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chosehumanityMitchell had gotten home a day ago, checked the calendar, and nearly had a heart attack.
He´d tried to avoid Annie since then, well aware of all the dangers involved, but: it was starting to get a little difficult. For one, she was currently tearing up the kitchen, ghostly eyeliner trailing down her face like tears, pushing and shoving at the various cupboards.
Tea was out of the picture, then.
Mitchell was content to drift near the edges of the... explosion, never touching, never getting close enough to stumble into any kind of danger, but--
"Woah! We can't go in there!"
George was not as observant, obviously. In fact, George was throwing him a confused look, which meant he needed to elaborate.
"It's not safe. It's PMT," Mitchell hissed, because that covered the lot of everything, didn't it? Like a giant danger sign. "She wrote it on the calendar," he added, just in case George was going to go out and doubt his claim.
"How can she possibly have PMT?" asked George, missing the point in a spectacular fashion. "She's a ghost."
Well, sure, it was a good question, but not really one you wanted to ask when your life was at stake.
"I don't know," Mitchell whispered back, conspiratorally, and leaned into the doorframe, hoping not to catch Annie's attention. "But it's not worth the risk. Let's go to the chippy." That would be safe, right? She wouldn't be following them. Too busy tearing up the place.
Despite the fact that it was a very sane, normal, and quite frankly safe proposition that Mitchell had just made, George looked absolutely appalled. "Mitchell, I have two steaks in the fridge. They'll go off if I don't eat them today, and I'm bloody starving." Those lines were grafting themselves back into his forehead - the lines that spelled I am not moving on this like some deranged OCD pride thing.
Jesus Christ, George. This was not the kind of situation you should get all huffy about.
Mitchell tried to banish that thought from his mind, and fixated instead on sounding as persuasive as he could possibly manage. "If you want, I can grab the steaks, and we can just make a dash for it!" he proposed. It would be dangerous, but less so than trying to eat near Annie right now.
"No way!" George's voice hitched way up into the sky and he sounded positively offended to the very core of his being. "I'm not eating raw meat like an animal just because a ghost is ovulating!"
Having declared himself thus, George did the inadvisable thing and poked his head 'round the door, holding his hands up in a placating way. "Annie, are you okay...?" he asked, gently, stepping across the treshold.
He was nearly immediately blown away by the force of Annie's voice.
"This is an engagement present!" she roared, waving a particularly disturbing-looking metal torture implement about. In the process, she tipped a cup off the table, but she didn't seem to care. "And now look at it!" she proclaimed, shaking it. "Just an unused kitchen utensil in the back of a drawer in a rented house that nobody--"
Her voice broke. "--that nobody loves."
"W-well, I've always..." George floundered, attempting to regain his balance. "--wondered what that is." He nodded encouragingly at the instrument of death she was wielding like a club.
"It's a--" Something-something grater. Mitchell didn't have a clue. "--For shredding parsley. Owen liked parsley sauce with boiled ham, it was his favourite. Do you know what Thursday is?"
No, as a matter of fact, Mitchell had no idea. But, recognising and accepting that he wasn't going to get out of this, he followed George, stepping carefully into the kitchen. He was out of his depth here, he knew that-- maybe he should be looking into someone who could, er, help.
... Kate?
His thoughts were interrupted as Annie produced a fresh set of sobs, flailing pointlessly with the grater... thingy. "It's the day we set for our wedding!"
"Oh, no, you poor thing," George said, going the inadvisable route of trying the sympathy angle.
Mitchell knew how these things went. It didn't matter what you said--
"--you should have said--"
"I DON'T WANT TO THINK ABOUT IT!"
--it was never going to go over well. One of Annie's flails with the grater nearly clobbered George over the head, forcing the man to dodge back and hold up his hands in the universal sign of surrender.
"I don't wanna-- make it real!" she said, lip wobbling, grater cutting through the air like a mace. "That he'll be spending it with her! Janey Tango-Face Harris and she'll be-- she'll be serving him parsley sauce and boiled ham!" The grater made another dangerous swoop towards George's head-- he had to duck to avoid it this time. Annie didn't even seem to notice.
Right. He should probably get in there before she actually killed him. Like walking straight into a swamp in order to save a friend, and... probably get sucked under into certain death while he did it.
No, not Kate. Kate would've just mocked the piss out of this.
