Ah, Shit.

[deadlass]

lxvingdeadgxrl:

   But was anything ever really certain? Who was to say she wasn’t in for bigger and better things, after all? George had a point, though…how did they even select who was going to be a reaper, and who got off scott free? Was it some sort of weird, fucked-up lottery system?

   Maybe she’d ask Joakim about it…Not that he really ever offered up anything in the way of answers, that butt. 

   “Cool.” the necromancer hummed, her own flipflops discarded. Yeah, she couldn’t have done the whole office job thing. The dress code would have killed her, simple as that. “Do they give you anything in the way of vacation time there? Because we seriously need a girl’s weekend.” Wyn mused.

Rube would say that nothing really was. All that we are alotted is the time that's given, and the memories that are made within it. That's all there is. That's all there ever would be. She'd asked him why it was her, once, that had been chosen and the answer was just some load of undicpherable bullshit. Maybe he hadn't known either, but not questioning it, made the pill a little easier to swallow.

Fuck that shit.

"At Happy Time, yeah." She could take a week paid here and there, sure. Dolores was easy enough to convince through the time there about AA meetings and out of town funerals... so a vacation was about the easiest thing accomplish. But that didn't mean that reaping took a holiday. Gravelings took a day off once every few years, sure. But the last one had been filled with transfering all the souls' last thoughts to a master filing list.

Still, the thought of a girl's weekend sounded tempting. George had never had one of those... unless being stuck in the house with Daisy as she walked around in her bathrobe and a mud mask smeared on her face.  

[tsukinosusagis]

[deadlass]

lxvingdeadgxrl:

   Sassy little thing, she was. This was going to be interesting…though mostly fun. He liked it when the newbies had spirit. Hah, spirit…It was funny because they were dead. Ahh, it was the little things.

   “Plan on it.” he hummed, his hands in his pockets as he headed towards the shop in question.

   He got the door for her, letting her in ahead of him. Anything she ordered would go on his tab, seeing as he’d been the one to suggest coffee. “Best coffee in the city, right here.” he mused, ordering his black. 

She gave him an odd sort of look over her shoulder as she entered the coffee shop, him holding the door for her. Part of her supposed that she should thank him, but honestly, she was still reeling from this crap, that the little amount of decency hadn't registered in the moment. But hey, free coffee too? Now, that was alright. Reaping was kind of like a shitty babysitting job where you don't get paid but expected to do it anyway cause your parents promised you would. Which meant, free of anything was always a bonus.

After ordering, she waited at the pick-up counter as the barista fixed their order for them. Giving Joakim another look, she considered him for a moment. She knew she was difficult - she had been all her life, and apparently death didn't really stop that. So she had to wonder.

"So who'd you piss off to get landed with me?" Rube, probably. Somehow beyond the lights, just to fuck with her.

[deadlass]

lxvingdeadgxrl:

   Wynter looked over at George, her expression clearly unamused. “You do, and I will literally send Toby to your house to annoy the ever loving piss out of you until you find your lights.” she threatened, her cheeks still burning a deep crimson.

   Mason was pretty and he was funny, but he was one of those guys that always ended up being more trouble than they were wroth, romantically speaking. Not something she really needed in her life at the moment.

Toby was actually kinda cool, really. She didn't mind him. Still confused the fuck out of her in the way of spirits and remains or whatever the fuck was going on. But, to be honest, she was still confused about herself in that reguard too. That was just the way things seemed to be about life and death, the best George could gather. You live your life trying to find your purpose or meaning or whatever - then you die, and still try to find it.

She had to smile at the fact though, on just how red Wynter's cheeks had gone. Mason was a good guy, really... but he was a mess. Like a lost puppy or something. You wanna feed it maybe, but after it's had a good bath. "Alright," She conceded, donning her sunglasses, and looking over to Wynter, "So where is this place?"

[deadlass]

lxvingdeadgxrl:

   Of course she was. Wynter was a sane individual. Sane individuals appreciated the glory that was bacon….This revelation honestly had her questioning the sanity of her friend. Well, not really, but in jest, yes. 

