IANTO
It had been roughly... yes, at least eleventy five thousand years since Ianto had been at the Wishing Wagon. But with the Cloister of Trials finally underway, he could go home at last. The fox walked slowly, as if still coming down from some thick and heavy high, the collar of his beaten brown trench coat turned up, his hands buried in his pockets. Fingers and lips a little numb and his head starting to pound, he was looking forward to crawling inside, drinking or smoking something delightful, and getting his head down.
Only there was a fish outside his wagon. A fish in the shape of a man, wrapped in a net. And he was rather in the way. "We're closed, sorry mate," he said, his accent thick around words that didn't want to form properly. "You're welcome to sleep there, but you're gonna have to move just a sec so I can get in."
Only there was a fish outside his wagon. A fish in the shape of a man, wrapped in a net. And he was rather in the way. "We're closed, sorry mate," he said, his accent thick around words that didn't want to form properly. "You're welcome to sleep there, but you're gonna have to move just a sec so I can get in."
where are your gods now
