❪ event ❫ hour of ruin

[natha]

HOUR OF RUIN     Sometime after midnight, after preparations have been put aside in favor of drinks and rest, a thunderous beating of wings shatters the air — the High Dragon Ysverai, once again risen. The sound echoes high off Namarak Mountain, but travels easily to both Wyver and Olympia: scream after scream rends the still night, as though a creature were dying rather than being born again. Having only had days to plan their defense against the creature, Olympia and Wyver snatch up their arms. The Royal Guard and the Knightryders can be seen on their steeds hurrying through the cities, because Ysverai doesn't remain isolated at the mountain's peak for long. There are pictures of Ysverai in abundance throughout both cities, but the creature that circles in the sky looks nothing like the majestic creature spoken of in history books. Even from far below, wounds and lacerations can be seen marring what should be smooth scales, and blood falls with every beat of the dragon's wings. The damage becomes more clear when moonlight illuminates Ysverai, revealing the rotting dragon for all to see. The sight of flesh peeling away and thick blood where it oozes from his cracked, greyish hide is as frightening as the power he possesses. REASON'S TRANSCENDENCE     Mad from the anguish of his forced revival, Ysverai will show none of his renowned wisdom or compassion, mindless and seeking to inflict his pain onto whatever emerges in his path. His very presence creates chaos: animals (Olympia | Wyver) domesticated and wild, flee from the merest hint of his approach, panicked and stampeding in wild droves. The reason is obvious: organic matter exposed too long to his presence begins to rot and decay. A field he lands in rots and lies fallow. Buildings crack and crumble, their supports pitted and corroded as though they've been left in disrepair for years. Even the ground that Ysverai walks upon is tainted; a corrosive sludge bubbles up in his massive, clawed footsteps, the ground beneath him putrefied and toxic, oozing corruption. This sludge can be tar-like, poisonous and sucking people in like quicksand; panic, and you'll only sink faster. Prolonged exposure to Ysverai takes a mental toll on anyone in his proximity as well. Effects similar to those from being near his heart — selfish desires and lowered inhibitions — will begin to fester in those around him. Every time Ysverai roars, pain will run through all those that hear him — a pain not just physical, but of true, anguished heartbreak. Those who hear Ysverai will feel (to a degree of your choosing) a sharing of his pain, the agony of flesh rotting from their bodies, blood oozing from under their skin, and a terrible, incandescent fury — and beneath that, a gut-wrenching sadness. This effect is further enhanced by any exposure to Ysverai's blood, and being drenched in greater quantities will cause one to become more in sync with the dragon. Finally, Ysverai is aggressive, attacking anyone and anything that approaches. He starts by breathing out a smog, acidic and putrefying — characters caught directly by this attack will find that medicine and healing magic of any kind hurts them for hours after exposure. The dragon will ignite the smog to breathe fire, if sparingly. IN WYVER     Ysverai's shadow falls over the near reaches of Wyver first. Upon hearing Ysverai's cry, the dragons in Wyver become completely frenzied, turning against their partners among the Knightryders without the slightest resistance. Those familiar with dragons might deduce that they're in pain, though they don't show any sign of injury. The dragons knock their riders off their backs in midair and dive at citizens, jaws wide. Any attempts to soothe them will be long fought, achieved with great difficulty, and will see them retreat into a cowering state. It's not just the airborne Knightryders taking to the defense of the city however, and people on the ground are mobilizing as well. On rooftops across the city are cannons set to fire harpoons. And if the spearheads alone aren't enough to injure the beast, they're coated with a paralyzing poison as well. Unfortunately, the soldiers stationed on the rooftops are prime targets to the frenzied dragons populating Wyver's skies, leaving the cannons open for ordinary citizens to use should they choose. Left alone too long, and cannons may fall under the control of the few remaining radicals that had opted not to flee the cities to join up with their leader Raysc, choosing instead to wait for an opportune moment to unleash their anger on the people of Wyver. These radicals will need to be dealt with before they can turn the cannons upon Wyver's