   But really, who didn’t get tired of losing people? Wynter knew about loss, more so than most. Both parents, friends…She’d mourned, would likely mourn again. Of course, she couldn’t imagine what it was like to lose someone like Rube. A mentor, a father figure, a friend…that was like losing three people, all at once and trying to cope with it all.

   “Pretty damn sure, so why don’t we drop it.” the woman muttered. “Come on. Let’s get food. We can even get it to go, so you aren’t too late.” Anything to shift the conversation away from Mason.

George had never really had girl friends before. Sure, there was Betty, and she missed her dearly. But they had so little time together. Roxy, but she was much more like a momma bear who would claw your ass to get you back in line... and Daisy... who...well, she didn't immedately inwardly cringe at the thought of her anymore. And of course Charlotte -- but that was a shit storm she didn't even want to think of. So to have Wynter, and have that kind of friendship was still kinda new and exicitng for George. Certainly someone who was easy to talk to, and easy to pick on. Even if it was in jest.

"You know, " She started, her brows raising, lips in sort of a contemplative pout, "Mason likes oatmeal too. I could call him right now, and he'd come along." They'd likely also have to pay for him... but that was completely besides the point.

[deadlass]

lxvingdeadgxrl:

   Eighteen was pretty young, though obviously, not the youngest. Hell, Wynter had the spirit of a child hanging out in her apartment, so there was that. Everyone got the same thing, in the end. They got a lifetime, though it often wasn’t fair how long or short said lifetime was.

   As for the questions, well…She was probably just going to have to come to terms with it, at least until she hit that sweet-spot and got her lights. There was no telling when that would be, of course, and Wynter wasn’t exactly thrilled by the idea of losing as good a friend as George, but at the same time, she didn’t want her friend to be stuck on earth forever. 

   Bigger and better things, after all. 

   “Somewhere to be, later?” she asked, noticing George checking her watch. She assumed it was a work thing, but who knew. She could have a hot date or something.

She wasn't so sure about the bigger and better things, bit. Really, what kind of fucked up game of duck duck goose was it to choose a reaper? Then just all of a sudden one day it's their last all over again. Maybe it was a redemption thing. Except George hadn't really done much in her life to make up for. Or maybe that was the point. She hadn't done much in her life.

"Oh. Yeah..." She looked over to Wynter, giving her an awkward sort of half-smile. "I've got some time." That was all that really needed in that situation. Wynter knew full well what she was and what she did, so there wasn't much sense in sugar coating it, or trying to play like she hadn't just been checking up on her time. With a small grunt, George worked off her heeled boots from work. Her other work. Reaping didn't pay shit, and she still had to eat, undead or not.

[deadlass]

lxvingdeadgxrl:

   Joakim paused as the curse left the girl’s lips, his smile all but a grin at that point. The poor dear didn’t handle change well, did she? They were going to have to do something about that, weren’t they?

   “The fuck, George, is that Rube’s gone, the others are getting individual handlers and the system’s being changed.” He offered. “If you think that you’re getting some sort of ‘special treatment’, or singled out, you’re very much wrong.” the Elder Reaper continued. 

   “It’s not a permanent thing, but HQ thinks that you also need a bit more guidance, seeing as you are still so new to the game.” Joakim went on, hands easily slipping into the pockets of his dark jeans. “Now, I really do need that coffee. Are you coming or what?” 

A bit more guidance? What the fuck was this shit? HQ sure as shit didn't think she needed a how to book or anything to do about reaping, and now she was being ushered off with this guy? A heavy sigh passed her lips. What kind of crap was everyone else having to deal with? They'd become like a family, and just like that -- it was all gone. Rube... Rube was like the glue that held them all together. She had said it once to his face, he was the dad of their group. And it was more apparent now, than ever before. Because it felt like missing a dad. Even though her own real... living father was still around.

But, really, what choice did she have than to follow Joakim? She sure as shit didn't want the gravelings on her ass again.

"Lead on." She sassed back, gesturing with her hand towards the coffee shop. Yeah, she'd definitely be needing it as well.

