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{GEORGE} (i_avoidlife) wrote in we_coexist,
@ 2008-12-26 16:07:00

Entry tags:

georgia lass, ted earley

Money, money [Ted]
George never saw a check with so many zeroes on it in her life. Twenty-thousand dollars. Up front. It occurred belatedly to George that she was in a vampire's pocket now and that it might be a very dangerous place to be.

Then again, Karen couldn't have been so bad?

It was the new wardrobe that worried the reaper most. She secretly looked forward to the clothing itself, but if it required a shopping spree and trying clothes on for an audience, that was the torture George wasn't looking forward to.

Until their first meeting, George needed to figure out how to get all those pretty numbers from a useless piece of paper and onto a bank account. With her name on it. Quite a challenge for someone who was dead. What kind of place could you go to and arrange something like that. She subconsciously patted her pocket to make sure the check was still there.

"Fuck fuck fuc--"

BLAM. George turned a corner and walked squarely into someone. He was taller, and a little soft in the middle so at least it didn't hurt too badly. George took a half step back to get a closer look at him. He looked older and friendly, like someone's reassuring Dad. Maybe he would know where to go with a check almost useless to her.

"...Sorry. Uh, you look kinda like you know stuff?" (What she meant to say was old, but she didn't want to offend him so soon. Still, with the way she said stuff her meaning wasn't exactly mysterious.) "Where would someone go if they needed help with money stuff? Like not a bank but maybe accounting stuff?"

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i_worknumbers
2008-12-27 01:14 am UTC (link)

Ted changed quickly. He didn't want to be that creepy guy that lingered in the men's room with no real purpose. He also didn't want to get caught changing in there. He wasn't entirely sure he was allowed to, though he couldn't see why it would be a problem.

Out of habit, or some strange sense of obligation, Ted folded the jumpsuit, shoved it into the shoebox, and put the box into his bag. He was just going to hold onto it for a while, he thought. Maybe remind him that he wasn't actually in a hospital somewhere drooling on himself.

When he walked out, he felt much better about everything. He felt like a person again instead of a prisoner.

As they walked out of the store, Ted realized something. "I suppose I should know your name. I'm Ted."

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i_avoidlife
2008-12-27 01:22 am UTC (link)

"George. It's short for Georgia."

She didn't normally add the second part but she had the impression that he thought she was insane.

She was glad he didn't offer his hand. Shaking hands was an uncomfortable invasion of personal space that felt fake and awkward. (Unless said customary social greeting came from a certain attractive red headed werewolf and then the uncomfort level was somehow even worse.)

She walked across the street to the nearest coffee shop.

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i_worknumbers
2008-12-27 01:35 am UTC (link)

"George." It was a normal enough name. It made Ted feel a little more comfortable with her. Truly batshit insane people didn't have really normal names, did they? Then he thought of Charles Manson and Albert DeSalvo and that just flew out the window completely. Then again, that meant he could be the insane one, too.

The coffee shop was normal looking too. He'd as of yet not noticed that the streets were actually changing. There were to many other things to pay attention to. Perhaps he was still too confused, as well.

He picked a table where he wouldn't have to look out the window for a while. He wanted to pretend that he was in California still. In L.A. Doing his own thing. Just at a coffee shop talking to a girl about how she should handle her money.

The coffee he ordered was black. Just black.

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i_avoidlife
2008-12-27 01:40 am UTC (link)

George didn't drink coffee. She had oatmeal with raisins. The coffee shop did not have oatmeal with raisins which made her regret that they hadn't gone to Der Waffle House instead. She ordered tea.

"I didn't know they served regular black coffee in these places anymore."

She liked that he hadn't ordered something complicated or that he didn't get emotional to her when she tried to explain The City. It made dealing with him much easier (and almost enjoyable) to be around. His eyes made her think of Deloris Herbig. She liked that about him, too.

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i_worknumbers
2008-12-27 01:43 am UTC (link)

Ted spent some time looking at the liquid in his mug. It was real honest coffee. It smelled good. It tasted good. It helped him form his fantasy of this being just any old normal day.

"So, George." He said, finally looking up. "You need somebody to handle your money. I can do that for you. But I have to have a few answers first, and you have to be honest with me, or I won't help."

This felt good. And familiar. Working with money. Doing his thing. He felt useful.

"This doesn't come from any sort of illegal activity, does it? I really can't get involved if any part of it is illegal."

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i_avoidlife
2008-12-27 01:52 am UTC (link)

"If I tell you it isn't illegal but refuse to provide the details, does that count? Because talking about it sort of makes me feel like a prostitute."

George paused.

"I'm not."

It was important to her to establish this.

"So can we stick to there's this rich lady who is paying me twenty-thousand dollars every week for no discernibly good reason?"

Except now that George had actually said the word prostitute she was now bothered. The reaper started to mutter into her cup of tea: "I mean, selling your blood to some insane person who probably has a creepy fetish--" (Okay, so she knew the truth but George didn't want to run Ted off.) "--isn't prostitution, right? People sell plasma. Just not for twenty grand a week."

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