Bristol, Saturday
Of course Lucy would have to be on duty at the hospital. She caught him standing by the dying lad's bedside, contemplating some quick impromptu euthanasia. Solve all of their problems.
They'd chatted, and she'd asked him for a drink - again - except it really wasn't the time. He'd come out with even less answers than he'd had before, and he wasn't a big fan.
Still: time for more damage control. Half an hour later he was walking 'round the park in Bristol, looking for a particular dip in the road - a metro pedestrian tunnel he hadn't been to in ages - and a familiar face. There, pressed up against the wall and wrapped in her own blankets, was Cara.
"Mitchell?"
"Cara." Mitchell came to a stop, glancing 'round the corner. "Where is everyone?"
"I'm an orphan now," she hissed. "Your pet killed our brave captain! I should drink you dry, cut you into slices--"
"All right, listen to me. Two people were killed by the waterside. I need to know who did it." A shrug. Brilliant. "The killing has to stop. You understand? We can't cover it up. There's no process anymore."
"So?"
"So, they'll find out about us, they'll come after us."
She leaned in and smirked at him. "I think I'd like that."
He sucked in a frustrated breath. "All right," he said. "Round everyone up. Tomorrow. The Old Church. Ask everyone, do you hear me?"
He didn't wait for her to answer. He had one last stop to run to, to start working this all back into order.
The Chief Constable was standing on a bridge in the middle of the park, staring out over the water. The stream was filthy, flowing; Mitchell stopped just before the man himself. "You know why I'm here, Chief Constable."
"I assume you're the new Herrick."
Well, that was encouraging.
"Okay, so firstly, no," Mitchell said, laughing in disbelief. "I'm not the new Herrick. I'm just... I'm not even standing in, this is just... I'm a representitive."
The Chief Constable barely even turned to look at him. "So. Represent."
"We have a situation."
"Damn bloody right, you do." The man leaned forward. "The press are all over this. Perfect middle class couple, engaged to be married -- jesus, why can't you guys stick to homeless alchies?"
"You worked with Herrick," Mitchell said, quickly. "I'm hoping we can come to a similar arrangement." Before the entire vampire population of Bristol imploded. Since when was it his job to take care of this shit?
The Chief Constable gave him a once-over. "I need to know that the people I'm working with are reliable," he said. "Herrick was a despotic ginger arsehole, but he had backbone. I don't see any of that in you."
"So what are you gonna do?" Mitchell watched the man as he pulled away from the bridge's edge and started walking.
"Maybe I'm gonna start running all you vermin up," said the Chief Constable.
... What? "Yeah, well," Mitchell said, floundering, "You're implicated."
"... I'm a Detective Constable." At least it got the man to stop walking? "I'm on first-name terms with the shitting Home Secretary. And you're a bloody monster! Who the fuck is gonna listen to you?" He pushed into Mitchell's space. "No. If you want this to work, you're going to have to come up with a lot more than 'you're implicated'. You boys have buckets of money, don't ya?"
"...Well," Mitchell tried again. He was trying to organise his thoughts, dammit! "...Well, we made a couple of good investments in the eighteen hundreds..."
"Good. We're going to need it," the Chief Constable said, pleasantly. "I have an extension to finish, and I've got a bloody big eBay habit."
"Right. Well," Mitchell said, reaching over to grab him before he ran for it. "...what about the guy in the coma?"
"Pray for brain damage," the Chief Constable replied. By now he was grinning. "Oh, and I'm warning you, without the money, this is all academic."
With all that said, the cop finally turned around and walked. This time, Mitchell didn't stop him. This time, Mitchell just stuck around and stared out over the bridge and contemplated braining himself so hard he wouldn't have to deal with this.
That... could have gone better.
[[ nfb, nfi, ooc-okay, and taken from Being Human 2x03. ]]
They'd chatted, and she'd asked him for a drink - again - except it really wasn't the time. He'd come out with even less answers than he'd had before, and he wasn't a big fan.
Still: time for more damage control. Half an hour later he was walking 'round the park in Bristol, looking for a particular dip in the road - a metro pedestrian tunnel he hadn't been to in ages - and a familiar face. There, pressed up against the wall and wrapped in her own blankets, was Cara.
"Mitchell?"
"Cara." Mitchell came to a stop, glancing 'round the corner. "Where is everyone?"
"I'm an orphan now," she hissed. "Your pet killed our brave captain! I should drink you dry, cut you into slices--"
"All right, listen to me. Two people were killed by the waterside. I need to know who did it." A shrug. Brilliant. "The killing has to stop. You understand? We can't cover it up. There's no process anymore."
"So?"
"So, they'll find out about us, they'll come after us."
She leaned in and smirked at him. "I think I'd like that."
He sucked in a frustrated breath. "All right," he said. "Round everyone up. Tomorrow. The Old Church. Ask everyone, do you hear me?"
He didn't wait for her to answer. He had one last stop to run to, to start working this all back into order.
The Chief Constable was standing on a bridge in the middle of the park, staring out over the water. The stream was filthy, flowing; Mitchell stopped just before the man himself. "You know why I'm here, Chief Constable."
"I assume you're the new Herrick."
Well, that was encouraging.
"Okay, so firstly, no," Mitchell said, laughing in disbelief. "I'm not the new Herrick. I'm just... I'm not even standing in, this is just... I'm a representitive."
The Chief Constable barely even turned to look at him. "So. Represent."
"We have a situation."
"Damn bloody right, you do." The man leaned forward. "The press are all over this. Perfect middle class couple, engaged to be married -- jesus, why can't you guys stick to homeless alchies?"
"You worked with Herrick," Mitchell said, quickly. "I'm hoping we can come to a similar arrangement." Before the entire vampire population of Bristol imploded. Since when was it his job to take care of this shit?
The Chief Constable gave him a once-over. "I need to know that the people I'm working with are reliable," he said. "Herrick was a despotic ginger arsehole, but he had backbone. I don't see any of that in you."
"So what are you gonna do?" Mitchell watched the man as he pulled away from the bridge's edge and started walking.
"Maybe I'm gonna start running all you vermin up," said the Chief Constable.
... What? "Yeah, well," Mitchell said, floundering, "You're implicated."
"... I'm a Detective Constable." At least it got the man to stop walking? "I'm on first-name terms with the shitting Home Secretary. And you're a bloody monster! Who the fuck is gonna listen to you?" He pushed into Mitchell's space. "No. If you want this to work, you're going to have to come up with a lot more than 'you're implicated'. You boys have buckets of money, don't ya?"
"...Well," Mitchell tried again. He was trying to organise his thoughts, dammit! "...Well, we made a couple of good investments in the eighteen hundreds..."
"Good. We're going to need it," the Chief Constable said, pleasantly. "I have an extension to finish, and I've got a bloody big eBay habit."
"Right. Well," Mitchell said, reaching over to grab him before he ran for it. "...what about the guy in the coma?"
"Pray for brain damage," the Chief Constable replied. By now he was grinning. "Oh, and I'm warning you, without the money, this is all academic."
With all that said, the cop finally turned around and walked. This time, Mitchell didn't stop him. This time, Mitchell just stuck around and stared out over the bridge and contemplated braining himself so hard he wouldn't have to deal with this.
That... could have gone better.
[[ nfb, nfi, ooc-okay, and taken from Being Human 2x03. ]]