crossing_lostrp | [George] Gang Reap

Current Location: Camp Crash
Current Music: Futurama opening credits

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[George] Gang Reap

Who: George
Where: Camp Crash
When: Day 21, Oh-Dark-Thirty
Invited: Molly, Chris, Anyone at Camp Crash
Status: Complete [Closed]

Orbing was fascinating. A swarm of glowing motes appeared out of nowhere to engulf you for a moment and when they dissipated, you were somewhere else. Convenient, too. George thought she could get used to that kind of travel. (Too bad Reapers don't get nifty powers like that.)

George looked around. "Why are we here?" She and Chris were standing at the treeline within shouting distance of the camp.

Chris shrugged. "No need to make a spectacle of ourselves."

"No, I guess not."

The walk toward camp was short and George was idly pleased to note that they were quickly spotted by Tommy, who was apparently on watch now. "Hey--George!" Tommy said with what seemed like great relief. "Chris," he added with a nod.

"Hey," George said. She stopped in front of him and hesitated for an instant. So did Tommy, before he gave her a brief hug. "Bad night," George said.

"Yeah," Tommy said. "I'm glad you're here," he added. "I hate to think about Clarice and the others...." he didn't complete the thought, but he didn't have to. "Now that I know, it--well, I'm just glad you're here."

"Me too," George said. It was so much easier on everyone back in the world, where the reapers got advance notice and could take the souls beforehand. "Where are they?" George asked and Tommy told her. He had to remain on guard, so George left him there.

Walking into the middle of camp was...weird. Conversations faltered or stopped as faces turned toward her. George felt suddenly very self-conscious. They all knew she'd been at the other camp; they knew why she was here now. Even if they didn't really believe--though there were probably few skeptics left this morning--they knew.

And knowing changed things. She wasn't George the foul-mouthed slacker this morning. Or George the amusingly crazy girl who talked to herself. She wasn't even Toilet Seat Girl, with a darkly funny tale of her alleged death. She was a Grim Reaper come to claim the souls of the dead, of people they'd lived with for weeks. People that some of them had seen die, and horribly by all accounts.

George's gaze shifted from one face to another. A few looked no different. But most looked at her with new expressions, or wouldn't meet her eyes. Carrie, sitting at the entrance to one shelter turned away to busy herself with something inside. Charlie, Sully and Zoe all met George's eyes for a moment before looking away, and George saw wariness--if not fear--where she'd never seen it before. She told herself it was mostly a reaction to the attack earlier, but she didn't believe it.

Veronica stared at her unblinkingly, not frightened but mesmerized by a reality she'd previously managed to avoid but could no longer deny. Michael Dawson turned away, not from fear but from--shame? George wondered about that, but only for a moment. It was all very dis-spiriting.

Not all of the faces were troubling. Hugh and Sayid met her eyes calmly. Rose Elder smiled beatifically, no doubt pleased to know that someone was looking after the souls of the dead. Sue Cullen watched George with eyes that looked much, much too old for a child of her years.

"Where are they?" George asked Hugh and Sayid. They both stood up, Hugh with considerably more effort than usual. "This way," Sayid said.

He and Hugh led George to the makeshift morgue. Behind her George heard a few conversations resume--and the sound of people stirring. She glanced over her shoulder to see that a number of people were intent on following. Searching their faces, George could see curiosity warring with discomfort and fear.

For a moment George wanted to yell at them to go away, not to be so ghoulish. But then she reconsidered. If they wanted to watch, it was no skin off her nose. And maybe it would help them--or help the dead--to deal with the situation. There was no need for secrecy here.

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Molly had pretty much split the bottle of wine with Dean. He didn't seem overly affected. He was doubtless used to harder stuff. And it took much stronger stuff, and more of it, to affect her. But it was the idea that mattered. And the company was pleasant. Dean was a good guy. Not letting her get too maudlin.

“I’ll answer your questions later. I figure you have them. You’re one of those who fight for the light, so it’s inevitable.”

Just then a strange quiet came over the camp, followed by soft conversations. Molly looked out and saw George with Chris.

