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chosehumanityIt had been... a little over a week, since Becka died, maybe more, and it looked like Mitchell was finally starting to inch back towards his old, more outgoing self. This was progress, this was good, this was... well, it was progress, anyway.
George had left progress to progress and gone out for some shopping. Groceries, originally, but he'd gotten distracted by a furniture shop and it was a long story. Anyway, two hours later, he was ambling back towards the house with a bag of groceries in one hand and some receipts for future housing furniture stuffed into his trousers. He was coming up on his (splendid) new house, and dug around for the keys, and--
Mitchell yanked open the door. "Hi!" he chirped. "Come on, meet the gang!"
The last thought flitting through George's mind was what? before he realised the world had gone entirely bonkers.
"This is George," Mitchell informed the gathered crowd, beaming sunnily. He shoved George to the forefront. "He doesn't bite!" Beat. "Well," he said, grinning (practically into George's neck) "Only on the full moon."
"This is Carol! She's a former miss--"
Frighteningly enough, by the end of it, it turned out that Mitchell really had memorised every single detail about the people who were now invading George's house. Like Cassie, who apparently only had one kidney, a fact Mitchell was more than inappropriately excited about sharing.
And then there was... "This is... Lee, from number 10. Lee's been... away, for the last 18 months, and knows pretty much everything there is to know about Vin Diesel! For instance, did you know that before his big break in Pitch Black, Vin Diesel wrote two short films that were entered into the Cannes and Sundance film festivals?"
"I did not know that."
George did the only thing he could.
He fled for the kitchen with his phone in hand like a safety.
...After Mitchell, but it was the thought that counted.
"What are all these people doing in our house?!"
"I've been thinking about this whole thing. Going to Fandom. Then getting this house when that fell through." Mitchell sat up, and he still had that earnest grin plastered on his face. "It was to participate. To join humanity. And what have we done? A few trips down to the pub?" He shook his head, bowing over the sink. And... poking at it? "It's pathetic."
He veered back up very, very suddenly, and pointed. "This is what being human is about. This is what I chose."
The wait a minute was clearly legible in George's features. "You chose?!"
"We chose," Mitchell corrected. "We all chose. We can't just--" He gestured firmly. Expressively. "...dip our toe, we have to-- dive into the churn of humanity. Laugh with them." He shrugged, bending forward again. "Listen to their stories."
George glanced back towards the living room. "About Vin Diesel?" he said, incredulously.
"A remarkable man," Mitchell claimed, sounding a bit desperate in his defense of such, "I'm starting to realise."
"It's a bit risky, isn't it?" George hissed back at him, turning abruptly and searching Mitchell's features with his eyes.
"What's more suspicious?" A few more steps brought Mitchell closer to him. Imploring, his eyes were. "Three secretive, shadowy people who never go out, never talk to anyone, or three--" And there was that full-on wattage smile again, "Friendly, welcoming guys, always nice and chatty, their door is always open?"
It's like he'd forgotten. "I don't just mean risky for us," George pointed out.
"We should hide in plain sight again," Mitchell said, firmly. "Stop being ashamed. Invite the world in."
Oh god. He sounded like a bloody crazy person.
A tray of cookies was lifted as Mitchell got upright again - oh, so that's what he'd been doing - and glided straight past him, all smiles. Okay. That was creepy--
--about three times less so than Annie popping into existence right in front of him, though. "Hi!"
In his defense, George didn't jump this time. Mainly because he had a point to make. "What the hell has brought this on?" he hissed at the ghost, taking his glasses off for a second or two. "Since Becka died, it's been a chore getting him to say a word, let alone leave his room, and now this?" It was infuriating. And insane. And--
George was pacing.
"Maybe he's had a blow to the head," Annie suggested.
A few jabs onto the numbers of his cell got him a number. Honestly. Something had to be done. Had she said something? "I'm sorry?"
"Happened to my nan," Annie explained, glancing past him and through the doorway outside. "Got hit in the head by a radio-controlled plane at the county fair. From that moment?" She shook her head. "Obsessed with pygmy goats."
... What?
"...There wasn't a bit of that sentence I understood."
He rubbed at the skin under his glasses, over his eyelids. Nevermind. "Can anyone, you know. See you?" ... He wasn't sure how he'd explain that one, exactly.
"Just you and Mitchell," she murmured, bringing her legs closer towards her belly. "Supernaturals, not humans. I'm not here. I'm past tense."
God. Just. God. "We have to put a stop to this," George announced, "He doesn't understand. These people are British. You're not allowed to talk to your neighbours until you've nodded at them for fifteen years. Just look at them. This must be absolutely terrifying--"
Beep.
He stared down at the phone in his hands. "...Oh, come on!" Jabbing in the number again (and hoping that Jack's voicemail memory wasn't completely clogged up yet), he hissed at the phone, "I think Mitchell has completely lost the plot. Just take him back, will you, before he invites the entire neighbourhood over to the attic for a disco party or whatever people from the States do when they come here and go absolutely off their rockers."
He shut off the phone, reached for his forehead, and gave it a very relaxing rub.
Right. Mitchell would just have to go back.
