fandomtownies | Mystery Sign Theatre, Sunday

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Mystery Sign Theatre, Sunday

This morning, Mitchell had taken one look in the mirror and decided he'd be better off staying in bed. This wasn't so unusual the past few weeks, really, but this time he felt he had a much better reason.

Of course, then George had called, and failing to take up that phone call (because of the hoove problem) had led to increasingly annoyed voicemails on his machine, so in the end Mitchell braved the streets down to the office anyway.

The sign read,

MYSTERY SIGN THEATRE
TODAY'S SHOWING:

... and nothing.

It would appear even the ~~NPC~~ crew were currently lacking in digits.

Sigh.

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Buckets of popcorn are on sale today.

Star race car Thunder Daly and his pal Slater head overseas to compete in the World Grand Prix race. But the road to the championship becomes rocky as Slater gets caught up in an intriguing adventure of his own: international espionage.

Because a movie about anthropomorphic automobiles is exactly what everyone wants to see today.

Where Mitchell is attempting to hit his keyboard with his hooves. Unsuccesfully, so far.

No, Bo's first thought on waking up as a pony was not 'Go see a Pixar film.' Frankly, Hairy Creatures^TM excluded, Bo's first thought was never 'Go see a Pixar film.'

However, Bo's first thought on waking up as a pony was 'Go bitch to someone' and the Devil's Nest wasn't open yet, so Isabela was out.

"A pony, Mitchell. I'm a freaking pony. With a tattoo on my ass and a -- oh."

Oh dear.

Hot pink.

"Please be Kate."

Purple, dammit.

He was a very hipster purple.

Mitchell sighed and lifted his head up from below the desk, and managed to step back enough so his rear end showed, night-themed tattoo and all.

"This does not tend to happen to me."

Bo would try to titter politely behind her hand, but, you know. Hoof. So she had to settle for something that came out disturbingly whinnyish.

"You're so...pretty." Sorry, Mitchell. You were.

Mitchell was perfectly fine with his thin build most of the time.

He was slightly less fine with how that translated to being a pony. "Oh, you want me to get started on what you've got on your arse?" he said.

Bo made a face. "Normally, I'd be kind of interested to hear your opinions on the subject, but now, not so much." She tilted her head at his flank. "Though at least mine isn't something you can find in a box of Lucky Charms..."

"No, just really terrible porn." Hey, they were probably lucky George wasn't on island. God forbid what his might have been. "Not really in a position to throw stones."

"Considering I don't have anything to pick them up with? No." Bo sighed and tried to look at the horn protruding from her forehead, which... horse. It didn't work that way. The best she managed was cross-eyed. "And then there's that. Fandom thinks it's funny. Fandom is so, so, so, so wrong."

"I think I can live with avoiding this sort of thing usually," Mitchell agreed. He cast a troubled look across his desk. "Popcorn? We serve by the bucket."

His tone was just a wee bit dry.

"I hate how much I want to say yes to that." If she could cross her arms and pout, she would, but no. "There's a box of oat-clusters in my kitchen--" By which she meant the area of the hardware store counter that now had a hot plate on it and a mini-fridge under it. "--mocking me because I couldn't get it open."

Mitchell snorted in an appallingly pony-like way. "Come on, then," he said, marching towards the front door and hoping to god Bo would move enough that neither of them would have to squeeze through the doorway.

That would be bad. And took a moment for Bo to realize. Ahem. But eventually, out of the way she got.

"I feel like we should be apologizing to the new teacher for the fact that most of this town isn't pony-accessible."

"They'll figure it out," Mitchell said, clomping up towards the concessions stand to fish for a bucket. "At least they can use the stairs, right?"

"I guess?" Bo followed, not entirely happy with the fact that her hoof got stuck to somebody's gum on the lobby floor for a second. Really, NPC townsponies? "My place doesn't have stairs; I haven't tried them."

"Well, I've never told a horse to take the stairs," Mitchell said - though it was accompanied with the jostling of the bucket as he lifted it up and jammed it into the opened-up popcorn reservoir.

She had to smile despite...pretty much everything. "Do conversations in Fandom ever get any less surreal?"

"You're asking the vampire," Mitchell pointed out. He lifted the bucket back up and trotted back towards her, setting it down on the floor. "No."

"Thanks." She lowered her head to the popcorn bucket, then added, "The succubus is asking the vampire. There's a whole new level when the already freaky people have to ask."

So, you know the problem with eating out of a bucket with no hands, aside from feeling stupid? You have to be able to get your face in there. Kind of hard when you get stopped at the forehead.

"...The unicorn succubus is asking the vampire. Pony." Facehoof.

Mitchell would have gladly joined the facehoof, but his joints didn't quite seem to work that way. He reached over with one hoof and tipped the bucket ever so gently, so nothing spilled but some of the corn actually had a chance of getting near where Bo could reach it.

"Could be worse," he supplied. "I once turned into a 19th century painter and hit on one of my students."

Well, it was more like a faceankle, since that's about where Bo could reach with her nose. Still.

"Thanks. Again." Once more with feeling, since this time she could reach the food. Which was a little buttery for horsey sensibilities, apparently, but edible.

Which meant the question had to be saved for after some undignified nomming. "You had students?"

"I was a teacher at the school for a long time," Mitchell said, tipping the bucket right on back. "Then things went a bit mad in Bristol, and..."

He didn't really need to elaborate, right?

"And you thought maybe disappearing for weeks on end and being slightly insane could be a conflict of interest?" No, Bo would totally elaborate for him. "What did you teach?"

Edited 2011-07-11 14:48 (UTC)

"Media history, mostly," he said. "Sometimes I taught about monsters in myth. You teach what you know."

"Media history like... tv and--" Bo waved a hoof around at the theatre lobby. "Sounds like the kind of class I wish my high school'd had, instead of Dead Presidents 101."

He shrugged. Or tried to shrug. It looked odd, on a pony. "I liked doing it," he said. "Used to hang around film sets when I was younger."

Bo took that in stride for a moment, before math and dates and dead presidents swirled in her pony-head. "Weren't you young before there were films?"

"You had those penny things when I was growing up. You know, you put in a penny and it shows you this tiny film?" Mitchell said, going briefly misty-eyed. "But, yeah, I meant younger. Have you ever seen Cherchell?"

"'This is the beginning of a beautiful friendship?'" Bo's nod tossed her mane. "I grew up in the bible belt, not Outer Mongolia."

Mitchell actually grinned.

"I was in it."

Bo lifted one eyebrow. Or... did something that felt the same as when she had eyebrows and lifted one eyebrow. "Come on, pull one of the other three. I'd remember your face."

"You can't see me on camera, remember?" Mitchell pointed out. "But I knocked over a chair in the bar at one point, and you can see that."

Bo considered the likelihood that he was bullshitting her, and... didn't really care, because it was funny and sad, either way. "As your fifteen minutes of fame, that kind of blows."

Yes, Mitchell gets the ethereally pretty pony model.

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Mystery Sign Theatre, Sunday

Concessions/Lobby

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OOC