Ficlet: Now you're getting it [Being Human, gen]
For the other mumblemutter, Being Human trio-fic.
George gets home from the night shift to find Annie perched on the bottom step of the hallway stairs, scowling in the vicious way she always does just before she starts crying. "Tell him!" She shouts, and George stops trying retreat.
"Tell who what?"
"Mitchell. Tell him he can't bring that thing in here. I'm not having another dead person in the house, not after - you know what not after, George, this is really seriously bad." The crying scowl began to crumple round the edges.
"Whoa! Whoa, whoa, hold on. What?"
Mitchell chooses this moment to dash through to the kitchen, back in marigolds for possibly the second time in his existence, frowning intently for the umpteenth. "Bin bags," he says, rifling through the cupboards under the sink. "George, do we have bin bags?"
"Mitchell, I told you - "
"There's no where else I can - "
"What the fuck is going on?" George isn't ashamed to admit it, there are times when he considers sleeping in the coma ward and hoping nobody notices. The hospital cafe isn't that bad. He'd never really have to leave the grounds. It worked in The Terminal.
But no. No, he's here, watching Annie vibrate with anger as she points at Mitchell and shouts, "He's got a dead policeman in the back of his car!" with such venom that Mitchell looks surprised when he isn't poltergiested through the kitchen window. Grateful, but surprised.
George takes a moment to think about what he's just heard, really think about it. "That's my car."
"It's our car."
"It's my car until you chip in on a single insurance payment."
Mitchell looks aghast. "I did!"
"When?"
"Last month." His jaw gives an infintesimal liar's twitch. "The one before at the latest."
"You have never - "
"Is this really the most important thing?" Annie asks. "I mean, I thought the dead policeman in the boot might bother you, but no, you're worried about car insurance. Which neither of you will have to pay once we're all in prison."
"You're dead."
"I'm not being driven around in a Clio!"
"No," Mitchell says, "I just meant, you can't go to prison." He tone implies that this is in any way comforting.
"Dead. Policeman."
"We don't know for sure that he is."
George blinks at this. "You killed an undercover policeman? What was he doing, trying to infiltrate the funeral home?"
"No. No, he was - . Ivan killed him, alright? He might, y'know, wake up."
"What, and you thought you'd just drive him round in my car til then?"
"He is not coming into the house," Annie repeats, but she's not doing the crying face anymore, so she might just have a plan.
George fucking hopes so.
In other news, I saw Anvil!: The Story of Anvil earlier today and oh my god, it's like a version of This Is Spinal Tap that makes you feel like you've been punched in the heart.
George gets home from the night shift to find Annie perched on the bottom step of the hallway stairs, scowling in the vicious way she always does just before she starts crying. "Tell him!" She shouts, and George stops trying retreat.
"Tell who what?"
"Mitchell. Tell him he can't bring that thing in here. I'm not having another dead person in the house, not after - you know what not after, George, this is really seriously bad." The crying scowl began to crumple round the edges.
"Whoa! Whoa, whoa, hold on. What?"
Mitchell chooses this moment to dash through to the kitchen, back in marigolds for possibly the second time in his existence, frowning intently for the umpteenth. "Bin bags," he says, rifling through the cupboards under the sink. "George, do we have bin bags?"
"Mitchell, I told you - "
"There's no where else I can - "
"What the fuck is going on?" George isn't ashamed to admit it, there are times when he considers sleeping in the coma ward and hoping nobody notices. The hospital cafe isn't that bad. He'd never really have to leave the grounds. It worked in The Terminal.
But no. No, he's here, watching Annie vibrate with anger as she points at Mitchell and shouts, "He's got a dead policeman in the back of his car!" with such venom that Mitchell looks surprised when he isn't poltergiested through the kitchen window. Grateful, but surprised.
George takes a moment to think about what he's just heard, really think about it. "That's my car."
"It's our car."
"It's my car until you chip in on a single insurance payment."
Mitchell looks aghast. "I did!"
"When?"
"Last month." His jaw gives an infintesimal liar's twitch. "The one before at the latest."
"You have never - "
"Is this really the most important thing?" Annie asks. "I mean, I thought the dead policeman in the boot might bother you, but no, you're worried about car insurance. Which neither of you will have to pay once we're all in prison."
"You're dead."
"I'm not being driven around in a Clio!"
"No," Mitchell says, "I just meant, you can't go to prison." He tone implies that this is in any way comforting.
"Dead. Policeman."
"We don't know for sure that he is."
George blinks at this. "You killed an undercover policeman? What was he doing, trying to infiltrate the funeral home?"
"No. No, he was - . Ivan killed him, alright? He might, y'know, wake up."
"What, and you thought you'd just drive him round in my car til then?"
"He is not coming into the house," Annie repeats, but she's not doing the crying face anymore, so she might just have a plan.
George fucking hopes so.
In other news, I saw Anvil!: The Story of Anvil earlier today and oh my god, it's like a version of This Is Spinal Tap that makes you feel like you've been punched in the heart.