[[Backdated to shortly after the first Trust negotiations.]]

I've just received word from the people I know in the Organization.

First, it would seem the Kashtta Trust — the absolutely delightful people responsible for the haunted tower we're calling home — are attempting to establish a foothold in Chicago. As part of their negotiations with the Organization, they're trying to bring Torchwood under their jurisdiction. Unfortunately, I don't have much more information to give; it would seem they're not on good terms with the Organization, and Mr. Monroe would very much like them gone, but that may not be possible.

Second was a message for Luke: although his former employers would like him back (ostensibly for medical care and more information on how he might've been infected), since he's made it obvious he's not interested in returning, I've been asked to let him know that they're calling off the hounds. Supposedly, none of the Organization's people will be bothering him from now on, so long as none of Ms. Sandric's people are in danger; in short, he's free to do as he pleases. I'm bringing this to you, because while I trust the messenger, you know how I feel about the Organization leadership, and I don't want to give Luke what might be false hope, or go behind your back. He's under Torchwood's protection, and so I'll leave whether or not to pass that on up to you.

[[Locked to no_daylight]]

Shortly after a rather disastrous conversation with J, and a somewhat less disastrous exchange on the journals with Winter, a freshly showered and shaven Ianto is at a Chicago hotel, looking for a certain Glaysa-Labolas demon.

He's wrapped in a coat which is carefully tailored so that the fact that it hangs nearly to the floor looks like a conscious fashion choice, and gives no hint as to the furry goat legs underneath (fucking Rift). He also has a large thermos full of amaretto-laced coffee, and an expression which suggests he's holding off sheer misery by force of will alone.

But then, he'll feel better soon. He knows that in much the same way he knows the sky is blue and water is wet, and while under other circumstances, he might question that certainty, good things have been coming seldom enough that he won't look too hard at this one.

Making this quick -- he's here and things are hard to explain.

Are you free? Is Anna? Hate to ask, but I need to get out of here.

I miss you.

I think I've got something. It's less than stable, so you'll have to convince J to keep still, and it's going to be leaking all over, but it's my hope that it'll hold together long enough to get him through this.

I'll send someone over to show you where it is. Given J's reaction to my presence earlier, I think it would be for the best if he didn't see me again.

We currently have need of a large tank, portable swimming pool (a very large children's pool would be better than nothing), or anything else that can hold water and about eleven feet of dolphin.

Sea salt and pH kits would be helpful, but a tank or pool is our first priority.

Any help anyone could offer would be much appreciated.

It so happens that impossible_thng dared Ianto to write angsty goth poetry. This is the result.

Yes, it's supposed to be this awful.

( The Dark Tragedy Of A Soul Consumed By Futility )

Headvoice CPR. To revive muses and their voices.

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