Being Human fic: Rock Star (pg-13)
Title: Rock Star
Author: SabaceanBabe
Betas: none
Rating: PG-13 for language
Word count: ~400
Spoilers: for 2x03
Focus: Mitchell
Author's note: This is an expansion of Mitchell's last scene in last night's ep and is unbetaed because I just had to get it out of my system.
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I couldn’t kill her I couldn’t kill her I couldn’t do it why didn’t I kill her I should have fucking killed her…
Mitchell stalked into the cavernous room and slammed his fist onto the crude workbench. He opened his hand, letting the blood-stained fangs loose onto the rough wood. Such tiny things. Just a couple of teeth, broken (with a fucking rock why didn’t I kill her what kind of an idiot am I they’re going to find out) and harmless.
He whirled, facing the silent group of (killers blood-sucking murderers we’re all nothing but monsters) vampires, all waiting for him to say something. Mitchell felt acid roil in his stomach, burning up his insides, turning his gut to ash. He felt the bile rise up in the back of his throat.
“Cara has been executed.” The words (a lie a lie she’s not fucking dead because I couldn’t fucking do it) came out in a snarl of self-loathing; one of the younger, newer vampires took a step back from him, eyes wide. They all stared at him, unblinking, silent. The weight of that silence tore at him.
As if in a dream, he heard a man’s voice. “The king is dead.”
Time seemed to slow. Mitchell turned his head toward the man. A man… a vampire who’d ridiculed him before, but who now looked on him with burgeoning adoration. Like I’m some kind of rock star…
“Long live the King.” And suddenly the silence burst. “Long live the King,” he repeated. A second voice took up the mantra, then a third, a fourth. “Long live the King.”
They all shouted it. Spinning around to look at them, Mitchell felt horror wash over him. He fought to keep from being sick right there, before them all, for if he did, if he lost it, they’d tear him apart. The air in the room was thick with incipient violence.
His eyes met Daisy’s and he couldn’t look away. There was skepticism there, but also a grudging respect. She didn’t join her voice with the others, but Mitchell could see that she had one leg crossed over the other where she sat sprawled and that her knee bounced in time with the chanting. He doubted she was even aware of it.
What the fucking hell have I done?
Feedback is love, baby. ;)
Author: SabaceanBabe
Betas: none
Rating: PG-13 for language
Word count: ~400
Spoilers: for 2x03
Focus: Mitchell
Author's note: This is an expansion of Mitchell's last scene in last night's ep and is unbetaed because I just had to get it out of my system.
-----------------
I couldn’t kill her I couldn’t kill her I couldn’t do it why didn’t I kill her I should have fucking killed her…
Mitchell stalked into the cavernous room and slammed his fist onto the crude workbench. He opened his hand, letting the blood-stained fangs loose onto the rough wood. Such tiny things. Just a couple of teeth, broken (with a fucking rock why didn’t I kill her what kind of an idiot am I they’re going to find out) and harmless.
He whirled, facing the silent group of (killers blood-sucking murderers we’re all nothing but monsters) vampires, all waiting for him to say something. Mitchell felt acid roil in his stomach, burning up his insides, turning his gut to ash. He felt the bile rise up in the back of his throat.
“Cara has been executed.” The words (a lie a lie she’s not fucking dead because I couldn’t fucking do it) came out in a snarl of self-loathing; one of the younger, newer vampires took a step back from him, eyes wide. They all stared at him, unblinking, silent. The weight of that silence tore at him.
As if in a dream, he heard a man’s voice. “The king is dead.”
Time seemed to slow. Mitchell turned his head toward the man. A man… a vampire who’d ridiculed him before, but who now looked on him with burgeoning adoration. Like I’m some kind of rock star…
“Long live the King.” And suddenly the silence burst. “Long live the King,” he repeated. A second voice took up the mantra, then a third, a fourth. “Long live the King.”
They all shouted it. Spinning around to look at them, Mitchell felt horror wash over him. He fought to keep from being sick right there, before them all, for if he did, if he lost it, they’d tear him apart. The air in the room was thick with incipient violence.
His eyes met Daisy’s and he couldn’t look away. There was skepticism there, but also a grudging respect. She didn’t join her voice with the others, but Mitchell could see that she had one leg crossed over the other where she sat sprawled and that her knee bounced in time with the chanting. He doubted she was even aware of it.
What the fucking hell have I done?
Feedback is love, baby. ;)