Britische Jugend verlor in der Bucht
British Youth Lost in Bay
Jack ignored Ianto over the rim of a blue cup with a crack in the handle; Ianto looked at Jack with bigger eyes than he’d made in weeks.
“Care for a biscuit, Jack?” the young man said, tossing a glance over the robin’s egg blue of the mug that held his lover’s coffee, “... that handle’s going to break. Be careful not to spill my good black in your lap. It’s your turn for babysitting duty.”
Jack Harkness felt... dry. It was that parched sensation one got when one hadn’t had enough water for a very long time, dry, like he needed more than a small taste of Hypervodka slipped into his coffee to wet his lips.
“I’ll only ask you one more time, Ianto.”
He slid a finger along one edge of the German newspaper, folding it like a frankfurter on a spiced onion bun. He took another edge, folded it carefully down over itself to form a sort of envelope. Then he took two points and bent them inward once, twice. Other edges followed, and soon there was a paper plane in his hands. It bore smudges of dark ink, and held the faint lemon scent of sweet kuchen dough. New paper, new headline. Old problem.
“So what’s it going to be, since I’m staying in?”
He caught the Welshman’s iron browns and upped him two sky blues, his own.
“Pepperoni and pineapple or sausage and cheese?”
“Is that a trick question, Jack? Cardiff is not New York. Although, if you ask nicely, I’m sure one of the weevils we found here will be more than happy to spit on it for you at no extra charge.”
“I’m saying, my delectable au pair, that there is something wrong with our order. Did you read this?”
Jack sailed the hefty paper plane at the Welshman, who caught it in one hand and pitched his best puerile glare back at the captain.
“Of course; I’ve already ordered the pizza. Do you think there will be extra toppings?”
Jack smiled, revealing his infamous thirty white horses behind a curl of predatory lips.
“Oh, Ianto. You’re an angel. Did I ever tell you that? And, yes to your question. We should expect one on the house at least, if the pizza delivery boy shows up and gets the pizza wrong this trip. The establishment owes us for des Osterhagen Schlüssels.”
Ianto thought about this, blinking and strumming his chin with his thumb. The whole thing was getting involved. Very involved. Very underhanded.
“I don’t know, Jack. I hear they like all kinds of pizza in Germany. And they call their dance halls Disko. Frankly I very much doubt our particular pizza boy would be caught dead within one hundred miles of one of those.”
“Ha ha! I love you, Ianto. You’re sharp. But one thing’s for certain, we better bring our own utensils, because we won’t be using the Autobahn. You know how travel gets congested on public lanes... We might be eating in the vehicle, as it is, once we get it started and make sure it isn’t swiped out from under us. If... when the manager comes back, I may have a few words for him about the quality of our order. And we may have to hotwire the old girl. Old cars can be persnickety.”