defenders. IN OLYMPIA     In Olympia, the gryphon partners of the Royal Guard react with immediate hostility to anyone showing signs of Ysverai's influence. Their keen senses allow them to pick up the smell of Ysverai's blood and they attack anyone with so much as a drop of tainted blood on them. Those who bear lingering effects of Ysverai's mental attack and who remain in sync with the dragon after hearing Ysverai's cry are also targeted and must face the gryphons' wrath without mercy or restraint. The gryphons must be disabled, for Olympia will not look upon any injury to their prized steeds lightly. However, the gryphons also show some resistance to Ysverai's cry, which is a great boon in battle against the dragon — gryphons that have lost their riders will be available for use, able to carry two passengers at a time. The people of Olympia aren't planning to restrict their offense to pure brute force, and the mages of the city can be seen across Olympia wielding enchanted chains, using telekinesis in the hopes of restraining Ysverai and assisting in the airborne troops. But like the decaying buildings and wildlife, Ysverai is warping the magic around him, the chains faltering as they approach him, whipping back toward the city instead to cage whoever happens to be closest. It's not just the enchanted chains either, but other magic might behave erratically in his presence, as if the very essence of the spells have been corrupted. VIRTUOUS VERSE     Both cities realize they need to seek survival rather than victory against Ysverai, switching gears to carry out diversion efforts and evacuation plans. It falls to refugees to continue the offensive while the Royal Guard and the Knightryders devote their attention to ensuring the safety of the citizens as they flee. With official forces stretched thin, civilians and refugees alike will also need to step up to help herd citizens toward safety among a maze of collapsing buildings. Others will need to see to gathering resources for the evacuation, and while gathering non perishables is easy enough, it's considerably harder to wrangle livestock into cooperating amidst such chaos. Those fighting may be asked to act as bait for Ysverai. Chatter through official troops speaks of a switch in strategy: the objective now is capture the dragon's attention and draw him away from the populous cities and towards the South Outpost. Whether or not it's possible to defeat the dragon remains uncertain, but there's no question that it will be easier to battle him without worrying about civilians. THE RAGE     Luckily, the dragon is indiscriminate in his rage, and easily lured so long as a suitably infuriating target is before him. It doesn't take long to draw him to the South Outpost, but the trail of destruction he leaves in his wake is vast. Once there, the combined forces are greeted not just by Ysverai, but also by the appearance of Ysverai's master. How bravely you've all come to meet your doom! Great heroes, one and all, ha! I welcome you, bring your best. Show me the power that's protected Olympia and Wyver, all that you have to offer me, whatever pitiful excuse for valor you seek to cling to when the fear has you cowering in your beds. All will be for naught in the face of Ysverai's might! Let history witness the day the glory of war is reignited — the day that Wyver remembers its fangs once more! Come, Ysverai, last and greatest of the High Dragons! Come, and restore Wyver to its rightful place! Come, fulfill the promise as our protector that you could not in life! Raysc lifts a gleaming device as he issues his command. Red lights blink and blood, the same oozing liquid that drips from Ysverai's many wounds, runs in clear tubes through the device. Ysverai rears back as Raysc makes adjustments to a control panel — and then lunges forward, mouth agape. With a single swallow, Raysc meets his end. Raysc's attempt to control the dragon has only enraged him further, spurring Ysverai on to new heights of fury. It's become more vital than ever to face the dragon and take him down here and now. A few effective strategies are learned from research efforts and observed while defending Olympia and Wyver: goading the dragon into breathing fire will hurt him, burning him from the inside out, and attacks to his joints, eyes, wings, and exposed bone are effective. Ice is a natural repellent to dragons and can be used defensively or to weaken the dragon's hide. Healing spells will also react unnaturally to Ysverai's flesh, hastening his decay. However, while concentrated efforts will lock him down, Ysverai cannot be permanently killed in this state — his flesh constantly rots and spawns anew. Attacking him here is to