[deadlass]

lxvingdeadgxrl:

   She had fire in her belly, this one. He could see why he’d been assigned to her. Oh yes, this was going to be a fun assignment, wasn’t it?  For both of them, hopefully. 

   “Just you, Min kære.” He replied, his smile never wavering. He’d never been much for group mentoring, so the post-it dealing for the rest of her little clique, would come courtesy of someone else. 

   “Do you drink coffee, George? I think I’m going to need one.” he mused. Caffeine was probably going to be necessary whilst dealing with this one. She had that ‘pain in the ass’ quality that was usually required either coffee or alcohol, and as much as he wanted a shot of Jack, it was too early, even by his standards.

There's a range of reactions that spilled forth at his words -- at first, there's the hint of confusion on what he actually just called her. That was trivial compared to what came next. The complete and utter spurning that she had been singled out by this guy, whoever the fuck he was. Which, he still hadn't even given her that information either. So -- what was it that was the colossal fuckup that caused this? Honestly, as if the gravelings weren't already little nit-picky assholes about the rules and regulations about how death played out, there was obviously some hierarchy bullshit they all had to answer to as well.

She sure as shit didn't sign up for it.

"What the fuck?" It left her lips a little louder than intended, her arms swinging out in a gesture to match her frustration, causing a couple to skirt away from her a bit on the sidewalk.

[deadlass]

lxvingdeadgxrl:

   Irritation rolled off of the young woman in waves, and the elder Reaper would be lying if he said that it didn’t amuse the fuck out of him. God, why were new recruits so easy to frazzle? 

   His grin widened a bit as his name rolled off of her tongue, the man offering a nod. “That’s me. You should be proud of yourself, there aren’t many who can pronounce it correctly.” he mused.

   Joakim made a dismissive noise. Cute. She thought he actually got to pick where he ended up. Sure, he was older, had quite a bit of leeway with what he did, where he went and when he did it, but he still had to listen to the higher-up’s when it came to the important stuff….Like looking over a fledgling reaper.

   “Come, walk with me, George.  We are having much to discuss.” the Reaper offered, taking a moment to slip his sunglasses back on.  

Great, she should get a fucking medal because she could pronounce this asshole's name right. Could they move along in the conversation? For instance, what the fuck did he want and why was he there with that smug look on his face? Of course, no, he didn't answer that right away -- because why not?

She had no choice really, but to follow him. Donning her own sunglasses, she could only assume this much to discuss was going to be more or less him telling her how things were going to happen from there on out. All to which, she'd have no choice in the matter. Didn't death have some kind of HR number or was she just going to be constantly fucked over until she was done with collecting souls? Who the fuck knew how long that would be.

"What about everyone else?" She asked before she could help it. Come to think of it, she'd never been singled out like this unless she was in trouble with Rube. Aw fuck, what did she do now?

[deadlass]

piiemakcr:

She’d ‘rather not’? What does that mean? She’s just gone from plainly fucking weird to suspicious, and while Ned considers the possibilities (sociopath, schizophrenic, probably a bunch of other unkind words that start with ‘s’), he settles on ‘stranger’. That’s all she is: a stranger, meaning, they don’t know each other, and Ned probably looks like the weirdo to her now, pressing her with questions about cosmic bullshit and stars and bad luck, frankly not even sure what either of them are on about anymore.

And yet, he can’t stop himself. “Right, I get that. Sure. You just… sounded like you knew something.”

Because Ned does. Ned knows a lot. He knows that he’s a nervous talker and he knows far too much about death and dying, and yet doesn’t suspect either of them to be happening. Not here. Not anywhere.

He’s next in line at the coffee stand downtown, places his order for a large black coffee, but changes his mind on the ‘black’, adding vanilla soy and two pumps of caramel. In a few minutes’ time, he’ll probably regret that.

“Anyway… sorry.”

That would be a fucking miracle, wouldn't it? If she, Georgia Lass, actually knew something that was going on on some higher level for once. Instead of the post-its with bare minimum of information. Instead of the ever constant warning to not get involved with the living. And yet, there she was again, engaging in conversation. Of course, she was being a hostile little shit and this guy hadn't done anything to deserve that.

