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chosehumanityMitchell's Portalocity connection hadn't been until roughly the middle of the night. They had muttered something about making sure his connection was 'concurrent', whatever that meant, but it did mean that he had had to spend a lot of time waiting by the side of the causeway for his pickup to the terminal very, very early in the morning.
It didn't help that, the longer he waited, the more his baggage seemed to copy itself, somehow. When curiosity got a firm hold of him and he leaned over to inspect them, he almost immediately recoiled.
Lost friends in World War I, said an old, dusty one. Turned into a vampire, said another. And then there were the tiny, grey ones, the ones that came equipped only with dates and that made Mitchell want to run off into another direction while he remained rooted to the spot.
The last one, he picked up. Josie, it read, simply.
He stared at it for a long while.
---
Upon arrival in Bristol, Mitchell may have gone overboard to compensate for his newly rotten mood and invited the entire neighbourhood in. Again.
It didn't help that George, fresh off a new transformation, seemed ornery. He'd come in wearing... not quite his usual choice in stolen attire, but a fresh clean shirt and a fresher pair of trousers. It made Mitchell frown, but George wouldn't come up with an explanation.
Which was all the more troubling when, half an hour in, George snagged one of their guests - the one that smelled vaguely of werewolf - up out of his seat and dragged him outside, yelling all the way.
Mitchell pushed his head out the door a few minutes into that racket. "Everything all right, George?" he called, biting down on his scone.
He saw the indecisive look on George's face, and frowned. Definitely smelled off werewolf, that one, so-- "Why don't you come in, and I'll make sure everyone else clears off?"
George made a strangled noise in the back of his throat, and turned around. The stranger followed him.
---
"...anyway, it's a pretty obvious scent, so I spent the next few days in the library--"
"What were you looking for?" Annie had been taken in by the stranger - Tully, his name was - almost immediately. Now she was leaning over, watching him with an eagerness. Hanging off every word.
"Animal attacks, wolf attacks," Tully listed off, "Anything like that. I was about to give up, when there it was..." He sat forward. "Staring me right in the face. Scotland, 2008. 'Tourist, attacked by wolf'. So now I've got a name, I've got a pretty good sense of which place he was using to transform, and then it was just a case of biding my time..."
That made sense; Mitchell had been trying to push George to associate with his own kind more, and now his own kind was coming for him. It was a good thing. Should be, anyway.
"So you've been sleeping rough?" Annie asked, wringing her fingers together.
"Well..." Tully shrugged, and rubbed at his head. "Now and again, someone will... offer me a bed, but that usually means... sharing."
Annie burst into excited giggles, her mouth spreading in a smile. Oh yeah, she was taken in all right.
"Usually it's just my pillow... a canopy of stars..." Tully smiled back, fondly.
"I'd like to see George living like that," Annie confided, still laughing. "He had a panic attack and ran when we went to Eden Project."
"Freedom's addictive," Tully admitted. Mitchell's eyes flicked to George's face briefly, to make out how he was feeling. He wasn't picking up much. "But it gets hard. No, what you've got here..." He gestured at the room, "That's the life. This... sanctuary. I don't know; sometimes I'm my own worst enemy." And added, "Tully is as Tully does."
... right. Now that wasn't ridiculous, or anything.
But it made Annie laugh, and bump her shoulder into Mitchell's, and he couldn't... help but smile at that, at least.
George was different.
"Why are you laughing," he said, tonelessly.
Annie giggled harder, collapsing back against the couch. "I have no idea," she squeaked.
Tully's eyes were trained on her, and he tilted his head. "I don't mean to stare," he said, "But I've seen people like you before. People who have... crossed over. But never so solid, so... vibrant."
He really was flirting with Annie fairly hard, wasn't he?
"You're not like a ghost," he drawled, "You're more like--"
"A zombie?" Annie volunteered, clapping her hands and smiling pointlessly.
It got her another smile. "I was going to say an angel."
Definitely hitting on her. But... really, Mitchell couldn't be angry at him for it. It was making Annie laugh for the first time since she became invisible again. And smile, and seem genuinely enthusiastic about something. That was worth any number of sitting through vaguely smarmy remarks.
Mitchell took a long sip of his beer.
"Can I ask you a question?" Tully asked, pointing his finger at Mitchell this time.
