[You can't really stalk a ghost. Add that to the fact that Mitchell isn't a stalker, and that negates the stalker-y connotations of hanging around outside of Annie's door, debating on whether or not he's going to knock.
Which is stupid. Because it's just Annie. And so, eventually--after a few false starts, after he's walked away mildly disgusted with himself and then turned around and come back again--Mitchell knocks on the door. There. Easy. What is he, George? And it's just Annie.]
[Leave it to Annie to do her interior decorating here in space. Somehow. Against all odds. Mitchell smiles around at the room, appreciating that brief moment of familiarity.]
[Not that that's bad. He glances around again, his nose wrinkled a little.]
And what d'you mean, mine's unlived in, I've lived here for a month! A whole space month, don't tell me yours is more lived in when you've hardly been here.
I'm not-- sufferin' from PMT or anything, all right, I don't get moody. I don't like being on this bloody ship, but no one does, that's not some crime. And I don't need him trying to analyze me, or-- whatever he was doing!
[Momentarily speechless, because he can't sort out if he wants to be hurt or offended by her impression of him. Her really bad impression, by the way, there's no way that's what he sounds like--]
I've never said any of that stuff in my life-- is this what you did with him, did you sit around and do bad impressions of me? [And more importantly--] And by the way? There's nothing wrong with the Real Hustle, it's a quality programme-- just because you can't appreciate it--and if it's so obvious that it's because I don't like the ship, why are we even talkin' about this?
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