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Mystery Sign Theatre, Sunday

After a long absence from England, Mitchell had chosen to spend the past week helping George and Nina set up their new... farmhouse in Wales. It'd been sort of nice, if by 'nice' you meant 'rife with long silences and quiet accusations and a blond werewolf practically tearing the place apart', sure.

But now he was back. It was sort of nice, too, in the way that their new surroundings seemed to perfectly mirror how Mitchell felt.

He sighed, and peered up at the sign.

NOW SHOWING:
Terrible Employers

Well. He was definitely hoping this wasn't the staff trying to give him a clue.

[[ open! ]]

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Getcher getcher food here.

Three friends conspire to murder their awful bosses when they realize they are standing in the way of their happiness.

Where Mitchell is looking a bit Dark and Dreary himself.

"Why did no one ever make a point of telling me that it hurts to punch people?"

Kate had probably had some more reassuring opening lines upon entering this office in the past. This was, however, what Mitchell was getting right now. Sullenly.

[Late ping is late, but it's the last chance before Kate flees the BDE, so SP is cookies and pie 'n stuff?]

"Oh, yeah, it does," Mitchell said, glancing up. He managed to say that with an idleness few other people on the island would probably be able to reach. "You've got to watch how much force you put into it. And where you aim. Otherwise it can get a bit awkward."

"Well, I aimed at the one black eye he already had," Kate replied, wrinkling her nose, as she stepped into the office and sunk down into a chair. "As for the force, I wasn't really thinking."

"I can tell," Mitchell said, and bustled out to... get an icepack from concessions.

He handed it over with the reassuring advice, "Speaking of things you might run into occasionally, uh, don't ever try writing anything in blood. It's awkward at best."

Thank you, Mitchell.

"... Thanks."

That was for the icepack. Because she was side-eyeing the hell out of him for that fantastic piece of advice. "Wasn't really planning to do that."

"You came in here complaining nobody warned you in advance," Mitchell said, sinking into his chair. "Why'd you take a swing at someone?"

"Because Topher is an ass," Kate replied sullenly, cradling her hand with the icepack. "And he found stuff he shouldn't have, and then proceeded to be an ass about it."

"...This isn't to do with your whole... internet venture, is it?" Mitchell asked.

One extremely dark look was probably enough to convey that yes, yes that was exactly it, right?

Because Kate wasn't feeling like actually saying yes to that.

"How hard did you hit him?"

It was the sensible next question.

"Pretty hard," Kate said, shrugging a little. "Gave him a nosebleed."

And still not the worst injury she'd ever inflicted upon him. But the worst this version of her had.

"Well, that's something," Mitchell muttered. "Bloody internet trolls."

"Yeah, well," Kate sighed. "I just hope he doesn't go blabbing to anyone about it. The... video, not the punching. I don't care if he whines at people about the punching."

Even if she was still a bit bewildered she'd done that.

"Has Bo turned up to berate you about it?" Mitchell asked. "I can talk to her, if that'll help."

"Well, it's only been like an hour, so no, not yet." She shrugged again. "But yeah, I would rather not get in any major trouble over this, so, if you want to, you can."

"I'll have a word," he promised. "Just... try not to hit anyone else."

"Depends," Kate drawled, "on if anyone else plans on shoving my past in my face." Then she looked at her hands, one holding the icepack over the other. "No, actually, it hurt too much the first time. Maybe I'll just... puke on them."

Because that had felt like a valid option with Topher, too.

"I've heard of puking being a very valid means of defense," Mitchell said, sitting back. "Especially if you manage projectile vomiting."

To be honest, Kate probably could. ~~There was canon precedence.~~

She made a face. "I'd rather not do that, either. Ugh, why does the internet need to be so unforgiving?"

"Makes me miss the decades before the 90s," Mitchell said. "Hell, back in the day, someone could catch you doing something on camera and it'd probably wind up taped over unwatched at the BBC."

"So, I've been virtually doomed from the start, being born in the early nineties and everything?" Kate asked, dryly. "Fucking information age."

"There's always hoping some apocalypse will happen and knock out the internet with an electro-magnetic pulse," Mitchell said, quirking his mouth. "You could probably make that happen, actually."

"Yeah, I doubt that. I'll just... wish it all goes away and that I never have to deal with it again after I leave the island."

Because sure, that would work.

That got a chuckle, if not a strong one. His cheer was still a work in process at the moment. "I'm afraid the internet is a blight on multiversal life."

"Fuck you," Kate replied, though it was very very mild. "You're supposed to reassure me."

"Sorry," Mitchell said. "I'll call my hacker friend from the 90s and we'll wipe it off the internet forever."

"I would just die of happiness if that could be arranged." She rubbed her forehead with her uninjured hand, the one with the ring. And boy, should Topher have been glad she didn't punch him with that one. "I'm so dragging Bod off the island today."

"I was joking. My hacker friend from the 90s has been a ghost for the past ten years," Mitchell said, mildly. "But hey, take a vacation if you can. You can open up the theatre a bit later in the week."

"Well, I wasn't joking," Kate replied, then let that be. "Yeah. We've been talking about a week or so in Hawaii and I just sold my Vespa, so it's... Not a bad idea."

"Don't worry about Wednesday, just come in on Saturday," Mitchell said, sitting back. "I can understand needing a break."

"Thanks." And she meant that. She fidgeted a bit in her chair, then got up. "So, I should... probably go check out some Portalocity schedules. And maybe, you know, actually tell my boyfriend we're going somewhere."

Oh god, I've got Friday stuck in my head. I blame the Charlie Brooker binge I went on last night.

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Mystery Sign Theatre, Sunday

Concessions/Lobby

MOVIE: Terrible Employers

Manager's Office

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OOC