From her seat on the couch, back turned to the jukebox with a book in her lap, Buffy had to strain to get a good look in that direction. She leaned up over the couch on both knees, letting the book - some boring vampire-slash-romance novel that managed to get all the facts wrong and which Buffy had all but given up on - slide to the floor with a thud.
"Okay, spill," she said, quirking an eyebrow at the man. "How'd you get the Devil's jukebox to listen to you? I'm guessing a few souls were exchanged?"
Mitchell's eyes went wide when he saw Buffy Summers, Buffy fucking Summers, goddamn vampire slayer sitting on the couch. What had George said? Something about fictional people. He hadn't thought this was what he meant.
But this was Buffy Summers, vampire slayer and... Mitchell was no longer a vampire. He could tell because his heart had jumped into his throat upon recognizing her. Now, he smiled broadly, amused.
"Nah," he said, shaking his head. "No souls. It's probably just being easy on me because it's my first day. George said the clothes box was horrible too but.. I don't mind it."
"What? Okay, can we, like, swap luck or something, just for a minute? I had to make due last winter with one scarf and it didn't even last two weeks before the wind blew it away." With a small laugh, her eyes darted toward the entrance to basement. When she turned back, Buffy lowered her voice, as if she was afraid the Clothes Box would hear and get offended. The sad part? It didn't seem as unlikely as it should have. "I think it hates me by default because I happen to love clothes so much. And I don't know about you, but that fits my definition of pure evil."
She sat up higher, leaning further over the couch with a wide smile. Genuine good moods were so rare around the rec room lately, which made this man's all the more infectuous. "Welcome, by the way." She gave him a small wave. "I'm Buffy."
Evil, evil, evil. Mitchell was getting sick of the word, though he could allow that Buffy of all people knew its real meaning enough to use it lightly. Even so, it made him a bit uncomfortable, after his day.
"I dunno if that's the perfect plan. You might just end up dressed like me," he pointed out. Great for Mitchell, who loved what he wore. "You don't seem like a.. plaid kind of girl."
Grinning, he strode over to the couch and offered a hand. No reason not to do this properly. "Nice ta meet ya, Buffy. I'm Mitchell."
Buffy, who had always fostered the belief that plaid should be reserved for lumberjacks and pajama bottoms, had to conded that fact. "You make a fine point," she said with a small laugh, rising to greet him when he came over.
"Ditto that, Mitchell. I think I can honestly say this is the first time I've met someone new who was actually happy to be here."
"Eh, it doesn't seem so bad," Mitchell had to say in the island's defense. "Weird as hell, yeah. Like a bad scifi movie. But I've got my two mates here and I've been living in Bristol working as a hospital porter so an island holiday sounds just about right to me."
And one of those friends was dead in another world, the other with people trying to kill him. And Mitchell was human now for the first time in nearly a decade.
"And I'm also a bit sleep deprived, so you can chalk it up to that, if you'd like."
"Bristol... that's in England, right?" Not that she would know, really, but the accent was enough tip off. He didn't sound all prim and proper, like Giles, or... whatever the opposite of that is, like Spike, but that had to be a British accent.
"Lucky for you, one of the best things about this place is, hands down, the total lack of any alarm clocks. I could so live my entire life without ever hearing that obnoxious beep in the morning again."
"Yeah," he confirmed with a touch of a laugh. He shouldn't have laughed at all, really, considering he had spent his one trip to America effectively in the backseat and never asked questions. But weren't there British people on the show?
"And God does that sound good," he groaned. "And never having to go in for another shift of cleaning up other people's sick and piss and shit I've done it again." Laughing in embarrassment, Mitchell ran his fingers through his hair and looked apologetically at Buffy. "Sorry, I'm usually better about not talking about my job."
"It'll wear off," Buffy assured him with a laugh of her own. Even though working at the high school meant she had to wake up at stupid o'clock in the morning, it was still a million times better than the graveyard shift at the Doublemeat Palace. Especially since she then had to work the graveyard shift at the actual graveyard for nightly patrol. But unless you counted her current shift at The Catscratch Club, it had been months since Buffy had had anything approaching a real job. Boring though the island could be, it did have its perks, and this was definitely among them.
"Though after a few months of not keeping a job out of necessity, you might just take one up out of boredom. Hazards of the island," she shrugged, but her smile had yet to fade. "Lucky for you, there's no hospital here."
"Damn lucky. Who knows what I'd do if bored enough." Though it was safe enough to say that Mitchell wouldn't ever chose to clean up in a hospital, or clinic, or anything of the sort again. It had been purely a job of necessity, and Mitchell had no lofty career aspirations.
"What about you? You bored enough yet?" he asked. "What do you do to pass the time around here?"
"Okay, spill," she said, quirking an eyebrow at the man. "How'd you get the Devil's jukebox to listen to you? I'm guessing a few souls were exchanged?"
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But this was Buffy Summers, vampire slayer and... Mitchell was no longer a vampire. He could tell because his heart had jumped into his throat upon recognizing her. Now, he smiled broadly, amused.
"Nah," he said, shaking his head. "No souls. It's probably just being easy on me because it's my first day. George said the clothes box was horrible too but.. I don't mind it."
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She sat up higher, leaning further over the couch with a wide smile. Genuine good moods were so rare around the rec room lately, which made this man's all the more infectuous.
"Welcome, by the way." She gave him a small wave. "I'm Buffy."
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"I dunno if that's the perfect plan. You might just end up dressed like me," he pointed out. Great for Mitchell, who loved what he wore. "You don't seem like a.. plaid kind of girl."
Grinning, he strode over to the couch and offered a hand. No reason not to do this properly. "Nice ta meet ya, Buffy. I'm Mitchell."
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"Ditto that, Mitchell. I think I can honestly say this is the first time I've met someone new who was actually happy to be here."
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And one of those friends was dead in another world, the other with people trying to kill him. And Mitchell was human now for the first time in nearly a decade.
"And I'm also a bit sleep deprived, so you can chalk it up to that, if you'd like."
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"Lucky for you, one of the best things about this place is, hands down, the total lack of any alarm clocks. I could so live my entire life without ever hearing that obnoxious beep in the morning again."
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"And God does that sound good," he groaned. "And never having to go in for another shift of cleaning up other people's sick and piss and shit I've done it again." Laughing in embarrassment, Mitchell ran his fingers through his hair and looked apologetically at Buffy. "Sorry, I'm usually better about not talking about my job."
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"Though after a few months of not keeping a job out of necessity, you might just take one up out of boredom. Hazards of the island," she shrugged, but her smile had yet to fade. "Lucky for you, there's no hospital here."
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"What about you? You bored enough yet?" he asked. "What do you do to pass the time around here?"
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