LOG: "Who am I to deny a homecooked meal by George?"
WHO: George and Mitchell
WHAT: First Potatoe and Casserole and Big Brotherishness
WHEN: November 10
WHERE: The House
George tore into the house, "Mitchell! Mitchell!" he called carrying a clump of mud in his hand.
Mitchell ran down the stairs, thinking it was an emergency (one never knew with George) and came to a halt. He frowned at the clod and looked at his friend. "You brought dirt into the house. Are you feeling alright?"
"Look a potato! Our first potato!"
Mitchell looked back and forth between George and the potatoe several times before raising an eyebrow at him.
He grinned, "Look!" He replied showing him the weedy little thing as though it contained to world.
"I am looking."
"Don't you think it's fantastic, we can grow vegetables! I should make soup!"
"It's wonderful," he replied, amused. "But I do believe you will need a few more than that to make a meal."
"Oh true, Hmmm we should've planted them earlier."
"I'm sure you'll remember to next year." He bit at his thumbnail with an amused smile. "Are you sure it's edible?"
He nodded, "It must be," he replied padding to the kitchen and washing the amusingly shaped root vegetable.
Mitchell's shoulders shook in silent laughter. "And you're going to eat it?"
"WE're all going to eat it." he replied with a nod.
"I suppose that would work if we were mice...."
He frowned I'll add chicken to it?"
Mitchell just looked at him. "Chicken."
He nodded, "You can have chicken and potato right?"
"Yes... George, you realise that is just one, lonely, little potatoe."
He looked at it, "I could add some carrots."
"Why don't you bake it for yourself, you Did grow it with your hard work.
"But I want to make it for everybody, besides Annie won't eat it."
"Define everybody."
"Well you."
He replied with a shrug his hands slipping into his pockets.
"I suppose I should go out and buy some chicken then," he replied with a small smile.
His smile returned, "You want to eat?" he asked hopefully
"Who am I to deny a homecooked meal by George?"
He grinned, "Alright, go get it I'll start on dinner," he replied with a grin running into his dinky kitchen
Shaking his head, Mitchell put on his outdoor gear and stepped into the fading afternoon to go to the shop.
George grinned peeling his one potato and washing it, getting out the carrots and chopping them as he hummed happily to himself.
Half an hour passed by and George was putting it all together he'd put radio one on whilst he was listening and cleaned up to Scott Mills.
The door opened and shut - a few minutes later a chicken was put on the counter. A frozen one. "It's all they had."
He looked at the chicken with a soft frown, "OH...a slow casserole?" he asked
"Sorry."
He shrugged poking at it, "That's alright." he replied sticking it in the microwave on defrost for an hour. "We'll just have to wait a little longer thats all."
"I picked up the post."
"Did I get anything?" he asked covering the rest of the caserole with the lid and setting it waiting on the side.
"That magazine you ordered."
"Oh! which one?"
"The one with the big words that you seem to like so much," Mitchell teased.
He looked at him confused before looking into the bag, "Ooooh new scientist." he replied with a grin pulling it out.
"Mm hmm." Mitchell wandered back into the livingroom and flopped on the couch.
He beamed sitting next to him his head buried in the magazine as he let him put the telly on. "Oh...apparently the universe smells of steak"
"Does it?"
He nodded showing the article exclaiming every time a new piece of information caught his eyes
Mitchell tuned him out, nodding at the appropriate pauses, letting George have his excitement. it was fun watching George spazz excitedly.
George smiled letting Mitchell's feet rest on his lap as he leaned against him burying in as he read.
Contented in their own strange sort of domesticity.
George smiled to himself the small of Mitchell around him, he siighed looking up at him, "The chicken is probably done by now I'd better add it to the casserole." He murmured
"Mmm... I suppose this means I have to move my feet."
He nodded "Unless you don't want to eat."
"I'm comfy."
He sighed sitting back and looking at him, "I'm not your personal pillow."
"Why not?"
He blinked at him at a loss. "Because."
"Because why?"
"Well...we need to eat."
Mitchell heaved a longsuffering sigh and lifted his feet off George's lap.
He looked at the feet feeling the cool air hit his legs again before heaving himelf up and disappearing into the kitchen. "Mitchell..." he called a few minutes later.
Making a production of it, he got up and went in. "You called?"
