[Daisy] Skipped Time: Day 9: Dinner Time (tag George, open)

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Daisy made her way toward George. It took a few minutes; being social was a fulltime job, and as everyone was drifting toward the cookfire as dinner time drew near, she had to greet and interact with quite a few people. Nonetheless she eventually reached her destination. George was oblivious, still basking in New Relationship Energy and wrapped up in Carlos.



Carlos noticed. He looked up just as Daisy said, "George, a word?"

"Later, Daisy," George said. She didn't even look up.

"Really, Georgia," Daisy said, a singsong note creeping into her voice. "A word."

George frowned at her. "Really, Daisy--later." Get lost George's eyes said.

Daisy smiled at Carlos. "Excuse us, Carlos. I really, really need to speak to Georgia," she said as she grabbed George's wrist. "Won't take a second." She pulled George to her feet.

Carlos looked ready to intervene but George rolled her eyes and sighed gustily. "Fine," she said petulantly. "I'll be back in a minute," she told Carlos. Daisy stalked off toward the waterline, George in tow.

"Jesus, Daisy! Ow! What the fuck is your problem?" Daisy ignored George's complaints until she reached the hide tide line. They were within sight of the camp but no one would be able to hear them over the surf. She turned to face George.

"You, George," she said. "You're my problem. What do you think you're doing?"

"Jeez, Daisy," George replied, massaging her wrist. "I'm talking to Carlos."

"I'm not talking about that," Daisy said. This was going to be a long conversation if George insisted on being deliberately obtuse. "What's this I hear about you telling people you're a Grim Reaper?"

George looked about to snap back, but Daisy was pleased to see her words take the wind out of George's sails. "Oh," George said quietly. "That."

"Yes--that! You can't do that, Georgia! What on earth possessed you to do it? And please, please tell me you haven't told everyone."

"Not...everyone," George admitted. "Just John. And...Ami. And Mara. And...Dr. Pierson and Quentin. Dr. Jackson, Blaise, Faith...I think that's all."

Daisy stared at George, horrified by the never-ending list. In a moment of uncomfortable clarity she suddenly realized how Rube must have felt on many occasions, facing with cleaning up the aftermath of her own colossal fuck-ups. How on earth had she wound up as the straw boss of their little two-person Reaper team?

"Shit, Georgia, that's--" Words failed her. "How could you?"

"What did you find in the Box of Many Things?" George asked, and Daisy blinked, confused by George's question. "A painting, wasn't it?" George continued.

"Yes," Daisy said. She tried to regain control of the conversation. "But that's not--"

"It was the painting that's supposed to be hanging in our living room, right?"

"Yes, but--"

George fixed her with a steely gaze. "You were the one who told me what you thought that box meant, remember? It meant we didn't just randomly wind up here. We were selected. They chose us. You remember telling me that?"

Daisy nodded, suddenly tired. She didn't want to be having this conversation any longer. Didn't want to think about the implications of the box. She'd successfully put it out of her mind for a couple of days.

"Do you remember what else you told me it meant?" George asked.

"Yes," Daisy said quietly. "They already know about us. All about us."

"Damn right," George said. "So the only people involved in this who don't know are the people on our side. And most of them, maybe all of them, have their own Deep, Dark Secrets. Well, I'm tired of it. There are too many fucking secrets on this goddamn island. If we're gonna get away from here, we have to stop spending all our time and energy keeping secrets from each other."

Daisy listened, marveling at George's fire. She was passionate and engaged. She'd always been passionate, but this focus was new. It suited her. George had grown up over the last two years. More than she had in many, many more years, Daisy thought, though she liked to think that she'd grown some in the last week.

"So I've told some people. I'll probably tell more. I haven't mentioned you and I won't, but--" George stopped talking when Daisy raised a hand.

"Okay, Georgia. You win. I'm not saying I think you're right, but...I'm not saying I think you're wrong either. I just don't know. Just...be sure, okay? This isn't something you can undo." Daisy paused, thinking, and then laughed.

