What happened

George hit the sleep button on her alarm clock, only to notice it was covered in post-its. Four of them. George groaned heavily. Was Didi doing this? Couldn't she just knock or maybe have a daily meeting spot like Dur Waffle House like all the normal reapers? George was going to have to talk to her new(ish) boss about this.

Making a swipe for the post-its, the reaper squinted at them with sleep goobers still in her eyes. It wasn't until she noticed the addresses that George fully woke with a start.

"No way!!"

All four post-its were were addressed to this building. George quickly looked to see if Oz was listed as one of the four, but breathed a sigh of relief when he was not. Maybe he would be gone for the day and would miss this entire business. (Somehow George doubted that.) How would she explain her close vicinity to four dead bodies?

Oh well. Reapers weren't supposed to have living friends, anyway. At least that's what Rube had pounded into her head time and time again. George took her shower, brushed her teeth, put on her bravest pair of red undies to prepare her for a crappy day and waited.

And waited.

As 9:13 started to get closer and closer (and also appeared to be near the same time that the sun set), George stepped out of her apartment and into the hallway, carefully listening for the first signs of an oncoming disaster.

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The power of soup. Apparently Death made a pretty mean minestrone because she was somehow able to convince one of her youngest employees to go back to work again. Even everyone at Happy Times seemed pretty pleased, though the pile of work they'd left for her to catch up on was not so pleasing.

After five she had a quick reap, and then George could go back to bed. Unfortunately it was at a butcher's shop. The good news was that even though the butcher had managed to chop off four of his own fingers, he was going to be okay. In fact, the fingers could probably be reattached due to the quickness of EMS. The bad news was, the infamous finger chopping knife had been thrown into the air out of shock and it embedded itself deep into the skull of a customer. That particular man was not going to be okay.

And neither was George's favorite work shirt. Sadly, George had not learned her lesson when it came to getting some distance on her reaps. She'd dodged bloody finger man, but knife in head guy managed to get out a few good spurts.

Damnit.

But in the grand scheme of things, fingers were saved.. souls have moved on.. and George could go to bed. She walked through the halls of her apartment and thought for all the times she'd had "slushy" spilled on her she was going to have to work out a lie where she worked at a convenience store or a Dairy Queen or something...

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Beeeeeeeeeeeeep!

"Millie? This is Deloris. I know you're on vacation, but when are you planning on coming back to work? Are you feeling alright? Are you drinking enough water, because you know that can help if you're feeling a little under the weather. You haven't gone on some kind of relapse, have you? Look, Millie, I'm sure that fine Rube gentleman can help you and get you through this. You just need to have some faith in yourself. And drink water. Drink lots of water and I know that you'll be right back on your--"

Beeeeeeeeeeeep!

George grumbled at her answering machine from the safe little nest she'd made under the rumpled comforter of her bed. It was a little bunchy where parts of the stuffing had gathered into inconsistent lumps, but George didn't mind. Just as long as she didn't have to go back to either of her jobs.

Her bed was a safe place.

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George had taken a vacation. Did it matter that George was only a part time worker at Happy Times Temporary Employment agency and did not actually have paid vacation time? No. Apparently who ever was dropping her post-it notes felt pretty much the same way. No new post-its in the past couple of weeks that she'd been hiding in her apartment. Being aware of your own dismemberment was enough to turn a person into a paranoid antisocial hermit.

And the guy that had given her his coat? Who she later found out through a front page newspaper article on The City Times was none other than the mayor of this town? He was right. George couldn't go to the police. She couldn't do a thing about what happened to her, due to the fact that she was a reaper and there was no evidence that anything wrong had ever occurred. Her helplessness scared her.

It was when she heard commotion in the hallway that George tried to sneak over to her front door. Her peep hole was broken and being irrationally nervous about who was there, she cracked open the door and peeked out with one brown eye, the rest of her being craftily hidden by said door. It was probably just the landlady puttering about, but one could never be too sure.

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Lusiphur was not happy. Apparently even sawing off the blonde girl's head with a hook knife was not enough to kill her. It kept trying to reattach itself, but at least by then she was no longer capable of screaming. He picked up the reaper's head to keep it separate and searched about the kitchen for some way to transport pieces of whoever this bitch was to his boss.

Eventually he found two garbage bags. He chose two because if he'd put all the parts into one they might have healed and reformed before he was able to get the girl to the mayor. So the head was tossed into one bag, the torso into another. An arm here, an arm there, part of a leg in that bag with the other half in this one.

Luse finally barged into the mayor's office about an hour after the hit should have ended, setting one bloody post-it note on the mayor's desk and two squirming garbage bags. He was glaring at the aged human. Our elf was not pleased.

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Perhaps if George had been expecting company she might have cleaned up the apartment she was illegally staying at a little bit more. Chances were, she would have gotten distracted with whatever was on public television and left things the way that they were.

It was a studio apartment, with a bed that folded down from the wall, a dresser and a couch somehow crammed into the tiny space. There was a vague kitchen area and a small closet with made up the bathroom. Roland, and George being the late daughter of an English professor quickly thought of Browning's "Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came", seemed interested with all the mundane quirks of modern living.