He frowned holding a jar out for him, "Could you?"
Mitchell looked at him curiously, taking the jar and easily opening it.
"Thanks." he replied pouring it into the caserole dish, and layering the slices of his potatoe on top
"Not a problem," Mitchell opened the refridgerator and pulled out the milk carton, taking a drink.
He placed it into the oven and set it going putting his glasses on.
"How long until it's ready?" Mitchell asked.
"You've got a while yet." he replied washing the dishes
Mitchell nodded and went back to the couch.
He sighed "Fine I'll dry them myself." he murmured putting the dishes away and drying his hands as he walked back in. "What're you watching?
"Big brother."
"Why?" he asked settling into the sofa beside him
"Nothing else on. I think they're drunk."
They're always on...oh god no one's going to use a bottle on themselves again are they?"
"I hope not," Mitchell laughed.
He shuddered, "I couldn't look at a wine bottle for a week." he replied leaning against him straightening his glasses
"Not without turning beet red, anyhow."
"Oh shut up, you didn't like it either."
"It was vulgar - the poor girl disgraced herself to all of Britian," Mitchell pronounced, lifting the remote and turning off the television as he leaned back, putting his feet up.
George watched as they landed on his lap again. His hand moved resting on Mitchell's ankles idly. "Yes well she did it of her own will."
"She was drunk out of her mind - they should have stopped her."
He sighed, "They were idiots, I'm not defending them." he replied tracing his bone.
"Of course you're not," Mitchell replied, putting an arm over his eyes and resting. "If you were on the show, would you have stopped her?" he wondered aloud.
"I would've been terrified of her I probably would'e said it wasn't a good idea.
"She was loud," Mitchell agreed.
"You wouldn't have run away."
"No... I likely would have taken the bottle and put her to bed," Mitchell said thoughtfully. "But it doesn't matter, as it's not happening."
"Like she would've listened."
"I didn't say I'd ask her."
He smiled, "You underestimate people sometimes"
"No Idon't."
"You do,"
"Don't."
"You do! You underestimate them, some people can be more sneaky than you think and determined to destroy themselves."
"Sneakily determined to destroy themselves? We don't live in a storybook. Everyone can be guided in the right direction with enough persistance."
He sighed "Why were you always the optimistic one"?
"Because I have to believe I can be changed too, George."
"You are changed."
Mitchell didn't answer that.
He watched him, "You're trying to stay tee total." he pointed out. "You have more control than me at any rate."
"Trying to stay on the wagon, and actually staying on the wagon aren't the same thing, George," he sighed.
"Trying is good enough, Trying means there's hope."
"Perhaps."
He shrugged cleaning his glasses before slipping them back on and watching him. "I think it is at least."
"Then it is, George. And you're doing better than you think, yourself."
"How?" he asked, "I count myself lucky if it's just deer blood on me."
"I've met others, in the past. There was little difference whether the moon was full or no."
"Well I suppose once you get into eating people it's a slippery slope."
"Still."
He shrugged softly "I don't think I'm all that different."
"You're very different, George."
"How?" he asked
"You try. You make sure you're locked up, or in the middle of nowhere on the night of the full."
"There's no other choice, but Mitchell...it's not a life."
"No, George, there's plenty of choice. It's not a life, but it is living, and letting live."
He frowned looking down and concentrating on Mitchell's foot.
He lifted his arm, draping it over the back of the couch a bit. "You do everything you can to keep everyone around you safe. You're very different."
He turned his head looking at him quietly leaning back against the back of the chair. "Do you think so?"
"I know so."
He smiled a little looking back at his feet as he leaned in< "Thanks."
"Don't mention it."
He shrugged smiling. "Thanks for staying in." he replied
"And miss a George-Cooked-Meal?"
He chuckled softly, "Hmmm Oh!" he replied getting up and droppinghis feet as he went back to the kitchen.
Mitchell chuckled.
"It's not burned!" He called back shaking his head.
as he opened the over.
"Good to hear!" he shouted back in reply.
He smiled sharing it out onto a plate carrying it over to him.
"Mmmm smells very good."
"WEll come in and get it."
"I am! I have to get upright first."
He stood in the doorway, "How long does that take?"
"I'm comfy."
He sighed giving up and carrying the plates over.
Mitchell smiled. "Why thank you, George."
