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Mitchell'd abandoned Max to his brunette somewhere late last night, in the hotel they'd wound up at as the night progressed. He'd taken to the streets in the dark, just wandering around as he got a feel for the place. Smoking, he'd given his own thoughts some space now that his Max-enforced shallowness had to dissipate and give way for what was actually troubling him.

He was just trying to belong, he realised. It was that first great human impulse, to find shelter, somewhere to hide from whatever was lurking on the fringes, waiting for its next meal. The last few days had been a jagged reminder that it was unlikely he was actually to become part of it; even George did better than that.

He returned to the hotel early in the morning. By ten, he had Max dragged out into the hotel's restaurant for breakfast before they started to look into returning to Fandom.

If it was still as on fire with hormones as it was when he'd left it, Mitchell might've considered staying away - except that the full moon was on Sunday, and he wasn't missing that.

"So, is that craft any good for hangovers?"

[ for max, and nfb due to distance! ]

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chosehumanity

April 2014

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