"The shine will wear off in a few days and you will be cursing it like the rest of us," she murmured from her seat in a nearby armchair, her scarred lips twitching into a smirk of a smile as she watched him move from the jukebox to the bookshelves with that look of pleasure on his face. He was unmistakably new, but she didn't sense any of the confusion and fear the new ones often reacted with at being ripped from their homes. She'd felt it herself, once upon a time.
With her hands, she was loading a new roll of film into her camera, smudges of black ink staining her fingers. She still had a difficult time moving the middle fingers of her left hand, and she worked carefully and slowly, overcompensating for her lack of dexterity.
Mitchell turned to give the woman with the camera a broad grin and laughed. Cameras. He used to be half scared of them, frightened of what they wouldn't show. Now there was no fear, no apprehension. He could finally get a proper look at himself in a picture, or even on film, if he wanted. His parents had insisted on getting a portrait of him before he left for war, but that was nearly a century ago. Not that much had changed on Mitchell since.
"I'm sure I will," he allowed with another chuckle. "But the shine's pretty nice right now, so I'm going to take it." Digging his hands into his back pockets a little shyly, Mitchell strolled closer. "Are you a professional?" he asked with a nod to the camera.
"I was," she said, closing the film door with a click. Then, with a frown, she added, "I still am, I suppose."
Her lips twitched, the long diagonal scar running from top lip to bottom tugging one corner of her smile down. "It has been a while since anyone has paid me for my services."
The scars might have seemed odd to him if he hadn't seen worse and if they hadn't struck him as so very sad. She was a pretty woman. What had happened?
"Not much of an island economy?" He grinned and shrugged quickly. "Must be great though, to have all that... that outside just waiting to be shot. Or is that the shine in my eyes again?"
Emmy's looking for a movie while her Mum is making lunch. The thing about having grown up on the island is that she's not really shy of strangers; she knows more or less everybody and doesn't really think of anybody as a threat. She looks up at him and squints. He's tall.
Mitchell had never spent much time with kids; he had been an only child and his lifestyle didn't have him associated much with them. He'd made orphans, not played with them. There had been a few vampires turned at a young age, like Bernie, but they lost everything that made them children quick. It was creepy to Mitchell, so he relished any excuse he had to interact with a real, human child.
Crouching down beside the little girl, Mitchell gave her a bright smile. "Alright. What do you think you wanna watch?"
Emmy thinks about that for a second. Her face screws up the way very small people's faces when they're thinking about something that's very, very important to them. She pulls at dark curls with one hand.
"You are just cute as a button," he murmured, watching her think with his own smile stuck on his face.
"Well let's see what we've got." Mitchell half-turned towards the shelf and started plucking up reels. Reels. When was the last time he'd handled one of these? "Casper the Friendly Ghost, Beauty and the Beast, Alice in Wonderland, Bedknobs and Broomsticks, now that was a good one..."
Over the past week or so, Annie had refound her love of the simple things. Even brushing her teeth felt less like a chore and more like a fun sort of game. Running up and down stairs made her heart race. She sweat when outside in the sun for too long.
It was beautiful. Having decided that she had had enough of leggings for the time being, she was decked out in a bright blue sundress and (this was the best part) strappy sandals. It was nice to be able to do rather than simply watch others.
"Be careful," she warned with a smile and laugh to the man at the bookshelf as she passed through. "It keeps trying to sell me on trashy vampire novels, which is just silly. Its got a sense of humor, that thing."
There was Annie for you, moving too fast to see what was right in front of her. It was so odd to see her in something other than the gray hang-around clothes she'd died in though that Mitchell just stared for a second, transfixed. She was alive. Really, really alive. And in technicolor.
He shook himself out of it and picked up his grin again. "What, you think vampires can't be trashy and romantic?" He tsked and struggled to keep from laughing. "One flubbed kiss and you're down on the whole kind. Bit close-minded of you, Annie."
"I never said that!" Annie defended with a mild flail of her arms as she grinned in return and took a step nearer to him. It was absolutely baffling that she had been screaming and terrified at the hands of Kemp not too long ago while Mitchell had been blood drunk and scary in his own right at the same time. He was here and did not seem to be keen on chomping at anyone.
"And you said it yourself. A kiss failure and a bit of a weird one given that we were both dead at the time," she pointed out. "Besides I'm not being closed-minded. I used to go for that sort of thing before I lived it and realised it isn't romantic to want the object of your affections to suck the life out of you. Literally."