protect civilians, keeping him busy to avoid mass destruction elsewhere. Therefore, the battle is one of attrition, a matter of a race against time. You must destroy his flesh faster than it is able to regenerate to have any hope of victory. Finally, when Ysverai is weakening, little more than bones with a few last vestiges of rotten meat hanging from a skeleton, the pathetic remnants of the last High Dragon takes to the skies. His wings are barely intact enough to carry him, yet desperation lifts him, higher and higher, until he lets out one great, earth-shaking roar. A roar that carries across the battlefield, sending all who hear it to their knees. A roar that shatters the swords in soldiers' hands, that rends apart the very air itself — Ysverai's last act, a great curse upon El Nysa, to bring down the sky. AND THE WORLD STOOD STILL     The terror of Ysverai's destruction hangs overhead — a tear in the sky, darkness pouring through, tendrils reaching down towards El Nysa to swallow up the planet in the dragon's final act of revenge. And yet nothing moves. A halo of brilliant light surrounds the rift in the sky, holding the grasping, hungry tendrils in check. And on the planet, not a creature moves. Not a blade of grass stirs. You're not able to even draw a breath. No matter where you are, not even the heart in your chest is beating. Everything has stopped — time has come to a standstill. In a wash of light, an aurora of transport, you find yourself delivered to Thesa Station. Darma stands before you, her expression solemn, perhaps even grim, though that may just be a trick of the station's harsh lighting. She explains what has happened in short order: planetside, time has been completely frozen. We have seen the birth and end of worlds. The rise and fall of civilizations infinite times over. We have seen all threads of possibilities that could have lead to this very moment... Or should have. Perhaps you might doubt our sincerity when we say this comes as a surprise to us, as well... Special technology has been used to blind us. To this day, we only know of one region capable of creating and utilizing such technology... you will find this technology in a city known as Nadril. We understand that you have created a life down in Wyver and Olympia, but now we must ask that you put that life on pause. We ask you to travel to Nadril and find the original Refugee, and with him, answers. As you will discover, he does not wish to speak to us. It is no matter. By now it is too late to keep the Nysan public unaware of our existence. We commend the efforts of those who wish to protect their comrades on the battlefield below, but a creature like poor Ysverai, twisted and warped, given unnatural life with terrible magic and technology, does not simply go down with manpower. Please, leave Ysverai to us. Time on the planet will remain stopped while we determine how to deal with the dragon. For now, rest and recover your strength. We have returned, and soon, there will be new refugees awakening. Perhaps you might like to prepare yourselves to greet them? I'm sorry that I can't answer more questions, but for now, all our attention must turn to finding a way to stop what Ysverai has wrought. A bank of monitors behind Darma displays the battlefield below: Ysverai's frozen, looming figure and the breach in the sky, and the Natha's halo, holding the destruction back. Though time passes normally on Thesa Station, El Nysa remains frozen, and all Refugees are unable to return to the planet until Ysverai's menace is dealt with. Luckily, with the Natha's return, full functionality has also returned to the station. The lights and environmentals are back to full power, access to all areas has been restored, the cafeteria is serving its normal offerings, and there's no evidence of any glitching or malfunctions. Doubtless, the period of rest is much needed after the hard-fought battle. For now, with time on El Nysa at a standstill, there's little else to be done but enjoy the reprieve aboard Thesa Station. FINAL OOC NOTE     Characters that reach an AC length action thread in this event will receive 2 rep for all factions, including Natha. Note that while these are split up for ease of processing, players may submit for all three. OLYMPIA | WYVER | NATHA Players can expect this event to run three days ICly before everyone is teleported to Thesa Station! From thereon, all characters will be grounded at the Station until the Test Drive Meme later this month. QUICK NAV premise ● faq ● lore ● map ● npcs ● bestiary taken ● atp/emp ● application ● rep/acp ● quest bulletin calendar ● hiatus/drops ● modbox [ FULL NAVIGATION ] elnysa nysalogs nysaisles nysaooc elnyan