George introduced Roland to ramen noodles. He had beef flavored noodles and George had oriental. Then George had to leave. For her appointment. It was hard convincing the gunslinger that he couldn't go with her, but after promising that she would only be gone for 20 minutes tops, he relented.

George would not be back in 20 minutes.

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Eddie and Susannah made love at night when they thought the gunslinger was asleep. He wasn't asleep though. He would lay on his side, his back towards him, eyes open and staring as he listened to the sounds they made and the whispers that followed. He couldn't always hear what they were saying, but he knew most of it was about him. He knew it was because they'd sensed the same changes in him that he had himself, but he didn't hold that against them. It was smart. They had good reason to be concerned. And when they finally fell asleep he tried to as well.

But tonight there would only be restlessness for the gunslinger. He had a dream. It was always the same dream. There was a boy and he let him fall to his death. The gunslinger sacrificed him for the tower. This was followed by the man in black laughing at him. Always laughing. Laughing until he heard a peculiar sound and sat straight up, pistol at his side drawn in a blur of motion.

"--SHUTTING DOWN! SHUTDOWN WILL BE COMPLETE IN ONE HOUR AND SEVENTEEN MINUTES!"

The other two members of the ka-tet were asleep, resting peacefully in each other's arms, and Roland wasn't going to bother them. He quickly crept to his feet, dressed, and head off into the forest.

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The first thought Kyle had when he felt the earth shake was, 'Damn. There aren't any signs up about how to handle earthquakes. We never had earthquake drills'. Then he looked at his light board which had fallen off of his desk smashed to the floor, and thought, 'Fuck.'

Then he saw the smoke.

That was when he finally thought to stand up and look away from his desk. How were his coworkers handling the impromptu earthquake. Or whatever it was. They weren't handling it very well at all, actually. For all he could see, they were running through the resulting smoke like chickens with their heads cut off. Kyle couldn't really blame them; they probably weren't used to stuff like this. Hell, he wasn't even completely used to stuff like this.

The art department for The City's newspaper was on one of the lower floors, so when Kyle finally got his wits together and started yelling and ushering people out of the doors, he could at least have some comfort in knowing they all had a good chance of getting out safely. No one seemed to notice when he backed away from the stairwell and ran back into the main area of the floor where all the artists had their desks set up.

He moved slowly through the smoke, making sure no one else was trapped in the room and once he was relatively sure, he raised his hand. A green gas mask covered his face, and Kyle took a deep breath, hoping that he hadn't already inhaled too much smoke. Next he created a lantern, which shined brightly through the smoke, allowing him to move quickly to the large windows.

Where was the smoke coming from? Kyle wasn't immediately sure, but he was definitely leaning more towards an explosion now. He just didn't know from where. Looking out of the windows, he could see smoke pouring from some of the lowers floors as well, and a slightly grey tinge in the air above make him think that something had to going on on the higher floors as well. Across the street people were pouring out of another office building and onto the street, pointing up at both buildings. Grey smoke was pouring from their windows as well.

The building shook again, and this time Kyle could hear an explosion coming from upstairs. It was time to get out.

Kyle backed away from the window, back into the smoke where he was sure no one would be able to see him as a green glow engulfed his body. When it died down, he was suited up completely, mask included. He had to help somehow.

Though, as he started breaking through the window so that he could fly out, Kyle couldn't help but hope that some of the other heroes in this place had heard the explosions. Because he was pretty damn sure that alone he wasn't going to be much good.

OOC: Just a note, as stated before, everyone can participate in this, whether your character wants to be a bystander or wants to try to rescue people or even wants to try and make the situation worse. Any of those options is cool! NPCs may even come and interact with your characters.

Don't worry. Something will come of this. So yes. Post!

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George felt like she'd run in circles. No Rube. No Mason. No Daisy. No Roxy. Nothing. All that George had was a post-it note for her next reap and she only barely made it on time. Apparently at 2453 S Broadway Avenue was the location for the First National City Bank.

She sighed. This wasn't one of those stupid bank robbing heists was it? Actually one of her earliest reaps took place at a bank and that had merely involved someone slipping on a banana peel.

It was 7:25 PM and George might have missed the nervous looking gentleman sitting in his car if it weren't for the little grimling sitting shot gun with him. George swallowed nervously and approached the car, tapping on the window. The soon to be robber, not to mention soon to be dead guy, rolled down his window.

"Hey can you tell me how to get to Reserve Street?"

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There were no post-its for her that morning at the diner. George had been happy enough because she'd all but trampled the I have an AA meeting lie excuse, the doctor's appointment fibs, death in the family falsehoods or the good ole short notice emergency tricks. Even Deloris, the sweet, nurturing soul that she was, started to become suspicious.

So she worked a full shift at work, which meant she got to experience a full eight hours of boredom. Names were entered and categorized into the computer, files were filed, documents were shredded and Crystal the receptionist was avoided like the plague.

To keep her sanity, George started decorating her nails with hole reinforcement stickers. She had some fun hot pink and neon green colors that she layered to give herself a fake manicure with, but they kept falling off each time she was required to type.

Toward the end of the day, she left a scandalous two minutes early.

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