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 ]]

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.

Max still wasn't wandering around in plain sight, and he was getting quite good with the whole windcrafted invisibility trick. Which explained why the knock at Mitchell's door didn't have any visible source.

Other senses? Well, sure. But humans tended to be visual creatures.

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