Long But Necessary Author's Note: First off, I need to point out that this is not a part of The Makenzie Chronicles, even though there's a character named Ivan. This story is complete in its entirety, and will be posted over the next few days - but you need to know what's going on, for this to make any sense.
Cosplayers are unique individuals; to be a cosplayer is more than just putting on a Halloween costume and having a good time. Anyone can do that. To be a cosplayer is to also put on the *personality* of the character you're representing. It's a level of dedication to getting the costume right, the mannerisms, the personality. Some people do it really well, some people give it the ol' college try - but cosplayers, as a rule, have a lot of fun doing what they do, and are usually pretty supportive of each other.
I got a call from a friend of mine recently, with regards to a friend of hers - a young man who cosplays Captain Jack Harkness exceptionally well. When he puts on the Jack Harkness costume, he puts on the personality and mannerisms as well, and becomes Capt. Jack Harkness for all intents and purposes. During the course of the phone call, it was mentioned that Jack (referred to as Our Jack for clarification purposes) needed something to laugh about, so my friend and I started a campaign we dubbed "Operation: Cheer Jack". We got a few other cosplayers involved - including a wonderful Ianto Jones cosplayer - and filmed a series of videos that were sent to Our Jack over the course of a number of weeks, along with "ransom notes" preceding each installment, to keep the mystery going and ensure Our Jack would find the humor in the situation.
What you are about to read is the transcript of my half of the videos - I cosplayed The Dragoness (obviously), and thus began my career as a Doctor Who Villain. Yay me! My husband cosplayed the temporary henchman Ivan for the videos (coincidentally enough, the same person upon whom the character of Ivan Makenzie was based for my Makenzie Chronicles stories). With any luck, when this is finished posting, we'll have the other half of the story ready to post - what was going on from Captain Jack's side during all of this!
The chapters will be relatively short; each chapter break represents the end of one video segment - I wanted you to read it the same way Our Jack was experiencing it as we sent him the videos! Feedback is always welcome, please leave kind comments and suggestions! And go hug a cosplayer - they need love to!
So, Jack…
Ianto came to slowly. He knew something was most definitely wrong, but his mind was so foggy, it was almost impossible to think. The last thing he could clearly remember was waving goodbye to Jack and the others from Torchwood 3 as they were heading out to trace a rift alert that was going to keep them away for several days. The rift predictor indicated that everything back in Cardiff should be quiet; there were no significant incursions predicted for the next 14 to 20 days, and any of the small activities that might crop up, he knew he'd be able to handle alone. Ianto had volunteered to remain behind and keep an eye on things, and perhaps get caught up on the seemingly endless paperwork that kept appearing within the Hub. After that, his memory started to become sketchy.
His entire body ached. His head felt stuffed with cotton – as did his overly dry mouth – and the fire of over-stressed muscles burned through his arms and shoulders. Slow flexing of each muscle group as he waited for his thoughts to clear indicated that he wasn't really injured; it was more the stiffness of being held in one position for too long. Finally, knowing that he was never going to remember what had happened, or figure out what to do next, without opening his eyes, Ianto drew in a deep breath, opened his eyes, and raised his head.
Immediately, memory flooded back, and he almost wished he could fall back into unconsciousness. Set up in one of the little-used upper rooms of the Hub was a full mock-up of a pub, and he had been taken prisoner and tied to the bull horns mounted on the wall above the bar. His tie had been used as a gag – and oh, was he irritated about that. Saliva left such a disgusting stain on silk. That at least explained why his arms and shoulders ached with strain. He knew who had done this – he just didn't understand why.
To Ianto's right was a lovely young brunette woman in a pristine black-and-white dress, who looked like she could have stepped out of a promotional campaign for the 1950s. Her hair was perfect, as was her smile – but there was a gleam of madness in her eyes. She was brandishing a cast iron skillet that looked sufficiently large enough to crack his skull.
Gliding into his vision from behind him to his left, there suddenly appeared a woman of average height and stocky frame. Dark hair, accented with faint hints of blue, cascaded over her shoulders, kept back from her face by a band of twinkling fairy lights. A black and gold mask concealed most of her face – and although Ianto didn't know her true face or name, he still recognized the red-draped form before him. The Dragoness; a colorful character, no doubt, but up until the most recent series of events, Ianto would have categorized her with words borrowed from the immortal Douglas Adams. Mostly harmless. She drifted past him almost as if she were swaying to music only she could hear. Her gaze was almost vacant, glassy, and she was smiling for no apparent reason. The red-clad form drifted over towards the bar, near his feet, and picked up one of the many brightly-colored sherbet straws that had been strewn about. With a tittering giggle, The Dragoness ripped one of the straws open and tipped back the contents, offering up a contented sigh.
