teaspectre | IC CONTACT

[Mitchell just-- stares at her. And there's a long moment of silence. Or maybe it's not so long as all that, maybe it just seems long.

All he's thinking of is the tear of Annie's departure. The feeling of it--so visceral it was like getting run through with a fucking bayonet, and it just went on, and on--]

What?

[It's all he can manage, eventually. He's still staring at her. There's a numb feeling in the tips of his fingers, like his hands have fallen asleep.]

You asked who?

[ It's a bit of a feat, keeping her eyes on the table and not wandering elsewhere- anywhere but at him. She flexes her grip on her own mug of tea; they've both forgotten theirs. ]

I asked Kemp. Not- Not then, but earlier, when he came to the house to see George and Nina. --They didn't know about it. I. Told George I was going to keep him company. I asked if Kemp could get my door back for me- He said he exorcised spirits, so I thought he could help me, too.

[Mitchell goes on staring at her, his fingers curled into fists. What she's saying, what she's taking credit for--she can't mean it. She can't have done that.]

You'd planned it? You were-- When were you going to tell us that's what you were doing? Jesus, Annie-- why did you ask us?

[ It's upsettingly true, however. Maybe not the bit about how she changed her mind after seeing Kemp storm in in a furious rage, ready to sent her beyond. That hadn't happened yet.

She licks her lips instead of blurting out an answer. ]

I ... wasn't going to say anything. [ A breath. ] You-- You were rarely home anymore, hadn't been for weeks, and if George and Nina turned human again- and I know they didn't, you told me -but if they did I wouldn't ... have anyone. I'd just be alone and I couldn't do that again. I didn't want to have to see them and have them not be able to hear me anymore. It was my choice.

[It's hard to think back, to remember why he'd hardly been home--not because he does not remember, or cannot, but because he doesn't want to. To think that he was so uninvolved, so caught up in--]

You'd have had me, Annie. You'd have had me. There was so much going on, at the time, but you know-- You shouldn't have made that choice. You shouldn't have had to have made that choice!

You were barely home anymore! [ No, no shouting. ] The last time I saw you, you were- drunk in the kitchen making disgusting comments about me, threatening George-- I know George didn't let me think about it at the time, but you were blood drunk, weren't you?

We left and that was ... it. And just before that I'd seen my mum, and it gave me so much perspective- I wanted it to be over. You were too busy dating "Lucy".

[Lucy. Mitchell looks away, quickly, his face contorting as he shoves his fingers through his hair, rakes it back away from his face and stands, to pace away from the little table. As if his face wasn't already contorted at blood drunk--but all of that, all of it is so tied up with Lucy Jaggert, with the keen stab of anger and betrayal. The explosion at the funeral parlor, Ivan's weight slamming into him mere seconds before. Saving his fucking life. And it had all made such sense at the time. They had to pay. They had to answer for what they had done, the hole that they had ripped in the world. Bodies for bodies; eye for bloody eye.

But Annie--]

But you'd changed your mind.

[He doesn't answer any of the rest of it. Just a few steps off, and he turns to look at her, searching.]

Before he did it. You'd changed your mind, you were going to stay.

[ Mmmmmm that is a nice cup of tea she's got there. Even if by the time Mitchell is up and out of his seat, she can't help but keep a worried, watchful eye on each pacing stride he makes. Honestly she feels a bit like a scolded child. Why was that? Because he was technically 'older'? ]

Why would I do that?

[ Not that she sounds in denial or anything- but genuinely curious. She knew it had all gone ... a bit sour with Kemp, but had it really been so obtuse that she'd changed her deadset decision? ]

Or was it ... That I didn't get a chance when all of that - that stuff happened?

I don't know. When it happened-- I wasn't there.

[He stares at her a moment longer, and then looks away, looks down at the floor between them. He's thinking of the room in the facility, the green undersea lighting of the place. The sticky blood on his face and hands, and Lucy, trapped against the wall. And then the punch of that feeling, the stab so strong he can remember it now. He pushes his fingers through his hair.]

