Ianto
"I'm not sure that any conversation starting with can we talk has ever ended well. But of course we can." Ianto's hands were buried in the pockets of his trousers (it was too hot by far for his coat), his blue eyes following the glow of will-o-wisps in the darkening Greatwood night. Whatever had happened with the Fae had happened, indeed, but that wasn't really so important to him right now. He had an inkling of what he might have done to earn Remi's... well, not ire, exactly. Wariness, he supposed.
But not everyone could be as open as the alchemist. Ianto's past and present cast a shadow far greater than the man himself. And it was from that shadow that he spoke. "What is it you want to talk about?"
But not everyone could be as open as the alchemist. Ianto's past and present cast a shadow far greater than the man himself. And it was from that shadow that he spoke. "What is it you want to talk about?"
