maskormenace | ➀ - ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ

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➀ - ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ

The last time I woke up in a strange place was right after I died.

[ She chuckles, though the sound is tinged with the faintest hint of nervous energy. There's no image to go along with the voice, but the voice is thoroughly female, English and cheerful, if a little ... sarcastic. Whether she's joking or telling the truth is anyone's guess. She sure sounds like she might be joking... ]

So I've spoken to the um, locals and them here a bit, but a second opinion never hurt anyone; This isn't some big Hallowe'en joke, is it? It's not even the right time of year for it. Like everyone here is alive and well and we've all got super powers. I mean yeah I heard the big speech, but how is any of this actually real? We're not all in some weird ... afterlife or anything, are we?

-- I s'pose I should just out and ask, anyway. Anyone know a George Sands? Nina Pickering? George is a tall bloke, bit big in the ears. Nina's a little thing- seriously, she's-- [ uh ] --blonde. And a nurse. They both are, actually. Or they were. And ... Mitchell. It's a last name, but it's what he goes by. Broody, dark hair, probably hasn't bathed in a while- he gets busy. If anyone's seen or knows them, I'd love to hear about it.

... Well, that's it. Thanks! [ click. this is a phone type call, isn't it? Yeah. ]

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[There's relief and fear both, in equal parts, when she says his name. It's strange to think that he's never talked on a phone with Annie. The closest he's ever come was her voice on the television, the grainy picture of her face, her features tight with fear. And now here she is, and he doesn't know how to feel--he exhales, shaky, almost a laugh--]

Yeah. Yeah, it's me. Ah, Jesus, Annie--

[And already, he's going for his coat, fumbling to put it on without setting down his mobile--like she's going to vanish if he stops talking to her. He shouldn't be glad that she's here, maybe--and maybe he isn't--but God, he is, at the same time.]

Where are you? I'm coming to find you.

[ There's relief on both ends, here. Wary relief, but from how he's sounding, he's ... He sounds like him. Normal. Or as normal as Mitchell can get, at least. He doesn't sound frightening or like Tully or any other psycho guy that she seems to attract. Just ... Mitchell. A rather relieved sounding Mitchell, actually.

So she lets down her guard a little, glances around because hey, she's been walking a while- but it's been towards her new 'residence'. ]

Oh, um. Residence Three? I think-- Yeah. I'm not there yet but it's down the street from me. S'where I'm ... supposed to be staying, I think.

[ Which is weird. It isn't her little pink house. How can she live somewhere, by herself or with people she doesn't know, in a not little pink house? ]

[Any unevenness in her voice he chalks up to uncertainty. That's got to be it. Jesus, like waking up dead wasn't enough of a mindfuck for her, those few years back, now she's got to deal with this on top of it.]

I'll find you there. Go on, I'll be there soon--

[There's a little crawl of paranoia when he tells her that--but what's the worst she's going to find in her new house? (Don't answer that, he tells himself.) And she can defend herself, she's stronger than she knows--stronger than even he remembers, sometimes, it's so easy to forget.

There's still loads that he wants to say, but he bites it all back, for now.]

I'll be five minutes at the most, all right?

[ Oh there are plenty of things to deal with. One of the biggest being that she can properly feel her heart beating again. And not just a psychological memory, but a real, physical thump of muscle in her chest, pushing blood through her system and, and ... gods, she's actually alive again. Except she doesn't want to think about it right now. Because that would be the smart thing to do, to analyze and see if it's false.

She's not entirely sure whether she wants it to be or not. ]

Alright, lright, I'll be here, don't worry. Won't run off on you.

[ She's got no idea what might be at the house, honestly. Roommates? That aren't here werewolf lovelies? Clearly Mitchell isn't living there, and she's not sure if that's a comfort or a visceral displeasure (though it seems much of the latter). The house is surprisingly empty when she gets there, but she'll also be sitting on the front steps when he gets there instead, hanging out and enjoying the heat of the State. Even her grey sweater's got her sleeves all the way rolled up. Not shifted into something sleeveless, but actively rolled up to above her elbows. ]

[On his way to the house they've put her in, Mitchell doesn't rehearse what he's going to say. He's not that kind of guy. And, anyway, he's too busy thinking about what it means to have her here--for him, yeah, but also for her.

But when he comes around the corner and sees her sat out on the front steps, just the way she'd sat next to him on the steps back in Bristol, with the sunlight in her hair--Mitchell smiles, despite himself, and there is a moment where he feels just-- something so close to simple human happiness, a brief respite of feeling everything else, as it all lifts away from him and leaves him only with this familiar sight. It's all tied up with the complicated feelings, all those weird stupid thoughts and half-considered plans, things that can't really be. Her arms around his neck before they'd left Purgatory, and her arm looked through his as she walked him down along the pier. Stupid things like that, things he doesn't deserve.