The vampire's eyebrows went up, but he dutifully lowered the beer, smiled, and said, "Please."
"There's not many vampires that would break bread with a werewolf," Tully noted, rubbing at his hands.
He'd expected that question - that non-question, really. His fingers found his bottle again, and he tried not to think of the baggage from that morning. "I'm... lapsed," he said, and mentally shoved all of those dated bags out of the way.
"Oh," Tully said, in understanding. "Ah, a mirror reflects a man's face, but what he's really like is shown in what friends he chooses..."
...Again, Mitchell wasn't entirely sure what to make of that. It felt like a compliment and a threat.
"Proverbs... 27:19?" Tully paused. "...Something like that." He held up his hands. "Lapsed Catholic."
Ah. That made sense. He seemed like a good guy all right -- Mitchell snuck one more look at Annie's face, and let his beer dangle between his fingers. "Where are you sleeping tonight?" he asked.
"In the arms of Mother Nature," Tully confessed, "As always--"
"Is just saying 'outside' really that difficult?" George interjected, tilting his head over to throw Mitchell a look that... finally made it very clear where he stood. Well. Maybe this might be a good push.
George had sorely needed one.
And in that moment, Mitchell made the call. It seemed sensible. Logical. A good thing. "Why don't you stay with us?"
"...What?!"
They'd never gotten very far by listening to George anyway.
Yes, this would be good.
"It's just for a couple of days," Mitchell pointed out. "Sofa's the best we can offer, but it's warm, and there's tea and a telly."
What followed was the usual bickering, George throwing around random cutting remarks like they were arguments or something. Mitchell wasn't going to be swayed, though: this seemed like a really fun thing for all of them, especially considering that he was out a few days every week. And so it was settled.
He stood up and made his way into the kitchen to get another beer, leaving Tully to entertain Annie on the couch. Her laughter was clearly audible even from by the fridge.
Suddenly, the fridge shifted. George's weight had pushed it slightly. "What the hell are you doing?" the werewolf hissed.
"I told you," Mitchell said, sighing, and mucked about until he found three more bottles to pull out. "We have to embrace humanity? Let the world in."
George closed his eyes. "Yeah," he said, and waved his finger to make his point, "But he. Isn't. Human."
"In that case," Mitchell deadpanned, "Neither are you."
Seeing that he was losing this one quick, George shifted tracks. "It's Annie I'm worried about. She's very vulnerable right now-- very very vulnerable, and having Tully here is putting her under a lot of strain already!" He twisted towards the open doorway. "You can see it!"
With a quick tilt of his head, Mitchell peered past George and through the doorway, towards where Annie was giggling over some joke Tully had just told. His eyebrows went up again.
"This whole--" George started, cut himself off, and pulled away from the fridge. "No, n-no, no, the deal's off."
Deal?
Mitchell shut the fridge door. "What deal?"
"He said he could show me ways to manage..." The usual pause. "...the condition, and in return, I'd--" He sighed, and reached up, plucking his glasses from his face. "I'd let him meet you two."
...George was complaining about this why? "But that's great!" he said, gesturing happily with his beers in hand.
"No, it's not, now it's here! Isn't it bad enough this happens to me once a month? Can't I have something, somewhere I can hide from it?" He gesticulated wildly, his face assuming the mode of the usual denial-upset.
Oh god, this again?
"You get to hide from it twenty-seven days out of twenty-eight," Mitchell said, staring at him, "That's pretty good going from where I'm standing."
And with that, George's face turned-- well, it turned ugly. "See, you've forgotten what it's like to see your own reflection," he spat. What in the name of all bullshit was-- "To be faced with yourself. What you are. Every day." His voice hitched. "Mitchell, the house is my way of coping. I want to close that door--" He pointed at it, his face running red. "I'm allowed," he snapped, "To close that door. And forget!"
Fucking hell, George.
"I can't even believe we're having this conversation," Mitchell said, shaking his head slowly. First all of that crap with Kate, now this... "If someone could teach me ways to control what I have," he said, advancing on George, "Jesus, I'd jump at the chance." No more blood lust. No more pain, no more death, no more temptation, jesus christ.
He could see the shocked, lost look crossing George's face, but... christ. He really didn't have the time for this. Not if George was going to be this much of a twat about it--
He took his beers and walked out of the kitchen.