"Well, that isn't necessarily true anymore, is it?" Tara's demonstrated ability to erase memories changed things, didn't it? And perhaps it also proved George's point. Knowing what Tara could do opened up possibilities they'd never have considered before.

George seemed to know what she was thinking. Daisy was relieved when George didn't jump on the point and rub her nose in it. She just smiled gently, apparently content to let Daisy work it out for herself. Daisy smiled back at George, shaking her head slowly.

"When did you get to be so smart?" she asked. She glanced back at camp, where Carlos was keeping a vigilant eye on them. "Go back to your lover," she said, stressing the last word and laughing delightedly when George blushed. "And remember that you still owe me some serious girl talk. I want details, girl. Now, shoo!"

Daisy watched George scamper away to rejoin Carlos, then headed back to her own place at John's side.

Comments

[George] Practice Aftermath (tag Clarice, open)

[sinanju.livejournal.com]

"Thanks," George said and took a seat on the log next to Clarice. She glanced at the basket Clarice was working on. "I was weaving some mats last night," she commented, mostly just for something to say. "It's harder than it looks."

Now that she was here, she wasn't feeling so brave. Clarice could be very prickly. George was familiar with that; she could be pretty prickly herself. What if Clarice thought she was crazy--or worse, that she was just making fun with her tales of undead Grim Reapers? But it wasn't going to get any easier for waiting. George took a breath and plunged in.

"You know the other day, when you found my fake passport? And you asked me about it? I told you that you might not want to know everything? You trusted me and didn't insist on dragging the whole story out of me. I appreciate that. Really."

Clarice didn't say anything. She just continued her weaving, looking up frequently and nodding to show that she was listening.

"The thing is, since then I've changed my mind. I think there are too many secrets around here. We--most of us, anyway--spend so much time and energy keeping our secrets, it makes it hard to really work together to find a way off this damn island. I think we need to stop being so secretive, and somebody has to go first."

"So I..." George swallowed. "So I've told a few people my story. The whole story. It's probably going to get around to everybody eventually and I--I wanted you to hear it from me first. You trusted me when I wasn't ready to talk about it, so I want you to know I trust you."

George dug the increasingly crumpled and torn newspaper clippings out of her pocket. "I don't know what you got from the Box of Many Things, but this is what I got," she said, offering it to Clarice.

"I told you before that Georgia Lass is legally dead. This isn't a joke headline or a cover story. This is what really happened to me. I died."

[Clarice] Killed by a Space Toilet (tag George, open)

[lambs-heroine.livejournal.com]

Clarice listened quietly. "Ah...can't say I don't agree with you about too much secrecy, within the bounds of what people can be comfortable with, anyway. Frankly, after some of the stuff ah have been hearing...I'm startin' to get jealous that I have no particularly juicy secrets of my own." She grinned weakly.

When George held them out, she set down her weaving slowly and took the clippings. Read them. Frowned. Blinked slowly.

"Uh. Gimme a minute." She looked at George, who was looking nervous. /Died. George died. Not as in, was legally dead on the table for a few minutes. She got her head caved in by a space-toilet! Whiskey Tango Foxtrot, over?/

Blink.

/Witches, faeries, aliens...what's this now?/

"You want to know the first thing that popped into my head when I read this?"

George fidgeted a little. "Yeah?"

"...something like, 'Wow. I'd be really fucking annoyed if I died that way.'"

A sheepish smile. "The rest of it I'm still tryin' to process. But...ah'm bearin' with you so far...uh...well, mostly, anyway. Heh."

[George] God, will they ever let that go? (tag Clarice, open)

[sinanju.livejournal.com]

"Good," George said. "Good."

She gestured vaguely at the clippings. "So, uh, I died--only I didn't cross over, or walk into the light, or any of that good stuff. I'm...undead. I got drafted to become a Grim Reaper. I collect the souls of the dead."

George pulled another set of papers out of her pocket and unfolded it. "That's why I was on our flight. Almost three hundred people died in the crash, and I had to be there to reap them." Then she watched Clarice to see how she was going to react.

