that's laden in the all but frantic words against his lips between kisses and breaths;

"Ianto, god, Ianto, you're here."

Ianto thinks that if he could die in this moment, he'd be happy. Not that he'd be happy dying again, of course. But standing here in Jack's arms, he can sense that something has changed. He can sense that something is different between them. Maybe if he had his senses about him he could even step back and examine it all, figure out exactly how and why this kiss is so special, why it even feels like it. But he's rather busy enjoying himself in the moment, if it's all the same to anyone else. Enjoying himself and this man who he loves, who he's needed for god knows how long it had been since he'd died. The man who had needed him for perhaps longer still.

"I am," he soothes gently, his hands coming up to grip at Jack's shoulders, cup the back of his head, wrap around the back of him, and then make the circuit again, as though he can't quite figure out how he wants to hold on to him just that he does with everything that he has. "I'm right here, Jack. I'm..." He takes in a deep breath, tipping his head forward slightly so that he's less kissing than he is leaning against the other man and breathing in the same space that he is. "I'm so sorry..."

"A de-what?"

It hasn't been all that long since Jamie's caught his own lantern, and he still has what's quite possibly the world's tiniest set of bagpipes in his hand - and the remnants of a smile on his face. That part of things does fade away for a few seconds, replaced by a temporary look of confusion, but then he laughs and claps Jack on the shoulder.

"You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd almost say that was some sort of line. So when you'd turn up here again, anyway?"

Edited (white space edit) 2016-03-04 05:31 (UTC)

"A defabricator!" Jack grin doesn't falter at the question; after all, there'd been a time when he hadn't know what a defabricator was either. He's learned since then, and it looks like Jamie has the same lesson to learn. "It does exactly what it says on the tin; helps removes pesky and unneeded fabric wherever you point it."

In Jack's case, all those centuries ago, if had been pointed at himself. He wouldn't mind pointing it at others now.

He chuckles at the hand on his shoulder, eyes twinkling, and he remembers another meeting, kissing the other man's hand as a first greeting. He doesn't try for that now, though, merely answering; "Oh it's only a line if you're not sincere about it. I'm completely sincere."

A wink follows the statement, and he adds, "Not too long ago; can't have been more than a couple hours. What about you? It's been awhile."

Now that he's here again, it's not at all hard to remember their first meeting, but he's long ago gotten used to the notion that that's just something that Jack does, along with the other types of flirting. It doesn't actually register that right at the moment that part of things might have been turned up a notch or three. The only thing that really registers is the fact that he's happy to see him again, and if that comes with a side of super flirting he's alright with that - although that line about him being sincere does get a chuckle out of him.

"Oh, aye, I'd forgotten. Of course you're sincere. I still like lassies, though, you know. Nice try, though."

Still, it's not like he's upset by the notion. In fact, when he moves to fall into place next to Jack, it's with his usual lack of regard to personal space, save for what's needed to actually walk alongside the other man without winding up bumping into him every other second.

"I've not been here all that long myself. Long enough to accidentally punch the Doctor in the nose, mind, so don't say anything if you run into the one with the blond curls, alright? Or mention that defabricator thingy. He's got his rainbow coat back and I think he'd be cross if it just went away again."

Edited 2016-03-08 18:33 (UTC)

Much like Jack, Four has mostly turned to exploration. True, things have changed more than a bit since he last remembers being in Asgard (and that'd perhaps strike him as a little odd, if he bothered to compare the time that seems to have passed here with the time he actively remembered passing.) But he's always been more than willing to explore and there's certainly enough to keep him busy for a while.

He's in a good mood, too, which is probably why he doesn't so much as bat an eye at Jack's comment.

"I'd much rather keep my scarf, if it's all the same. It's one-of-a-kind, you see."

There's an easy chuckle at the answer, a glinting look of amusement of mischief in Jack's eyes, as he replies; "You could always take the scarf off first, then defabricate."

Although, as much as he would follow through on that given half a chance, he claps the Doctor on the shoulder with an air of friendliness.

"It's good to see you again, Doc. It's been awhile."

"I suppose I could," Four answers, as if this has just now occurred to him. "Although I'd need to know that there was a defabrication going to happen."

Admittedly, for all that his life is undoubtedly strange and full of adventure, he hasn't actually had any encounters with anything that could fall into to the category of defabrication. But that doesn't mean that it couldn't happen, and he knows very well that most of the time people aren't considerate enough to tell him what he might have to expect.

