chosehumanity | 71 Serendipity, Thursday Late Afternoon

Mitchell got in from Baltimore sometime just past noon. He hadn't listened to the radio for a while; now he had oceans of time, and he was planning to use them to catch up. After all, you did get tired of having a sixteen-year-old accuse you of being unaware what was going on all the time.

The first thing he did when he finished was leave a voicemail. The second thing he did was - post-squirrel-checking the room - launch a diatribe over the phone to George about stupid bloody vampires who didn't know how to clean up after themselves or work the system. (He'd contemplated calling Mina despite their rusty truce, but he didn't particularly feel like helping out on this whole mad hunt by waking up any potential sleeping dragons about anyone else)

The third thing he did was flop down on the couch with a beer, cross his arms, put on a film that wasn't at all thematic for his feelings about the whole thing at large, and brood.

If he'd had any inclination of letting Fandom at large know about himself, it was firmly gone by now.

[[ ever get a post stuck in your head during your trip home? post open to anyone who'd have a reason to show up or call ]]

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Jack didn't think Mitchell had anything to do with the attack, but the whole mess had him feeling like checking in was a good idea -- especially since Nick had gotten outed on the previous day's radio. He wasn't sure he wanted to just turn up on the man's doorstep, but a phone call? He could do that.

He dialed and waited for an answer a bit impatiently.

"This is Mitchell," Mitchell answered, automatically.

Sometimes he forgot about caller ID, still.

"And this is Jack," Jack said. "Mitchell, have you been listening to the island news on the radio lately?"

"What, you mean the call to arms for torches and pitchforks?"

It wasn't... hard to figure out what kind of a mood he was in. Mitchell got up and wandered towards the windows; might as well run a second squirrel check.

Jack heard the mood, yes. Which was why he didn't immediately snap back with a sarcastic comment about how positively inconvenient it was people were upset a teenage girl had been turned into a snack.

"Then you know she's blaming Max," he said instead. "I talked to her -- she's quite certain."

He didn't sound like he was quite so certain, was the thing.

Edited 2010-02-04 17:27 (UTC)

"Oh, please. If Max is a vampire, I'm a Saturday night American talkshow host in my spare time," Mitchell said, his voice low. He yanked on the curtains to make sure they were shut. "He's one of my mates."

Edited 2010-02-04 17:30 (UTC)

"That's the thing," Jack said. "No one's ever suspected him of it before. I spoke to Rose about it last night, and -- he would have had to be turned very recently and by someone very, very stupid."

There was some slight prodding, there. He didn't think Mitchell was that kind of stupid, but -- never assume.

Mitchell's eyes flickered black for a moment. He opened a window as his eyes shifted back and called out to the squirrels to bloody well scatter. No powers; just the power of the human voice.

The ravens were probably a little more esoteric, but it wasn't like they did anything other than follow him about on occasion. They made some noise as he shut the curtains again.

"He'd have to have been recruited by someone who doesn't know how to cover their tracks," Mitchell shot back. "This is bloody stupid. Even if this was a case of a vampire losing their shit and pushing too hard, they should've known better and just blamed it on an animal attack. Or taught him to blame it on an animal attack. This is just begging for trouble."

He was well-versed in these things.

That answered Jack's question. He couldn't prove a negative, but (morality aside) the man had too much control over himself to indulge in anything as flat-out shortsighted as hunting on the island.

Which was, as far as he could tell and for different reasons, true of all four of the vampires he knew about. And so the detective was out of suspects.

"It is," he agreed. "And I'm afraid the trouble is going to come down on you and some of the others and miss the real target. And I'm sure Max won't have an easy time of it, either, even if he's cleared."

"If it's not Max," Mitchell said, "It's some bonehead who either looks like him enough that he got away with shoving the blame on someone else, or who thinks it's funny to endanger the lot of us just to see you all squirming about. Jesus christ."

"Or it's someone who used magic to play with Raven's mind and make her see Max," Jack suggested. "Either way, it's someone who doesn't care what happens to anyone else. He's dangerous and I have no idea who he might be."

None of this should be a surprise, considering the topic under discussion, but Jack had a hard time remembering the evil-undead-fiends technicality.

Mitchell rubbed at his hair, practically yanking it over his forehead. "Right," he said, "So we've got a rogue vampire running around."

And that with no safety net in place to dispose of the bodies.

"That's the size of it," Jack said. "I'd offer suggestions, but it's not as if I can do anything."

"I invited Max over tonight, I'll check him over," Mitchell replied. He was starting to sorely need someone he could flip out at. Perhaps leaving Baltimore had been a bad idea. "And I'll see about the grapevine."

If Herrick was involved in this...

There was an 'or worse' attached to that, but Mitchell preferred not to dwell on it until it became an immediate problem.

Edited 2010-02-04 18:45 (UTC)

"Good. And I'll see if Tony has any brilliant ideas," Jack said. Tony knew magic; his brain might stretch in directions Jack's didn't. "And -- take care of yourself?"

Yeah, he had nothing.

"I know how to handle this kind of thing," Mitchell said, sounding twitchy. "Just keep the mobs calm, will you?"

He had a few more other poor-monster-being-chased-off-by-the-crowd movies lined up for tonight, for some reason.

"I'll help where I can." He'd already convinced Raven there was at least one good vampire in the word; that had to count for something.

"Thank you," Mitchell replied, sincerely.

And, there being very little else to say, he hung up.

71 Serendipity, Thursday Late Afternoon

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