![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
chosehumanityThey made it back to the house in record time - which was a good thing, because George barely had minutes to spare. Mitchell had only just pulled into the parking space when George threw open the door and rushed outside, heading for the front door at a dead run. He followed close behind, locking his car with one flick of a key-- then headed up the steps.
George banged on the door. Mitchell shoved him aside, took the keys from him and turned them in the lock. The werewolf was never any use in a panic.
He nearly struck Annie with the door as she passed into the living room.
She halted, blinking. "Alright, George?" she asked, "What are you doing back? I thought it was your time of the month?"
No time for that now.
"It is," Mitchell said, tossing off his jacket. He stormed into the living room. "He's doing it in the house."
Annie's eyes followed him, confused. "But I've just hoovered!"
For now, Mitchell was content to ignore her. First things first. He stopped in the center of the room, and turned quickly. "George," he said, urgently, "What do you need?" He'd done a lot of things in his life; facilitating a werewolf's change wasn't one of them.
"Uh..." George took a deep breath, slowing his hyperventilation. "...Close the curtains so it can't see any windows," he said. Apparently giving the order snapped him out of his funk, because he was rushing to clear things out. "Annie, put some music on. Loud."
For a few seconds, the ghost flailed: then she dashed for the CD player, flicking warily through CDs looking for something that would work. Mitchell had something else on his mind: he was rushing from window to window, shutting all the curtains. Another one. And another one. And another one.
"Anything you don't want broken," he called, "Put it in your room!"
He had a few things in mind he'd have to rescue.
"And what do we do?" Annie asked, jabbing at the CD player with her fingers until it finally kicked off into the dulcet tones of one of Prodigy's finest.
That was a simple answer. "We clear out," Mitchell shot back, shutting the last set of curtains.
"Well, can I watch?"
What?
Mitchell stopped moving rather suddenly. Had she just asked--? Turning 'round, he could see a mirroring confusion on George's face: it was something you just didn't ask for.
"Just for a bit," Annie hastened to add, fidgeting with her sleeves. "I want to see what happens."
It was George who finally snapped out of it. And sighed, rubbing at his forehead. "This isn't like when you're a kid, watching your cat have kittens," he said, slowly. "It's... it's private."
Annie's hands found her hips. "You've seen me since I've died. I think the rules about privacy have got a bit muddy!"
... Yeah, Mitchell had to admit she had a point, there. Actually, she had a point in general. If they were to know each other this well, this intimately, it would only be fair if everyone knew the severity of each other's conditions. Well-- not that Mitchell would share the worst of his, but...
What could it hurt?
He was aware of George staring at him, and of Annie pleading some more - "Come on, George, it's not like you can hurt me!" - and made his call.
"Maybe she should," he offered, returning George's look with a gentler one. "This is what I keep saying. It's part of you."
George shook his head violently. And then less violently. And by the end of it, he mostly just looked like he thought everyone involved was insane. "Keep to the kitchen. Stay out of its line of vision. If it sees you, I don't know what it'll do--"
Suddenly, his entire body seized up. His back spasmed and head fell forward. And he screamed, like no human was meant to scream, full of pain and savagery. "It's coming," he choked out.
Mitchell pulled the TV free of the various cables it was attached to and got the fuck out of the house.
Sitting there on the steps, with the TV in his lap and the music failing to fully cover up the extent of George's screams, he waited. And he waited some more. He tried not to think of it, of all of that sound, but found he couldn't.
Perfect agony. Audible pain, distilled and amplified until he wondered how anyone could even stand it.
He couldn't help it. A hundred and sixteen years of pain and bloodshed, and yet at this: Mitchell flinched.
The worst thing, though, was the silence afterwards. The knowledge that George's vocal chords had just snapped like something brittle, taking away his ability to externalise his horror. He was not surprised when, a bare minute later, Annie suddenly appeared next to him on the steps.
She laid her head on his shoulder. She said nothing.
He curled his arm around her and let her take the comfort she needed.
