Being Human fic: 2 down, four letters
Title: 2 down, four letters
Characters: George, Mitchell, Annie
Pairings: None
Disclaimer: I don’t own Being Human
Summary: “Ever get the feeling you’re not wanted, George?” Mitchell asked, not looking up from his half completed crossword. He’d crack this one, he knew it.
Spoilers: None. Set probably during season 1.
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 728
A/N: Just a very small thing while I couldn’t sleep.
“Level dead head, four letters.”
George looked up from his book and frowned for a second, “Flat.” Mitchell scribbled the answer down and went back to sucking on his pen. He usually only ever did crosswords with pencils, there was just no going back with pens, but with George’s help, he knew there was nothing to fear.
“Bring back dog with tail docked, eight letters.”
George sighed and glanced up at Mitchell, “Retrieve”
“That is it, get out.” George jumped slightly as Annie suddenly appeared sitting on the back of the sofa the boys had been lounging on. “Go to the pub or something, I don’t care, just get out, get out, get out.” The ghost slammed both hands down onto the back of the sofa and the TV magazine slipped off the coffee table by the force of her irritation alone, leaving Jordan to stare vacantly at the ceiling.
“Ever get the feeling you’re not wanted, George?” Mitchell asked, not looking up from his half completed crossword. He’d crack this one, he knew it.
“Nah, must be all in your head Mitchell.” George answered, before slowly and methodically turning a page of his book.
“Urgh!” Annie shouted. “You will drive me mad with your patheticness and then you’ll be stuck with a mad ghost that does... mad things... and then you’ll say, Oh, we should have listened to poor mad Annie while we still had the chance, before she went and got all...mad. Oh, now it is too late, oh, woe is...we...us?”
“I believe I will run that risk,” George countered, turning another page of his, apparently, very interesting book.
“Mad like that time you nailed a chicken to the wall? That was pretty mad, I gotta say.” Mitchell mumbled around the pen sticking out of his mouth. He had been warned grievous bodily harm by an irate werewolf for this action many times, but there was just something fun about ruffling George’s carefully preened feathers and seeing him puff up in fluffy indignation, like an angry cat. And there was a chance he was mixing a bunch of animals up, but that was just George. A creature with many... creaturely parts, was his George.
Five minutes of contemplative chewing later and Mitchell spat the pen out as the taste of ink had begun pervading his mouth. George looked up and scowled at him. “What have I told you about that? Normal people putting pens in their mouths is, well, it’s bad enough. But you, all bitey, with your teeth and whatnot, and you break them, and this happens.” George held up the broken and leeking pen and waved it in Mitchell’s face. “Tomorrow, Stationery Box, you and me.”
Mitchell’s face scrunched up in disgust and not due to the ink taste still lingering on his tongue. “George, you know I hate Stationery Box. An entire shop, dedicated to selling stationery alone, it’s so wrong.”
“Ooh, maybe I could get a new label maker too...” George began thinking to himself. The man really did seem to have an unnatural attachment to stationery. “You broke the last one I do recall.”
“You kept labelling everything, it was driving me up the fucking wall!”
“It was a label maker Mitchell, I wasn’t going to toast bread with the bloody thing!”
“Let’s see what’s on TV, shall we?” Annie snatched the televison papers from off the floor and quickly scanned the listings. “Ooh, Scrubs is on, you like Scrubs.” Annie smiled encouragingly at her boys. George and Mitchell both twisted their faces up into similar expressions of distaste.
“God, no.” Mitchell said, and set down his, as yet undefeated, crossword puzzle. “Anyway, I don’t feel like TV, anyone up for the pub?”
George pushed his glasses up and rubbed at the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger before answering. “Sounds like a plan,” he said, and placed the bus pass he’d been using as a bookmark carefully to keep his page. “Annie, you up for it?”
Annie looked up at the two men in confused amazement as they pulled on their coats. “Erm, no thanks, think I’ll just enjoy some peace and quiet actually.”
Mitchell and George nodded to her as they left and Annie shrugged her shoulders as she leaned back on the sofa. Men were weird, she thought as she reached for the TV remote.