“I guess… it’s time for goodbyes.” Molly got to her feet and moved sure footed across the sand.

“George.” Molly was the first to say the woman’s name. She approached her with obvious deference, almost reverence. “Thank you for coming. I don’t imagine you get thanked very often. But I think you and Daisy are, perhaps the most valuable people in our community. Do you think… would it be possible for some of us to say goodbye, when they can hear us?”

George spoke to them, anyway. Hopefully she wouldn’t mind providing closure for the living as well as the dead.

"Uh...no, not very often," George said. (If we do our job right, nobody ever knows we did anything at all.) But that was back in the world, not here on the island. The rules were different here.

"Sure," George said in answer to her question. "There's no reason why not. If you want to say goodbye--if any of you do," she added, addressing the silent observers behind Molly, "you can."

Molly had already made her request and nobody else said anything. After a moment George turned and walked away. She approached the blanket covered bodies, bent down and grabbed a corner of the first blanket. With a flick of her wrist George flipped the top of the blanket down, exposing three of the bodies, evoking a murmur of reaction from the crowd.

"Jesus Christ," George muttered. At first she couldn't tell them apart. They were just three shriveled, grayish forms. They didn't even look human. They looked like paper mache aliens ready for a cheesy Fox autopsy special. George tilted her head as she studied them. One of the aliens had faded tattoos.

George's hand leaped up to cover a gasp. She suddenly recognized Weevil in the ruined form she was looking at. "Shit," George muttered. Now that she knew who and what she was looking at she recognized Weevil's clothes. She looked at the next body. Judging by the clothing and the long hair that would be Miho. Dr. Crane lay next to her, recognizable mostly by the pair of eyeglasses perched on his nose.

Turning down the second blanket revealed Lex, Harry, Clarice and Mars. George felt an unaccustomed pang of grief looking at what was left of Clarice. She'd trusted George early on when she discovered George's false passport and George had had no good excuse for it. And later when George came out about her status, Clarice had taken it better than George feared she might. They hadn't been especially close lately, but George would miss her.

"Are--are you all right?" Molly asked.

George shook herself a little. "I'm fine," she said. (Time to get to work.) Crouching over the bodies, George reached out and stroked the top of Mars' head. The skin was rough and papery but his hair was still soft. Even as he gasped and sat up, George worked her way quickly down the line of bodies, running her fingers over each head.

Then she straightened up and waited. A high pitched scream assaulted George's ears. She jumped, startled, then clapped her hands over her ears. Dr. Crane screamed like a soul tormented, his head thrown back and eyes wide with horror.

Harry sat up curled into a tight little ball and rocking back and forth. He seemed to be crying, but George couldn't hear him over Crane's shrieks. Miho had flung herself away and rolled to her feet in a crouch that George was pretty sure was some kind of kung fu posture. She was as silent as ever even now, though the wild look of suppressed panic was new.

Weevil and Clarice both sat up panting and shaking and staring around with a wild expression similar to Miho's. Lex sat up as calmly as if he'd awakened from a nap. He looked around curiously, his gaze locking on George when he noticed her standing near.

Marshal Mars was looking around too. He looked down at himself, clutching at his chest, then exploring his face with his hands. After that he too looked around and focused on George.

"Son. Of. A. Bitch," Mars said. "You really aren't crazy."

The blonde--the Grim Reaper, Mars reminded himself--didn't bother to answer. She turned away to crouch over Crane, who was screaming like all the devils in hell were chasing him. (And why should she?) Mars asked himself. She had been up front about herself; if he didn't believe it that wasn't her fault--or her problem--now was it?

"Shut the hell up!" George yelled at Crane. Surprisingly, he did. He lay there panting for breath with his eyes rolling like a panicked horse, but he stopped his screaming.

"I guess I'm not just merely dead, I'm really most sincerely dead?" Mars asked. He was gratified to see the Grim Reaper meet his eyes with a look of surprise. "What? I can't be more than one thing?" he asked with a smirk.