[Clarice] The downed and the saved (tag George, open)

[lambs-heroine.livejournal.com]

Clarice blinked again. "Uh..."

/"One of my coworkers is an alien."/

/"I'm a witch!"/

/"Wanna see a unicorn?"/

/"By the way, I'm undead!"/

/This is my brain going *crack* *tinkle*...at least this time it's for interesting reasons..../

Her expression of stunned astonishment turned mildly exasperated for a moment. /Dammit, am I the only completely fucking ordinary person on this island? I'm starting to feel left out, here!/

"Uh," she managed. George looked worried, and she held up a placating hand while she searched for words.

/Reaper. Here to gather the dead. Here ahead of time, to gather the dead. That dozen screaming children. Everyone./

"This actually isn't the weirdest thing anyone's confided in me lately...." she managed as she tried to wrap her brain around it.

/The whole life-the-universe-and-everything religophilosophical can of worms the prospect opens up is downright scary./

[George] The downed and the saved (tag Clarice, open)

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"This actually isn't the weirdest thing anyone's confided in me lately..."

"Wha--" George was stunned. Shocked, even. And a little annoyed, if she was honest with herself. Yeah, yeah, witches, shamans, magic. But Grim Reaper trumped those, didn't it? She certainly thought so.

"Well," she said, recovering a little, "this went a lot smoother than I thought it would. So, uh, now you know." She reached to take back the newspaper clippings. "I guess I'll be going now..."

[Clarice] The downed and the saved (tag George, open)

[lambs-heroine.livejournal.com]

"Wait...please." Clarice said softly. "I...did I mention the 'weirder stuff' all hit in the last forty-eight? Gimme a minute."

George laughed a little. "Yeah, ok."

Clarice looked at her. "So you, what? Work for the powers that be or something?"

"Sorta. I mean, I can guarantee you that there's an afterlife, but I don't know what it looks like myself. Never met God or anything like that."

"But you're...you're saying, what, you triage the dead?"

"Nah, I just pull 'em and get them moved on. Where they go seems pretty personal."

Clarice blinked slowly and looked down at her hands.

"How do you get a job like that?" she asked out of the blue.

[George] The downed and the saved (tag Clarice, open)

[sinanju.livejournal.com]

"You get drafted," George said. "Every reaper has a quota of souls to collect," she said, knowing she was quoting Rube. "You don't know how many until you nab the last one. When you do, you get 'promoted'--you finally go on to your own afterlife and the last soul you collected takes your place."

George glanced over at Clarice, and gestured at the clippings. "I was walking around on my lunch break and this wierd guy asked me my name. I turned to leave and he stroked my hair."

"A minute later I got torpedoed by that damn toilet seat. I was his ticket out. I never saw him again. Instead Rube--he's my boss--showed up to collect me and explain things."

[Clarice] The downed and the saved (tag George, open)

[lambs-heroine.livejournal.com]

/Drafted. That means you can't volunteer. Damn. It would be nice to really be doing something that...fucking profound. I mean, next to this witchcraft almost seems old hat. It's like discovering the existence of some higher purpose or power as a verifiable fact. Course...poor George doesn't need me tossing all that sort of crap at her./ "You probably get the same sortsa questions babbled at you a lot when you tell people," she ventured.

Clarice knew her desperation to find a new sense of purpose had outstripped her baby steps in that direction. Once upon a time, she had pursued the goal of being an FBI agent with a singleminded devotion that had given her the strength to overcome any obstacle. Now, horrified to discover that even that wasn't enough, she had no new driving goal to keep her going. Just intuition, strange ideas, and a growing sense of...change, inside of her. It wasn't enough. She wanted things clear-cut and she wanted them to have some sense of righteousness or at least rightness. A higher purpose.

/Jealousy again. I need to stop that./

"So you're doing this job for the Big Whoever, helpin' people move on, and meanwhile you have to hide out as a human? Huh.

"God, what do you do when you have to grab a serial killer's victims? Do you have to sneak into his house or something? That sounds scarier than my old job!"