The Graveling was on the lighting fixture now, one hanging directly over the bakery case and pulling on it madly. George watched it out of the corner of her eye, while she stepped a little closer to the counter, and consequently the man she had been talking to. While she couldn't die, she knew that electrical backlash could still hurt like a bitch, and she happened to like the jacket she was wearing that moment for it to have scorch marks marring it forever.

"Anyone can sound like they know something and it's still a load of bullshit." She retorted, words mumbling slightly in her musing. Another gauge on the light above the bakery case and the Graveling getting closer to his task being complete. Looks like she's have to skip the blueberry muffin. Ordering her coffee as well, there was a strange little pause within her as she felt like she had to return the sentiment to the man as well. He'd apologized, after all.

"Yeah, I'm sorry too." It was right at that moment that they last wire had broken free within the Graveling's grasp, the light swinging dangerously and hitting the one that George had touched not a few moment's more directly in the face.

[deadlass]

lxvingdeadgxrl:

   Wynter grasped at her chest, as if suffering from a heart attack. A heart attack brought on by disparaging comments about bacon. “A life without bacon isn’t a life worth living.” she muttered dramatically. Seriously though, she’d be a depressed individual if bacon wasn’t a thing she was readily able to consume. Of course, she didn’t know George’s reasons for disliking said pork product…Maybe if she had that memory or attachment, she’d be off bacon, too.

   Around, huh? Weird…Breakfast seemed to be a ritual for George and her group of friends, so to find one without the others at this hour of the morning, well…Needless to say, it brought up some suspicions. 

   “Pft, I am not looking for him.” Wyn muttered, cheeks taking on a faint crimson hue. Mason was cute, but he was the kind of cute that came with too many problems. She didn’t have time for problems, even if he was attractive. “So…want to get coffee elsewhere?” she asked, looking back to the smoldering pile of rubble, in an attempt to guide the conversation away from Mason.

Even before Rube... George hadn't been much of a bacon person. Wynter apparently was based on her reaction, but it didn't bother the blonde.  Rube probably would have said the same thing, honestly. Extra, extra, extra crispy and all. But this conversation wasn't really about strips of pork, no matter what way they were cooked. This was about the giant hole space where a resturant used to be, and more importantly the man that loved a very particular spot in a very particular booth within it, each and every morning without fail.

Until now.

Fuck, she was tired of losing people.

George was glad for the giant distraction of Wynter's denial of looking for Mason. He was, admittedly charming in a reckless fuckup sort of way. For all of his faults, he was still a good guy, and George had come to love him like family. As long as she never had to see him in his boxers ever again. Giving her friend a sideways glance, she managed a smirk, noting the obvious blush on her cheeks at the mention of the man.

"You sure about that?" A small beat, her eyes casting to where Der Waffle Haus used to stand, "Yeah, I need some oatmeal too - I'm going to be late anyway."

[deadlass]

lxvingdeadgxrl:

   Death was one hell of a weird, fucked up thing, wasn’t it? Taking the young, the innocent, the loved, along with the old, hated and guilty. It didn’t discriminate, didn’t pick and choose…Also didn’t have any mercy. Sometimes it left ghosts, sometimes it sent people to take those spirits off to where they belonged. She found herself wondering what the basis for deciding who stayed and who went was, if getting stuck on earth was the really shitty version of Catholic Purgatory. There were so many rules, so many variables, so much to it all…who had time to learn all of this shit?

   Wynter nodded a bit, confirming her wording. She’d seen so many awful things over the years…The worst for her would still have to be her parents, but that wasn’t something she would burden George with. 

   She nodded once more in understanding as her friend went on about the worst she had seen. Kids…Kids were always the hardest. Every one that she happened by, always broke her heart. “Death isn’t fair.” she murmured, brushing a hand through her ebony hair. “A right prick sometimes, actually.”