[[ all taken from episode 1x02 of Being Human! NFB, NFI, OOC-okay. ]]
It didn't help that, the longer he waited, the more his baggage seemed to copy itself, somehow. When curiosity got a firm hold of him and he leaned over to inspect them, he almost immediately recoiled.
Lost friends in World War I, said an old, dusty one. Turned into a vampire, said another. And then there were the tiny, grey ones, the ones that came equipped only with dates and that made Mitchell want to run off into another direction while he remained rooted to the spot.
The last one, he picked up. Josie, it read, simply.
He stared at it for a long while.
---
Upon arrival in Bristol, Mitchell may have gone overboard to compensate for his newly rotten mood and invited the entire neighbourhood in. Again.
It didn't help that George, fresh off a new transformation, seemed ornery. He'd come in wearing... not quite his usual choice in stolen attire, but a fresh clean shirt and a fresher pair of trousers. It made Mitchell frown, but George wouldn't come up with an explanation.
Which was all the more troubling when, half an hour in, George snagged one of their guests - the one that smelled vaguely of werewolf - up out of his seat and dragged him outside, yelling all the way.
Mitchell pushed his head out the door a few minutes into that racket. "Everything all right, George?" he called, biting down on his scone.
He saw the indecisive look on George's face, and frowned. Definitely smelled off werewolf, that one, so-- "Why don't you come in, and I'll make sure everyone else clears off?"
George made a strangled noise in the back of his throat, and turned around. The stranger followed him.
---
"...anyway, it's a pretty obvious scent, so I spent the next few days in the library--"
"What were you looking for?" Annie had been taken in by the stranger - Tully, his name was - almost immediately. Now she was leaning over, watching him with an eagerness. Hanging off every word.
"Animal attacks, wolf attacks," Tully listed off, "Anything like that. I was about to give up, when there it was..." He sat forward. "Staring me right in the face. Scotland, 2008. 'Tourist, attacked by wolf'. So now I've got a name, I've got a pretty good sense of which place he was using to transform, and then it was just a case of biding my time..."
That made sense; Mitchell had been trying to push George to associate with his own kind more, and now his own kind was coming for him. It was a good thing. Should be, anyway.
"So you've been sleeping rough?" Annie asked, wringing her fingers together.
"Well..." Tully shrugged, and rubbed at his head. "Now and again, someone will... offer me a bed, but that usually means... sharing."
Annie burst into excited giggles, her mouth spreading in a smile. Oh yeah, she was taken in all right.
"Usually it's just my pillow... a canopy of stars..." Tully smiled back, fondly.
"I'd like to see George living like that," Annie confided, still laughing. "He had a panic attack and ran when we went to Eden Project."
"Freedom's addictive," Tully admitted. Mitchell's eyes flicked to George's face briefly, to make out how he was feeling. He wasn't picking up much. "But it gets hard. No, what you've got here..." He gestured at the room, "That's the life. This... sanctuary. I don't know; sometimes I'm my own worst enemy." And added, "Tully is as Tully does."
... right. Now that wasn't ridiculous, or anything.
But it made Annie laugh, and bump her shoulder into Mitchell's, and he couldn't... help but smile at that, at least.
George was different.
"Why are you laughing," he said, tonelessly.
Annie giggled harder, collapsing back against the couch. "I have no idea," she squeaked.
Tully's eyes were trained on her, and he tilted his head. "I don't mean to stare," he said, "But I've seen people like you before. People who have... crossed over. But never so solid, so... vibrant."
He really was flirting with Annie fairly hard, wasn't he?
"You're not like a ghost," he drawled, "You're more like--"
"A zombie?" Annie volunteered, clapping her hands and smiling pointlessly.
It got her another smile. "I was going to say an angel."
Definitely hitting on her. But... really, Mitchell couldn't be angry at him for it. It was making Annie laugh for the first time since she became invisible again. And smile, and seem genuinely enthusiastic about something. That was worth any number of sitting through vaguely smarmy remarks.
Mitchell took a long sip of his beer.
"Can I ask you a question?" Tully asked, pointing his finger at Mitchell this time.
The vampire's eyebrows went up, but he dutifully lowered the beer, smiled, and said, "Please."