Then she thought. "Oh, yeah, you asked me what ah got." She reached into the hip pocket of her khaki shorts (SHE was wearing shorts? Hold the phone....) and pulled out a rather old-looking badge.

"It's my daddy's sherriff's badge. They didn't let him be buried with it because our town was so poor his whole uniform was rented. Ah'm keepin' it close now, instead of my old badge. Don't really know why. Maybe like a talisman or somethin'."

[George] Novel Questions (tag Clarice, open)

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"I don't actually tell a lot of people," George said. Then she surveyed the encampment, picking out everyone she'd told. It came to quite a few. "Well, not usually. This is a special case."

George handled the badge for a moment, then handed it back to Clarice. It clearly meant a lot her, but George was distracted by her questions. This was interesting. Clarice was asking questions nobody she'd told had ever asked her.

Mostly they reacted with shock and dismay upon learning that she'd died. Clarice wasn't so much horrified to learn about George's fate as...fascinated by the possibilities. That was novel. But it suggested that she wasn't entirely clear on the concept.

"It's...not as glamorous as you might think. Hiding out as a human. You don't get paid, so you have to find a way to support yourself. Which may involve squatting in some dead guy's apartment, or getting a day job. Good luck on finding enough excuses to run off all the time to reap somebody. And some reapers, well, looting the bodies isn't just something that happens in D&D games."

George looked down at her shoes, idly drawing lines in the sand. "Serial killers," she said. "Yeah, I've done that. He didn't drag his victims home, though. But he killed himself in the end and I was there to reap him. I liked that one."

"But...most of the reaps are just ordinary people. Children, too. And..." her voice trailed off. George thought about Kirstie. It had been more than two years and she still thought about that little girl. "It's not like being an FBI agent. You can't save them. Any of them. You're not even supposed to try, no matter how much you want to. I thought it was horrible at first, and...it is, I guess. But that's how it is.

George looked up and met Clarice's eyes. "When I boarded our flight, I handed the stewardess my boarding pass and looked at her name badge. I saw she was on my list. I knew she was going to die and it never even crossed my mind to say anything. Not to her, not to anybody."

George looked away, out at the sea. "All those people--men, women, children. They'd all be dead in a few hours, and all I was thinking about was how I'd get the job done without attracting too much attention."

[Clarice] Novel Ideas (tag George, open)

[lambs-heroine.livejournal.com]

Clarice went quiet again as George spoke. The profundity of it all was tinged with a sort of sad resignation. She could relate, in one sense; in another, she was completely overwhelmed.

"It may sound fucked up, but...you remind me of the folks on our coroner team. All they can do is take the measurements, make the reports and bag the bodies. It feels so fucking futile sometimes. By the time I caught Buffalo Bill, way too many women had already been killed and skinned. That wasn't any of our faults, but the autopsies were still painful."

She closed her eyes. "I couldn't do anything for the people on that plane either. I had to sit there and listen to kids screaming in the dark. I could only get over it afterward by constantly reminding myself that the badge didn't come with superpowers."

She thought for a moment, and then had what must have been her weirdest epiphany ever. "Have you thought about going into forensics or funeral arts? If you have to have a day job, I mean. Nobody questions someone with a coroner's badge for hanging around a corpse."

[George] Novel Ideas (tag Carlos, open)

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"uhmm..." George struggled, but her downcast expression vanished, replaced by a sly smile. "Actually, I've been thinking about going to Rio."

"Rio?" Clarice asked, clearly lost by this apparent non sequitur.

"Yeah. Maybe," George said. She looked for Carlos and spotted him walking slowly in her direction, talking to Ami. Now they stopped and Carlos was shaking his head with a wry grin and throwing his hands wide in a gesture of helplessness. Ami smiled back and made a 'what can you do?' gesture in response.

"Oh," Clarice said. And then, "Ohhh! Good for you, George. But I'm still not clear on why Rio."

George ducked her head for a moment, then looked sidelong at Clarice. "Uh, well, Carlos says there're lots of mediums and spiritualists in Rio. Lots of belief in ancestor worship and ghosts and stuff.