"You're telling me." Death was a prick, she had that one absolutely right. George herself was only eighteen years old when she had died. Eighteen. That was a hard hit for herself to take, really. Something monumental to come to terms with. Some days, she still wasn't entirely certain she had. Because if death was a prick -- the job of being a reaper was like his dejected and disowned step sibling.

Still, in dying, she had learned more about herself and the world around her than she probably would have alive. Which was pretty fucked up if she really thought about it. It wasn't fair, not really, that death took whoever it wanted  and not just all of those that had lived full and rich lives. But then when the fuck did anything make sense anyway? Rube always said that they didn't have to understand why it was, who it was. They just had the job to do, the soul to take. It was just business.

But was it?

She was tired, honestly. Tired of having so many questions without answers. Tired of trying to understand the massive clusterfuck her life had become. Most of all, tired of trying to understand... why her?

Which reminded her of the little slip of paper that currently was tucked in her pocket. Glancing at her watch -- two hours, thirty seven minutes. A sigh. Nicking another few pieces of popcorn, George chewed them thoughtfully.

[deadlass]

@lxvingdeadgxrl || continued from [this]

Eyes narrowed on the man before her. This wasn't the first time that someone knew her name before she knew theirs -- and the fact that he knew her real name meant only one thing. He was like her. Dead, or at least in the same weird version of life that she was currently bullshitting. But, with the smug expression on his face there was a twist in the pit of her stomach that caused the familiar desire to just smack it off his face. That might've not been fair -- and she could blame that little thought on the fact that she'd been staring down a rather long stretch of insomnia and vanilla lattes were only getting her so far in the day.

"Joakim?" George repeated, her brow lifting dubiously. What the fuck kind of name was that? "Alright..." Her voice was drawn out, doing her best not to make any more snarky remarks about the man or situation. "Shitty town you picked for a vacation."

[deadlass]

piiemakcr:

Ned’s only conclusion is that she has to be a crackhead. Only way all of this is possible in such a short period of time: hard drugs. Well, that or she’s got a very unsound mind and should probably seek help and talk to someone about its goings-on. Though, he’s decent enough to voice none of this aloud.

He’s not a believer in chance or fate or destiny, or whatever. Time has made the pie-maker something of a cynic and hardened him to the possibilities of life beyond this realm. That said, it occurs to him within the flash of just seconds that for someone who was so religious as a boy, he’s really managed to let that escape him.

But he digresses.

“Right. Well… how do you know?” It’s a simple enough question. Something is still shaking him about her brush of the hand, because it’s the kind of careful, cautious touch with great thought put into it that Ned recognizes. He shivers, shoulders shaking as he pulls his jacket closed and zips it up. “Are we supposed to have a meteor shower or something?”

Oh shit. He was still talking to her about this.

There was a strange little moment of panic rising within her - the same one that usually came when she knew that the bullshit meter would inevitably rise. But this was different. This wasn't some teenage passive aggressive moment, or even filing crisis at Happy Time. A stranger was talking to her - engaging it what probably could have been a very deep and interesting conversation... if she didn't always have the tendency to shy the fuck away from those.

Her eyes cast upward for a moment, seeing the movement of a Graveling in her peripheral vision - knowing that her mark was definitely not paying attention to any signs of danger - cosmic or not.

"I'd rather not..." Her voice trailed slightly, the same response she'd given so many times before, just before her vision shifted back to the man before her, "Do I look like a meteorologist? I'm just here to get coffee."

[deadlass]

lxvingdeadgxrl:

   Yeah, but all things considered, George was still pretty new to the death game. Wyn’d been dealing with this shit since she was….Christ, twelve? Before that, spirits and the like had just been dark blobs of energy to her, but after her parents died, everything was broadcasted in technicolor HD, whether she wanted it to be, or not. She’d seen everything, or at least, almost everything…

   But maybe she had a point, maybe it was because she wasn’t alive and Wynter was…Shit could be funny like that.

   Wynter nodded. “Blips. Most of the time, anyway. There are always exceptions. I’ve got some people hanging around in my apartment that are fully sentient, fully aware, they just…they’re here and definitely not just memories. And apparently they aren’t planning on going anywhere, either.” she mused. At least they didn’t take up too much space, require extra groceries or anything like that…

   Who really knew why they got stuck, though. Could have been a reap gone bad, could have been something else. Not like there was anyone to ask.

