It's all AU.

As Mitchell walked along the street he became aware of a scent in the air, something, more precisely someone that was getting closer, following him on the path. So. He just stopped and turned slightly, lighting up a roll up cigarette as he waited for them to get closer. "Hi there," he offered casually.

The designers Jason had found for him had done a good job, and by the time Eric opened De Final had taken on a very different look from the abandoned bar he had first walked into. The colors were darker, and much classier, the chairs had become sofas and armchairs, all in sleek angles. Pam would have approved.

Time for the opening, and the local staff that had somehow showed up to be interviewed and hired was ready to work the place. All of it had been too easy, but the tough part would be making it work.

Flyers had been dropped all across New New York and the Old Town both, making no secret that a vampire ran the place, and as soon as he opened locals started showing up to have a drink. The place was quickly busy, and his staff were both alluring and professional. Exactly what he'd wanted.

Yes, Pam would have approved.



OOC: let me know if you want a thread with Eric and any one of your characters at all!

It was night time in a quiet place that was selling what approximated as coffee, off from the main stretch of New New York. Mitchell had been nursing a cup for the last hour, risking the glares of the cafe owner, eking out the last of the coffee's heat through his fingerless gloves. He was deep in thought, had been for some time now, and he was sick of it.

Sick of just his own thoughts keeping him company, sick of missing people, and just so damn sick of feeling so damn sick.

His head looked up when someone came into the cafe, and he risked a small smile. "Hi there," he said softly.

Nighttime in New New York, and Mitchell was out walking. There were more strange scents in the air, even more than when he'd first arrived and it was puting him on edge, curious and anxious in equal measure. He knew Jean Claude's and Jason's, but these new ones were different.

He was that finely tuned that he physically jumped, whipping around quickly as he heard someone approaching him from behind.

The Doctor was being pressed to sit on a stretcher by paramedics, who were giving the police officer who was questioning him dirty looks. Blood was dripping into his face, his hands very bloody, and he looked a bit dazed.

He was a little ways off from a smoldering wreck of two air cars, that other police officers and medics was swarming. And...that was a body bag being carted off.

"I don't know," the Doctor said slowly to the woman questioning him. "I was on the ground. It looked like maybe one of the drivers just lost control. The one what didn't make it."

It was an extraordinarily gorgeous day even for fake New New York. The Master and Doctor had taken over a corner of Central Park to try to gather together cricket teams, from visitors or natives, whoever knew or was willing to learn the basic rules and play. Captaining opposing teams, of course. The easy banter back and forth indicated high, good spirits.

He had been here a while now. Not that he remembered how he'd got here in the first place, or what he was doing here...or what he was doing before he got here.

He didn't even have his journal with him.

He wandered through the street absently, with absolutely no idea where he was going or what he was supposed to be doing next. "Being aimless is really not something I am used to," he said to no one in particular.

Night, and Mitchell had been exploring for what seemed to be hours. "Just how big is this place?" he asked of the next person that was passing.

Mitchell had found the Hotel, and rested well. Now he was exploring.  There was a moon in the sky, different enough from home to slightly unnerve at the very back of his mind, but enough of a familiarity to make walking in the evening a comfortable experience.

Walking down a street of shopfronts, he became aware of a set of soft footfalls following behind him. His awareness sharpened, he didn't turn around, but slowed down to let the owner of the footsteps to come closer. Finally he stopped, and turned, certain enough that the person following would be close enough to hear him as he spoke. "Are you following me?" he asked. His tone soft, but steady, unconfrontational for now.

Mitchell cupped his gloved hands around the lighter's flame to stop it getting blown out by the breeze as he lit his roll up in their doorway. He adjusted his cap, so that it shadowed more of his face, before he finally looked up into the street... and found it wasn't their street anymore. He spun on his heels to check back behind him and the door, and indeed the house had disappeared too.

"What the hell?" he said, obviously startled, trying to keep the panic from his voice. "No, no, no, no.." He looked down at the cigarette in his hand. Surely George wouldn't have spiked his tobacco?