sariagray

Title: When the Song Changes
Author:

sariagray
Characters/Pairings: Myfanwy, Jack, Ianto
Rating: G
Word Count: 471
Spoilers: Technically, pre-series. Spoilers for "Fragments," though.
Warnings: Unbeta'd and a bit...well, strange?
Disclaimer: I own nothing. So unless Torchwood changes its name to "Nothing," I don't own it.
Challenge/Prompt: Prompt #1 for

lady_of_the_hub : Noun: Mountain Adjective: Slimy Phrase: “But handcuffs are always necessary!”
Author's Note: Yeah, I don't know...this got a bit away from me. Was supposed to be a drabble and then THIS happened. *Shrug*

When the Song Changes

She knows, as she swoops overhead, that these are familiar mountains. Yes, they are shaped differently, stooped with age and there is unusual plant life growing on them. Still, they sing to her in the ancient language of home, a song so full of life that she allows herself to feel comforted secure in their presence.

Until, that is, she is lured into a large enclosed space by a man with a sweet, dark foodstuff in his hand and fear in his eyes. Not fear of her, she realizes, but of something more primal. She caws in laughter at the notion of something being more primal than she in this strange world of nighttime light and hairless mammals.

In this space, she feels slimy. It is dank there, so close to the sea that she can smell, and she can’t fly away from it to dry her wings. She trusts this man, though, because his voice is soft and his heart sings of hope and quiet distress. It is a new song, one she memorizes with the aptness of an eager pupil.

She is there for a few hours before another man comes, bright and nervous and broken. His song is sung in so many new languages that she can’t begin to decipher it. The notes are so sweet and lonely, though, lingering on the air with longing. It is a dirge, a hopelessly chanted need. She squawks out a sob.

“What are you going to do with those?” her original captor asks, eyeing a shiny object.

She isn’t quite certain what the words mean, but she can hear the disbelief and confusion in his voice. The new man shrugs casually and the first laughs with a touch of hysterical anxiety.

“Really? You didn’t think to bring a net, but you’ve brought handcuffs? Somehow I don’t think they’ll be necessary.”

“But handcuffs are always necessary!” The lonely man grins.

The songs clash and meld in a strange cacophony. She gets an idea as those discordant lyrical melodies swirl around her and, as soon as she can manage, she maneuvers herself to acquire the lonely one. She flies him around a bit, feeling his restless joy and trying to understand his libretto. She listens and understands that he is just as temporally displaced as she.

When she is in place above the uncertain one, she releases her claws. At the same time the lonely out-of-place one pokes her with something sharp. He lets go and falls.

Her eyesight dims quickly and her wings become too heavy; she loses her bearings and plummets.

As she slowly fades out of consciousness, she notices with pleasure that the warring music around her has begun to harmonize gradually; the sounds are hesitant and unsure, the voices weak, but they're progressing. She drifts off, lulled into a pleasant sleep, as their songs change.

End