He doesn't break into a run, or anything. But he flicks away his cigarette and quickens his step, so he gets to her a little faster. Standing in front of her, he can't think of anything to say--hi seems inadequate, everything seems inadequate--so instead, he just smiles at her, quiet, and offers her a hand up.

If she takes it, he'll pull her into an embrace. It does not occur to him that she might not take his hand.]

[ Yeah, rehearsing what to say would be totally stupid and not his type.

It's definitely Annie's type though. Double, triple rehearsing and changing the lines every second run through, different pitches, mumbling, lilting- all of it. But then, it all sort of falls apart when she sees him coming down the street, tossing his cig and coming right up and ... smiling.

Not that uneasy, unnerving sort of smile she'd seen last, as if he were looking through her in a way that had nothing to do with her being a spectre. This was genuine and sweet and it nearly warms her to see it again, offering his hand out and of course she takes it. Maybe there's a little hesitance there as she searches him, looks just a little wary of it-- but she takes it. She couldn't not.

Only this time her hand is warm to the touch, solid and very much not squishy- properly there instead of feeling like she'd just stepped in from outside. (Well. Outside in Bristol.) She doesn't think about it, that it might be weird. That it would definitely be weird since he's never known her to be alive. Hell, she barely knows what to do with the information.

But it's a hug and she really can't resist it, because it's safe and comforting and gods, she hadn't realized how unconsciously stressed out she'd been the past few hours. The past few days, even. Weeks, months. Maybe even years. Just that it's somehow okay right then. Mitchell's always given really, really great hugs, to begin with. (Much better than George, if you asked her.) ]

[The weird and persistent sense of difference, he'd put that down to-- well, to nothing, really, he'd not considered it. It was enough to just see Annie, but the second his hand folds around hers, there is something too off to ignore. His arms go around her, automatically, but even that's wrong--warm and soft, flesh that's alive--none of the tingling cold, no more of that smell of nothing, the flatness of a ghost.

And a heartbeat.

Startled, he steps back out of the embrace, but he can't shove away from her entirely. His hands close on her upper arms, gripping there--a good and proper grip, because she's there--]

You've got-- a body.

[He says it a little blankly, like testing out the words aloud will make it easier to understand, conceptually. A body and a heartbeat and--]

Oh, Annie, what the hell did they do to-- [No, better leave that there; he grips at her arms, steadying, and leans back a little so he can try and look her in the eye.] Are you all right?

[ The hug is nice. For as short lived as it is, it's rather nice. Cool, which is a little strange, but only because she's never really noticed it before. And short lived because she startles as he does, eyes wide and jaw tense as he yanks himself back. --He's not running though, not leaving. Not even letting go entirely, though he looks like he, ironically, might have seen a ghost.

Oh. It was that he hadn't. ]

I ... do.

[ But that means something. Something that isn't what did they do to you, as her blossoming frown might prove. One that softens as he catches and corrects and her mind starts racing through reasons of it being so awful. Because, most likely, of what he is. A pair of spooked supernaturals, they are. ]

I'm fine. But you're ... Are you alright?

[ Because if she's human, and decidedly not werewolf-like (thank gods), then that could potentially mean a lot of difficulty for the both of them. Humans and vampires. Not that she didn't trust Mitchell, because she did- at least, for the most part. Recently...

Except it won't entirely matter because as she worries and frights over the situation as internally as possible, Mitchell will feel her solidity lessening to something more familiar. Squishy, almost not-there. Still warm, still living, but ... less tangible. Even the possible soap-smelling scent of her would fade.

A fun time to discover powers with friends though, amirite? ]

Whoa--

[He loses his grip on her arms for a moment, as she fades into a more usual squishiness. It's unnerving, feeling her go from solid to not in a few seconds flat, right under his (mostly bare, half gloved) hands. He stares down at her arms with marked surprise before he tears his gaze up to her face again--like maybe she's going intangible right before his eyes, like some sort of cartoon ghost--]

Did you just-- go ghostly on me? Did you do that?

[ Luckily enough, her visibility stays ... relatively clear. Maybe a little hazy around the edges, but not like she's turned invisible. She's just a little hard to touch. Which honestly sets off a bit of panic in her, hands yanking up for inspection, turning over and over and no, she is not cartoon-y, damnit. ]

I-- Did I? I didn't mean to. But- My file! It said, it said .. Potential intangibility. What they did potential mean?

