One of God's children

Mitchell was cooking.

In the context of language in general, that wasn't a particularly strange sentence; in the context of this particular household, it was a bizarre aberration that would certainly lead to the apocalypse. George usually cooked, and if he didn't, then Annie did the job for him - Mitchell's dependability near a stove was questionable at best.

But Annie had spent the night guarding over the others. Kate had been granted Annie's room, and Jack the sofa-- Nina was sleeping off her own intense mental exhaustion in George's bedroom, and if you asked Mitchell, he'd say he wasn't expecting her to get up any time soon.

So, breakfast for three it was. Three malformed, droopy eggs stared back up at Mitchell, and the beans in the other pan were starting to burn just a little bit (the toast, on the other hand, was fine, but then it was impossible even for Mitchell to ruin toast), but at least he was trying.

Annie had insisted on making the coffee, though, and Mitchell wasn't going to argue. He'd have to go pick up George in another hour - the werewolf always slept late after a full moon.

[[ for those still in Bristol. ]]

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. ]]

It was relatively late into the morning when the portal finally dropped them back off in the alleyway near the house (which was always The House, in Mitchell's mind, as opposed to his house back in Fandom, which was just a house). He took a moment to inhale the crisp air, plastered a smile back on his face, and guided Chloe towards the front door.

Pushing his keys into the lock, he muttered a silent prayer to the Gods of PMT that Annie would be a little calmer after Tuesday, and headed on in.

"There we are."

He could hear George bustling upstairs.

[[ to she who be here ]]

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? ]]

There was no avoiding it indefinitely; Mitchell could only hope George hadn't been an utter arse to Tully while he was away and thrown him out on the street, or something. He sighed, fumbling around for his keys as he approached the house.

These days, he had to look one way then the other before unlocking the door. The last thing he needed was for Lauren to pop up out of the woodworks again, talking about blood and conspiracies and whatever the hell else Herrick had been feeding into her head. The last time had been bad enough - if she turned up now, he'd-- something.

The door opened with a click, and he pushed on through, yanking his sunglasses up to sit over his hair. "George--" he started, then stopped.

On the sofa - on his spot on the sofa - there was Tully, wearing nothing but a dressing gown and scratching at his balls.

... Well.

At least George hadn't tossed him out.

"Morning," Tully called, scratching somewhat leisurely, utterly undisturbed by Mitchell's arrival. To his side, Mitchell now noticed, was George, watching the telly.

It was ... not the scene he'd been expecting.

"...Right," he said, and shut the door. "I'll be upstairs, then."

[[ 'stablishy, and taken/embellished from Being Human episode 2, series 1. ]]

It wasn't until the sun rose high above the rooftops that Mitchell and Annie dared to look inside the house again. And honestly, opening the door whilst holding a television was somewhat harder than Mitchell had envisaged: it took a lot of jostling, and one helping ghostly hand to get it right.

The door fell open quietly. Mitchell stuck his head through it, and sucked in a breath he didn't need.

Their living room looked like someone had rigged it with a few live explosives and then had a party in it. There was no more sight of the sofa, or a good chunk of the rest of the furniture. Instead, there was a tell-tale pile of shreds and fuzz piled up near the corners of the room.

In the midst of it, covered by a few pieces of old sofa fluff, was George. Naked, curled up like a puppy dog, and snoring.

Mitchell used that unnecessary breath for a good sigh. "Come on," he said, and headed to the kitchen to find a broom.

---

( Take a look at my body, look at my hands, there's so much here that I don't understand... )

[[ part 3 of 3. Taken from Being Human episode 1x01, NFB, NFI and OOC-okay! ]]

Mitchell looked up at the sound of the doorbell ringing. They'd ordered a pizza as a sort of late lunch, which had to be exactly who was at the door: pizza guy. He was just about to get up from his seat when Annie rushed past him and hurled herself at the door.

She yanked it open.

"Hello!" she chirped. Loudly.

The pizza delivery guy on the other end blinked at her. "Twelve inch Mess of Meats...?" he asked, but by the time the words were fully out of his mouth, Mitchell had already scooped up the pizza and handed him some money.

He ignored the increasingly cheerful-yet-confused conversation going on at the door so he could hurl the pizza at the table, flop down next to George on the sofa, and snag a slice. And shove one of the many cups of tea present out of his way - he'd found out the hard way that tea-soaked pizza wasn't very nice.

Annie didn't join them until a few minutes later.

( 'He could see me!' )

[[ and tbc! Real suspense. Unless you've seen Being Human episode 1x01, from which this was ripped and adapted for Her Pleasure. NFB, NFI, OOC-okay! ]]

It was fairly late in the morning, but it was a Sunday and George was still asleep. Mitchell wasn't; he'd woken up fifteen minutes ago to the sound of Annie messing about in the kitchen. Now dressed, he came downstairs, peeking his head through the door.

"I thought you were going to try and sleep," he said, his voice still heavy with the same.

Annie shrugged, messing about with the kettle. "I just sort of... have to work my way up to that," she said, evasively. "Besides, with Kate in the house, it's not like I have a bed. And I'm not sleeping on the sofa, I've seen what you and George eat."

Mitchell sighed, leaning against the doorway. "Maybe we should all go out tonight."

Annie snorted. "She's like what-- fifteen? I heard Americans aren't allowed to drink until they're twenty-five. You've got to be a teacher, Mitchell."

The drain gave a lurch when she tried to turn on the tap. "I'm not saving you if George starts to complain about that again," Mitchell said, shook his head, and wandered back into the living room.

[[ for a kate, if she wishes ]]

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. ]]