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[impavid]

Is he...?

The question could end a hundred ways, but the most likely is are you okay?

John figures it's pretty obvious he's not. He doesn't feel like lying, either.

"Well, I look like a Dalmatian, I'm tired, I apparently failed to kill a dragon and most of me is sore but I seem to not be missing any fingers or toes."

So it's not... strictly all bad. He flicks a weak attempt at a smile, to try and ease the tense waves of concern coming from Ianto.

[torchwoodteaboy]

It's the smile that does him in. Ianto understands something of what it means to John, that they haven't succeeded in this. Ianto saw what had happened to him, and though he looks pretty good considering, he has to wonder whether 'tired' and 'sore' quite cover it. And he'd died. He'd died, and now he's trying to smile at Ianto anyway, because -- why, to try and make Ianto feel better about it? To convince him that he's okay? That he'll be alright? But it's only been three days now and Ianto still remembers everything and he finds himself blinking rapidly as he lowers his eyes to the table between them lest he embarrass them both.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, thickly. John is the one who had died, he shouldn't make this about him, but he can't help the lump that's settled in his throat despite all that. It's been a long three days. "I'm. I didn't think." He stops to reel himself in before he tries once more, peeling his eyes back up to look at the other man. "It's good to see you up and about again, John. It. It really is."

[impavid]

He can hear the emotion in Ianto's voice, see it in the way he lowers his eyes and blinks quickly -- in the tension of his posture as he tries to suppress it.

"Hey," he says, and John hesitates. Ianto looks distraught, but... this is not something he's good at. The comfort thing. The public displays of emotion. He wets his lips nervously, frees a hand from his tea after a moment and hesitantly reaches out for Ianto -- to cover one of the younger man's hands with his own. There are misshapen pink patches of skin along the back of it, along the underside of his palm too. "Peter Pan promised he'd come back, right?"

So of course he's still here, up and about again.

[torchwoodteaboy]

Ianto shudders slightly under the other man's touch, glancing down at the other man's hands on his own, taking in the patches of freshly healed skin against the dark of the other man's tan before squeezing his eyes shut against the sight of it. At the mention of Peter Pan and promising to return, because it only brings back the memory of standing on that battlefield and begging him not to go. Because Peter Pan promised that he'd come back, and even then Ianto had known -- he had known that John would not. And then he'd died and Ianto'd been proven right and he'd hated himself for it, and the Natha had brought John back but no matter how many hours Ianto'd spent outside John's pod it isn't until he's sitting here across from him that the last three days of holding his breath finally start to sink in.

"But you nearly didn't," he says thickly. "If the Natha hadn't returned, then--"

He brings his free hand up to cover his mouth and stifle any sound that might escape him because they're in the middle of the mess hall for god's sake but he just can't seem to get a grip on himself. On the contrary, he can feel himself coming apart at the seams.

[impavid]

John can see Ianto is teetering dangerously close to the edge. He hesitates a long moment, then pushes slowly to his feet -- paces around the table and drops to crouch beside the other man.

"Hey," he says softly, and slips one hand to grip Ianto's sideways -- lifts his other to squeeze the man's shoulder in gentle reassurance. "I'm here now," he says. "Special dalmatian edition. You're stuck with me, okay? The Natha are here, and I'm here, and we're all on this space station until our road trip begins -- minus the dragon, who isn't invited."

So it's fine, right? It's all good now.

[torchwoodteaboy]

Ianto's breath hitches slightly as he tries to keep a hold on himself and honestly, he doesn't understand why it's him that's struggling. He's not the one this happened to, after all. Barely anything happened to him at all, really, just a few minor burns from falling ash and shifting materials as he'd done his best to work field triage. Even still.

"But we didn't know though, did we?" he asks. "We didn't know whether they'd come back and save us, and I saw -- I watched--" He shakes his head, as the pieces holding him together slowly begin to crack apart and some of the wetness he'd been trying to blink away slides down his face despite himself. John doesn't need Ianto to tell him how he watched him burn anyway. "I wasn't sure they could bring you back, I thought--" He covers his mouth again as his breath hitches, his voice cracking ominously. At another point in time he might be embarrassed with himself, falling apart in public as he is but as it stands he's just too tired and frankly relieved to have the other man there, alive and well, to really care one way or the other.

[impavid]

"I know," he says softly, because he does. He remembers Holland's cold hands, remembers countless times up to his elbows in blood telling people it would be okay when he knew it wouldn't. Losing people is never easy, and Ianto isn't trained to compartmentalise it. He shouldn't have to.

"C'mon," he says after a moment, and pushes to his feet -- still keeping hold of Ianto's hand. "Why don't we take a walk, yeah? Besides, I've got something I haven't shown you."