"I'd fit in a lot better there. Being a medium is easy when you really can talk to the dead. It wouldn't be like conning people. And you can make your own hours."

[Clarice] Novel Ideas (tag George, open)

[lambs-heroine.livejournal.com]

Clarice cracked a genuine grin as she looked over at Carlos. /Looks like one of the new guys has turned out to be a good egg. That's good./

"Damn. Well, that's a good solution. Ah've...never been to Rio, so I couldn't say either way. But finding someplace where you can fit in well is definitely good. 'Specially with good company."

Her smile faded a fraction; Carlos was talking with Ami, and they were headed this way. /I'm not ready for that conversation, especially after getting weepy at practice./ She ducked her head slightly and busied her eyes and hands with making her (floppy) (too damned rough) quiver.

"Gonna get Carlos to teach you Portuguese, then?"

[George] Portugese? (tag Clarice, open)

[sinanju.livejournal.com]

"What? Portu--oh, yeah."

George frowned. Her thinking hadn't gotten that far. Of course they spoke a different language in Brazil. "I guess so," George said. "I'm trying to think...I don't think I've reaped anyone who didn't speak English."

(Maybe I can talk to them anyway,) George thought. (That would be cool.)

On the other hand, aside from already being dead and therefore not killable, it's not like the gig came with any other nifty superpowers. So, probably not. George could imagine standing there speaking English slowly and loudly in hopes of communicating while the spirit of some dead guy gabbled at her Portugese. (Yeah, that sounds about right.)

"I guess I'll be learning Portugese," George said. "Good point."

[Clarice] Six months (tag George, open)

[lambs-heroine.livejournal.com]

"Well, it looks like we're gonna be having some time," Clarice said a little shakily. "Carlos will know it if he's from the area."

"Time?"

"Didn't know if you'd heard or not. We're here for at least six months, though I don't know the details. It's..." She started shaking.

"Fuck it. George, it's gonna be really hard, and I don't even know if I'm gonna survive it myself, let alone be able to help others do so. I could barely defend myself during that siege with what I have onhand, and I don't think I'll learn archery fast enough to make a difference." Her hands were shaking, and she had to stop trying to weave.

It was pretty clear her confidence had gone to shit some time during the last couple days.

/I feel so goddamned helpless. I'm actually afraid that I'm gonna die soon because I'm so powerless. And I'm wondering if anyone in the world beyond a tiny handful of people would even give a shit beyond being pissed I'm not there anymore to put my pathetic carcass between them and danger./

[George] Six months (tag Clarice, open)

[sinanju.livejournal.com]

(Six months? Minimum?) George realized her jaw was hanging open and closed it.

She wanted to ask Clarice more about that, but Clarice was having issues of her own. Clarice started shaking and looked ready to cry any minute. George awkwardly patted her on the back, then moved a little closer and put an arm around her.

"You'll...be fine," George said, but it didn't sound convincing even to herself. She wanted to give Clarice comfort, but--damn. She had no idea how things would turn out, whether Clarice--or anyone--would survive. One thing being a Reaper had taught her was that death didn't play favorites. Good, bad, FBI agent or jungle-dwelling lunatic, it made no difference if your time was up.

"And...and least you did defend yourself," George, finally thinking of something positive to say. "I got my ass kicked. One of those 'hillbilly cannibals'--as Ash calls 'em--beat the hell out of me. She'd probably still be kicking my ass if Tommy hadn't driven her off with a stick!"

[Clarice] Six months (tag George, open)

[lambs-heroine.livejournal.com]

Clarice winced several times when George described her ordeal. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "This...this savage shit isn't anything anyone's supposed to have to deal with. But here we are.

"I mean...I'm trained law enforcement and I...I'm scared. Scared to death. Daniel has a spare sidearm and I practically begged him for it, but he said no. I don't...I can't protect you or anyone from taking a beating or getting killed. Not in this place."

[George] Six months (tag Clarice, open)

[sinanju.livejournal.com]

"Uh, aren't you supposed to be scared?" George asked. Clarice put so much pressure on herself. George wanted to help, but she wasn't sure anything she said would make any difference. Didn't hurt to try, though.

