Emancipated and Quite Capable

Mitchell was back home in Fandom, but he was a bit sloppy about listening to radio broadcasts to begin with - leaving him with absolutely no knowledge of the entire invasion issue to begin with.

He had other things to talk to Jack about, though, and so his phone would be ringing right about... now.

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Strangely enough, Jack was a tad wary as he picked up his phone and checked the caller ID. It might have had something to do with there being such a crisis the last time he'd heard from Mitchell.

"Hello," he said, edge barely in his voice. "Everything all right?"

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"Right now? Yeah, it's fine." Mitchell sounded a little harried, but no more than that. "How are you holding up?"

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"Never dull," Jack answered, leaning back in his chair now that he knew he wasn't going to hear about imminent disaster. "I have papers to finish if I don't want to fail, but after Friday I've got most of a free month. Things could be worse."

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"Things have been calmer here, as well." And before last weekend, he would have just said 'calm', too. "A lot of the old ones seem to be slipping out of town."

There was a slight moment's pause, and then: "You mind filling me in on how your lot of vampires keep everything in order?"

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"That's Herrick's chums?" Jack wasn't sure if that was good or bad. From Mitchell's tone, he was going with good. Ish.

He ran a hand through her hair, considering the question. "How do you mean?" he asked. "Here, that would mean you wanted to know how Sebastien manages his household, but I doubt that would help you. There's not a government."

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"Herrick's chums, older vampires who are unaffiliated, older ones who hated his guts," Mitchell sighed. "Anyone old. An old friend decided to show up the other night and start banging on about power vacuums."

Which hopefully answered Jack's question.

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A hesitation. "Do you count as old?"

Power didn't like vacuums, and he thought he saw where Mitchell's friend was going. Better him than Herrick II.

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"I'm a hundred and twentyish," Mitchell said, eying his ceiling. His rather cracked ceiling. "Ivan's over two-hundred and fifty. No, I don't qualify as old."

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"Oh." Well, there went one idea ... though Mitchell was respected, if for reasons Jack preferred not to think about. He might be able to convince the ones that mattered to overlook his age.

"So I suppose the next question is if you want to support Ivan -- assuming getting out of town until the bloodshed dies down isn't an option."

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"Ivan's a tourist," Mitchell said. He didn't sound all that charmed by the fact. "Two hundred years, he's been going from war zone to war zone for his own entertainment. And he could still be wrong about it. Maybe it will just blow over."

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"There's a lovely hobby," Jack said, pulling on a chunk of hair. It was getting long again, and at the moment he appreciated that it was giving him something to do with his hands. "And forgive me for being skeptical that anything ever blows over with you lot. You're not known for getting distracted."

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"It's supposed to be over and done with. I told Ivan that, too."

And could the duct tape on these quick fixes please just hold? Just once?

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"Then maybe it will be," Jack said. He wasn't sure he believed it, but he didn't know enough to pick a fight, either. "Maybe Ivan will get bored and toddle off to Afghanistan, and everyone else will go back to however they occupy themselves."

His tone strongly suggested he didn't really want to know. He'd gotten enough of an idea.

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"Yeah."

Mitchell would be happy to get off the topic now, too, actually. Maybe if things took a nosedive later, he'd call about it again, but he didn't really want to think about that either.

"So, papers...?"

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Emma was not calling to wibble about trauma or kidnappings or anything remotely related to the events of last week.

Instead, she had a piece of paper with a Google-assisted translation in front of her, and the sneaking suspicion that she was about to hideously embarrass herself as she dialed Jack's number.

She hadn't had a chance to mail his birthday or Hanukkah gifts, given the events of the past few days, so this would have to tide him over until she got a chance to put them in the post.

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"Papers," Jack agreed (though he'd be thinking about the larger topic for a while). "I have another thousand words to write on Boadicea in premodern literature. I don't suppose you have strong opinions on the matter...?"

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"Emma!" Jack sounded happy, and it wasn't just because he was down to 500 words to write before he took himself to a pub. "Hello. Calling to give me your Christmas list?"

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Emma just laughed. "You haven't guessed what I want yet?" she teased. "But no, I have something else for you."

She took a breath to steady herself and then launched into the Happy Birthday song. In Jack's native language. She was reasonably on-key, and the tune was recognizable, but her pronunciation (and some of the translation) left a bit to be desired.

...it was the thought that counted, right?

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Jack had no idea what the song was until a few bars in, and he laughed when she finished. Her pronunciation was horrible, but he couldn't help but be pleased by the time that had gone into finding the translation.

"It's a good thing you aren't going to Prague tomorrow, but A for effort," he informed her cheerily. "//Thank you//, Emma."

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"I could too go to Prague tomorrow, because you'd be pressed into service as my translator," she sniffed, secretly pleased at how much he'd seemed to enjoy it. "You're welcome, darling. Any big plans for tonight?"

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"I've been busy with the protests the last few days," Jack said. "So my birthday celebration is writing a paper on Boudica and then taking myself to the pub. But it's not as if nineteen is an important age."

He added, thoughtfully, "We should go to Prague sometime. I've not been there since -- 1890, perhaps."

Edited Date: 2010-12-14 04:20 pm (UTC)

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"Participating in the protests, or studying them?" Emma asked. Give Jack's revolutionary bent, she wouldn't be surprised if he'd found some way to get involved. "Listen to you, sounding so old. A paper and the pub, like nineteen means you're nine hundred."

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glacial_queen

For once, Karla wasn't calling Jack to tattle. It was Jack's birthday, which meant that the only unpleasant topics they discussed would be brought up by Jack himself.

Okay, and maybe a little panic about dress rehearsal, but only because she thought it might amuse him.

She was looking at some places in London that might deliver a birthday gift that day while she waited for the phone to ring. Hmmm...surely there were places in London that delivered cigars or something--right?

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