Fic: Picture Perfect, Part One
Title: Picture Perfect
Author: lauralunatic
Characters: Mason and an OC mostly.
Rating/Words: PG-13/856 words.
Disclaimer: I do not own Dead Like Me and it does not own me. What a deal.
Summary: What would happen if one of the reapers really fell in love with
someone who was really alive? MasonOC. Please R&R!
"Excuse me?"
Mason was the only reaper left at Der Waffle Haus, as he did not have a job and his reap wasn't until close to midnight. Plus, he didn't have any money to pay for his meal.
The woman standing before him was about his age, or what age he appeared to be, give or take a few years. She was short, only about 5'2", with pale skin and shoulder-length auburn hair. She wore an off-the-shoulder green tee over a yellow tank top, baggy jeans, royal blue Chucks, and no make-up. She was cute, but certainly not his type. Not that he was supposed to have a type.
"Yes?" he said, leaning back in his seat and looking up at the woman expectantly, somewhat curious as to what she wanted. And why she looked so nervous.
"I was just wondering. Can I...can I sketch you?" She asked hesitantly, holding out the sketchpad she was holding.
Mason blinked. She wanted to sketch him? "Why?"
The woman reddened at the question. "Well...IsawthatyouweresittinginherebyyourselfandIcouldusethepractice, so..."
Somehow, Mason managed to catch all that and think of a witty comeback. "How do you know I'm not waiting for someone?"
Okay, maybe not witty. But still.
The woman's mouth formed an "O" and she took a step back. "Oh, you're waiting for someone? I'm sorry. I-"
Mason laughed. "It's alright. I'm not waiting on anyone. Have a seat. You can sketch me." It's not like it's going to look like the real me, anyway, Mason couldn't help but think.
The woman quickly slid into seat across from him and tilted her pad so that he would not be able to see what she what she was drawing.
"What? I don't get to see?" Mason asked jokingly.
"When I'm done," the woman said patiently as she began to draw, glancing up at Mason every few minutes.
Mason sat up straight, his shoulders back. When the woman glanced up again, she looked at him inquisitively, as if to say, 'What the hell are you doing?'
"I don't have to sit still or anything, do I?"
The woman shook her head. "You're fine."
They sat in silence for a few moments before Mason, never one for silence, spoke. "So...you're an artist?"
"Part-time."
"And what do you do the other half of the time?"
"I'm an anthropologist, currently working for the University of Washington. And what do you do?"
Mason chuckled to himself, thinking of what she would say if he told her what he really did for a living. "I work at Happy Time." He couldn't help but think how lame that sounded juxtaposed to an artist or surgical intern. But if the woman who held both of these jobs thought so, she didn't show it. "Oh, really? I went there about seven years ago to look for a job to help me pay for college. Is Delores Herbig, as in 'her big brown eyes', still there?"
Mason grinned, thinking of George. "You bet."
"Oh, I'm sorry. I only set with her for about twenty minutes and I thought she was pretty scary. I can't imagine having to work with her."
Mason cleared his throat, wanting to get away from this subject. "How long is that going to take?"
"What? Oh, the sketch. Why? It's not like you're going anywhere..."
Mason raised an eyebrow. "And how would you know that?"
"Well, you don't plan on leaving without paying, do you?"
Mason stared at her. Did she know that he didn't have any money? How was that possible? "No..."
"Right. So you're going to wait for one of your friends to get here, which probably won't be until closer to dinnertime. I'll be done by then."
"How do you know I have friends?"
She shrugged. "I come here a lot."
"I've never seen you before."
"Maybe you just weren't paying attention."
"Ah. So if you knew I came here with friends, why did you come over and shyly ask if I was waiting for someone?"
"I figured you'd be more likely to let me draw you if you thought I was a shy little girl as opposed to a sarcastic bitch."
Before Mason could say anything else, the woman slapped the portrait down in front of him, a $10 bill covering the face. In the corner, she had signed her name: Melanie Walker. Mel.
When he picked up the bill, about to thank Mel for breakfast, he noticed the face she had drawn and his jaw dropped. It was not of the doppelgänger he was expecting, but of the image he had shown to the world when he had been alive.
He looked up, a question on his lips.