"There's not many vampires that would break bread with a werewolf," Tully noted, rubbing at his hands.
He'd expected that question - that non-question, really. His fingers found his bottle again, and he tried not to think of the baggage from that morning. "I'm... lapsed," he said, and mentally shoved all of those dated bags out of the way.
"Oh," Tully said, in understanding. "Ah, a mirror reflects a man's face, but what he's really like is shown in what friends he chooses..."
...Again, Mitchell wasn't entirely sure what to make of that. It felt like a compliment and a threat.
"Proverbs... 27:19?" Tully paused. "...Something like that." He held up his hands. "Lapsed Catholic."
Ah. That made sense. He seemed like a good guy all right -- Mitchell snuck one more look at Annie's face, and let his beer dangle between his fingers. "Where are you sleeping tonight?" he asked.
"In the arms of Mother Nature," Tully confessed, "As always--"
"Is just saying 'outside' really that difficult?" George interjected, tilting his head over to throw Mitchell a look that... finally made it very clear where he stood. Well. Maybe this might be a good push.
George had sorely needed one.
And in that moment, Mitchell made the call. It seemed sensible. Logical. A good thing. "Why don't you stay with us?"
"...What?!"
They'd never gotten very far by listening to George anyway.
Yes, this would be good.
"It's just for a couple of days," Mitchell pointed out. "Sofa's the best we can offer, but it's warm, and there's tea and a telly."
What followed was the usual bickering, George throwing around random cutting remarks like they were arguments or something. Mitchell wasn't going to be swayed, though: this seemed like a really fun thing for all of them, especially considering that he was out a few days every week. And so it was settled.
He stood up and made his way into the kitchen to get another beer, leaving Tully to entertain Annie on the couch. Her laughter was clearly audible even from by the fridge.
Suddenly, the fridge shifted. George's weight had pushed it slightly. "What the hell are you doing?" the werewolf hissed.
"I told you," Mitchell said, sighing, and mucked about until he found three more bottles to pull out. "We have to embrace humanity? Let the world in."
George closed his eyes. "Yeah," he said, and waved his finger to make his point, "But he. Isn't. Human."
"In that case," Mitchell deadpanned, "Neither are you."
Seeing that he was losing this one quick, George shifted tracks. "It's Annie I'm worried about. She's very vulnerable right now-- very very vulnerable, and having Tully here is putting her under a lot of strain already!" He twisted towards the open doorway. "You can see it!"
With a quick tilt of his head, Mitchell peered past George and through the doorway, towards where Annie was giggling over some joke Tully had just told. His eyebrows went up again.
"This whole--" George started, cut himself off, and pulled away from the fridge. "No, n-no, no, the deal's off."
Deal?
Mitchell shut the fridge door. "What deal?"
"He said he could show me ways to manage..." The usual pause. "...the condition, and in return, I'd--" He sighed, and reached up, plucking his glasses from his face. "I'd let him meet you two."
...George was complaining about this why? "But that's great!" he said, gesturing happily with his beers in hand.
"No, it's not, now it's here! Isn't it bad enough this happens to me once a month? Can't I have something, somewhere I can hide from it?" He gesticulated wildly, his face assuming the mode of the usual denial-upset.
Oh god, this again?
"You get to hide from it twenty-seven days out of twenty-eight," Mitchell said, staring at him, "That's pretty good going from where I'm standing."
And with that, George's face turned-- well, it turned ugly. "See, you've forgotten what it's like to see your own reflection," he spat. What in the name of all bullshit was-- "To be faced with yourself. What you are. Every day." His voice hitched. "Mitchell, the house is my way of coping. I want to close that door--" He pointed at it, his face running red. "I'm allowed," he snapped, "To close that door. And forget!"
Fucking hell, George.
"I can't even believe we're having this conversation," Mitchell said, shaking his head slowly. First all of that crap with Kate, now this... "If someone could teach me ways to control what I have," he said, advancing on George, "Jesus, I'd jump at the chance." No more blood lust. No more pain, no more death, no more temptation, jesus christ.
He could see the shocked, lost look crossing George's face, but... christ. He really didn't have the time for this. Not if George was going to be this much of a twat about it--
He took his beers and walked out of the kitchen.
[[ all taken from episode 1x02 of Being Human! NFB, NFI, OOC-okay. ]]