[[ nfb, nfi, ooc-okay, and taken and adapted from Being Human episode 2. Still leaping all over the place with canon, yes. ]]
George had left progress to progress and gone out for some shopping. Groceries, originally, but he'd gotten distracted by a furniture shop and it was a long story. Anyway, two hours later, he was ambling back towards the house with a bag of groceries in one hand and some receipts for future housing furniture stuffed into his trousers. He was coming up on his (splendid) new house, and dug around for the keys, and--
Mitchell yanked open the door. "Hi!" he chirped. "Come on, meet the gang!"
The last thought flitting through George's mind was what? before he realised the world had gone entirely bonkers.
"This is George," Mitchell informed the gathered crowd, beaming sunnily. He shoved George to the forefront. "He doesn't bite!" Beat. "Well," he said, grinning (practically into George's neck) "Only on the full moon."
"This is Carol! She's a former miss--"
Frighteningly enough, by the end of it, it turned out that Mitchell really had memorised every single detail about the people who were now invading George's house. Like Cassie, who apparently only had one kidney, a fact Mitchell was more than inappropriately excited about sharing.
And then there was... "This is... Lee, from number 10. Lee's been... away, for the last 18 months, and knows pretty much everything there is to know about Vin Diesel! For instance, did you know that before his big break in Pitch Black, Vin Diesel wrote two short films that were entered into the Cannes and Sundance film festivals?"
"I did not know that."
George did the only thing he could.
He fled for the kitchen with his phone in hand like a safety.
...After Mitchell, but it was the thought that counted.
"What are all these people doing in our house?!"
"I've been thinking about this whole thing. Going to Fandom. Then getting this house when that fell through." Mitchell sat up, and he still had that earnest grin plastered on his face. "It was to participate. To join humanity. And what have we done? A few trips down to the pub?" He shook his head, bowing over the sink. And... poking at it? "It's pathetic."
He veered back up very, very suddenly, and pointed. "This is what being human is about. This is what I chose."
The wait a minute was clearly legible in George's features. "You chose?!"
"We chose," Mitchell corrected. "We all chose. We can't just--" He gestured firmly. Expressively. "...dip our toe, we have to-- dive into the churn of humanity. Laugh with them." He shrugged, bending forward again. "Listen to their stories."
George glanced back towards the living room. "About Vin Diesel?" he said, incredulously.
"A remarkable man," Mitchell claimed, sounding a bit desperate in his defense of such, "I'm starting to realise."
"It's a bit risky, isn't it?" George hissed back at him, turning abruptly and searching Mitchell's features with his eyes.
"What's more suspicious?" A few more steps brought Mitchell closer to him. Imploring, his eyes were. "Three secretive, shadowy people who never go out, never talk to anyone, or three--" And there was that full-on wattage smile again, "Friendly, welcoming guys, always nice and chatty, their door is always open?"
It's like he'd forgotten. "I don't just mean risky for us," George pointed out.
"We should hide in plain sight again," Mitchell said, firmly. "Stop being ashamed. Invite the world in."
Oh god. He sounded like a bloody crazy person.
A tray of cookies was lifted as Mitchell got upright again - oh, so that's what he'd been doing - and glided straight past him, all smiles. Okay. That was creepy--
--about three times less so than Annie popping into existence right in front of him, though. "Hi!"
In his defense, George didn't jump this time. Mainly because he had a point to make. "What the hell has brought this on?" he hissed at the ghost, taking his glasses off for a second or two. "Since Becka died, it's been a chore getting him to say a word, let alone leave his room, and now this?" It was infuriating. And insane. And--
George was pacing.
"Maybe he's had a blow to the head," Annie suggested.
A few jabs onto the numbers of his cell got him a number. Honestly. Something had to be done. Had she said something? "I'm sorry?"
"Happened to my nan," Annie explained, glancing past him and through the doorway outside. "Got hit in the head by a radio-controlled plane at the county fair. From that moment?" She shook her head. "Obsessed with pygmy goats."
... What?
"...There wasn't a bit of that sentence I understood."
He rubbed at the skin under his glasses, over his eyelids. Nevermind. "Can anyone, you know. See you?" ... He wasn't sure how he'd explain that one, exactly.
"Just you and Mitchell," she murmured, bringing her legs closer towards her belly. "Supernaturals, not humans. I'm not here. I'm past tense."
God. Just. God. "We have to put a stop to this," George announced, "He doesn't understand. These people are British. You're not allowed to talk to your neighbours until you've nodded at them for fifteen years. Just look at them. This must be absolutely terrifying--"
Beep.
He stared down at the phone in his hands. "...Oh, come on!" Jabbing in the number again (and hoping that Jack's voicemail memory wasn't completely clogged up yet), he hissed at the phone, "I think Mitchell has completely lost the plot. Just take him back, will you, before he invites the entire neighbourhood over to the attic for a disco party or whatever people from the States do when they come here and go absolutely off their rockers."
He shut off the phone, reached for his forehead, and gave it a very relaxing rub.
Right. Mitchell would just have to go back.
[[ nfb, nfi, ooc-okay, and taken and adapted from Being Human episode 2. Still leaping all over the place with canon, yes. ]]
no subject
Date: 2010-03-04 07:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-03-04 07:56 pm (UTC)