(Untitled)

[provenhumanity]

It seemed like it had been so long since George was in a good mood that he'd almost forgotten what it felt like. For over a month now, it seemed as though there had always been a cloud over him, weighing him down with guilt. Of course none of it was his fault; no one could really be blamed for the way the island brought people and took them away,

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[chasinghumanity]

Maybe George could be in a good mood, but Mitchell wasn't. He wasn't in a bad mood, mind, but the grass was decidedly less greener on Mitchell's side. Annie had moved out; he kept getting strange vibes off Nina (Well, stranger than average); he kept worrying Sookie would find more trouble; and the newspaper still weighed on his mind. He didn't walk around with a thundercloud over his head. He kept a slight smile on his face and his worries to himself, as always. But looking at George, bustling about cheerfully, only reminded him of things he couldn't have

[provenhumanity]

"I don't know, Vincent? Patrick? Those are both saints, right?" George replied, after a moment of thought. He wiped his hands on a kitchen towel as he sat down.

"Sorry, but Catholic saints aren't really my area of expertise, believe it or not."

[chasinghumanity]

"There's several Vincents and Patrick banished snakes, wasn't a demon himself," Mitchell replied, off-hand, his attention still fully absorbed by the paper and the chip making its way to his mouth.

"I'll believe it, only 'cause I've seen your menorah. But I think this is Milton stuff. You went to uni." He paused to swallow his food and lift up a cup of coffee. "Come on, George. Be smart." That was something one could do on command, right?

[provenhumanity]

"Okay, let me have a look," George replied with a sigh as he reached over the turn the paper round and get a proper look at the puzzle. Maybe he wasn't really up on his saints, but he was generally good with these.

"Endmost, I think. They're being more general."

[hereand_now]

Wolf likes the Winchester a whole lot more than the kitchen in the Compound. It's not that the food is bad or that he doesn't like the people. It's no one's fault. The Compound is just too bright and too small for Wolf. The Winchester has Neil, too, and Wolf likes Neil a lot.

He finds someone else when he slinks in that night, still looking as though he doesn't belong inside. "Hi," he says to the man making the food. "That sure smells good!"

[provenhumanity]

Generally, George found that the same people tended to frequent the Winchester. In a way, it was reassuring, that people did the same thing on the island that they would have done at home, having a regular pub and all. He thought he'd seen the boy around before, but only working there once a week, some of the faces tended to blur together a bit.

"Have a seat, then, and I'll cut a slice. There's shepherd's pie as well, if you'd like." George replied.

[hereand_now]

"What's in shepherd's pie?" Wolf asks curiously, sliding into the seat closest to the man and sitting on his hands. "I'm a shepherd! I never had no pie named after me, I sure didn't!" He isn't quite the same on the island, he doesn't have to look after the cows like he did for the Queen, but that's what Wolf's job has always been. He doesn't know what else to call himself.

"I'm Wolf!" he adds. "Neil's my friend."

[provenhumanity]

Enthusiastic, wasn't he? George was, admittedly, a bit taken aback by Wolf's sudden fervor.

And by the fact that his name was Wolf, come to think of it.

"Potatoes, carrots, corn, a bit of onion, pork instead of beef, unfortunately," he said, of the shepherd's pie. It'd taken him a few tries to get something that was similar enough to what he'd made at home, but by now, George was reasonably pleased with it.

"And I'm George."

[turnedtoproust]

It's practically live-theatre, Scripps reckons. He's had a scant amount of time, but finding the places to eat had been the top of the list. When he'd wandered in and seen Rudge of all people, he'd practically fell over with the joy of it all. And yet, as Hector always did love to say, there was an antithesis -- an antidote.

It becomes clear near-instantly that it's not Rudge. It's not Rudge and Scripps has been eating here with deep fascination over the differences. He almost feels like he ought to have a ticket in hand for this sort of entertainment.

[provenhumanity]

George was being watched.

He hadn't noticed at first, what with how preoccupied he'd been-- first with preparing dinner, then with about a million other little things just afterward-- but after a while, it had become incredibly obvious. To the boy's credit, at least, he hadn't been glaringly noticeable, but it was still more than a bit weird.

"Is-- is everything alright?" he finally asked, figuring that it was best to confront the problem head-on. He didn't want to end up with another Percy situation on his hands, after all.

[turnedtoproust]

Scripps clears his throat, readying himself for the last bastion of testing -- the one thing that can prove to him whether or not this is Rudge or whether it's someone else entirely. "Tout comprendre c'est tout pardonner," he offers offhand, like he's a secret agent meeting someone int he middle of a leafy park to exchange state secrets.

[provenhumanity]

George blinked a few times, a little taken aback.

"Okay. War and Peace," he said, under his breath. It was never the normal ones who came in during his shift, was it?

"Do you-- do you speak any English? Parlez-vous anglais?"

[seeyousoonthen]

Savannah had spent a bit of the evening with Logan and talk of babies and such, but had excused herself not too long ago. She knew she could have begged a bite off the young man but she had a craving. A bad craving. She wanted something fried. Not pan fried, neither. Something just unbelievably unhealthy. Or maybe she could blame the baby. The baby wanted some down home deep fried goodness. Savannah knew just where to find that.

Once she'd secured some fish and chips for herself, Savannah looked around. She was to the point that she had to be choosy about her seat. Some chairs, well, she didn't sit so ladylike. A booth tended to not allow enough room for her belly. She finally just gave in and took a stool at the bar. It looked realgood, she was sure, pregnant as she was with her baby belly against the bar. She wasn't drinking, though. She was just munching on about a zillion calories of batter and oil.

[not_the_s]

It wasn't often that Kon went into bars, but the island bar was an exception mostly because it was a place to get out of the heat of the day and some of his friends were old enough to actually go there. Like, he noticed when he peeked inside, Savannah. He ducked inside and hoped he didn't get in trouble because he was here. What was the legal drinking age on the island? Not that he was going to drink. For one he didn't like it and for another he wasn't going to drink with Savannah not being able to.

"Hey there. Leave any for me?" He grinned and wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

[seeyousoonthen]

"You're going to have the baby if it wants to share," she laughed. "I will take no blame for this mess of deep fried goodness. Sit, sit. You can have some. Of course you can."

Just his voice and his arm were so very welcome that she could hardly even say. There was something about Kon that put her at ease in a way she felt from no one else on the island.

[not_the_s]

"Well, then the baby can deal with sharing and if we run out, I'll get more." So saying, he stole a french fry. Could they even be called that? They were thicker than the fries he'd had back home. And, he decided as he popped one into his mouth, they were definitely better. "I told you I'd wait on you hand and foot if you'd let me."