The wolf howled.
[[ 2 of 3 done. Taken from Being Human 1x01, nfb, nfi, and ooc-okay ]]
George banged on the door. Mitchell shoved him aside, took the keys from him and turned them in the lock. The werewolf was never any use in a panic.
He nearly struck Annie with the door as she passed into the living room.
She halted, blinking. "Alright, George?" she asked, "What are you doing back? I thought it was your time of the month?"
No time for that now.
"It is," Mitchell said, tossing off his jacket. He stormed into the living room. "He's doing it in the house."
Annie's eyes followed him, confused. "But I've just hoovered!"
For now, Mitchell was content to ignore her. First things first. He stopped in the center of the room, and turned quickly. "George," he said, urgently, "What do you need?" He'd done a lot of things in his life; facilitating a werewolf's change wasn't one of them.
"Uh..." George took a deep breath, slowing his hyperventilation. "...Close the curtains so it can't see any windows," he said. Apparently giving the order snapped him out of his funk, because he was rushing to clear things out. "Annie, put some music on. Loud."
For a few seconds, the ghost flailed: then she dashed for the CD player, flicking warily through CDs looking for something that would work. Mitchell had something else on his mind: he was rushing from window to window, shutting all the curtains. Another one. And another one. And another one.
"Anything you don't want broken," he called, "Put it in your room!"
He had a few things in mind he'd have to rescue.
"And what do we do?" Annie asked, jabbing at the CD player with her fingers until it finally kicked off into the dulcet tones of one of Prodigy's finest.
That was a simple answer. "We clear out," Mitchell shot back, shutting the last set of curtains.
"Well, can I watch?"
What?
Mitchell stopped moving rather suddenly. Had she just asked--? Turning 'round, he could see a mirroring confusion on George's face: it was something you just didn't ask for.
"Just for a bit," Annie hastened to add, fidgeting with her sleeves. "I want to see what happens."
It was George who finally snapped out of it. And sighed, rubbing at his forehead. "This isn't like when you're a kid, watching your cat have kittens," he said, slowly. "It's... it's private."
Annie's hands found her hips. "You've seen me since I've died. I think the rules about privacy have got a bit muddy!"
... Yeah, Mitchell had to admit she had a point, there. Actually, she had a point in general. If they were to know each other this well, this intimately, it would only be fair if everyone knew the severity of each other's conditions. Well-- not that Mitchell would share the worst of his, but...
What could it hurt?
He was aware of George staring at him, and of Annie pleading some more - "Come on, George, it's not like you can hurt me!" - and made his call.
"Maybe she should," he offered, returning George's look with a gentler one. "This is what I keep saying. It's part of you."
George shook his head violently. And then less violently. And by the end of it, he mostly just looked like he thought everyone involved was insane. "Keep to the kitchen. Stay out of its line of vision. If it sees you, I don't know what it'll do--"
Suddenly, his entire body seized up. His back spasmed and head fell forward. And he screamed, like no human was meant to scream, full of pain and savagery. "It's coming," he choked out.
Mitchell pulled the TV free of the various cables it was attached to and got the fuck out of the house.
Sitting there on the steps, with the TV in his lap and the music failing to fully cover up the extent of George's screams, he waited. And he waited some more. He tried not to think of it, of all of that sound, but found he couldn't.
Perfect agony. Audible pain, distilled and amplified until he wondered how anyone could even stand it.
He couldn't help it. A hundred and sixteen years of pain and bloodshed, and yet at this: Mitchell flinched.
The worst thing, though, was the silence afterwards. The knowledge that George's vocal chords had just snapped like something brittle, taking away his ability to externalise his horror. He was not surprised when, a bare minute later, Annie suddenly appeared next to him on the steps.
She laid her head on his shoulder. She said nothing.
He curled his arm around her and let her take the comfort she needed.
The wolf howled.
[[ 2 of 3 done. Taken from Being Human 1x01, nfb, nfi, and ooc-okay ]]