"Annie," he tried, coming up closer so he could pluck the grater gently from her hands while he spoke. Just a little closer-- closer-- "Owen's moved on with his life." The grater came loose from her death grip, and he set it carefully back down. "You need to as well."
She glared at him, eyes wet with tears already shed, lashes clumping together under the combined weight of mascara and fluid. "I'm dead, in case you hadn't noticed!" she proclaimed, indignantly.
This was not going to go well, this was not going to go well, this was not...
"But you've still got loads to offer to the right..." Yes. This was a swamp. Definitely a swamp. She was dead, so it wasn't like-- having this conversation with a normal person-- oh god, what should he say? "...person."
Oh, ow.
"Mitchell! I'm a ghost!" she said, also getting that point. "No one can even see me!" Yes. Yes, he realised that. Actually, Kate couldn't, either, another reason why she was a bad choice. They needed someone for her. Someone... non-destructive. Someone kind. Someone who wouldn't make too much fun and who might get some of this--
Wait. Wait a minute. He wasn't the best choice, and Mitchell could come up with someone better, but for the moment...
"You know what? I think you need to meet some kindred spirits," he said. Dammit, this was, at least, a decent idea! He got back onto his feet, grinning like a loon. Come on. This had to work. "Right. We're taking you out."
"No, no, no--" But some of the light had gone back into Annie's eyes, even as she muttered through a, "thank you, but I've still got lots to do, I haven't even started on the cupboards yet."
"Look, if you want to sit here and cry about--" What had that been called, again? "...a muley-grater--"
Before his eyes, Annie choked on a sob. Her hands came up to rub at her eyes, and she sniffled. She was clearly trying to compose herself, but she wasn't quite getting there yet.
"... L-look," she said, eventually. "Okay, maybe we can go out." She pressed her palm against one eye, blocking out the last of the tears. "But just for a bit!"
That sounded more like the Annie he knew. This wasn't going to be perfect-- there had to be someone else he could use to cheer her up, but another ghost? Another ghost might help, while he worked on another solution.
Yes. This would work out.
"Nice one. George! Get your lead."
He ignored George's glaring, as per usual.
[[ nfb, nfi, ooc-okay, and taken from Being Human 1x03! ]]
He´d tried to avoid Annie since then, well aware of all the dangers involved, but: it was starting to get a little difficult. For one, she was currently tearing up the kitchen, ghostly eyeliner trailing down her face like tears, pushing and shoving at the various cupboards.
Tea was out of the picture, then.
Mitchell was content to drift near the edges of the... explosion, never touching, never getting close enough to stumble into any kind of danger, but--
"Woah! We can't go in there!"
George was not as observant, obviously. In fact, George was throwing him a confused look, which meant he needed to elaborate.
"It's not safe. It's PMT," Mitchell hissed, because that covered the lot of everything, didn't it? Like a giant danger sign. "She wrote it on the calendar," he added, just in case George was going to go out and doubt his claim.
"How can she possibly have PMT?" asked George, missing the point in a spectacular fashion. "She's a ghost."
Well, sure, it was a good question, but not really one you wanted to ask when your life was at stake.
"I don't know," Mitchell whispered back, conspiratorally, and leaned into the doorframe, hoping not to catch Annie's attention. "But it's not worth the risk. Let's go to the chippy." That would be safe, right? She wouldn't be following them. Too busy tearing up the place.
Despite the fact that it was a very sane, normal, and quite frankly safe proposition that Mitchell had just made, George looked absolutely appalled. "Mitchell, I have two steaks in the fridge. They'll go off if I don't eat them today, and I'm bloody starving." Those lines were grafting themselves back into his forehead - the lines that spelled I am not moving on this like some deranged OCD pride thing.
Jesus Christ, George. This was not the kind of situation you should get all huffy about.
Mitchell tried to banish that thought from his mind, and fixated instead on sounding as persuasive as he could possibly manage. "If you want, I can grab the steaks, and we can just make a dash for it!" he proposed. It would be dangerous, but less so than trying to eat near Annie right now.
"No way!" George's voice hitched way up into the sky and he sounded positively offended to the very core of his being. "I'm not eating raw meat like an animal just because a ghost is ovulating!"
Having declared himself thus, George did the inadvisable thing and poked his head 'round the door, holding his hands up in a placating way. "Annie, are you okay...?" he asked, gently, stepping across the treshold.