"I mean, if you're not scared, either it's not scary or you're an idiot. You're not an idiot, so..."

"Wait a minute," George said, when she heard Clarice's complaint. "There's an extra pistol? And they won't give it to you? That is fucked up! What the hell's the matter with them?"

George stood up and looked around. "I'm gonna go tell him what an asshole he's being!"

[Clarice] *crack* *tinkle* (tag George, open)

[lambs-heroine.livejournal.com]

"Whoah!" Clarice stood up. /Damn. No wonder she's dating a soldier./ "Look, he explained it to me, and his reason are sound, but...I still do want to smack him for it too, honestly. But...shit, that's not gonna do a goddamned thing, is it? Just hard feelings--except believe me, I'm grateful as hell for your standin' up like that.

"Look...he told me we'd talk it over more later. Bluntly put, George, one of the reasons he gave me is one I can't dispute." She dropped her voice considerably. "I had a /nervous breakdown/ on the night of the damn siege. I think he was worried about me...doing...."

She trailed off briefly. She could feel the pressure of a hand on her shoulder. She looked down at the badge in her hand. "Uh...."

"Shit, George. They had to drug me that night, ok? Maybe he was worried I'd do myself in or something. I just can't stand the irony that if he'd trusted me with it /beforehand/, I would have been able to do a lot more that night and probably wouldn't have cracked. But he doesn't have a time machine he can hop into to change that, either."

The sudden turn of heart was so profound and odd as to be...rather noticeable. Even Clarice's expression had changed a little, as if she were listening to something.

"Daniel is the kind of guy who is absolutely reasonable as long as you are, and throws up a twenty foot thick stone wall in your face when you start gettin' scary on him. I learned that the hard way." She chuckled a little.

The hand again. Big and warm and callused.

Clarice swallowed. Blinked. Tried to speak. Considered. Tried again. Then sighed and just out and said,

"Uh, George? There isn't...a ghost...standing behind me, is there?"

(OOC: there most thoroughly and decidedly is not. ^.^)

[George] *crack* *tinkle* (tag Clarice, open)

[sinanju.livejournal.com]

"Uhh...no?" George said, though she turned and looked all around just to be sure. Her own shadow was there, of course, remaining at a respecful distance but not interacting with Clarice in any way. Not that Clarice would notice if she did, as far as George could tell. She didn't appear to have any supernatural awareness, and certainly claimed none.

"No ghost," she said. "Are you sure? About Daniel, I mean? I'd be glad to jam my foot up his ass if you want."

Although as Clarice talked, George began to reconsider. Daniel been afraid that Clarice would kill herself? That would have sucked, and George could understand why he might have refused to give her a pistol if that were the case. You couldn't stop a determined suicide, but you didn't have to make it easy for them.

"Okay," George said. "If you're sure, I'll leave him intact. You might as well get some use out of him, right? But if you ever change your mind, let me know."

[Clarice] *crack* *tinkle* (tag George, open)

[lambs-heroine.livejournal.com]

"It's a horribly embarrassing thing to admit, but maybe it was just time to deal with it." She sighed. "Though somehow ah figure, if you're dealing with the not-so-glamourous life of Thanatos, you won't mind a slightly cracked friend or two."

She grinned. "And yeah, I'm sure. It's a comfort that you have my back, but he...ah don't know. You know...he's never seen me at my best, not once, but he's still with me, and he tries, even busy as hell as he is." Her voice became thoughtful and sad. "I'm tryin' very hard not to let that blow up in his face because, well, I'm just not handling this place well."

She sighed then, and said, "I asked about the ghost because of something I felt the night that happened. Tara was trying to help me, and ah swear, I heard my Daddy's voice. He's long dead.

"And yet every once in a while...ah start to feel like he's around somehow. It's the weirdest damn feeling in the world, but comforting too."

Fighting the ebil right shift one thread at a time!

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Left shifted to here. (http://community.livejournal.com/crossing_lostrp/63240.html?thread=2097160#t2097160)