Summary: Janet the Weevil’s thoughts on the world she now calls home.
Word Count: 559
Written For: My own prompt ‘Torchwood, Janet the Weevil, Confused,’ at fic_promptly.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, or the characters. They belong to the BBC.
She is confused; she does not understand how she was brought to this place, only that it is not the world she knows. Everything here is different. The ones to whom this world belongs are strange; they do not command her or any of her people, putting them to work in the mines, they seem to have no use for her kind at all, and so they are left to fend for themselves, un-owned and uncared for.
It is not all bad; there are tunnels beneath this place where her kind have found refuge and food. Still, there are many fights over the best territories, and those who get forced out must find shelter and food elsewhere. That is what happened to her and her small clan. Some were willing to accept lesser status with other clans, but not she who had been leader, and so, she is alone.
Above ground is not such a good place as below. Sometimes it becomes too cold, and soft, white stuff falls from the sky, chilling the skin. Other times, the heat and brightness is more than can be endured. Also, food is not as plentiful, and what there is gets fought over. Some of her kind have even resorted to attacking the ones whose world this is; they taste strange and rich, but not unpleasant. However they usually fight back, and then others come, with things that hurt, and stuff that takes away strength and brings sleep. Those others are strong, and one among them is different; his life goes away and then returns, and it is as if he were never harmed.
Lonely outcast that she was, she grew hungry, but also curious. She attacked and tasted one of the surface dwellers, then waited and allowed herself to be captured. The others came, sprayed her with the sleep stuff, and when she awoke she was below ground, confined and yet comfortable.
This is a good place. Food is plentiful and she does not need to fight for it, nor share it. Neither is she expected to work for it; like all else she requires it is freely given. Still, she is confused. It is comforting to be owned once more, and by beings who do not overwork her, as she was on the other world, and yet she cannot understand what they require of her.
They call her Janet; it is a strange name, and she does not know its meaning. Sometimes the one who cannot be harmed will come. He stares at her silently for a long time, and sometimes he speaks. The smaller one stares at her too, and pokes her with sharp things, but she does not think he means to be unkind; he displays no cruelty or anger.
She likes the one who brings her food the best. He is quiet and does not stare. He talks to her, and although she does not understand his words, the sounds he makes are pleasant, even soothing.
She is learning not to mind being confused; she is safe here, sheltered and dry, never hungry or cold, never burned by the brightness of the sky. Sometimes she misses her kind, but the link that connects all her people reaches her even here. She is not cut off from that contact, and it is sufficient.
She is, she thinks, content.