Heyo! It's nearly time for S3E8 (sob) so I figure we need a wee cheering up before the emtional wreck of The wolf-shaped bullet gets us! Hope you enjoy!


The trio are still in Bristol in this one...

Any day off work is a blessing. A Saturday off work is a miracle; one that Mitchell planned to spend happily in bed before heading to the pub in a bid to avoid The X Factor. That was the plan. Of course, the powers that be – or in this case his housemates – were keen to make sure this would not be the case.

Not even burying his head within pillows could deafen whatever was happening downstairs. What the hell were they doing anyway?

He rolled onto his back, groaning in annoyance. That was it. Curiosity finally got the better of him and he peeled back the bed covers and groggily stumbled from the bedroom, still clad in clothes from the previous day. He could no longer ignore the grunts and banging downstairs.

"What are you doing? Clearly, that doesn't fit there! Why would it go there?" screeched through the house: a high pitch tone of disbelief that could only belong to one George Sands.

"Well sorry if I'm a little rusty, I haven't done this since the day I died!" replied Annie followed immediately by the sound of wood scraping against wood.

"You were doing this the day you died?" asked George incredulously.

"I didn't think I'd die that day did I? It's a rule isn't it, you know, to christen the house" answered Annie, as though the matter was common knowledge.

"Yeah, I suppose it is. Uh, why didn't you ask Mitchell, isn't he, more experienced?" grunted George.

"Obviously, he would be my first choice, no offence, but he's having a mood…someone shrank his skinny jeans" sighed Annie.

"Again? Honestly, I don't know how many times I have to explain it to him! Cold wash. Cold. Wash. It's not that difficult!" huffed George.

Mitchell hovered on the staircase. On the one hand, he could be walking into a horrific sexual encounter between his best friends, tainting the living room and his vision. On the other, he was becoming unexplainably annoyed Annie did not ask him for whatever reason. He chose to ignore the skinny jeans comment for the time being.

Jesus Christ. He was a hundred odd year old vampire, for Pete's sake. Pull yourself together man.

He took a deep breath, straightened his dishevelled check shirt and entered the awaiting scene.

George noticed him first, face red and clutching a scrunched instruction manual, "Finally up then? Maybe you can tell Annie that buying this Ikea table was a stupid idea".

Relieved, Mitchell gazed around the bombshell that was their living room.

Annie smiled innocently, ignoring George's glares.

Pointing an accusing finger at George, Mitchell told him, "You went to Ikea, deal with the consequences", before heading to the kitchen for some well needed coffee.

...