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We Will Die For This

My only consolation, when Max finally rises up and enslaves us all, is that he knows Jack put the antlers on him and I was just an innocent bystander.

Happy Holidays, everyone.


It always saddens me to see people of the twenty-first century mourning my death. I know I'm brilliant, but really! I'm obviously not dead, or I wouldn't be typing this on the holokeyboard for you to read.

Word filtered down to me recently that people have been visiting the Tourist Information Centre in Cardiff (21st century) to leave letters to me. Distressing. Here I am in the fifty-third century, and while I can see their letters in the Archives where they've been carefully preserved, how am I supposed to reply? Besides, it's blowing our cover!

After all, I wouldn't want them to think Torchwood doesn't care about civilians. Gwen practically exists to care. Still, I stifled my urge to reply, and distracted myself with Jack coffee various duties that fall to me as Torchwood's Junior Senior field agent.

But then the management of Mermaid Quay posted the following in the 21st Century. I mean really, how ungracious. "Removed"? We paid them rent for years and all I get is "removed"?

Well. By "paid them rent" I mean "occasionally blew up bits of the Quay but tried not to kill anyone". Still.

So I took matters into my own hands. Armed with a thorough knowledge of the Rift's eccentricities, I made contact with our Torchwood sleeper agent, Codename essayel, and sent her a counter-notice to post.

Torchwood: we don't even know the meaning of the word misinformation!

Starting 26 With A Bang

Well, this is a nice surprise. An e-rift through to my 21st century journal! Who'd have thought I'd find one of those in the low-orbit Accident & Emergency?

All right, let's get this out of the way: YES, I SHOT JACK.

But there were extenuating circumstances! And I shot myself too so I don't see why everyone's being so noisy about it. It's not like it killed him (much).

I had a very nice birthday. I went to the shops, I bought a new suit, I got a haircut, I thought, right. I'll go home and have a nice quiet birthday dinner and curl up with Max and Jack and a holofilm.

Jack knows I don't like to be surprised. Not that this has ever stopped him. I blame Gwen and T for suggesting the surprise party, though there's nowhere to place the blame for the showers of glitter but right on Jack's shoulders.

So there I am, with my nice new suit and my sharp haircut and my gun, because I am still Torchwood, and I open the door to our space suite and EVERYONE LEAPS OUT AT ME SCREAMING.

If you had a gun you'd shoot them too!

Except I got Jack first (so that's all right) and then I went for Gwen, not realising it was Gwen, and the bullet ricocheted right off her bulletproof bike jacket -- it looks lovely, Gwen, don't let anyone tell you otherwise -- and hit me in the foot.

Well. I can't tell you who was the most embarrassed.

So here we are, covered in glitter, in hospital. Having a birthday party while Martha helps them nano-repair my foot.


Who wants cake? There are hardly any bulletholes in it.



GREETINGS from the 53rd Century! This rift between the 53rd and the 21st opened just in time, let me tell you!

First: yes, everyone is doing well. Jack's given you all the scoop on how we've adapted since coming here. Max in particular is thriving. Second: No, I'm not pregnant. Third: Just to prove I'm really coming to you from the 53rd Century, I had Jack take a holo of me holding today's newspaper:

Boy, has it been a rough week. To tell you about it would be SPOILERS! so I'm putting it behind an LJ cut. If it's behind an LJ cut it won't cause a paradox!

It was very upsetting. I even had to write a letter to Jack asking for advice!Collapse )



It's That Time.

Hi, kids. Click on the badge. You know you want to.

Torchwood Formal Supper, First Annual

Welcome, ladies, gentlemen, and other classy genders (or lack thereof) to the Torchwood Celebratory Supper!

We are gathered here today to eat pizza, fairy cakes, croissanwiches, and tiny nibbles on sticks in honour of Max, who is six months old today, and the new Torchwood "documentary", Children of Earth, airing next week (probably).

Little known but truefact: Leonardo da Vinci had a sexy model for his "first draft" of the Last Supper. Jack, are you groping James the Elder? And is that a pizza?

Please, take a seat -- NOT ON THE SUBETHERIC RESONATOR -- and have some nibbles.

After all, Torchwood's entire team, pets, and most of our allies are gathered together in one place. What could possibly go wrong?


WE WON! WE WON! I beat The Master and then Martha shot him because of socks and now he's not a Him anymore, he's some woman named River Song, who is a Time Lord and not Half-Belgian, and then she ran away and -- and --

I'm hyperventilating --

RIGHT. I'm triggering the lockdown release. PARTY ON THE PLASS. WE WON! KIND OF!

I'll be over here with my head between my knees.

Epic Battle Of Lulz

If you're reading this, Team, it means the Hub has gone into lockdown. It'll cycle off when this is over. I couldn't risk anyone else during this fight.

I challenged the Master to a LOL-off. We're meeting on the Plass to throw down macros. If I win, he's mine to do with as I please. If he wins -- well, he won't, so that doesn't matter.

I'm sorry, Jack. I'm so, so sorry.

Right then.


I laid down the challenge, so it's your shot first. Bring your best!


In preparation for the party on the first, I thought I'd clear out the digital camera and get some stuff off the desktop while I was at it. Who knew it would be such a trip down memory lane?

PS Jack I saved the "private photos" off to your network folder. Enjoy.

Image-heavy. Lighthearted image-heavy. Torchwood is outside of physics and beyond the internet!Collapse )

About Me

My handsome, sexy boss set this journal up for me because he has better skills than anyone else in the 21st Century which is when everything changes. I haven't noticed this text is here yet or I probably would have replaced it with something boring like how I like my coffee (how I like sex: all the time and with my boss. Which is not actually boring now that my boss thinks about it).
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