[On the Plane is a girl. She is a perfectly ordinary looking girl with blonde hair, wearing a perfectly ordinary looking pinnafore and frock and stockings and shoes. She has a finger to her lips and is being very thoughtful at the moment. That is to say, her head is currently filled with a large number of thoughts, as well as a few very short poems and the first three items of the shopping list hung on the refrigerator (which happened to be bread, pickles and butter, in that order). She walks and muses, seemingly oblivious to the Plane.]

Oh, but it is rather strange to have them written as such. I do wonder what Mother was thinking, to put pickles between bread and butter. Why, I should think such a thing would taste dreadful! If I were to write the shopping-list, I believe I should put bread and butter at the top with jam and scones, and pickles should go farther down near the bottom. Or perhaps they shan't go on at all, for I am not that fond of them, afterall. Yes, I do believe I would exclude them entirely, though doing so might make them rather cross. I should certainly hate to see a pickle crossed, for one can never be too certain of what would happen. They can be ever so bitter, or so I have heard.

[Alice stops walking and puts her hands on her hips, looking around with a frown.]

Bother, but this is taking ever so long. Have I gone the wrong way again? Things all seem right-side-in when I was certain they would be right-side-out... certainly if one is often right- side-out, then when one is through a Looking-Glass, one should be right-side-in or wrong-side-out or both-sides-in or both-sides-out, though I expect that would be rather awkward. If both sides were in or out, then there shouldn't be anything inbetween and I daresay they wouldn't be sides at all.

[Having reached some semblance of a decision, she starts walking again.]

Hm! I wonder which way leads to the stair-case. I should rather like to see outside before I go back to Dinah and the kittens.

[a man appears on the Plane; he is young, but his face is lined with anxiety (marred, here and there, by very thin scars, easy to miss if one isn't looking), and there is the faintest hint of silver in his pale brown hair (straight, falling almost to his shoulders)]

What is this?

[his wand is out in moments, of course, yanked from the makeshift holster beneath his long dark robes (a bit tattered, a bit worn); it looks like a smooth branch, save for the sparks erupting from the end]

Whoever is behind this, you should know I don't break easily, and you'll very likely be worse off for trying. [his voice is even and quiet, almost polite, but it is also hard, and determined; his eyes dart this way and that, his stance ready to shift in an instant]

Now stop toying with me, I have work to do.

[When Owen arrives on the Plane, he seems to have been mid-coffee, bunch of papers - medical printoffs or something - in hand. Understandably, he nearly chokes on the coffee, looking around.]

Fuck -- what now? Tosh? Ianto! Gwen, Jack! Bit of a problem... [annoyed and somewhat panicked sigh] Hello?

[Eventually he stops pacing around, finding no exit in sight, opting to stand still -- maybe they're already working on getting him out of... wherever the bloody hell he is. This would be about where he starts muttering under his breath, shifting somewhat uncomfortably, stuffing the papers under the coffee arm:] Bloody typical. 'Go get those papers sorted, Owen; we know you're busy and all, but we really need you down to get those completely irrelevant printoffs'... [he closes his eyes] You lot had better be working on getting me back. Tosh, work that Rift-tracking brilliance of yours. 'Cos if I'm stuck hanging about, breathing in outer space 'til the Earth explodes, I... shit.

All right, patience is up. Get me the fuck out of here, you lot!

((ooc: Replies will be spotty for now. I have a production log due tomorrow. :C))