"But it is nice to see you again, too."

This last is offered with one of his customary grins, all over teeth just as they've always been.

Those eyes he's just complimented - pale against a tanned, lined old face, pale and unimpressed - flick down Jack's body and up again, and Roland grunts. The thin line of his mouth pulls thinner as he hears it behind him - "Shame!" calls the woman, from the crowd, who's been following him since the moment that lantern'd come off his hand. He'd be impressed with her skills, keeping up with him, if it wasn't such a damned pain in the ass.

"I only need you for a couple minutes. Think you could stare somewhere more private?"

("Shame!" comes that nasal voice again, closer.)

"Quickly, before the crowd catches up with us?"

Well, it's not quite the reaction he expected, but he's more than a little amused by it regardless. The owner of those gorgeously blue eyes he'd complimented seems- running from something, or someone? It doesn't take much to figure out, after he hears a ringing voice calling out in the crowd, shouting 'shame,' of all things, what he might be running from. With a grin and an entertained tilt of his head, he answers,

"Sure thing, handsome, I'd be happy to. We can even run if you'd like." Accompanying the offer is his extended hand, if the stranger is so inclined. Maybe a little influenced by all the times he's run with the Doctor, with Rose, but then, Jack's never been one to shy away from physical contact.

Neither has Roland so, though the gesture's a curious one, more suited to children running from their latest bit of mischief than to grown strangers, Roland only raises his eyebrows before threading the fingers of his right hand through Jack's. Or, rather, the fingers he's got. If Jack wants those first two, the index and middle, he's going to have to go back in Roland's world and find the monstrosity that bit them off. Two narrow fingers, a bony thumb, two stumps, and a great deal of calluses, Jack, that's what holding this hand gets you.

And then Roland sets off. "You know somewhere to go?" he asks, barely looking over his shoulder to ask it because moving at any speed through a crowd like this is a trick; there're people packed together, the stalls of goods, makeshift game tables, the occasional large barrel being carried across the street. Roland starts through it all slow, wanting to gauge the other man's speed, his reflexes, but it's not long before those are put to the test no matter what they are. One of those barrels, large enough to need two men carrying it longways, is right in Roland's path. He isn't slowing down. He picks up speed instead, still trying to feel how the other man's doing just from their shared grip. Once they get close Roland intends to drop, slide under it, and roll to his feet, all without letting go. How exactly that will go, he supposes he's about to find out.

A lot of the time, Jack's flirting is usually more subtle than direct pick-up lines. It comes in the forms of hellos and looks and quips. This time it's so direct that the Doctor actually has to pause and blink, holding up a finger between them.

Well.

"The beginning was actually clever. But yes, someone has told me." A pause, and a grin. "Me."

He knows very well how hot he is.

The grin the Doctor gets in return for the answer is nearly as blinding as the Denevian suns, a twinkle in his eyes warm and happy, because how can he not be happy to see the Doctor. To see this Doctor, the one he has yet to meet outside of Asgard, who comes after his own Doctors, but one who'd become rather important to him during his time here. Jack laughs, cheerful, and comments in return;

"I'm pretty sure you're not the only one who's told you that, Doc. Pretty sure I have too."

And then, without waiting for an answer, he's moving to sweep the Doctor up in a hug. Don't worry, it's a perfectly platonic one, but one full of warmth and love even so.

The Doctor is about to say something about how it's hard to keep track of all the times people have told him how hot he is, when he's pulled into a hug instead, and just laughs. He returns it of course, because hugs are the best things ever, except for possibly hand holding.

Jack's in charge of pulling away. The Doctor can hug forever.

"You, defabricate me?"

The words slipped out before the Doctor even managed to get his tongue around them. It wasn't what he wanted to greet Jack with, but apparently his tongue had other plans.

Now that the words were out and hanging in the air between them, he figured he might as well play the part. He grinned widely at the sight of his old friend, even though being back here brought up some memories that he knew were best forgotten about. Seeing Jack didn't help to dispel those memories either, but in all honesty, he was glad to see him.

"Why don't we start with that drink first?" Because it was something they'd joked about on more than one occasion, it seemed like a fitting thing to say.

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MINGLE LOG: WEEK ONE

Jack Harkness | Doctor Who/Torchwood | OTA

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im sorry King goes on and on about how ~blue~ Roland's eyes are in his books so I couldn't resist

Hee! No worries! :3

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