Mitchell practically had to shove his way into the coroner's office, with Daisy so hot on his heels. Sure, he was willing to track down what the hell had happened, but she didn't need to be so fucking pushy - this really wasn't a massive conspiracy.

"Quinn?" he called. "We need to talk about something."

( Eric was content to stay in the background... )

( In which there is vampire paranoia aplenty, and Mitchell continues to avoid Fandom. )

At a table in a diner in Bristol sat three vampires. It was still dark out, and the poor hollow-eyed youth behind the counter looked like he desperately wanted to go home and have a good, long nap ( Read more... )

( It was the shittiest week in the history of shitty weeks. )

Mitchell had had better bar nights with George along, that was for sure. The guy had been off all night, almost angry, and the silences between their conversations stretched long and awkwardly.

Mitchell hadn't been able to get back to the island for about a week now, and it was starting to eat at him, though not as much as Nina's silences did. ( Read more... )