He rolled his eyes and knocked Mitchell's legs before he sat down.
WHAT: First Potatoe and Casserole and Big Brotherishness
WHEN: November 10
WHERE: The House
George tore into the house, "Mitchell! Mitchell!" he called carrying a clump of mud in his hand.
Mitchell ran down the stairs, thinking it was an emergency (one never knew with George) and came to a halt. He frowned at the clod and looked at his friend. "You brought dirt into the house. Are you feeling alright?"
"Look a potato! Our first potato!"
Mitchell looked back and forth between George and the potatoe several times before raising an eyebrow at him.
He grinned, "Look!" He replied showing him the weedy little thing as though it contained to world.
"I am looking."
"Don't you think it's fantastic, we can grow vegetables! I should make soup!"
"It's wonderful," he replied, amused. "But I do believe you will need a few more than that to make a meal."
"Oh true, Hmmm we should've planted them earlier."
"I'm sure you'll remember to next year." He bit at his thumbnail with an amused smile. "Are you sure it's edible?"
He nodded, "It must be," he replied padding to the kitchen and washing the amusingly shaped root vegetable.
Mitchell's shoulders shook in silent laughter. "And you're going to eat it?"
"WE're all going to eat it." he replied with a nod.
"I suppose that would work if we were mice...."
He frowned I'll add chicken to it?"
Mitchell just looked at him. "Chicken."
He nodded, "You can have chicken and potato right?"
"Yes... George, you realise that is just one, lonely, little potatoe."
He looked at it, "I could add some carrots."
"Why don't you bake it for yourself, you Did grow it with your hard work.
"But I want to make it for everybody, besides Annie won't eat it."
"Define everybody."
"Well you."
He replied with a shrug his hands slipping into his pockets.
"I suppose I should go out and buy some chicken then," he replied with a small smile.
His smile returned, "You want to eat?" he asked hopefully
"Who am I to deny a homecooked meal by George?"
He grinned, "Alright, go get it I'll start on dinner," he replied with a grin running into his dinky kitchen
Shaking his head, Mitchell put on his outdoor gear and stepped into the fading afternoon to go to the shop.
George grinned peeling his one potato and washing it, getting out the carrots and chopping them as he hummed happily to himself.
Half an hour passed by and George was putting it all together he'd put radio one on whilst he was listening and cleaned up to Scott Mills.
The door opened and shut - a few minutes later a chicken was put on the counter. A frozen one. "It's all they had."
He looked at the chicken with a soft frown, "OH...a slow casserole?" he asked
"Sorry."
He shrugged poking at it, "That's alright." he replied sticking it in the microwave on defrost for an hour. "We'll just have to wait a little longer thats all."
"I picked up the post."
"Did I get anything?" he asked covering the rest of the caserole with the lid and setting it waiting on the side.
"That magazine you ordered."
"Oh! which one?"
"The one with the big words that you seem to like so much," Mitchell teased.
He looked at him confused before looking into the bag, "Ooooh new scientist." he replied with a grin pulling it out.
"Mm hmm." Mitchell wandered back into the livingroom and flopped on the couch.
He beamed sitting next to him his head buried in the magazine as he let him put the telly on. "Oh...apparently the universe smells of steak"
"Does it?"
He nodded showing the article exclaiming every time a new piece of information caught his eyes
Mitchell tuned him out, nodding at the appropriate pauses, letting George have his excitement. it was fun watching George spazz excitedly.
George smiled letting Mitchell's feet rest on his lap as he leaned against him burying in as he read.
Contented in their own strange sort of domesticity.
George smiled to himself the small of Mitchell around him, he siighed looking up at him, "The chicken is probably done by now I'd better add it to the casserole." He murmured
"Mmm... I suppose this means I have to move my feet."
He nodded "Unless you don't want to eat."
"I'm comfy."
He sighed sitting back and looking at him, "I'm not your personal pillow."
"Why not?"
He blinked at him at a loss. "Because."
"Because why?"
"Well...we need to eat."
Mitchell heaved a longsuffering sigh and lifted his feet off George's lap.
He looked at the feet feeling the cool air hit his legs again before heaving himelf up and disappearing into the kitchen. "Mitchell..." he called a few minutes later.
Making a production of it, he got up and went in. "You called?"
He frowned holding a jar out for him, "Could you?"