He was nearly immediately blown away by the force of Annie's voice.
"This is an engagement present!" she roared, waving a particularly disturbing-looking metal torture implement about. In the process, she tipped a cup off the table, but she didn't seem to care. "And now look at it!" she proclaimed, shaking it. "Just an unused kitchen utensil in the back of a drawer in a rented house that nobody--"
Her voice broke. "--that nobody loves."
"W-well, I've always..." George floundered, attempting to regain his balance. "--wondered what that is." He nodded encouragingly at the instrument of death she was wielding like a club.
"It's a--" Something-something grater. Mitchell didn't have a clue. "--For shredding parsley. Owen liked parsley sauce with boiled ham, it was his favourite. Do you know what Thursday is?"
No, as a matter of fact, Mitchell had no idea. But, recognising and accepting that he wasn't going to get out of this, he followed George, stepping carefully into the kitchen. He was out of his depth here, he knew that-- maybe he should be looking into someone who could, er, help.
... Kate?
His thoughts were interrupted as Annie produced a fresh set of sobs, flailing pointlessly with the grater... thingy. "It's the day we set for our wedding!"
"Oh, no, you poor thing," George said, going the inadvisable route of trying the sympathy angle.
Mitchell knew how these things went. It didn't matter what you said--
"--you should have said--"
"I DON'T WANT TO THINK ABOUT IT!"
--it was never going to go over well. One of Annie's flails with the grater nearly clobbered George over the head, forcing the man to dodge back and hold up his hands in the universal sign of surrender.
"I don't wanna-- make it real!" she said, lip wobbling, grater cutting through the air like a mace. "That he'll be spending it with her! Janey Tango-Face Harris and she'll be-- she'll be serving him parsley sauce and boiled ham!" The grater made another dangerous swoop towards George's head-- he had to duck to avoid it this time. Annie didn't even seem to notice.
Right. He should probably get in there before she actually killed him. Like walking straight into a swamp in order to save a friend, and... probably get sucked under into certain death while he did it.
No, not Kate. Kate would've just mocked the piss out of this.
"Annie," he tried, coming up closer so he could pluck the grater gently from her hands while he spoke. Just a little closer-- closer-- "Owen's moved on with his life." The grater came loose from her death grip, and he set it carefully back down. "You need to as well."
She glared at him, eyes wet with tears already shed, lashes clumping together under the combined weight of mascara and fluid. "I'm dead, in case you hadn't noticed!" she proclaimed, indignantly.
This was not going to go well, this was not going to go well, this was not...
"But you've still got loads to offer to the right..." Yes. This was a swamp. Definitely a swamp. She was dead, so it wasn't like-- having this conversation with a normal person-- oh god, what should he say? "...person."
Oh, ow.
"Mitchell! I'm a ghost!" she said, also getting that point. "No one can even see me!" Yes. Yes, he realised that. Actually, Kate couldn't, either, another reason why she was a bad choice. They needed someone for her. Someone... non-destructive. Someone kind. Someone who wouldn't make too much fun and who might get some of this--
Wait. Wait a minute. He wasn't the best choice, and Mitchell could come up with someone better, but for the moment...
"You know what? I think you need to meet some kindred spirits," he said. Dammit, this was, at least, a decent idea! He got back onto his feet, grinning like a loon. Come on. This had to work. "Right. We're taking you out."
"No, no, no--" But some of the light had gone back into Annie's eyes, even as she muttered through a, "thank you, but I've still got lots to do, I haven't even started on the cupboards yet."
"Look, if you want to sit here and cry about--" What had that been called, again? "...a muley-grater--"
Before his eyes, Annie choked on a sob. Her hands came up to rub at her eyes, and she sniffled. She was clearly trying to compose herself, but she wasn't quite getting there yet.
"... L-look," she said, eventually. "Okay, maybe we can go out." She pressed her palm against one eye, blocking out the last of the tears. "But just for a bit!"
That sounded more like the Annie he knew. This wasn't going to be perfect-- there had to be someone else he could use to cheer her up, but another ghost? Another ghost might help, while he worked on another solution.
Yes. This would work out.
"Nice one. George! Get your lead."
He ignored George's glaring, as per usual.
[[ nfb, nfi, ooc-okay, and taken from Being Human 1x03! ]]