George matched his smirk with one of her own. She was surprisingly pretty when she bothered to smile. Mars thought she'd do well to smile more often. "Yeah," she admitted, "but I don't figure that humorless dicks are given to quoting the Lollipop Guild."

"'Humorless dick'?" Mars shrugged. "Yeah, yeah I guess I am. Was."

"So, George," Hurley said, stepping forward out of the crowd, "You're, uh, you're talking to them right now?"

"What does it look like?" Mars snapped, annoyed by the interruption.

"He can't hear or see you," George reminded him. "Yeah," she said, addressing Hurley now. "Marshal Mars, anyway.

"Cool," Hurley said. "So, can you ask him--"

"He can hear you," George interrupted. "You just can't see him."

"Oh. Right. So, dude, what's it like--being dead?"

Mars scowled at him. He opened his mouth to snap at him, but then considered the question. He took a quick inventory of himself. He wasn't cold--or hot. He wasn't thirsty or hungry, didn't need to pee.... Mars leaped to his feet, feeling not even the slightest twinge in his left knee. It wasn't bad enough to sideline him, but it had never been the same since he'd injured it three years ago. Now--it felt good as new.

"It's...not uncomfortable," Mars said. George translated. He walked over and passed a hand experimentally through Hurley. He felt nothing. Mars glanced down at the sand beneath his feet, wondering why--if he was intangible--he didn't pass through the earth as well.

Mars glanced over at George. "Beats me," she said, obviously aware of what he was thinking. But then, she dealt with this every day. Or had, before arriving here on the island. "You just don't."

"So what now?" Mars asked.

"Hold that thought," George said. "Wait until I've got everybody's attention and then I'll fill you all in at one time."

Mars sighed. "Hurry up and wait. Got it."

"He can hear you," George interrupted. "You just can't see him."

George had been speaking to Hurley, but Molly took it to heart. She waited until Hurley had asked his questions before moving to kneel besides Clarice’s body.

“Clarice… I’m sorry I wasn’t here. I feel like I let you down, no matter how unreasonable that is. I wanted to show you the light that balances the dark, but I have a feeling, where you’re defiantly headed you’ll see the truth anyway. You did everything in your power to help and protect innocents… and sometimes the not so innocent. So your destination is certain to be a happy one. You’re father’s most likely already waiting for you with open arms and a heart full of pride.”

Molly felt the tears welling up again. “You are a good friend. Not were, are… and as long as I live you will be remembered with love.”

Molly hoped she was looking in the right direction, hopefully looking into Clarice’s eyes, but chances were she wasn’t. “Don’t be afraid of what comes next, and don’t be too worried about those left behind. We’ll worry enough to take your share. You’ll most likely know what’s going on, maybe see how it all turns out, before we do. But don’t ever think you won’t be missed. Because you will. So very much. You’ve made the world a better place for you having been in it. You’ve saved lives, and influenced others. You are a hero. You’re one of mine, anyway.”

"And if you happen to see a certain non-human spirit who likes to jump around all the planes... by the name of Foxtrot X-ray... tell him he still owes me ten bucks." Molly managed a small smile. "He has a habit of checking up on friends of... my family's in the next life. Not that he can report back much other than they got there."

No, it wasn't for the living to know what really lay beyond that final veil. Those who could cross it either way were forbidden to tell.

"Life is full of regrets, I've been told. But I'm glad I won't have to live with the regret of not being able to say goodbye."

Dean, as usual, was less than subtle. Nevertheless Sam and Faith jogged over to the growing crowd near the remains of those who'd fallen to the Wraith. As soon as Sam saw George he understood why Dean had called them over.

The brothers stood at the edge of the group. They hadn't known any of those who'd died but wanted to pay their respects. Seeing a benevolent grim reaper at work had piqued their curiosity as well.

As George moved down the line of dessicated bodies Sam swatted at an insect buzzing in his ear. No amount of swatting or head-shaking deterred the thing. Curiously, George shouting "Shut the hell up!" did. Dean gave him an odd look but said nothing.