His guitar, which he left up here while walking around Khalo. It's still in his room, and might work as something else for Ianto to focus on for a few minutes.

[torchwoodteaboy]

Ianto takes a deep, shuddering breath and nods. "Yeah, okay," he says shakily. Not knowing quite what it is that John possibly might have to show him but trusting him implicitly. Especially in this moment. If it's something he needs to see, then he's happy to go. Anything to get him out of here, to be honest. He feels like he's spent far too much time in the mess hall for the past few days as it is. Haunting it, for the lack of a better term to use. Waiting for some better news to come along, or for someone to save him from the nightmare he seems to have sunk into.

And here John is. Fresh from the the medical pod he'd been in but still managing to do that. Saving Ianto all over again. Ianto pushes himself up to stand at John's prompting using the leverage to take a step forward towards the other man and tug him close for a moment. Wrapping his free arm around him and pressing his face into his shoulder, as much a reassurance to himself that this is real as anything else. And it is. John is, warm and solid beneath his touch and Ianto lets out another shaky breath of relief, before he remembers himself enough to realize where they are and steps away. Brushing the back of his hand across his eyes as he hopes John will just have mercy on him and drag him away. "Please," he says, because that's about all he can manage.

[impavid]

Ianto steps forward, and for a moment as his face presses into John's shoulder he finds himself awkwardly frozen. He's not... good at this, not good at tactile comfort and displays of emotion, but after a few seconds of hesitance he loops his free arm around Ianto to hold him steady.

Then Ianto is stepping back, and John offers him a weak smile.

"Yeah," he manages, and lets go of Ianto's hand before stepping in to loop an arm around his shoulders -- squeezing him close reassuringly as he begins to turn them and walk out of the mess hall. "Though I think what you really need is a beer. Unfortunately, I don't have any of these hidden in my bag."

Though he's pretty sure they would serve something here, but right now they need a moment of privacy. Always time to come back and get wasted later. John steers Ianto through the station with a tired, heavy-footed pace until they eventually begin to walk through the sleeping quarters, although the rows of halls that long all the same. He leads them along until a door slips open for him, and as he turns them in the lights flick on obediently before, after a moment's hesitation, fading to a comfortable level. His phone is discarded to one side, turned off -- John hadn't really been ready to talk to anyone yet. There are a few random items of clothing folded on one surface, and then -- a little jarringly -- the remnants of the holster for his gun and the gun itself, a little blackened and warped in spots from dragon fire. He's not really decided how to handle repairing it. Probably Rocket could.

"Here," he says, and drops his arm from around Ianto to snag up a guitar sitting away to one side against a wall. He drops to sit on the bed and pulls it into his lap. "It was very out of tune, but I've got it mostly back where it should be."

[torchwoodteaboy]

Ianto allows the other man to lead him, walking along as though he's in a fog. In a dream, for in some ways it still feels a little unreal. The arm around his shoulders helps, as does the uncertainty of where it is exactly that John is taking him. Walking helps a little as well, enough at least for Ianto to catch his breath and get something of his head about him. He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand again and forces himself to breathe a little more deeply than he might otherwise in the attempt to keep himself grounded, and before he knows it they're in the area of the ship's sleeping quarters and John has led them to one that he must have claimed for his own, the way it answers to him.

Tentatively, Ianto steps inside, glancing around as the lights dim and the door shuts behind him. He spots John's things and supposes they must have been deposited here after -- before promptly shutting that train of thought down and looking to the man himself. And the... "You've got a guitar?" Ianto asks, blinking at him from across the room as he hovers by the door. Whatever he'd been expecting, it hadn't been this.

[impavid]

"Yeah, they gave it to me back when they gave me the gun but I didn't want to lug it around Wyver so I left it up here."

He picks a few notes on it idly and strums a few test chords, then lifts his yes to Ianto and offers a wry smile.

"I'd say I take requests, but I'm not that good."

So it'd be a sad lie unless Ianto happened to request something he knew. Which seems unlikely, Ianto is both from a different country and a different generation. He's under no delusion that he likes cool music.

