A Corner House in Bristol, Friday Night
Feb. 26th, 2010 11:15 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
chosehumanityThey had been in the middle of an argument.
The documents had been signed late last afternoon, caught in a combination of George's over-compensating enthusiasm and Mitchell's generally eager nature. Not that the latter cared all that much. It was a nice house.
It would mean he'd have to start keeping frequent portal flyer points, but it was a nice house.
But they had wound up in the middle of an argument about where George should change next Sunday, and somehow it had gotten carried away-- or something like that. How else to explain the fact that while they had been turned elsewhere, someone had written 'GET OUT' on their wall in bright red paint?
"Shit," George cursed. "Shit."
Mitchell reached out, his fingertips first, placing them gently on the bright bright red. "It's still wet," he mused.
The resulting noise startled him. He nearly jumped, his form twisting towards the stairs up. Something. Something? "You should go see what that is."
"...Why am I going?"
"One of us has to go look," Mitchell said, sensibly, "And I'm better from the rear. You're... stocky."
"Stocky," George echoed, dubiously.
"Look at you," Mitchell said, momentarily distracted from everything, "You know, when there's a cartoon and a safe falls on someone--"
"Oh, this is ridiculous!" George threw up his hands. "What could be scarier than one of us?"
Mitchell shot him a fleeting glance, and picked up the umbrella that was, by far, the only vaguely weaponlike item in the mostly-empty house. The answer, when it came down to it, was really rather simple. "A bigger one of us...?" he asked, and gave George a quick smack, urging him on. And up the stairs.
Being the sensible type, George snagged a cricket bat before heading up. He pressed his hands to the doors. Yes. Okay. All right-- he shoved it open, brandishing his bat. There! There-- wait.
The dark-skinned, big-eyed girl stared back at him.
"...Who the hell are you?"
Said dark-skinned, big-eyed girl took a moment to throw a look over her shoulder in confusion. "...What?"
"Who the hell are you," George repeated, helpfully.
"...You can see me?" the girl prompted, lowering her hand from her mouth. Slowly.
"Of course! Who are you!"
No scent. A little wavering around the edges. A little off. A little-- "George," Mitchell prompted.
He knew what she was.
"You can see me!" the girl called again, and crawled up on the arm of the sofa she'd been sitting in. She waved her arms about. "Can you see me do that?!"
"...stay back," George said, clinging to his bat in confusion.
"George," Mitchell tried again.
"Oh my god," she breathed, crawling up onto her feet, "You can hear me, too. I can't believe this!"
The what was fairly obvious on George's face. "...Mitchell, call the police," he said, "Did you write on our wall? That's--"
"George," Mitchell said, once more. "George. Stop."
"This is incredible!" the girl said, beaming like an idiot and flailing about.
"Call the police!"
"No."
"What?!"
"It's okay."
"It's not okay! We paid a deposit!"
"George," Mitchell snapped, losing track of his temper. Honestly, now! "SHUT UP!"
There was a very, very long silence.
Finally, Mitchell spoke again.
"She's a ghost," he said.
The girl lowered her arms. Slowly. The enthusiasm faded from her voice.
"Your point being?"
This was going to be a long day.
[[ nfb, nfi, OOC-okay, taken from the Being Human pilot ]]
The documents had been signed late last afternoon, caught in a combination of George's over-compensating enthusiasm and Mitchell's generally eager nature. Not that the latter cared all that much. It was a nice house.
It would mean he'd have to start keeping frequent portal flyer points, but it was a nice house.
But they had wound up in the middle of an argument about where George should change next Sunday, and somehow it had gotten carried away-- or something like that. How else to explain the fact that while they had been turned elsewhere, someone had written 'GET OUT' on their wall in bright red paint?
"Shit," George cursed. "Shit."
Mitchell reached out, his fingertips first, placing them gently on the bright bright red. "It's still wet," he mused.
The resulting noise startled him. He nearly jumped, his form twisting towards the stairs up. Something. Something? "You should go see what that is."
"...Why am I going?"
"One of us has to go look," Mitchell said, sensibly, "And I'm better from the rear. You're... stocky."
"Stocky," George echoed, dubiously.
"Look at you," Mitchell said, momentarily distracted from everything, "You know, when there's a cartoon and a safe falls on someone--"
"Oh, this is ridiculous!" George threw up his hands. "What could be scarier than one of us?"
Mitchell shot him a fleeting glance, and picked up the umbrella that was, by far, the only vaguely weaponlike item in the mostly-empty house. The answer, when it came down to it, was really rather simple. "A bigger one of us...?" he asked, and gave George a quick smack, urging him on. And up the stairs.
Being the sensible type, George snagged a cricket bat before heading up. He pressed his hands to the doors. Yes. Okay. All right-- he shoved it open, brandishing his bat. There! There-- wait.
The dark-skinned, big-eyed girl stared back at him.
"...Who the hell are you?"
Said dark-skinned, big-eyed girl took a moment to throw a look over her shoulder in confusion. "...What?"
"Who the hell are you," George repeated, helpfully.
"...You can see me?" the girl prompted, lowering her hand from her mouth. Slowly.
"Of course! Who are you!"
No scent. A little wavering around the edges. A little off. A little-- "George," Mitchell prompted.
He knew what she was.
"You can see me!" the girl called again, and crawled up on the arm of the sofa she'd been sitting in. She waved her arms about. "Can you see me do that?!"
"...stay back," George said, clinging to his bat in confusion.
"George," Mitchell tried again.
"Oh my god," she breathed, crawling up onto her feet, "You can hear me, too. I can't believe this!"
The what was fairly obvious on George's face. "...Mitchell, call the police," he said, "Did you write on our wall? That's--"
"George," Mitchell said, once more. "George. Stop."
"This is incredible!" the girl said, beaming like an idiot and flailing about.
"Call the police!"
"No."
"What?!"
"It's okay."
"It's not okay! We paid a deposit!"
"George," Mitchell snapped, losing track of his temper. Honestly, now! "SHUT UP!"
There was a very, very long silence.
Finally, Mitchell spoke again.
"She's a ghost," he said.
The girl lowered her arms. Slowly. The enthusiasm faded from her voice.
"Your point being?"
This was going to be a long day.
[[ nfb, nfi, OOC-okay, taken from the Being Human pilot ]]
no subject
Date: 2010-02-27 06:52 am (UTC)