Melanie was gone.
Author: lauralunatic
Characters: Mason and an OC mostly.
Rating/Words: PG-13/856 words.
Disclaimer: I do not own Dead Like Me and it does not own me. What a deal.
Summary: What would happen if one of the reapers really fell in love with
someone who was really alive? MasonOC. Please R&R!
"Excuse me?"
Mason was the only reaper left at Der Waffle Haus, as he did not have a job and his reap wasn't until close to midnight. Plus, he didn't have any money to pay for his meal.
The woman standing before him was about his age, or what age he appeared to be, give or take a few years. She was short, only about 5'2", with pale skin and shoulder-length auburn hair. She wore an off-the-shoulder green tee over a yellow tank top, baggy jeans, royal blue Chucks, and no make-up. She was cute, but certainly not his type. Not that he was supposed to have a type.
"Yes?" he said, leaning back in his seat and looking up at the woman expectantly, somewhat curious as to what she wanted. And why she looked so nervous.
"I was just wondering. Can I...can I sketch you?" She asked hesitantly, holding out the sketchpad she was holding.
Mason blinked. She wanted to sketch him? "Why?"
The woman reddened at the question. "Well...IsawthatyouweresittinginherebyyourselfandIcouldusethepractice, so..."
Somehow, Mason managed to catch all that and think of a witty comeback. "How do you know I'm not waiting for someone?"
Okay, maybe not witty. But still.
The woman's mouth formed an "O" and she took a step back. "Oh, you're waiting for someone? I'm sorry. I-"
Mason laughed. "It's alright. I'm not waiting on anyone. Have a seat. You can sketch me." It's not like it's going to look like the real me, anyway, Mason couldn't help but think.
The woman quickly slid into seat across from him and tilted her pad so that he would not be able to see what she what she was drawing.
"What? I don't get to see?" Mason asked jokingly.
"When I'm done," the woman said patiently as she began to draw, glancing up at Mason every few minutes.
Mason sat up straight, his shoulders back. When the woman glanced up again, she looked at him inquisitively, as if to say, 'What the hell are you doing?'
"I don't have to sit still or anything, do I?"
The woman shook her head. "You're fine."
They sat in silence for a few moments before Mason, never one for silence, spoke. "So...you're an artist?"
"Part-time."
"And what do you do the other half of the time?"
"I'm an anthropologist, currently working for the University of Washington. And what do you do?"
Mason chuckled to himself, thinking of what she would say if he told her what he really did for a living. "I work at Happy Time." He couldn't help but think how lame that sounded juxtaposed to an artist or surgical intern. But if the woman who held both of these jobs thought so, she didn't show it. "Oh, really? I went there about seven years ago to look for a job to help me pay for college. Is Delores Herbig, as in 'her big brown eyes', still there?"
Mason grinned, thinking of George. "You bet."
"Oh, I'm sorry. I only set with her for about twenty minutes and I thought she was pretty scary. I can't imagine having to work with her."
Mason cleared his throat, wanting to get away from this subject. "How long is that going to take?"
"What? Oh, the sketch. Why? It's not like you're going anywhere..."
Mason raised an eyebrow. "And how would you know that?"
"Well, you don't plan on leaving without paying, do you?"
Mason stared at her. Did she know that he didn't have any money? How was that possible? "No..."
"Right. So you're going to wait for one of your friends to get here, which probably won't be until closer to dinnertime. I'll be done by then."
"How do you know I have friends?"
She shrugged. "I come here a lot."
"I've never seen you before."
"Maybe you just weren't paying attention."
"Ah. So if you knew I came here with friends, why did you come over and shyly ask if I was waiting for someone?"
"I figured you'd be more likely to let me draw you if you thought I was a shy little girl as opposed to a sarcastic bitch."
Before Mason could say anything else, the woman slapped the portrait down in front of him, a $10 bill covering the face. In the corner, she had signed her name: Melanie Walker. Mel.
When he picked up the bill, about to thank Mel for breakfast, he noticed the face she had drawn and his jaw dropped. It was not of the doppelgänger he was expecting, but of the image he had shown to the world when he had been alive.
He looked up, a question on his lips.
Melanie was gone.