[doryphoros]

Username: valenciata;;
Partner: Izuku

Name: John
Gender: Male
Occupation: Police Officer
wip

[yeena]

mark

[friendshapedbox]

mark

[petrikov]

Mark

Look at him he's beautiful aaaa

[jaques]

Username: Chiaya
Name: Jason Medanno
Gender: Male

Partner One (Mark Kal): open
Partner Two (Pewds Kal): open

[ℋoney]

mark

[Silver Pandorica]

Mark!

[River Song]

Wʜʏ ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏs sᴀʏ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ʙᴇʟɪᴠᴇ?


╔════════════════════════════════╗
Username// River Song
Name// Ianto
Age// 27 years old
Gender// Male
Job// Radio Broadcaster
Voice claim// Jonathan Rhys Meyers
╚════════════════════════════════╝

Every word makes an impact. No matter how simple the word. A single word could make or break a day. A single word could heal. A single word could harm. A single word could destroy. Be careful what you say, be careful what you wish for. Every word will circle its way back to you. I do my best to keep my words positive.You know, it's all in the job description. Be a happy, upbeat kinda guy that keeps your audience interested, so most people think my personality is just an act. I've had to live 27 years with it, trust me when I say I'm not acting.

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The radio station is painted in a soft shade of purple, fluorescent lights glowing brightly. The carpet bears stains, perhaps from coffee spilt by clumsy interns or from the water that once dripped steadily through the tiles on the ceiling before the station had the funds to fix the leak. It is in the hallway of this station that a man stands. His eyes are bright, as if he is pondering some other world. His sapphire blue irises counteract his pale hair. It’s been dyed white, the strand’s light colour could not be natural, for the man could be no older than thirty. He gives a stretch, a small yawn, and then begins to walk. His boot-clad feet make no sound on the soft carpet, and as he walks past the break room no one looks up from their morning coffees, to intrigued by the dark surface of a caffeinated drink to acknowledge their coworker. He runs a hand through his hair, sighs, forces a smile and then steps through his office door. The “on air” sign above him flicks on, red light glowing with a constant hum of electricity.

The man sits down in front of his sound board, clears his throat, and reaches down to the mug on his desk. He raises the white porcelain to his mouth, only then remembering he had not yet filled it with coffee. With a sigh he shakes his head, and places the white mug down. He clears his throat, flips a switch on his soundboard, and begins talking, his voice holding an accent that sounds vaguely Irish.

“Everyone always talks about the significance of memories. How they mean something, how everybody is shaped by their experiences, how we are our memories and our memories are us. I wouldn't know. Well, what I mean to say is, I would like to know, but I don’t.”

He licks his lips, contemplating his next words before speaking again, his tone more confident than before. “Let me start off by introducing myself. My name is Ianto Edwards, your radio host, and I died when I was seventeen years old,” Ianto sucks in a breath, bares his teeth in a ferocious smile, and resumes his monologue. “When I tell them that, people almost always ask me the same question. ‘Did you see a light?’ Normally, I don’t have the guts to tell them that I can’t remember anything, only the water of our family’s pool swirling above my head, the winter sunlight dancing through the gap in the pool cover, and then nothing. I can’t remember anything about my life before waking up in the emergency room. They managed to restart my heart, they say it was because of the cold water slowing my organs. All I know is that everyone thought I wouldn’t wake up. Some of my relatives still look at me like they’ve seen a ghost.”

He hoists his mug up again, and again he remembers the lack of a beverage. Ianto shakes his head slowly.

“I can’t speak about memories, when so many of mine are lacking. What I can say is that my next guest will. I would like to welcome Onni Larsson, a renowned paranormal investigator with a degree in psychology,” He gives a pause, squinting one eye as if to say ‘I don’t know how that works’ and then continues, “To present his ideas on memories, and what makes you you. Let’s hope he doesn't bring any ghosts in with him,” Ianto smiles, his teeth glinting in the light as the door to the studio opens. In steps Onni, who stands around a foot higher than his interviewer. He has the same blue eyes, yet his hair is a dirty blond.

“Onni, you're live on this weeks ‘exploring the immeasurable.’ Now, we all know you investigate the paranormal, yet what would you say on the importance of memories?” Ianto cocks his head to one side, blue eyes shining softly.

“Well Ianto, I have to admit that I don’t remember things that well myself. Despite that, I can still say that memories are vital to people. Everything from remembering what foods you are allergic to, too the names of your family is all memory related.” Onni gives a small smile, while Ianto seems to sink in on himself.

“Now, I’m not saying that someone who can’t remember, say, the first seventeen years of his life,” With these words Onni casts a meaningful glance at Ianto, who gives a half-smile, “Is lacking in any way. In fact, it is true that some people think that not remembering your childhood can promote creativity as you grow, as it helps you experience everything for a second time.” Onni blinks thoughtfully, and Ianto takes this opportunity to interject with another question.

“Would you say that ghosts have memories?”

“Is that one of the questions you have written down?” Onni asks, a teasing edge in his voice.

“Well, no. I’m just curious,” Despite his words, Ianto sounds almost afraid. When Onni speaks again, he is careful to tread lightly.

“In no ways would I call you a ghost, Ianto. If anything, I would call you a NDE, a near death experience.” Onni clarified, “Some circles even believe that ghosts are nothing but memories, a phantom loop of long lost times playing over, and over, and over, and over.” The blond’s eyes light up as he speaks, his passion for his work shining through on his face. A grin threatens to break through his carefully constructed nonchalance.

After the interview drew to a close, the pair went for coffee, Onni having noted Ianto’s empty mug. The two sit at a table near the window, and Onni sips his drink slowly. Ianto has already polished his off, and he smiles softly. Onni notices Ianto’s lack of coffee, and sets his own down, then slides it across the table.
“It’s yours now.” Ianto grins boyishly, and Onni speaks again. “Ianto, I may not remember things well, but I think that in my memories, you will always be a friend.” Ianto’s smile grows, and he takes another sip of his steaming coffee.

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