There wasn't much left to do but deal with the awkwardness of being crammed into a room with strangers and then try to find an amusing and colorful way of describing alien archivist to the whole of tuned in Britain. He settled on National Museum Guide and would elaborate only when necessary with some masterful gestures and fond memories of the Armory. At the very least, he'd bore them to death. And after all the prepping, Martin would be proud of him.
The main room with the bleachers and the wheel was not big enough when completely staffed and filled with supportive, and only about fifty percent greedy, family members and loved ones. As they waited, Ianto chatted with a lovely older grandmother with blue rinse in her hair and laugh wrinkles adorning the area underneath her large glasses. They spoke on thimbles for a solid ten minutes. He did so enjoy charming her. Abel winked at him when he returned for the questionnaire and paperwork.
The little stooped grandmother went first and scored one hundred quid while accompanied by the brainless co-host, bought because she looked pretty next to the wheel. There was mild clapping for her, amplified by the in-studio techs so that the audience seemed larger and was more supportive. The second was a former British colonel with a long moustache who hit a nothing portion of the puzzle.
Ianto's heart slightly ceased beating when his name was called. A nudge from Lisa later and he found himself staring at this wheel thinking that he was not quite tall enough for it. The lights were hot above him and the floor beneath him seemed to be sinking. He felt his hands move towards the wheel and then it began spinning into one ugly dull color somewhere between the green, white, and black.
For a second, it didn't register that he had won with a green puzzle piece. It didn't seem likely that he had just inherited a windfall of one hundred thousand quid. The number itself choked in his throat as Lisa beamed at him and clapped a little harder, thinking of a larger flat or a house with a nice puppy, maybe something near a park. Or perhaps leave Torchwood and open up a nice little coffee shop or library. Both Ianto and Lisa loved libraries and coffee so.
Ianto was ushered off-stage and didn't remember much of the meeting. It was clear that Mr. Sanford was an altruist and that was all Ianto remembered after shaking his hand. He met Lisa, still clearly stunned, and they left in a provided bus with a check and an armored guard a row behind them. The little old lady just glowed at him from across the way and waved.
He woke up the next morning feeling that nothing had changed, in fact feeling almost nothing at all. Only because of body heat was he aware of Lisa's hand over his, placed over his bare chest. His eyes shifted toward her drifting back into reality.
"Well, my lucky love, what shall we do today?"
"Work."
"We could call in sick." Ianto's silence was enough. She stretched and they prepared for another day of Torchwood brand chaos. Only this chaos was for them in the form of a party where Sherry made a wonderful chocolate cake with a cherry butter cream and vanilla frosting. Many jokes and balloons were tossed around until the report came in.
"Agnes Besterville is dead, Ianto." Martin's words rang in his ears, but he couldn't quite figure out why.
"Should we know who that is, Martin?"
"She was the woman who spun the wheel first last night. Died of spontaneous combustion, just like that other one."
To be continued...
Prompt 34: Not Enough (I'll post a master list as an epilogue when I'm done)