[ She's more talking to herself than the spooked vampire in front of her. She's also taking a deep breath, shaking her hands and humming as if in concentration. It's all very dramatic, you see. But it ... works. Kind of. She turns more visibly solid, and if after a solid minute she's poking a slow finger against Mitchell's shoulder just to see... Well, it works.

................... ]

Ugh. So I'm not dead anymore, but I'm still stuck acting like a ghost. Great.

[He's trying to work it out even as she's trying to work it out. It's a little difficult to follow when she's starting and stopping her train of thought, and when it all comes down to that slow

shoulder

poke

He just stares down at his shoulder, and her finger, and then at her face, his nose a little wrinkled. Yeah, this is classic Annie, heartbeat and all.

Christ. Heartbeats. He puts that thought away very quickly.]

So... they got you your body, somehow. [And lets not think too hard about that, either, moving on!] And that's the power they gave you? Ghostliness?

No, wait-- d'you have your file? Can I see it? [Better if he just reads it for himself, get it from the source. Not that she's unreliable but. Yeah.]

[ Yes, haha, classic Annie, testing and being silly and hey, it's a legit thing to do okay. Slow shoulder poking, making sure she doesn't go through his shoulder. Not that she's ever been able to before, but. You know.

She's still frowning when he pipes up, eyes down at her fingers for a moment-- ]

Is it my body? Wouldn't it have been all ... decomposed and disgusting after three and a half years? --Oh. Yes, c'mere.

[ Because she's turning round and opening the door, leading him in (because she figures he'll follow) to where her given bedroom is. Untouched, save for the file folder sitting just off to the side on the bedside table. She'll hand it over, and really, there isn't much there.

Listed powers? Tangibility (reactionary), telekinesis (reactionary), teleportation.

Really, it's like she's still a ghost. ]

[Decomposed and disgusting is a fact of life, even though it's a gross one--but Mitchell can just hear George's protest, as he follows her into the house. Oh, Annie, come on, don't--if anyone was going to be disgusted by the thought of a rotting body, it would be George, and he misses that fussiness, for a second--not for the first time, and certainly not for the last.

In her room, he opens her file, leafing through the few pages inside of it, scanning the pages for anything. Reactionary; he touches his thumb against that word, thoughtfully, crumpling the page a little.]

Jesus.

[He flips the paper over, makes quick work of reading the rest of it, before he looks around at her again.]

And they didn't explain, the-- body, thing? [He gestures, loosely, without lingering on any parts.]

[ Give it a day or two and she'll start voicing their shared feelings of missing their third companion- and his plus one.

She bites a lip fretfully as he reads over the pages, wondering almost hopefully that he'd find something more than she had. Doubtful as it was. But she shrugs helplessly as he turns on her, looking just a little stressed. ]

No idea. I just woke up here like this. Didn't even realize what was happening- er, that I wasn't dead until after I left that place. Cape Canaveral. Too late to ask any of the official types there.

[He's nodding, as he gives the page one last look, and then shuts the folder on it. No matter that he already knows so much about Annie, about ghosts in general--reading over her page still feels weirdly invasive. Maybe he shouldn't be sensitive to stuff like that, but it's not like he's any good at actually being the heartless bastard variety of vampire. (Sometimes.)]

We'll figure it out. [That's a statement, not a promise. He holds the folder out to her, to take back.] It's been done before, for other ghosts, however it's done. Someone's got the answers.

[It's all kind of intense, so to soften it, he adds--]

And hey, now you've got all of the benefits of bein' a ghost, and none of the, uh, side-effects. You can take on the world.

This-- version of the world.

[ She doesn't really mind him snooping; there isn't enough in there to warrant her being self conscious about it, and honestly, being a ghost? The lack of privacy was astounding. He knew just about everything about her anyway. Apart from ... you know. The last week or two back home. ]

I guess it's ... One way to look at it. I mean, having powers and being alive? I can properly talk to people again and they have to listen, it's almost- It's almost a crime, now. Oh gosh, I'm going to- I can't be the peanut gallery anymore. I can't go to free cinema showings or, or-- I'll have to pay for tea!

[ Because honestly, what the hell is more important than what's been said. ]

[Annie... ]

That's what you're worried about. Paying for tea. D'you know what else you can do, you can get takeaway, all the time, without just having someone leave it on the doorstep. You can eat takeaway--you can drink your own tea. Come on, you've had years of being able t' get into cinemas for free.

