chosehumanity (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
chosehumanity) wrote2010-07-13 09:08 pm
chosehumanity) wrote2010-07-13 09:08 pm
A Club, Bristol, Tuesday Night
The noise in the club was nearly deafening - 80s music. And not the fun, interesting punk kind, or the metal that Mitchell had fancied during the late 70s: the dreary goth and new wave that generally made people want to kill themselves if they listened to it for too long. The lights had been set to their usual overcast blue, people were prancing about in acid wash and large elastics, and the whole thing...
Well. Mitchell had never fancied 80s nights.
However, it was the one place to find the one person who could, conceivably, help Annie out of her funk. That person was leaning against a column near the back of the room, a cigarette tucked behind his ear and an utterly unamused expression on his face.
Danger Shop simulations didn't live up to the real Gilbert. Not by a mile.
"Annie!" Mitchell called, raising his voice so he could be heard over the music. "This is Gilbert."
Annie, who had been looking rather wary for a while there, fidgeted with her hands. Then she pasted on a big, hopeful smile, and waved. "Nice to meet you!" She might just as well have told him there was a hit squad on the way, though.
Because what Gilbert did was sigh, and fixed his bored eyes on her. "Is it?" he asked.
He'd always been such a charmer. Really. Right back when Mitchell had first met him back in 1981: total charmer.
Not that Mitchell was about to let that put him off his plan. "He's a kindred spirit," he said, encouragingly, and reached out to give Annie a little nudge. Come on.
"So you're--" Annie bit down on her lip. "...are you?"
Gilbert's eyebrows took a turn up for his hairline. He still didn't seem too impressed. "Dead? Yes," he said, as if it was nothing particularly surprising. Right. Okay. This was going well.
This was going brilliantly.
This was--
Oh, Mitchell wasn't going to get stuck with Gilbert all night.
"We're just gonna--" He pointed behind him, and then nimbly dove back into the crowd. "...get a drink."
He kept going. He kept going, and he didn't stop until he was within less than a feet of alcohol, gesturing brightly at the barkeeper to secure him something that would get him absolutely hammered. A few seconds later, George joined him, dropping his elbows on the bar and giving him a look.
"Are you sure this is a good idea?" George asked, watching him closely. He decided to ignore it.
Instead, he turned around, leaning back against said bar and relaxing. A bit. Or trying to, at least - it was hard to, with the loud music and the full thrum of bodies. "This is what she needs!" he said. "To meet someone with the same condition." He glanced towards George, because here was the real point: "Anyway, it'll take her mind off of Owen."
Which, presumably, would mean Annie would stop attacking George with kitchen implements.
"Eh, fair enough," said George, sarcastically. He followed in Mitchell's footsteps, turning around and using the bar for a backrest. "It was such a success the last time you tried to encourage one of us to meet someone with the same condition."
Yeah, he was just going to ignore that.
And in ignoring that, he was going to let his eyes drift over the local bar patrons, idly sorting them out by type. His attention drifted for a second to the one he knew would be easy to take out back and-- but no.
He settled it somewhere else instead.
"George, my friend, I do believe you're being checked out," he said.
His answer was silence. A look thrown over in George's direction confirmed it: the werewolf was looking just a bit terrified at the prospect. Sigh. Some days, if you asked Mitchell, it was incredibly obvious that George needed him to live.
Taking pity on him, he said, "You don't have to do anything. Unless you want to."
"Of course I want to!" George let his head fall gently back, shutting his eyes. "I just... can't," he muttered, and took the beer he was offered. For a good swig, too. "It's not safe."
Please. George's problem was one day out of the month. Mitchell snorted and lifted his own beer, watching the boys and the girls moving about the dancefloor. "I never know with you whether it's Jewish guilt, or werewolf guilt."
George sighed again, tapping his bottle against the edge of the bar. "They're pretty much the same thing," he said, shifting in place. His expression softened, something akin to wistfulness making its home there, and for a second Mitchell felt a little bad about mocking him about it. "And what if I do go chat them up, and buy them drinks, and I get tempted to smash the granny out of it?"
And that would be a little sad, and a little tragic, and a little understandable were it not for the fact that the music had taken just that point to cut out, and all of those girls who may or may not have been giving both of them the eye stopped, and stared at George, and left him to babble his hellos and his and oh god can you please get back to it before I dies in his own fashion.
Mitchell watched him go about it for a while. At least until the music set back in.
"Smash the granny?" he asked, casually, and set his beer down on the bartop.
"Yes, I'm sorry that slipped out," George muttered, miserably. He seemed to sink back a little, lost in his own little world. "...It's the same with you, though, isn't it?" he mused, gently. "If you sleep with someone, you might just wind up... killing her."
Sure. Remind him of that.
"I can control myself." Mitchell swiped his beer back off the bar.
"Yeah?"
Stop pushing this, George.
"Uh-huh."
George made a little, half-understanding noise in the back of his throat, and let his eyes dart sideways. Mitchell could feel him watching. Studying. "So what are you waiting for?"
That boy-- the one that Mitchell could recognize from a mile away, the one who'd be pretty damn easily charmed away from the crowd, towards the back, plied with promises and alcohol and something else-- danced a little closer in their direction. All it would take was a couple of steps. (Or over there, the two girls, clearly out on their own for the first time-- or the drunken lad with his three beers, or that party girl, or--)
"... Just not in the mood," said Mitchell, subdued, and took a swig of his beer, and tried and failed to stop seeing Lauren's face in everybody.
