george lass excels at not giving a shit (andthenyoudie) wrote in colligo_threads, @ 2009-09-28 01:02:00 |
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Entry tags: | !closed |
WHO: Amanda Grayson and George Lass
WHAT: George has a job to do. Amanda happens to be nearby.
WHEN: 11:30 AM
WHERE: Colligo University Park Bridge
RATING: PG-13 (non-graphic NPC death and language)
STATUS: In Progress
George stared with a carefully neutral expression at the post-it note that she currently held in her hand. Time was, her lips would turn downward in distaste every time she read about her latest reap. It seemed wrong, having your bare bones stats just scrawled out on a bright yellow square and handed to a stranger. Yet she'd slowly but surely grown accustomed to her job and all of the distasteful things that came with it. As this was a large part of it, by this point she now knew that the quickest way to avoid bringing attention to herself was by staying neutral when she looked at the information given to her.
P. Adams
Colligo University Park Bridge
E.T.D. - 11:34 AM
George sighed softly as she stuffed the paper into her pocket and glanced at her watch. Eleven twenty-nine. That meant she had five minutes to find her reap and get their soul before their time in the mortal realm expired. The only problem was, she was currently standing in a park filled to bursting with all sorts of people - half of whom were either milling around or crossing over the bridge - and any one of them could be the victim.
Not that this wasn't a typical issue for George. Or, any Reaper, really. Not knowing someone's first name made tracking them down a bit tricky. And whereas the running joke before, back in Seattle, had always been that Death must have a sense of humor and enjoy watching them all scurry about in search of its latest victim, George now personally knew Death and was all too aware that wasn't necessarily the case.
Fate, on the other hand... if George ever met that son-of-a-bitch, they were going to exchange some words. Because while it was a pain to hunt down these reaps, watching the bizarre sort of ways they died was even worse.
"Focus," George muttered under her breath as she once again re-surveyed the area. Was it the overweight guy with the chili dog? Or the mom pushing her child's far too expensive stroller? Maybe it was the punk-looking teen on his skateboard who kept trying to shove people down as he whizzed by.
Please, God, let it be the punk-looking teen.
With a heavy sigh, George leaned lightly against the edge of the bridge that overlooked the pond below, and turned to view the other side. As she side-stepped said punk teen on the skateboard, she managed to bump right into someone. Normally she'd ignore such a thing but, on the off chance this one was her mark, she glanced over her shoulder at the nice enough looking woman.
"Sorry about that," she apologized. Her tone wasn't overly guilt-ridden, but it wasn't like she'd pushed the woman over the edge of the bridge or anything, either.