Suddenly focused, The Dragoness turned and stared wide-eyed at one of the internal CCTV cameras; Ianto could see that the red indicator light was activated, proving that something – or someone – was recording what was going on in the Hub. He could only hope that some how, an alert would go out to Jack's vortex manipulator, and the handsome Captain would appear to fix this insane situation.
"So, Captain," the Dragoness began speaking directly to the camera, as though she were speaking directly to the absent Jack Harkness. "You decided to ignore me. You haven't responded to any of my love notes or messages. So I thought we needed a little incentive to make sure you truly understood the direness of the situation for ignoring the Dragoness." With that, she whipped around and pointed at the brunette who was still threatening Ianto with the skillet.
"Muriel! Threaten him!" she demanded. Muriel, as the woman was named, lifted the skillet above her head, but seemed to be struggling a bit with the weight. Ianto remembered reading the file on her, now. It was an incident that Torchwood had been called upon to deal with many decades earlier, a situation that Jack had dubbed "The Stepford Wives Incident". Muriel, and the few other women like her, resented the advancements in society and technology that was forcing the world away from the idealized lifestyle of the American 50s; they claimed they were prepared to do whatever was necessary to restore and protect their "perfect" way of life.
The Dragoness started speaking to the camera again. "Now we could complete this threat, but I think we have another proposition we need to take care of. Something about a coin, I believe? Now, Jack, darling, here's where you need to flip that coin!" This was an entirely new turn of events; Ianto wasn't aware of any letters or coins. Exactly how long had Jack and the others been gone? How long had he been a prisoner of the Dragoness?
The Dragoness slipped behind Muriel, who had at least stopped threatening to brain Ianto with the skillet and had settled for simply poking him repeatedly in the ribs with it. Ianto could see the Dragoness' scarlet-tipped fingers dip out of sight, but whatever it was she had retrieved she kept it below his field of vision until she could move back to the end of the bar, and within range of the camera once more. She smiled broadly, and continued speaking. "Because when you flip that coin, one of two things will happen. Either he will get the feather!" And here, she produced and brandished a bright-yellow feather duster, and Ianto flinched involuntarily. "Or he will get the entire chicken, from whom the feather was plucked." The Dragoness moved as though to gesture dramatically to the aforementioned animal – but there was nothing there. She turned in place, scanning the floor around her feet and around the bar.
"Chicken? Where's my chicken!" she exclaimed. Drawing a deep breath, she shouted out into the rest of the Hub. "Igor! Igor, where's my chicken!"
A deep voice answered, one that Ianto didn't recognize and which caused him to feel sudden alarm. "Coming, Mistress."
A looming form appeared in the doorway. The man was well over 6 feet tall – easily as tall as the Captain himself, if not a little taller – and was wearing combat boots, dark trousers, and an off-white peasant shirt. Over that, he was wearing a fully-equipped flak vest, and he was cradling what looked like an AK-47 in his arms. Wildly tousled black hair and a bushy black beard completed the man's appearance – as well as, incongruously enough, a pair of glasses – and he appeared to be licking his fingers as he stepped into the room. The Dragoness gave a start of surprise, and took a half-step away from the man.
"Who the hell are you?" she demanded, obviously startled.
"Ivan," he answered simply. The Dragoness planted her fists on her hips, and glared at him. Ivan seemed, all things considered, very unconcerned.
"Where's Igor?" she demanded.
"He's on vacation," Ivan explained cheerfully. "Contractual." He jerked a thumb at his own chest. "Temp hench. I'm the replacement for the next two weeks."
"Henchmen don't get vacation!" The Dragoness insisted, stamping her foot.
Ivan shook his head, correcting her. "Oh, but they do. Subchapter 5, paragraph 3. Tiny letters. Tiny, tiny."
The Dragoness heaved a disgruntled sigh, tapping her red lacquered nails on the surface of the bar as she frowned. "Great. The henchmen's union has better benefits than we do."
Ivan shrugged as if to say, 'Waddaya gonna do?' "Well, you're on the top of the rack. We've got to have something," he offered. The Dragoness threw her hands up in disgust.
"Well… Ivan, was it?" she asked.
He nodded. "Yes, yes mistress."
"Ivan, where's my chicken?" The Dragoness demanded, once more brandishing the feather duster like a very short, fluffy swagger stick.
A look of concern swept over the big man's face, and he paused. "Uhhh… Was it needed for something?"
"Yes…" the Dragoness drawled threateningly.
Ivan looked both embarrassed, and a little frightened. "uh… Oops."
The Dragoness stared at him for a few moments, noticing the tell-tale stains of a recently eaten meal, and remembering the finger-licking from moments earlier. She sighed. "Well, then I guess we'll have to go for the second best. It's either the feather, or… the Teletubbies!" She gestured dramatically with the fluffy yellow item in her hands, pointing it threateningly at Ianto.
"You choose, Jack! Flip the coin and decide. Ianto is waiting for your answer!"