Number One With A Silver Bullet [2/?]
Oct. 5th, 2009 06:50 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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s4_seeTitle: Number One With A Silver Bullet
Rating: teen [language and sexual situations]
Characters: PC Andy, Jack, Ianto, Owen, Tosh, George, Mitchell
Spoilers: TW s2/BH s1, inclusive
Advisories: crossover with Being Human
Disclaimer: somebody please stop me, no, seriously...
Summary: Torchwood Three is finally back up to full strength, although its new hires bring... unconventional skillsets.
**********
"Now, you and me, we're what the Americans call 'Black Irish', with the dark hair and eyes. You know, the whole Colin Farrell look."
The ghost was starting to look as if he'd rather have been in some mediaeval conception of hell than bound here to the Hub with its current staff roster. "I am not fucking Irish."
"Name like Harper? You're a son of the auld sod, mate, can't wash that away crossing the water however long ago it might have been. Go back far enough and your ancestors'd be sharing potatoes with mine --"
"Stop winding him up, Mitchell, I'm going to have to listen to him after you've gone out on the next rift alarm." George rubbed his eyes beneath his glasses. The prospect was almost enough to make him consider asking Jack to let him have another go in the field, the incident with the courgette notwithstanding. This job had its good points, and it was certainly intellectually stimulating to the point of sheer terror compared to drifting along as a porter, but he hadn't properly considered the drawbacks of having to get along in a workplace that managed to be more haunted than the last job. And by Torchwood employees, at that, who appeared to a one to be clever, nosy, and fucked up beyond all reason. (He didn't want to think what that said about his own decision to take the offer.) The ones who simply sat in corners rocking he could almost cope with, that wasn't actually so different from the hospital, but Doctor Harper had been a prize bastard even by this place's warped standards.
Mitchell, naturally, quite enjoyed having all the company, whether it was spectrally haranguing them about wanting its workstation back or what have you. He was beginning to suspect the vampire of engaging in something like an affair with the physicist who'd met her untimely and violently Torchwood end not long after the Armistice; it was hard to know whether to throw up your hands and be happy they'd found each other. George resettled himself in the chair and tried once more to apply himself to the intricacies of his late predecessor's rift prediction algorithms, one eye on the conversation scrolling by:
Alpha186: well i'd put i'm a werewolf but that gets you the sorts who like to dress up as scooby-doo to have sex
GhostInTheShell: I wish I still had a limbic system to be properly horrified at that with
LooksGoodInASuit: Your relationship status is permanently set to "it's complicated", isn't it
LooksGoodInASuit: Jack, stop changing my name
LoveGod: I'm trying to annoy you enough to make you get back to real work
LoveGod: And before anyone asks, no
LoveGod: Not Scooby-Doo, anyway
LeFanu: I'm never goig to be able to wstch cartooons again you realise
"Which means you're admitting that you watch them now," he pointed out. Mitchell shrugged expansively. George considered the situation a moment, then typed in:
George: Messing about online is what passes for a hard day's work in Little Whinging, is it?
Alpha186: bored enough to arrest myself today
Alpha186: not even cats up trees lately
LeFanu: Nad so he jsut terrorises the villlagers the high tech way on Facebok
Alpha186: we've already worn out the on the internet nobody knows you're a dog one
George: I think the cats are on to you, Andy. If I were the proper wildlife in that village I'd be talking amongst myselves by now.
Alpha186: moggie at the newsagent was looking at me a bit odd this morning
Alpha186: btw you coming up tonight?
Speaking of being onto us. He couldn't deny that that was another of this position's strange perqs, the safe retreat with its congenial company, but more than one set of instincts kept him wary of growing too complacent about this dear-won security.
George: Your neighbours are going to start wondering if we're doing more than knocking over their bins, you know.
The vampire looked over from his keyboard to fix him with an intense brown gaze. "George. You're werewolves. I don't think there's a deeper circle of hell they could send you to for shagging a bloke."
Which, all right, was probably true as far as it went, but it wasn't as if he needed either provision pointed out to him. Again. By Mitchell. "You slept with our new boss. You slept with and fed from our new boss."
Mitchell had had far too much time to perfect that look of wounded innocence. "He was curious! He can't die, anyway, who was it going to --"
LoveGod: Hey, I'd never been exsanguinated consensually before
LoveGod: thought it might be a kick
Alpha186 has left the conversation
LooksGoodInASuit has left the conversation
GhostInTheShell has left the conversation
Even the ghost of Doctor Harper looked appalled. "He has amazingly good hearing," George said after a few moments.
"And some serious kinks." Mitchell pressed a key on his own computer. LeFanu has left the conversation -- "All I'm saying is a hundred years, you start to wonder, you know? Who cares if you're shagging your mates, I mean, Jack is his own problem."
Who was merrily shagging his mates, for that. George heaved a sigh. "This is going to end in an orgy."