   “Yeah? Huh…Worst you’ve seen? Can’t use your own, either.”

She supposed, if there was no one there after they died... maybe they'd just be stuck without the realization that they'd died and their soul had been popped out. So, to them... they were just stuck. George could remember a few souls wanting to stick around like that. There had been Nina, too, that hadn't understood she had died all. If George had just left the nursing home that day... would Nina's spirit still be there? That was sort of a darkening thought, wasn't it? But that had to be a ton of reapers just walking away from an unfinished job. There were more than just them, she wasn't an idiot... but Rube always said there were consequences for shit like that. So where were they? Was Wynter that consequence? A mortal forever marked as a sort of ghost phone booth? What kind of fucked up shit was that?

"Worst?" She'd seen a lot. She'd seen the quiet sort of accidents like Nina. She had seen violent acts like a half sedated angry bear mauling protestors... but were those the worse? She thought of the souls she had taken, and there were few that stuck with her, even as time seemed to heal the wounds they had once left behind in the living world.

"There was a little girl... on a train." She hadn't actually died the way she was apparently supposed to. No, George had tried to save her. There was no violence, there was no blood or gore... but that sweet little innocent life still had to be taken. It was a cold awakening for her - especially for her first reap.

[deadlass]

lxvingdeadgxrl:

   Well, shit.

   “You tried that new place on Main and fourth? They are pretty decent.” she mused, watching as the firemen hauled hoses and equipment away from the scene. Christ almighty, it’d take forever to sift through all of that debris…

   “Or there’s that place near the bookshop. Haven’t had their oatmeal, but they can do bacon better than anyone else in the city.” she offered. Honestly, this was a food city, there was a replacement to be found, if George and her group were willing to look. It might not be Der Waffle Haus, but they’d find something decent.

   Wynter glanced around, only seeing George. That was weird…It was breakfast time, usually that meant George came with at least three others. “Where’s the rest of the scoobie gang?” she asked.

"No, no more bacon." Ever. She hadn't really been a bacon sort of person to begin with -- but Rube -- shit, she really was bad at this whole unattachment thing, wasn't she? Of course, he had always said that they couldn't get attached to the living. There wasn't anything ever said about the dead. She had felt a terrible sadness, a sense of loss when Betty had piggybacked on lights and left -- but in that moment, she had seen it, she'd been there in her final moments. She had her ring, at the very least too... but Rube, she'd known him longer, and had nothing left of him. Like he was never there at all. And maybe that was why she was still standing there, just in front of where they all used to gather for breakfast each morning. Because it was the last place they'd all seen him. If she didn't get her ass in gear though, she'd be late for work and she'd already used her AA meeting excuse once this week.

"Oh, you know..." George looked down the street, as if they'd all come ambling about any moment. Absentmindedly, she played with her pinky - the one that still wore Betty's ring - "They're around." A beat, before she perked up a little - a coping mechanism more than anything else, a strange sarcastic sort of teasing of her friend to cover up an otherwise gloomy thought, that the one peice of glue that held their family together was --

"I'll tell Mason you were looking for him."

[deadlass]

@piiemakcr || From this [x]

She hadn't actually been talking to the man that answered. No, her words had been under-breath, directed at one M. Gillman - who would be dying in a about four minutes time. No, George had been doing this for far too long now, to be surprised about the amount that people ignored - when it came to having brushes with death. Literally.

Still, the one that had answered her had thrown her off. She hadn't meant for anyone to be listening, much less say anything about her lame warning to her mark. Giving him a strange look over her shoulder, just before she reached out to claim soul she had been sent to - George tried to think of a way to play off the weird attention she'd drawn to herself. Looking back at the man, she shrugged slightly, feigning indifference.

"You know. Cosmic shit. Stars aligning - comets crashing." Maybe that'd be enough to deter any questions about what she had meant. Or just did.