[torchwoodteaboy]

Ianto moves to perch himself on the edge of one of the extra beds, watching John pluck at the guitar and shaking his head at the mention of a request. He still feels a little disoriented, and the feeling doesn't really lend itself to their usual back and forth, but after a few moments he manages, "But you play?"

He's already managed the chords after all. It's more than Ianto could manage on a guitar, or any musical instrument for that matter. There'd been a time where he'd thought about it, but it'd been more of a teenaged fantasy, really. And then he'd left home and needed to support himself and then there'd been Torchwood and. Who has time for a hobby when you're bus saving the world? Not one outside of work, anyway.

[impavid]

"I dabble. There are many hidden depths to me, Ianto. I have layers. Like an onion."

He idly tests the guitar one last time -- it's still not exactly right and he tunes it up a little more before beginning to play the beginning of Ghost Riders in the Sky, pressing down on a smile threatening to twitch at his lips as he tries for his best 'serious concentration' face. He vamps the opening bars a little to settle himself in, then finally looks up at Ianto with his most serious frown.

"An old cowboy went riding out one dark and windy day," he begins, speaking the lines as seriously as any person telling a deeply intense spooky story. "Upon a ridge he rested as he went along his way. When all at once a mighty herd of red eyed cows he saw, a-plowing through the ragged sky and up the cloudy draw."

[torchwoodteaboy]

Ianto doesn't really know what to make of the face that John is giving him as he begins to play. Whatever the song is, he doesn't recognize it but he can't expect himself to know all music so he supposes that's alright. He sits on the edge of the bed and listens as John vamps the introduction to the song before he actually begins a song. Speaking the lyrics, but still. Ianto does his best to pay attention to the lyrics as John delivers them, his eyebrows pinching slightly as he registers just what exactly the story unfolding is about.

"Red-eyed cows?" he can't help but ask, because already it sounds like quite a story. He doesn't mean to interrupt John's song but at the same time. "In the sky?"

[impavid]

John nods solemnly. Yes, Ianto, red-eyed cows. In the sky.

"I'm glad you're paying attention. There'll be a quiz at the end."

About the cows and cowboys. 'What were the red-eyed cows a-plowing through?'. His lips twitch in a small smile before he forces his expression back into a frown, into serious cowboy song mode.

"Their brands were still on fire and their hooves were made of steel," he continues. "Their horns were black and shiny and their hot breath he could feel! A bolt of fear went through him as they thundered through the sky, for he saw the riders coming hard... and he heard their mournful cry."

I hope you're ready for this Ianto.

"Yippie yi oohhhh, yippie yi ayyyy. Ghost riders in the sky!"

Please at least smile, he's clowning as hard as he can for you in the circumstances.

[torchwoodteaboy]

It helps that John is obviously having a hard time keeping a straight face, for all his efforts otherwise. It helps also that yes, John is obviously hamming it up. Ianto's eyebrows shoot up again at the chorus and yes, that's definitely the twitch of a smile that John's rewarded in return. He doesn't miss that this is probably for his benefit, and feels a little ridiculous for needing to be coddled so, but he appreciates the gesture either way.

He waits until John's settled down from the chorus into another vamp on the guitar before he comments, "Flying flaming cows." What kind of a song is this that you're playing for him, John? For that matter, how mournful is 'Yippie yi oh' supposed to sound anyway?

[impavid]

"Yes," John says, "they're a real concern. I'm pretty sure you'd be alarmed if you saw flying, flaming cows Ianto."

Along with ghostly riders, it's not really a vision for the faint of heart. He vamps a little longer before stopping and letting the notes fade out, resting a hand on the strings to still them after a moment.

"Not a fan of songs about cows?"

It's a niche genre, he'll admit.

[torchwoodteaboy]

Ianto flicks another half-smile at the other man's question, before offering him a shrug. He hadn't meant to make him stop with his questions, and feels a little guilty if that's the case. The slow and easy sound of the guitar and John's antics -- well, John being John, really -- were doing the trick to slowly ease the bands around Ianto's chest and he can breathe easy for the first time in days, nearly.