The smile faltered only so Mitchell could pull a face. "Ugh, they want that?" He'd never read the literature and the movies had taken a bad enough turn after the 80s that he'd just stopped watching.
"I guess it's for the best that there's no vampires here," he pointed out, obliquely referencing the heart beating in his chest, the life in his eyes, the breath in his lungs. "And I hear you're not squishy any more."
"Ye must be new," Rahne observes, standing at the doorway to the kitchen with her arms folded over her chest, the corners of her mouth hitched up in a slight smirk. After so long here, just someone who looks unfamiliar is telling enough, but it's the look on his face that really says it all, pleased rather than unbelievably frustrated. A small part of her is even jealous for it. She's certainly never had any reason to smile when facing the bookshelf. Crossing in his direction, she shakes her head a little. "Over eight months I've been here, and I swear ye're the first person I've seen who seems to like this thing."
The girl got a bright, affirming smile for her guess. Compared to where he had been, what he had been, Mitchell figured he would be a fool not to appreciate the setup here. Until the suspicion set in or the bottom dropped out anyway. It was bliss to be simple-minded just for a little bit.
"How can you not?" he asked in a laughing challenge. He swept his hand across a row of reels. "Every single work of Laurel and Hardy. That's amazing."
"For this place? Aye, it is," Rahne laughs in return, unable to help her smile widening a little. She and the bookshelf have never been on good terms, but it's almost infectious, how much he seems to be enjoying it. It's enough that she can't bring herself to warn him about how awful the shelf usually is, too. Best to let it last while it still can. "Ye should hold on to them. This thing changes all the time, but if ye take them, they'll keep."
"That's not.. like stealing, is it?" he asked uncertainly. Mitchell didn't have much of a problem with stealing; he'd done it too often to be morally outraged at the thought. But this was Laurel and Hardy and a very public place. "What if someone else wanted to watch them? Or does it.. restock, too?"
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."
Comments 146
With her hands, she was loading a new roll of film into her camera, smudges of black ink staining her fingers. She still had a difficult time moving the middle fingers of her left hand, and she worked carefully and slowly, overcompensating for her lack of dexterity.
Reply
"I'm sure I will," he allowed with another chuckle. "But the shine's pretty nice right now, so I'm going to take it." Digging his hands into his back pockets a little shyly, Mitchell strolled closer. "Are you a professional?" he asked with a nod to the camera.
Reply
Her lips twitched, the long diagonal scar running from top lip to bottom tugging one corner of her smile down. "It has been a while since anyone has paid me for my services."
Reply
"Not much of an island economy?" He grinned and shrugged quickly. "Must be great though, to have all that... that outside just waiting to be shot. Or is that the shine in my eyes again?"
Reply
"Help me choose," she says.
Reply
Crouching down beside the little girl, Mitchell gave her a bright smile. "Alright. What do you think you wanna watch?"
Reply
"Dunno," she says.
Reply
"Well let's see what we've got." Mitchell half-turned towards the shelf and started plucking up reels. Reels. When was the last time he'd handled one of these? "Casper the Friendly Ghost, Beauty and the Beast, Alice in Wonderland, Bedknobs and Broomsticks, now that was a good one..."
Reply
It was beautiful. Having decided that she had had enough of leggings for the time being, she was decked out in a bright blue sundress and (this was the best part) strappy sandals. It was nice to be able to do rather than simply watch others.
"Be careful," she warned with a smile and laugh to the man at the bookshelf as she passed through. "It keeps trying to sell me on trashy vampire novels, which is just silly. Its got a sense of humor, that thing."
Reply
He shook himself out of it and picked up his grin again. "What, you think vampires can't be trashy and romantic?" He tsked and struggled to keep from laughing. "One flubbed kiss and you're down on the whole kind. Bit close-minded of you, Annie."
Reply
"And you said it yourself. A kiss failure and a bit of a weird one given that we were both dead at the time," she pointed out. "Besides I'm not being closed-minded. I used to go for that sort of thing before I lived it and realised it isn't romantic to want the object of your affections to suck the life out of you. Literally."
Reply
"I guess it's for the best that there's no vampires here," he pointed out, obliquely referencing the heart beating in his chest, the life in his eyes, the breath in his lungs. "And I hear you're not squishy any more."
Reply
Reply
"How can you not?" he asked in a laughing challenge. He swept his hand across a row of reels. "Every single work of Laurel and Hardy. That's amazing."
Reply
Reply
Reply
"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?"
Reply
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."
Reply
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."
Reply
"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."
Reply
Leave a comment