Window-shopping.
As far back as Ancient Greek times, there have been stories of tolls paid by the dead to their psychopomps. It was said that a coin should be left in the mouths of corpses, to pay the ferryman who rows souls from the world of the living to the world of the dead. While there was no actual fine for crossing death's threshold, there was some truth to the myths.
Grim reapers totally steal their targets' pocket change.
Post-mortem pick-pocketing wasn't a very profitable enterprise, but it did give reapers some pocket change. Today, Grell had spent hers at a butcher's shop, buying a hunk of raw pork. Just something to gnaw on as she wandered the streets of London, peering in the shop windows, longing for the things she couldn't afford.
She was gazing longingly at a jewelry store--there was a fabulous ruby necklace that she was never going to afford--when from the corner of her eye she noticed something... interesting.
"Hmm...?" She turned to look. Yes... that woman there. She looked human, but any reaper could tell she was of divine stock. What was she doing on earth? Was she another fallen angel here to make trouble?
Grell wrapped up the uneaten portion of her bloody snack, and quietly trailed after the angel. If London was about to have angel trouble again, she should report it to Dispatch. If nothing else, William would be grateful of the head's up before they were inundated in more overtime.