"I can't say I've heard all that many to compare," he replies. "Life just isn't as exciting in Wales, apparently." You know. No flaming cows in the sky, or anything like that. Though he does know an old folk song about counting goats. Again. Life just really isn't all that exciting.

[impavid]

"Here I was thinking Wales had lots of cows."

He studies Ianto for a long moment, then inclines his head a little to indicate he come over.

"Wanna learn to play a cow song? Since you're tragically lacking any."

John vamps again playfully, lofts an eyebrow in challenge.

"Or you can sing."

That way nobody has to suffer John's attempts at real singing, so either way is good.

[torchwoodteaboy]

Ianto lofts an eyebrow at the other man in return but after a moment he moves to stand from the bed he’s sitting on and crosses to join John where he’s sitting instead. He still feels...fragile, for lack of a better way of putting it. He isn’t certain it’s a feeling that will go away any time soon. But this is helping. Even if it feels a little odd to be doing something so normal as this too.

“You’d have to teach me the song either way,” he replies, tentatively shifting closer to the other man. Until he’s just close enough to feel the heat of John’s body by his side, his thigh just touching the other man’s. He’s not sure he really feels up to singing but the chords?

“How does it go then?”

[impavid]

"The words or the chords?"

He swings the guitar off his lap, props it against the edge of the bed and turns more toward Ianto -- shifting one leg up more onto the mattress as he does so it presses against Ianto's thigh. He studies him a long moment, flicks a small smile.

"For the record, I'm hoping you'll say chords so I can spend an hour moving your hands around while we discuss fingering styles-- but I'm open to other options too."

He's just saying. As ways to spend your time having woken up from certain death go, that's not so bad.

[torchwoodteaboy]

Oh. Oh. Ianto's eyebrows raise up slightly in response to the other man's choice of words, though he can't help the slight flush that colors his cheeks because he feels as though it were somewhat deliberate. ('Other options...'?)

"It sounds like a good night to me," Ianto replies, flicking a hesitant smile at John in turn. "Though I'm a quicker study than you might think. If it's going to take hours, you might have to think up more songs. I've always been good with my hands." He holds his hands up between them, waggling his fingers at the other man slightly. It's not the first time that John has taken an interest in him for them, if that's truly what he'd meant. And if not, then. Well, he can pretend that they really are only just talking about guitar chords after all.

[impavid]

"Good choice," John says, and toes off his shoes vaguely -- moves himself up the bed a little further so he's sitting on the end with his back against the wall, one leg hanging over the edge. He reaches out to draw Ianto to him, to tuck him so they're facing the same way. So Ianto's back is against his chest, so he can feel the steady beat of John's heart.

Then he picks up the guitar again. Sorry, Ianto, there are indeed going to be guitar chords -- although this... is a very unorthodox teaching technique. Surely this is deliberate?

"Getting the finger shapes right is the hardest bit," he tells him, resting the guitar in Ianto's lap. "But with a little teamwork I think we can figure something out."

[torchwoodteaboy]

Ianto doesn’t really understand what’s happening until John is grabbing him, tugging him sideways and back, and fitting him back against him. He has a half second’s thought to wonder if maybe he should have taken off his shoes as well before deciding that he just doesn’t care. He doesn’t care, not if John’s holding him in place like he is. He’s pretty sure that the other man should even be able to feel the quickening of his breathing, his heart rate, while he adjusts to the position and — John deposits a guitar in his lap.

He turns to glance at the other man over his shoulder, his face certainly flushed now, before he rests his hands tentatively on the guitar. “Well. I’m certainly willing to give it a try,” he offers. His lips quirking again in another half smile before he challenges, “At your leisure.”

[impavid]

"What happened to all that talk of being a quick study and good with your hands? You talk a big game, Ianto, don't let me down now."

He adjusts the guitar so the arch is resting on Ianto's thigh, moves one of his hands back along it toward the bridge and the other toward the neck.

"So, you want to put your thumb on the back of the neck here, then wrap your hand around so your fingers are kinda in an arch."

John wraps his own hand around to show Ianto, then lets go and tries to help him place his in approximately the right position.

"This is why guitarists do hand exercises. It takes getting used to."