When Molly was speaking to one of the deceased Dean leaned close to Sam. He said in a barely audible whisper, "Guess what? Molly's a Sidhe*!"

Sam gave him his best "No shit, Sherlock," look. "Wow. I never would have guessed."

Dean scowled for a moment before realization dawned. "S-I-D-H-E, brainiac," he clarified with a sigh.

Sam frowned, then stared at Molly. "Oh!" Eventually he wrenched his eyes away. "Full Sidhe?"

"Half," Dean replied. "Don't say nuthin', 'kay? She let a few things slip and I figured it out. Thought you'd want to know that we've finally met one of the good guys from Dad's journal."

"Thanks," Sam grinned. He divided his gaze between George and Molly, glad to know of two more allies on the island.

* "Sidhe" is pronounced /shee/. Hence Sam's confusion. :)

Clarice's initial panic seemed to have calmed. She'd watched and listened to George's interactions with Mars. Out of the corner of her eye George had watched Clarice pass her hand through the corpses lying at her feet. "Christ," she muttered, "this is a hell of an argument against suicide."

George finished her conversation with Mars and turned to Clarice just as Molly dropped to the sand by Clarice's remains. When it was clear that Molly was addressing Clarice, Clarice knelt down where she could look into Molly's face. She tried to take Molly's hands, or hug her, but couldn't.

Molly's goodbyes very quickly reduced Clarice to tears. She hid her face in her hands as she listened. When Molly was done, Clarice raised her head to meet--or to stare into--Molly's eyes. She gestured for George to come closer.

George did, dropping to one knee in the sand and leaning in. "Yeah?"

"Tell her...tell her Ah appreciate this. Tell her, I've got plenty of regrets too, but that--that meeting her and being her friend ain't one of them. Not even with everything that's happened."

"I will," George said, and repeated Clarice's reply quietly, for Molly's ears only. "Anything else?" George asked.

Clarice sniffled and wiped her eyes. "No, that's it," she said and George saw her face light up, illuminated by a pale blue light.

George turned to look over her shoulder. A glimmering outline of a small house appeared on a deserted part of the beach. Formed of light though it was, it looked...rustic, like something out of Deliverance. The door opened and brilliant light spilled out, dazzling George.

A bulky silhouette stepped into the doorway, blocking most of the light.

"Daddy," Clarice breathed. The figure remained silent, but spread its arms in welcoming gesture.

Clarice tore her eyes away from the figure to look a question at George. George nodded. Clarice threw her arms around George, and George--startled--hugged her in return. "What I said," Clarice whispered, "it goes for you too, you know?"

"I know," George said. "Me too."

Clarice clung to her for a moment longer, then got to her feet. She turned to survey the crowd, walking backward for a few yards, then turned and ran into the arms of the figure looming in the doorway. George got just a glimpse of Clarice--now only a silhouette herself--snatched off her feet and whirled around as the light spilling from the doorway flared, dazzling her eyes again.

When George could see again, she saw only empty stretch of beach again.

Once it was clear that the departed had moved on to the next realm, Molly remained kneeling, her arms rose towards the sky, her face turned to the heavens. She began to sing. Her voice was a rich, clear mezzo-soprano. The acapello song she wove was easily mistaken fro Gaelic or maybe Welsh to anyone who didn’t know either language. It was, in fact, the very beginings of those languages.

“Een gweeth rees-ten-neen
ee fie nar-hahn-nehn
Eel-fear-een nire-ell-mah now-vah ee now-vah
Eel-fear-een nire-ell-mah ool-loo-may noo-coo-vahl-may
Now-vah ee now-vah mell-may nore-ehn see-nah nire-ell-mah”**

Through the song no one spoke, whether from surprise or respect she didn’t know.

She stood up and began singing the much more familiar, “Amazing Grace”. This time she heard voices join in. Some softly, almost timid, other’s more bold, or heartfelt.

Molly hadn’t sung those killed in the crash to the next world, as she had not known them, and it would have been inappropriate. She had softly sung to Lucy, in private. She hadn’t known her very well, but there was a connection.