Mitchell looked at him curiously, taking the jar and easily opening it.
"Thanks." he replied pouring it into the caserole dish, and layering the slices of his potatoe on top
"Not a problem," Mitchell opened the refridgerator and pulled out the milk carton, taking a drink.
He placed it into the oven and set it going putting his glasses on.
"How long until it's ready?" Mitchell asked.
"You've got a while yet." he replied washing the dishes
Mitchell nodded and went back to the couch.
He sighed "Fine I'll dry them myself." he murmured putting the dishes away and drying his hands as he walked back in. "What're you watching?
"Big brother."
"Why?" he asked settling into the sofa beside him
"Nothing else on. I think they're drunk."
They're always on...oh god no one's going to use a bottle on themselves again are they?"
"I hope not," Mitchell laughed.
He shuddered, "I couldn't look at a wine bottle for a week." he replied leaning against him straightening his glasses
"Not without turning beet red, anyhow."
"Oh shut up, you didn't like it either."
"It was vulgar - the poor girl disgraced herself to all of Britian," Mitchell pronounced, lifting the remote and turning off the television as he leaned back, putting his feet up.
George watched as they landed on his lap again. His hand moved resting on Mitchell's ankles idly. "Yes well she did it of her own will."
"She was drunk out of her mind - they should have stopped her."
He sighed, "They were idiots, I'm not defending them." he replied tracing his bone.
"Of course you're not," Mitchell replied, putting an arm over his eyes and resting. "If you were on the show, would you have stopped her?" he wondered aloud.
"I would've been terrified of her I probably would'e said it wasn't a good idea.
"She was loud," Mitchell agreed.
"You wouldn't have run away."
"No... I likely would have taken the bottle and put her to bed," Mitchell said thoughtfully. "But it doesn't matter, as it's not happening."
"Like she would've listened."
"I didn't say I'd ask her."
He smiled, "You underestimate people sometimes"
"No Idon't."
"You do,"
"Don't."
"You do! You underestimate them, some people can be more sneaky than you think and determined to destroy themselves."
"Sneakily determined to destroy themselves? We don't live in a storybook. Everyone can be guided in the right direction with enough persistance."
He sighed "Why were you always the optimistic one"?
"Because I have to believe I can be changed too, George."
"You are changed."
Mitchell didn't answer that.
He watched him, "You're trying to stay tee total." he pointed out. "You have more control than me at any rate."
"Trying to stay on the wagon, and actually staying on the wagon aren't the same thing, George," he sighed.
"Trying is good enough, Trying means there's hope."
"Perhaps."
He shrugged cleaning his glasses before slipping them back on and watching him. "I think it is at least."
"Then it is, George. And you're doing better than you think, yourself."
"How?" he asked, "I count myself lucky if it's just deer blood on me."
"I've met others, in the past. There was little difference whether the moon was full or no."
"Well I suppose once you get into eating people it's a slippery slope."
"Still."
He shrugged softly "I don't think I'm all that different."
"You're very different, George."
"How?" he asked
"You try. You make sure you're locked up, or in the middle of nowhere on the night of the full."
"There's no other choice, but Mitchell...it's not a life."
"No, George, there's plenty of choice. It's not a life, but it is living, and letting live."
He frowned looking down and concentrating on Mitchell's foot.
He lifted his arm, draping it over the back of the couch a bit. "You do everything you can to keep everyone around you safe. You're very different."
He turned his head looking at him quietly leaning back against the back of the chair. "Do you think so?"
"I know so."
He smiled a little looking back at his feet as he leaned in< "Thanks."
"Don't mention it."
He shrugged smiling. "Thanks for staying in." he replied
"And miss a George-Cooked-Meal?"
He chuckled softly, "Hmmm Oh!" he replied getting up and droppinghis feet as he went back to the kitchen.
Mitchell chuckled.
"It's not burned!" He called back shaking his head.
as he opened the over.
"Good to hear!" he shouted back in reply.
He smiled sharing it out onto a plate carrying it over to him.
"Mmmm smells very good."
"WEll come in and get it."
"I am! I have to get upright first."
He stood in the doorway, "How long does that take?"
"I'm comfy."
He sighed giving up and carrying the plates over.
Mitchell smiled. "Why thank you, George."
He rolled his eyes and knocked Mitchell's legs before he sat down.