Characters: George, Mitchell, Annie
Pairings: None
Disclaimer: I don’t own Being Human
Summary: “Ever get the feeling you’re not wanted, George?” Mitchell asked, not looking up from his half completed crossword. He’d crack this one, he knew it.
Spoilers: None. Set probably during season 1.
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 728
A/N: Just a very small thing while I couldn’t sleep.
“Level dead head, four letters.”
George looked up from his book and frowned for a second, “Flat.” Mitchell scribbled the answer down and went back to sucking on his pen. He usually only ever did crosswords with pencils, there was just no going back with pens, but with George’s help, he knew there was nothing to fear.
“Bring back dog with tail docked, eight letters.”
George sighed and glanced up at Mitchell, “Retrieve”
“That is it, get out.” George jumped slightly as Annie suddenly appeared sitting on the back of the sofa the boys had been lounging on. “Go to the pub or something, I don’t care, just get out, get out, get out.” The ghost slammed both hands down onto the back of the sofa and the TV magazine slipped off the coffee table by the force of her irritation alone, leaving Jordan to stare vacantly at the ceiling.
“Ever get the feeling you’re not wanted, George?” Mitchell asked, not looking up from his half completed crossword. He’d crack this one, he knew it.
“Nah, must be all in your head Mitchell.” George answered, before slowly and methodically turning a page of his book.
“Urgh!” Annie shouted. “You will drive me mad with your patheticness and then you’ll be stuck with a mad ghost that does... mad things... and then you’ll say, Oh, we should have listened to poor mad Annie while we still had the chance, before she went and got all...mad. Oh, now it is too late, oh, woe is...we...us?”
“I believe I will run that risk,” George countered, turning another page of his, apparently, very interesting book.
“Mad like that time you nailed a chicken to the wall? That was pretty mad, I gotta say.” Mitchell mumbled around the pen sticking out of his mouth. He had been warned grievous bodily harm by an irate werewolf for this action many times, but there was just something fun about ruffling George’s carefully preened feathers and seeing him puff up in fluffy indignation, like an angry cat. And there was a chance he was mixing a bunch of animals up, but that was just George. A creature with many... creaturely parts, was his George.
Five minutes of contemplative chewing later and Mitchell spat the pen out as the taste of ink had begun pervading his mouth. George looked up and scowled at him. “What have I told you about that? Normal people putting pens in their mouths is, well, it’s bad enough. But you, all bitey, with your teeth and whatnot, and you break them, and this happens.” George held up the broken and leeking pen and waved it in Mitchell’s face. “Tomorrow, Stationery Box, you and me.”
Mitchell’s face scrunched up in disgust and not due to the ink taste still lingering on his tongue. “George, you know I hate Stationery Box. An entire shop, dedicated to selling stationery alone, it’s so wrong.”
“Ooh, maybe I could get a new label maker too...” George began thinking to himself. The man really did seem to have an unnatural attachment to stationery. “You broke the last one I do recall.”
“You kept labelling everything, it was driving me up the fucking wall!”
“It was a label maker Mitchell, I wasn’t going to toast bread with the bloody thing!”
“Let’s see what’s on TV, shall we?” Annie snatched the televison papers from off the floor and quickly scanned the listings. “Ooh, Scrubs is on, you like Scrubs.” Annie smiled encouragingly at her boys. George and Mitchell both twisted their faces up into similar expressions of distaste.
“God, no.” Mitchell said, and set down his, as yet undefeated, crossword puzzle. “Anyway, I don’t feel like TV, anyone up for the pub?”
George pushed his glasses up and rubbed at the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger before answering. “Sounds like a plan,” he said, and placed the bus pass he’d been using as a bookmark carefully to keep his page. “Annie, you up for it?”
Annie looked up at the two men in confused amazement as they pulled on their coats. “Erm, no thanks, think I’ll just enjoy some peace and quiet actually.”
Mitchell and George nodded to her as they left and Annie shrugged her shoulders as she leaned back on the sofa. Men were weird, she thought as she reached for the TV remote.