George suddenly found occasion to thank her lucky, undead stars. She'd been on the last beer she could afford for the week, and while it was generally unacceptable to Drink and Reap--Unless you were Mason--but between Vampires and Normal People, she needed alcohol.
"Whatever he just had." She said, indicating the generous, and determined-to-be-intoxicated-and-take-everyone-with-him man two stools down. The empty beer bottle was lifted off the post-it, and she squinted at the name, then the man again. Boy, did she hope he wasn't her reap. It seemed unethical to take the soul of someone who'd just bought a round, and might do so again in the near future.
Well, not as unethical as taking over a dead person's apartment until the lease ran out, but real-estate was a cutthroat market. You had to take what you could get, and morals be damned. Booze was a less stressful area. You could afford to be noble.