But I felt it. I felt you go. And you didn't want it, I know you didn't.

[A beat of silence. When he'd saved her from Purgatory, she had been so happy. He can still remember the pressure of her arms around him, the sound of her voice in the long, long hallway. He looks up at Annie again.]

Would you go now? If you could?

[ It's strange, how she's curious that he felt it, felt her leave the world of the living... And yet she doesn't feel the need to question it. Like it's some unspoken instinct that just is. Or was, in this case. Would have been. If Kemp had been trying to kill George and Nina ... maybe it had all come to a head and she'd changed her mind. It could make sense.

But why Kemp would still try and exorcise her? How would he even know where she was if Mitchell had come in to bust them all out? Surely he'd have had his hands full with that.

The question is both understandable and unexpected, all at once. ]

... I dunno. I suppose, realistically, no. I've got you here, and it's not like people can't see and hear me anymore- I mean if I were still dead and I couldn't interact with anyone, then maybe.

[ She's back to looking at the now almost cooled mug of tea. A sip garners the tiniest of grimaces. Not hot enough anymore. ]

[Mitchell shoves away from where he's standing and crosses the room so he can sink back into his chair, grabbing for her hands.]

Annie. Look at me. No matter what happened--no matter what happens--you can't leave. You can't give up like that. I need you. We, we need you. I've lived over a hundred years, and losing you was the worst thing I've ever felt, in all that long time. Nothing's as bad as that was.

Dead, or alive. You're the best thing we've got. You're better than any of us. [Nina, George, Mitchell. Especially Mitchell. He squeezes her hands.] We need you.

[ CRIES INTO HANDS-- No, she's not doing that ~~I AM~~. She's watching him hold her own hands until coaxed upward. She's never been shy of eye contact, but it was still somehow stomach twisting. In a way that wasn't entirely awful.

And yet his confession leaves her almost sympathetic, tsking in that gentle way of hers and giving his chilled fingers a squeeze in return. Had it really been so awful? Not that she didn't think being shoved into Purgatory against her will was anything to be glad about, but having him feel it... It was almost worse than her own issues. So she smiles a little instead, moving just enough to lace fingers with one of his hands. ]

Maybe not Nina. But. [ She takes a breath, not entirely steadying. ] You don't have to worry about it now, alright? I don't want to go anywhere- trust me. I've got you- and a few blooming friends here. And gods, it's Florida. What's not to like?

[ Plus the whole. You know. Being alive, thing. ]

[No, definitely better than Nina. But Mitchell keeps that opinion to himself (for now). It's easy to do when she's got her fingers wound through his. That familiar comforting presence, the press of her hand--even if it lacks its usual chill--that's nearly better than her promise to stay.]

Yeah. I know.

[The whole being alive thing puts a kibbosh on any crossing-over anyways, but, still. He drops his eyes to where their fingers are twisted together.]

Just-- if you start thinking like that. You tell me, all right? [Wryly, he bunches his mouth at the corner, in something very much like a smirk.] I mean, it's only Florida. It's not that great.

I promise.

[ She nods along with it; because honestly, she'd only wanted to leave for fear of being alone again. With Mitchell here ... There was no fear. Not of that. ]

Florida is plenty great. It isn't my fault you can't go out to the beach and tan like the rest of us. Even if you weren't a vampire, I'm sure your Irish skin would burn in an instant, anyway.

[Serious topic sorted (for now, until he's got to sort it again with her, until he talks to Tom McNair and figures out just what the hell is going on around here), Mitchell is more than happy to move on, straight into indignation.]

Wha-at.

[One hand still clasped in hers, he rubs his freer forearm against the table, rucking up his sleeve a little and exposing a patch of skin between the cuff of his glove and the cuff of his shirt.]