"Welcome to bloody Torchwood," the ghost muttered.
Rating: teen [language and sexual situations]
Characters: PC Andy, Jack, Ianto, Owen, Tosh, George, Mitchell
Spoilers: TW s2/BH s1, inclusive
Advisories: crossover with Being Human
Disclaimer: somebody please stop me, no, seriously...
Summary: Torchwood Three is finally back up to full strength, although its new hires bring... unconventional skillsets.
**********
"Now, you and me, we're what the Americans call 'Black Irish', with the dark hair and eyes. You know, the whole Colin Farrell look."
The ghost was starting to look as if he'd rather have been in some mediaeval conception of hell than bound here to the Hub with its current staff roster. "I am not fucking Irish."
"Name like Harper? You're a son of the auld sod, mate, can't wash that away crossing the water however long ago it might have been. Go back far enough and your ancestors'd be sharing potatoes with mine --"
"Stop winding him up, Mitchell, I'm going to have to listen to him after you've gone out on the next rift alarm." George rubbed his eyes beneath his glasses. The prospect was almost enough to make him consider asking Jack to let him have another go in the field, the incident with the courgette notwithstanding. This job had its good points, and it was certainly intellectually stimulating to the point of sheer terror compared to drifting along as a porter, but he hadn't properly considered the drawbacks of having to get along in a workplace that managed to be more haunted than the last job. And by Torchwood employees, at that, who appeared to a one to be clever, nosy, and fucked up beyond all reason. (He didn't want to think what that said about his own decision to take the offer.) The ones who simply sat in corners rocking he could almost cope with, that wasn't actually so different from the hospital, but Doctor Harper had been a prize bastard even by this place's warped standards.
Mitchell, naturally, quite enjoyed having all the company, whether it was spectrally haranguing them about wanting its workstation back or what have you. He was beginning to suspect the vampire of engaging in something like an affair with the physicist who'd met her untimely and violently Torchwood end not long after the Armistice; it was hard to know whether to throw up your hands and be happy they'd found each other. George resettled himself in the chair and tried once more to apply himself to the intricacies of his late predecessor's rift prediction algorithms, one eye on the conversation scrolling by:
Alpha186: well i'd put i'm a werewolf but that gets you the sorts who like to dress up as scooby-doo to have sex
GhostInTheShell: I wish I still had a limbic system to be properly horrified at that with
LooksGoodInASuit: Your relationship status is permanently set to "it's complicated", isn't it
LooksGoodInASuit: Jack, stop changing my name
LoveGod: I'm trying to annoy you enough to make you get back to real work
LoveGod: And before anyone asks, no
LoveGod: Not Scooby-Doo, anyway
LeFanu: I'm never goig to be able to wstch cartooons again you realise
"Which means you're admitting that you watch them now," he pointed out. Mitchell shrugged expansively. George considered the situation a moment, then typed in:
George: Messing about online is what passes for a hard day's work in Little Whinging, is it?
Alpha186: bored enough to arrest myself today
Alpha186: not even cats up trees lately
LeFanu: Nad so he jsut terrorises the villlagers the high tech way on Facebok
Alpha186: we've already worn out the on the internet nobody knows you're a dog one
George: I think the cats are on to you, Andy. If I were the proper wildlife in that village I'd be talking amongst myselves by now.
Alpha186: moggie at the newsagent was looking at me a bit odd this morning
Alpha186: btw you coming up tonight?
Speaking of being onto us. He couldn't deny that that was another of this position's strange perqs, the safe retreat with its congenial company, but more than one set of instincts kept him wary of growing too complacent about this dear-won security.
George: Your neighbours are going to start wondering if we're doing more than knocking over their bins, you know.
The vampire looked over from his keyboard to fix him with an intense brown gaze. "George. You're werewolves. I don't think there's a deeper circle of hell they could send you to for shagging a bloke."
Which, all right, was probably true as far as it went, but it wasn't as if he needed either provision pointed out to him. Again. By Mitchell. "You slept with our new boss. You slept with and fed from our new boss."
Mitchell had had far too much time to perfect that look of wounded innocence. "He was curious! He can't die, anyway, who was it going to --"
LoveGod: Hey, I'd never been exsanguinated consensually before
LoveGod: thought it might be a kick
Alpha186 has left the conversation
LooksGoodInASuit has left the conversation
GhostInTheShell has left the conversation
Even the ghost of Doctor Harper looked appalled. "He has amazingly good hearing," George said after a few moments.
"And some serious kinks." Mitchell pressed a key on his own computer. LeFanu has left the conversation -- "All I'm saying is a hundred years, you start to wonder, you know? Who cares if you're shagging your mates, I mean, Jack is his own problem."
Who was merrily shagging his mates, for that. George heaved a sigh. "This is going to end in an orgy."
"Welcome to bloody Torchwood," the ghost muttered.
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