One of God's children

It had been a decent week so far, but it had only been a single day; the interesting things were yet to come up ahead. So far, so good, though-- with the occasional hiccup, but Mitchell could deal with that.

---

( A Children's Party at the Pink Corner House. )

[[ nfb, nfi, ooc-okay, and taken from Being Human 1x04. Oh, Mitchell... dun dun dun duuun. ]]

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.

( Girlfriend in a coma, a-ha, a-ha... )

[[ nfb, nfi, OOC-okay, and taken and adapted from Being Human 1x03 ]]

He'd kept Annie up talking for most of the night. There had been no sight of George after his proclamation - probably stewing in a sewer somewhere - and Mitchell was grateful for it. The last thing Annie needed was for the idiot to come storming in ranting about-- ugh.

( By morning, they had progressed down into the kitchen. )

[[ NFB, NFI, OOC-okay, and taken from Being Human 1x02. Aww, guys. ]]

Thankfully, it had been another calm and quiet weekend in Bristol - beyond the usual Tully issues. When Mitchell had suggested he stay, he'd figured the man would be there for a couple of days at best -- but now they were three weeks down the road, and Tully had slipped into nearly every crack in their lives.

Including stinking up the bathroom, leaving wounded women strolling around the house, probably having a go of it on the sofa--

Ew.

( Regardless, it had been quiet. )

[[ nfb, nfi, ooc-okay, and taken from possibly the best moment from Being Human 1x02. Mwahahaha. Also, isn't it lovely when you make up a meta for something and then never manage to recall exactly what it was? ]]

Mitchell'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. )

[[ all taken from episode 1x02 of Being Human! NFB, NFI, OOC-okay. ]]

The portal dropped them off early Friday morning; Mitchell was never going to get around how strangely time acted when it came to moving between Bristol and Fandom, but at least there seemed to be some kind of method to the madness.

Maybe he'd take it up with Portalocity at some point.

The portal dropped them off in a nearby alley, two streets away from the house. The sun was just starting to peek its head 'round, casting a smattering of early, golden rays on the mostly empty streets. Mitchell set a brisk pace, and soon enough was rounding the corner into his street. "Almost there," he said, nodding towards the pink house at the end.

[[ for she who be there ]]

Mitchell woke up slowly, sluggishly even, in his bed. Sunlight filtered in through the curtains, subdued and pushed aside enough that it didn't sting his eyes. The blankets were heavy-- ...

Too heavy.

He turned his head. "Have you been sitting there long?"

Annie pasted a smile on her face, and fidgeted with the blankets. "Define long," she said. That nervous laugh tainted her voice. What was going on here?

"An hour," he said, groggily, and forced himself to sit up. Rubbed a hand over his eye, and looked at her questioningly.

"I've been here long," she admitted. "You know, it's five o' clock now. You've been asleep all day, you lazy twat." She pressed her hands between her legs and leaned over, grinning. "So, are you going to the island tonight?"

Mitchell blinked again. Much as he liked having her around the place, having a ghost pop up in your bedroom at all hours was still something you needed to get used to. "No, the Real Hustle's on. It's just repeats, but I haven't seen them yet," he replied, squinting. "...so, I'm going to get up now."

"Okay," Annie said, excitedly, and practically bounced in place. It seemed to take her a minute to catch on. "Oh! Right!" She veered up, smiling nervously, and padded back towards the door.

It was there that she spun around. "Last week, George asked me about death," she started, hesitantly. "He asked me what I saw, and I..." She sighed. "He's religious, right?"

"Yeah," Mitchell said, rolling over onto his side. "He's Jewish."

She shook her heaad, rubbed her fingers into her hair. "I told him it was a good place," she said, "I said it was like in films, I told him..." Her voice increasingly desperate, she dropped her hand back to her side. "You've seen it too, haven't you? Death." Her back hit the door. "You've seen the corridor, with men at the end with... with sticks and rope."

Ah. So that was the problem.

Mitchell closed his eyes, and sighed. "You did the right thing," he said, after a moment, and sought out her eyes. "He doesn't need to know that. None of them do." He found the strength in himself to flash her a quick smile.

None of them did.

Tentatively, she smiled back. For the first time, it was genuine again; it made her look, for lack of a better word, cute. "Okay," she said, and nodded once, a short, quick movement. "I'll just... leave you to it, then."

[[ NFB, NFI, OOC-oaky, and taken, tweaked, warped and timeline-deprived from the Being Human pilot. ]]

"Aren't you supposed to be on a plane to this school of yours?"

Five seconds ago, Mitchell had been brooding in his room by himself, considering all the ways in which he couldn't possibly go back to Fandom or do anything like it ever again. Now, he was being spontaneously haunted by a cheerful ghost holding a cup of tea.

"It's... complicated," he muttered.

"Now I'll say that," Annie chirped, flopping down next to him. "Why's a bloke who teaches in America coming 'round to a flat in Bristol anyway? Are you working on your frequent flyer miles or something? The only place I've ever been to is Barcelona. Gorgeous, though. They have these little shops that carry all of this stuff, I thought I'd go mental!"

Mitchell chuckled despite himself. "Not complicated like that," he said, "Although that's a whole new realm of complicated. Something happened. That's all."

He didn't particularly want to talk about it.

"Like what?" she asked. "Did you insult the headmaster or something?"

"No," he said, shifting, "Nothing like that."

She offered him the tea. His phone rang.

---

George looked like a right mess all right, sitting on the curb of some random house in the middle of Henbury radiating forlorn. Mitchell shut the door of the taxi behind him, and wandered in his direction.

"Nice blouse," he opined.

George looked like he'd been dressed by a pirate. A gay pirate. Or possibly a little girl pirate; what did Mitchell know?

"Where did you leave your clothes?"

George shrugged, a little sliver of a motion, and said, "I don't know. I don't know where we are. I had to ask the operator where I was calling from."

With a sigh, Mitchell pulled his Star of David out of his pocket, holding the long chain over for George to take. "Thanks," George muttered, and glanced up to catch the expression on Mitchell's face. "You're still here," he observed. "Are you okay? You look weird."

"This from a man in culottes," Mitchell said, lightly. "You've got blood on your face."

"It's okay," George said, shrugging again. "It's only a deer's."

So he'd wound up out in the woods last night, and killed a deer. Mitchell supposed that was all right, then. No real emergency. "Come on, Lassie," he said, turning back towards the taxi. The driver was likely weirded out a bit. "Let's head back to the house, get you some clothes."

He paused, glanced over his shoulder. "Does it still hurt?"

George smiled ruefully. "Curses are supposed to hurt," he said, and hopped onto his feet.

"Yeah," Mitchell said, shook his head, and held the door open for him.

[[ nfb, nfi open to one, OOC-okay, and some dialogue taken from the Being Human pilot ]]