Mingle - Emergency Potluck

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WELCOME POTLUCK

Greetings, residents! Those more observant sorts among you may have noticed a large influx of very crowded ferries. In order to welcome our new residents en masse, Town Hall is holding a potluck in Town Square. Please bring a dish if you are able and make a new friend!

All of our newest arrivals need only bring themselves. We look forward to welcoming you all into our community, and may your lanterns always be lit.

This event is open to all! In light of our new influx of prospective players following the Great Sail Migration, we've decided to offer a small public event to tide everyone over until the TDM this weekend.

Comments

[lasthumanvoice]

Despite not being local, Cecil is fucking adorable, and here with sweet potato casserole in abundance. Oddly, those who've been around for a while don't seem inclined to dig in, which means he needs to more actively hock it to the newcomers.

It's a task he has no shame about.

"Here! I have food, and you're not eating yet. You should have food, and eat!"

His energy is frenetic, but he has a smooth, warm voice made for radio.

[iwasjustsayinghello]

Jack turns at the sound of a voice he’s only ever heard in his filthiest dreams—and the face attached to it reminds him so painfully much of Ianto that it steals his breath for a second. It’s that energy, that look in his eyes…

He’s still so young. He still has something in him the world hasn’t touched.

Jack covers his moment of melancholy with an exaggerated visual appraisal.

“I’ll try anything once—twice if you’re on the menu, too.” Jack drawls with a grin as he accepts the plate with one hand and offers his other to shake.

“Captain Jack Harkness.”

[lasthumanvoice]

"I'm not sure my boyfriend would want to share me, even if you do have pretty eyes and nice hair. And teeth like a military cemetery. You would be my type, if you can keep up with my nonsense."

Cecil's smile lingers, though, accepting the flirtation as a compliment. Of course, Jack doesn't know how temporally fucked Cecil is, how his age is not a number and his existence is, frankly, a mess. But he hasn't lost all of his shiny through it. Or, he's good at projecting the appearance of eternal shiny.

"Cecil Gershwin Palmer, at your service."

[iwasjustsayinghello]

“Oh, you would be delightfully surprised by the kind of nonsense I enjoy.” Jack replies. “And if your boyfriend is as half as charming as you are? I’d be thrilled to show you both a few examples.”

…but Jack knows enough that usually pointed remarks like that are a kind refusal and not an invitation, so some of the heat bleeds out of his smile, rendering it just a little less pleasantly predatory and a little more genuine.

He has to admit, though—never had his teeth described that way before. It’s new—and he feels a tiny thrill at the idea of finding something new.

Turning his attention back to the casserole he’s been handed, Jack picks up the fork and takes a curious bite—then hums happily as his eyes slide briefly shut.

“Now that’s great stuff. I eat too much takeout in my line of work—my compliments to the chef!”

[lasthumanvoice]

"The chef has more where that came from. I am in possession of a literally infinite amount of sweet potato, and excited to have people here who aren't tired of it yet. But! There are a good number of excellent chefs on this island. Laios in particular will be worth meeting for you."

He doesn't bother the fact that he's relishing Jack's reaction. Regardless of whether Gerry's open to sharing, Cecil's got a little flirt in him. All in good fun.

[iwasjustsayinghello]

"Laios, huh? Well, far be it from me to resist meeting someone who can cook. Seems I have a bit of a soft spot for the domestic sort." Jack admits--and for a second, just a second, he can't quite breathe right around the knot in his chest.

It's been nearly a year since he's been able to lower his arms, much less move around or have coffee, but he can just about taste the full bodied earthiness of a fresh cup on the back of his tongue.

Somewhere in all the violence and the chaos and the strangeness of their lives, the taste of a good cup of coffee had become the taste of home.

"I know a man who can make a cup of coffee that's so good, you need a cigarette afterwards." he explains. "If he were here, I'd have to hit him up for one to go with this casserole."

He pauses, taking another bite of food.

"I think you'd like Ianto."

[lasthumanvoice]

Cecil lets out a soft startled sound. Oh, he's met Ianto. And horrified him with some coffee opinions of his own.

Well, there's one thing to be done. Cecil turns to Jack, thoughtful expression lingering on his face. "I'm sorry if this question is forward, but I think I need to know: does the word 'Torchwood' hold any meaning for you?"

[iwasjustsayinghello]

Jack's expression morphs in an instant--gone is the smile, gone is the charm. There's no threat in his demeanor, but there is visible tension in his suddenly gravely serious expression.

"More than you can possibly realize." he replies honestly. "I'll skip the part where you shouldn't know that word, and cut right to the fact that, as I understand it, people who aren't native to this place have to die to get here."

God, no. Please, no, not him, anyone but him...

"Who told you about Torchwood, Mr. Palmer?"

[lasthumanvoice]

"Ianto Jones, the same man who's accused me of horrible taste when it comes to coffee. He's here. He has been here for months. He is bright and full of passion and desperate to bring change to this world, and he and I have disagreed on more than coffee, but I respect him."

Cecil can imagine how he'd react if someone from Night Vale were here. So he's trying to be gentle, but. There's only so much gentle he can offer.