So, this is my first stab at humour... the Being Human characters are so awesome (and so not mine) that I hope I portrayed them well!
For she's a jolly good fellow!
Imagination is a quality given a man to compensate him for what he is not, and a sense of humor was provided to console him for what he is.
-Oscar Wilde-
/
"You want to do what?"
Annie winced as George's high-pitched voice assailed her ears.
She sank down next to Mitchell – focused on his second bowl of cereal – as the highly-strung werewolf continued his rant.
"I mean its just ridiculous where did you even get the idea it'll all end in tears you can mark my words and Nina was going to come over tonight but oh no this stupid idea had to come first of course and Mitchell would you please get her to see sense!"
"Huh?" Starting up from his cereal-infused daydreaming the vampire blinked at George from behind dark strands of hair. "What's with all the shrieking mate? What could possibly have gone wrong in the ten minutes we've been awake?"
"She" George began, pointing his spatula in an accusing fashion at Annie, "She, Mitchell has gone completely insane!"
Mitchell and the 'crazy' ghost in question exchanged looks. Ducking under the waving cutlery and tossing his bowl in the sink the Irish vampire turned and grinned. Yawning, he sighed, "What did you do now Annie?"
Annie looked innocent. "All I suggested," she mumbled, fumbling with her grey sleeve, "was that I should have a Deathsday Party."
"A what?"
"A Deathsday party," she repeated a little louder. "Look, it's very simple. You have a party to celebrate being born, so why not one for, you know, dying?"
Mitchell stared at the ghost, who was very determinately not meeting his eyes. The vampire rolled his eyes, shrugged and headed for the door.
"Watch out George," he grinned, "Annie's got her Plan face on. Next step is marker pens and glitter!" As Mitchell headed off for work Annie shouted after him to buy some party decorations, before turning to George and asking sweetly, "Cake?"
George did one of his famous anxiety jigs, coupled with an exasperated sigh. "Fine, whatever" he grumbled, scampering after Mitchell. Annie could still hear him as the door closed, "still think it's a mad idea didn't even wash his bowl up and we're going to be late for work as usual wonder if I should go for chocolate or something more fancy not that she can eat it anyway crazy ghost woman..."
/
Later that evening the boys watched as Annie excitedly announced the evening's activities. They looked uncomfortable in their jaunty party hats, and the room was festooned in colourful streamers and banners.
"So, we start with pass the parcel, and then musical chairs then we'll have some cake…"
Mitchell murmured to his friend, "I feel like I'm five."
Annie glared at them as George giggled. "Hey! I spent ages planning this party! And anyway, the way I see it in ghost years I'm only like two, so I'm entitled to a kiddie party!"
Shaking his head at the ghost's incredibly odd logic, Mitchell grinned. "Well we might as well get started then!"
An hour later found the three of them sitting on the couch, staring at their feet. "Well." Annie said eventually, "At least know we know never to play Charades with George again."
"Hey!" squeaked the werewolf.
Mitchell rolled his eyes. "George, when you were describing tennis it looked like you were dancing the Funky Chicken" he drawled.
"Drunk" added Annie.
"I'm not sitting here taking this kind of abuse" complained George shrilly, "At least I don't rip of two layers at Pass the Parcel, Mitchell!"
"Everybody cheats at that game!"
The two bickered for a few minutes before realising someone was missing. Exchanging glances they hurried up the stairs to Annie's room.
"Annie?" Mitchell stepped into the room, seeing the ghost curled up on her favourite chair. George felt a flutter of déjà vu; the situation was that similar to when they had first met Annie. "You ok?"
"I-I'm fine" she sniffed, wiping her eyes.
Mitchell perched on the armrest, awkwardly patting her hand. "What's up?"
"It's just, oh it's so stupid but I thought that having a party would make me feel better. I mean, I died two years ago and I'm still stuck here in this house! And everyone I know, everyone I love is carrying on with their lives and I'm just stuck here!" Annie's voice cracked and tears began to roll down her cheeks. George and Mitchell looked horror-struck at the sight of the crying woman and tried to comfort her, to little avail.
"Hey, hey there" murmured Mitchell, as George fumbled around for a tissue.
"Annie, there's a reason why you're still hear, and trust me, we'll find it. But in the mean time you'll stay exactly the same. You won't age, you won't wither. There's no reason for you to mark the passing of the years because time won't mark you."
She listened to his Irish lilt with sad eyes. "Is that how you feel Mitchell? Do you just let time pass by because you'll never change?"
"I did," he answered, "But then I met George. And I remembered what it's like to see the world through human eyes."
For a few moments they sat in silence, two souls untouched by the ticking of the clock. But seconds later the silence was broken as George burst into the room with a wad of tissues.
"What's that smell? Can you smell that? Is that my cake?"
They hurried down to the kitchen where thick black smoke was pouring from the oven. Mitchell and Annie stood back as George went into full-on panic mode, flitting about the kitchen like a demented rabbit.
"Maybe the party was a bad idea" Annie ventured.
"Oh, you think so?" countered George, as sarcastically as he could manage with his glasses steamed up from the oven.
An hour later found the three of them seated again on the couch, staring glumly at the mound of patterned paper heaped in an untidy pile. As Mitchell picked through the remains of the cake, Annie cleared her throat nervously, "Um, the Real Hustle is on at nine-thirty…" she ventured, halfway between a question and a statement.
George grinned, "Sounds perfect."
Ho hum, so that got a little depressing in the middle there, but old habits die hard!