Duty done, she stepped forward to hug George, who stiffened, evidently unused to someone as physically demonstrative as Molly tended to be. “Thank you again.”

George had a difficult job. There were those… not human, who knew of Reapers and what they did. Out of respect, or sometimes fear, they often outright ignored those handfellows of death. But everyone needed to be appreciated once in a while. To have another person admire a job well done, to be validated.

((** Phonetic. The actual words don't look at all like they're pronounced. ))

It was the singing that did it. Faith turned and made her way away from the group, away from the voices raised in song, swiping at her eyes and cursing the beach sand and the wind the whole time.

She was hard, she was stone, and she. Did. Not. Cry.

The jungle was calling to her.

George's immediate reaction to Molly's hug was to tense up. "Thank you again," Molly said.

"Y-you're welcome," George said, tentatively patting Molly on the back. "I guess."

George glanced up as Hurley approached. His gaze shifted from Molly and George to the bodies and back again. "So, the souls--spirits...whatever--they're gone now?"

"Yeah," George said. She stepped back as Molly released her.

Hurley nodded, looking relieved. "So the bodies are just bodies now?"

"Uh...yeah," George said again.

"Cool."

Lex watched Clarice vanish into...the afterlife, presumably. When George turned around, Lex asked, "So--the afterlife is a tarpaper shack in the Appalachians?"

George smirked. "'No, that is what happens when she dies,'" George said pointing at the deserted beach. "'And that is what happens when they die, and this is what happenes when you die,'" she added, pointing first at the other spirits and then at Lex. "'It's all very personal.'"

"'And I'll tell you something else,'" George said, leaning closer, "'If I knew then what I know now--'"

"'--I wouldn't have had my little accident,'" Lex said in unison with George. The he laughed at her expression. "Beetlejuice," he said. "You need some newer material, Georgia."

"I hate to interrupt this beautiful moment," Weevil said, walking up to join them, "but I want to know: is Veronica okay?"

"Yeah, Veronica's safe," George said. Lex noticed that George said 'safe' but not 'okay.' Weevil didn't, and Lex decided not to mention it. Given that the two of them were dead there wasn't much that they could do for her anyhow.

"I gotta see her," Weevil announced and took off into--through--the crowd.

"Shit," George said, looking after him, then at Lex.

Lex waved her on. "I'll be here. I'm not going anywhere. Not yet."

George was gone for a few minutes. When she returned it was without Weevil in tow. "Didn't find him?" Lex asked.

"I found him. He's gone now," George said.

"Ah," Lex said. "Who next?" He followed George's gaze toward Dr. Crane and Harry. He nodded. "Good point." It took her a while to get Crane and Harry up and moving, but eventually they too departed.

George dealt with Miho next, and then Marshal Mars. Finally it was his turn. Lex and walked down the beach a little ways with George. "I heard about Chloe," he told her. "She's alive but--old."

"Yeah," George said. She looked terribly uncomfortable.

"Nobody seems to know if she'll recover," Lex continued. "If she doesn't, I'm glad to know you'll take care of her. But if she does, would you ask her to carry a message for me?" George nodded. "The message is just this: Tell Clark 'I'm sorry.'"

"Sorry for what?" George asked.

Lex just smiled. "He'll know. Let's get this over with, shall we?"

And then they did.

Dean waited a few moments after Molly headed in George's direction. Then he stood and looked for Sam. He spotted his brother sitting with Faith -- he'd recognize those curves anywhere -- near the water. Dean's shrill whistle carried across the sand. "Yo, Sammy!" He waved in the direction that Molly had taken and followed after her.

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[George] Gang Reap

no subject

[George] You're welcome

[Edward Mars] Whiskey Tango Foxtrot!?

[Molly] Saying goodbye

[Sam] Saying goodbye

[George] Saying Goodbye

[Molly] Sing them to rest...

[Faith] Damn Sand

[George] Thanks, I Guess

[Lex] Saying Goodbye

[Dean] Time for goodbyes