Excuse me, does that look like pasty skin t' you? I'd do just fine on a beach. It's George that would turn all red and crispy. I could probably do just fine on a beach here too. It's not like the stories, all that-- hissing, and recoiling.

[ She looks so entirely nonplussed. But in an amused sort of way, even looking down to give a skeptical eye to his 'pasty' skin. Definitely much nicer of a topic to focus on than the poor tasting one of moments prior.

Not that she believes his stance on this new topic, of course. ]

Oh I've no doubt that George would be a tomato within minutes- but you, you are just as white as him. You'd have a red nose and cheeks before we even made it there, mister coat, jacket, gloves and sunglasses in summer.

That's not 'cause of sun burns, Annie, that's--

[With great indignation, still, he shoves his sleeve back down by rubbing his forearm against the edge of the table again.]

Well, I mean, it is. Sort of. It's a vampire thing. Better not t' take the risk, even in the summer. But just to prove you wrong, I will.

[ Oh she knows full well what it's for. She knows vampires don't burst into flames in the sun, but she knows they don't particularly like it, either. ]

Mhm.

... Maybe we should find somewhere to live that isn't in Florida. I mean we've got the whole of America to choose from, don't we? Oh-- What about Washington D.C.?

What's in Washington D.C.?

[Not that he's opposed, just. Seems random. He picks up his mug and swirls around the mostly-cold tea before he takes a sip.]

Really. I'm surprised you didn't suggest-- oh, what's the name of the town. In Twilight.

I dunno... The president? Isn't it the big Capitol or something? There's California- although that's sunny and hot all the time, too, or--

[ Wow, excuse you. ]

... It would be Forks, Washington- and yes, alright I read the first book, but we are not moving there. I like the rain as much as the next Londoner, but a bit of variety can't hurt.

Forks, yeah, that's right-- stupid name for a town-- and California is definitely out, we're not doing that.

[Loads of sun, loads of people. Mitchell chips his thumbnail against the edge of the mug, avoiding Annie's eye for a second.]

Don't you think Washington D.C.'s going t' be a bit-- There's a lot of people there.

There's lots of people everywhere. [ Huff ] But ... No, you're right. It's a bit over populated, last I heard.

I don't know, where would you pick?

I don't know.

[He chips at the edge of his mug again, thoughtfully.]

Somewhere that's more quiet, I guess. Ah, I don't know that much about America, Annie--we could just-- look around. But seriously, just living together would be enough.

[ You know what's really annoying? Having the proper blood flow to actually blush. Not that she does much, considering her skin tone, but it's there nonetheless. Ahem. ]

Well, yeah. I mean obviously we'd find somewhere for the both of us no matter where it is. But I don't really see anything wrong with finding somewhere less populated and a bit cooler. I dunno. We can think about it later. It's not so bad for now- We're at each other's places enough as it is.

I'm surprised our roommates don't think we live together.

They probably do.

[Not that he cares, or even really sees his roommates. Ever since Nick left, there's not been much of a point. Living in the house is just a part of the routine, easier than seeking out someplace new, but Annie's suggestion--

--He knows that he ought to be more wary, that he ought to be thinking of Annie and her suffocating guardian angel routine. Bad for her, and bad for him, too--but that had been in Wales. That had been different. Mitchell had been different there, but here--here, he's not been so bad. Yet is not a word that he thinks, even if he knows that he ought to.

The rationalization is easy to generate, placating and reassuring himself all at once. It's enough that he can smile her, at that slight blush on her cheeks--she's pretty cute--]

So I guess we'd better just move house as soon as we can and save ourselves the trouble of paying two rents, yeah? Less populated and a bit cooler. And cooler, too. Florida's nearly as bad as Wales.

[But not... too cool. That sounds risky. He's already done super-cool rockstar living, and Annie doesn't need any of that anyways, newly alive or not.]

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teaspectre - 2014-12-09 02:07 (UTC) - Expand

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