Annie. [He grips at her arms again. The reality of the flesh beneath his hands--alive, really and truly, lacking the tingle of her usual coldness--it's a little unsettling.] You've got a body. And that's-- [Well; honesty--] --a little creepy, yeah, but it's great. Think of everything you're going t' be able to do.

[ Her mouth pops shut as he carries on, teases and holds her arms again. She might even admit out loud how upsettingly satisfying it is to finally feel someone else's touch again. Properly. And the realization of what he's actually saying; she can actually eat and drink the food and tea she makes.

It seems to sober her. She can eat and drink again. Gods, she'll have to remember to eat and drink again. Not that it would be hard; she'll feel hunger and thirst before she ever truly forgets to feed herself. She seems almost lost to the thought of it- until creepy. She gives herself a mental shake. ]

I'm gonna have to sleep again.

[ She doesn't sound very whelmed at the prospect. ]

You're gonna have t' do a lot of things again.

[More encouraging than chiding, or anything--like he's going to actually be any good at giving her a pep talk. He was better at those before, but as time has gone on--

Well. Whatever. He can manage enough for now. He rubs at her arms again--Christ, it's still so disconcerting, to feel real warmth when he does that, to feel the fibers of her jumper and the flesh of her arms beneath.

But he's good at putting off thoughts like those, and everything beneath them--any preemptive worry or wariness, any thought toward the wider implication of what it will mean, for Annie to have blood and breath again--Mitchell puts all of that off and gives her a little smile.]

Hey-- you can change clothes again.

[ He's always been vaguely good at keeping her spirits up. ... Like maybe seven times out of ten. It's better than George, most times, but that's still an improvement. So she lets herself put on a smile, however uncertain it might be. She's not upset or frightened or anything. Just ... out of sorts.

She hadn't thought about it really, but now the more she does, the more weird it gets.

Although her face does suddenly lighten up at the prospect of clothes. Hello, former fashion student here. ]

Oh. My god- Oh my god I can finally stop wearing uggs- Mitchell. Mitchell. We have to go to the mall. The shops, like now. I need- God I don't have anything, I need clothes. ... And money. Do you have a few coin? I need proper clothes, not- not sleep things.

[There we go, that's better. He smiles when she smiles, pleased to have cheered her, and gives her arms another bracing little rub, like he's got to make it stick. The mood won't last--there's too much shit here to deal with, and beyond that, there's too many questions that go along with how she's here, how she's got a body--

But for now, this is good.]

Yeah, yeah, I've got it. You can have a regular shopping spree, all right? Go totally mad, buy the shop.

[Except, er.]

I mean, I'll-- have t' work.

[The mall.]

No, we'll just go on your day off. Or now- We could go now.

[ Because actually now sounds cool. She knows those avoidance tactics, Mitchell, she isn't blind. She's lived with you for a year-ish now, you think she doesn't know avoidance when she sees it? ]

Besides, I can't go on my own, I don't know where anything is. And if I'm human now I can't just wander around on my own.

[Well, there's maps, and stuff, but the more that he thinks about Annie drifting around on her own, the worse an idea it sounds. Not that she's prone to bad things happening to her, or anything, but--they do seem to attract trouble. Christ, they're here, aren't they? There's no trouble quite like interdimensional kidnapping trouble!]

Yeah. Yeah, all right, I'll take you. But, uh. Let's not rush it, all right? You just got here. You should settle in a little, yeah? At least eat something.

[He's got to work his way up to a mall trip okay that's not something that can just happen overnight.]

Hey, what's your favourite food? We never had to ask you that before, not even when you learnt the-- [He gestures, generally, to his forehead.] --hands-on-head thing.

[ She'd be about to protest if it weren't for the horrible cliched rumble of her stomach at that very moment. Evidently just the thought of food was a proper reminder that she hadn't, in fact, eaten today. Or in years, actually.

So she snaps her mouth shut on the protest, instead frowning for a moment, and turning briefly to see if she can spot the fridge. ... Surely the roomies won't mind if she just takes something small, right? Yes, let's go figure that out. ]

Favourite.

[ She sounds distracted. Except from the sudden halt and vaguely dramatic turn of head, it's by something other than the fridge's contents. ]

What hands on head thing?

The--

[He gestures, again, with just as much certainty. It does not occur to him to take into account the fact that she might not know about Wales. (It also does not occur to him to remember what happened after the hands-on-head incident, Annie's brilliant plan that nearly ended with murder in Honolulu Heights. He remembers, but he keeps that part separate. This is something that he's good at.)]

Oh, come on, you told me about it. We were in that-- club, remember. It was like a stageshow, you guessed what I was drinking 'cause you could taste it.

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