[[ nfb, nfi, OOC-okay, and taken and adapted from Being Human 1x03 ]]
Well. Mitchell had never fancied 80s nights.
However, it was the one place to find the one person who could, conceivably, help Annie out of her funk. That person was leaning against a column near the back of the room, a cigarette tucked behind his ear and an utterly unamused expression on his face.
Danger Shop simulations didn't live up to the real Gilbert. Not by a mile.
"Annie!" Mitchell called, raising his voice so he could be heard over the music. "This is Gilbert."
Annie, who had been looking rather wary for a while there, fidgeted with her hands. Then she pasted on a big, hopeful smile, and waved. "Nice to meet you!" She might just as well have told him there was a hit squad on the way, though.
Because what Gilbert did was sigh, and fixed his bored eyes on her. "Is it?" he asked.
He'd always been such a charmer. Really. Right back when Mitchell had first met him back in 1981: total charmer.
Not that Mitchell was about to let that put him off his plan. "He's a kindred spirit," he said, encouragingly, and reached out to give Annie a little nudge. Come on.
"So you're--" Annie bit down on her lip. "...are you?"
Gilbert's eyebrows took a turn up for his hairline. He still didn't seem too impressed. "Dead? Yes," he said, as if it was nothing particularly surprising. Right. Okay. This was going well.
This was going brilliantly.
This was--
Oh, Mitchell wasn't going to get stuck with Gilbert all night.
"We're just gonna--" He pointed behind him, and then nimbly dove back into the crowd. "...get a drink."
He kept going. He kept going, and he didn't stop until he was within less than a feet of alcohol, gesturing brightly at the barkeeper to secure him something that would get him absolutely hammered. A few seconds later, George joined him, dropping his elbows on the bar and giving him a look.
"Are you sure this is a good idea?" George asked, watching him closely. He decided to ignore it.
Instead, he turned around, leaning back against said bar and relaxing. A bit. Or trying to, at least - it was hard to, with the loud music and the full thrum of bodies. "This is what she needs!" he said. "To meet someone with the same condition." He glanced towards George, because here was the real point: "Anyway, it'll take her mind off of Owen."
Which, presumably, would mean Annie would stop attacking George with kitchen implements.
"Eh, fair enough," said George, sarcastically. He followed in Mitchell's footsteps, turning around and using the bar for a backrest. "It was such a success the last time you tried to encourage one of us to meet someone with the same condition."
Yeah, he was just going to ignore that.
And in ignoring that, he was going to let his eyes drift over the local bar patrons, idly sorting them out by type. His attention drifted for a second to the one he knew would be easy to take out back and-- but no.
He settled it somewhere else instead.
"George, my friend, I do believe you're being checked out," he said.
His answer was silence. A look thrown over in George's direction confirmed it: the werewolf was looking just a bit terrified at the prospect. Sigh. Some days, if you asked Mitchell, it was incredibly obvious that George needed him to live.
Taking pity on him, he said, "You don't have to do anything. Unless you want to."
"Of course I want to!" George let his head fall gently back, shutting his eyes. "I just... can't," he muttered, and took the beer he was offered. For a good swig, too. "It's not safe."
Please. George's problem was one day out of the month. Mitchell snorted and lifted his own beer, watching the boys and the girls moving about the dancefloor. "I never know with you whether it's Jewish guilt, or werewolf guilt."
George sighed again, tapping his bottle against the edge of the bar. "They're pretty much the same thing," he said, shifting in place. His expression softened, something akin to wistfulness making its home there, and for a second Mitchell felt a little bad about mocking him about it. "And what if I do go chat them up, and buy them drinks, and I get tempted to smash the granny out of it?"
And that would be a little sad, and a little tragic, and a little understandable were it not for the fact that the music had taken just that point to cut out, and all of those girls who may or may not have been giving both of them the eye stopped, and stared at George, and left him to babble his hellos and his and oh god can you please get back to it before I dies in his own fashion.
Mitchell watched him go about it for a while. At least until the music set back in.
"Smash the granny?" he asked, casually, and set his beer down on the bartop.
"Yes, I'm sorry that slipped out," George muttered, miserably. He seemed to sink back a little, lost in his own little world. "...It's the same with you, though, isn't it?" he mused, gently. "If you sleep with someone, you might just wind up... killing her."
Sure. Remind him of that.
"I can control myself." Mitchell swiped his beer back off the bar.
"Yeah?"
Stop pushing this, George.
"Uh-huh."
George made a little, half-understanding noise in the back of his throat, and let his eyes dart sideways. Mitchell could feel him watching. Studying. "So what are you waiting for?"
That boy-- the one that Mitchell could recognize from a mile away, the one who'd be pretty damn easily charmed away from the crowd, towards the back, plied with promises and alcohol and something else-- danced a little closer in their direction. All it would take was a couple of steps. (Or over there, the two girls, clearly out on their own for the first time-- or the drunken lad with his three beers, or that party girl, or--)
"... Just not in the mood," said Mitchell, subdued, and took a swig of his beer, and tried and failed to stop seeing Lauren's face in everybody.
[[ nfb, nfi, OOC-okay, and taken and adapted from Being Human 1x03 ]]
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