Ianto opens the door, and steps inside. No, there are no hooves. Ianto looks exactly like a twenty-five year old version of himself should look. He's dressed immaculately, in a dark blue silk shirt, dark wool pinstripe suit, and black tie with silver stripes. He looks the epitome of a well-dressed personal assistant.
If most personal assistants liked to strangle women on their nights off.
He's staring again, this time at Jack, before he regains his composure.
"Hello, sir," he says softly, Welsh accent the same as always. Nothing about him appears the least bit different. Jack doesn't know about the occasional psychosis. He does know about the empathy, but Ianto's trying very hard not to project. Some of his nervousness probably escapes. He's practically having a panic attack.
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2010-06-10 01:27 am (UTC)If most personal assistants liked to strangle women on their nights off.
He's staring again, this time at Jack, before he regains his composure.
"Hello, sir," he says softly, Welsh accent the same as always. Nothing about him appears the least bit different. Jack doesn't know about the occasional psychosis. He does know about the empathy, but Ianto's trying very hard not to project. Some of his nervousness probably escapes. He's practically having a panic attack.