dS/ Dead Like Me - Modern Life is Rubbish
I said: I see the inability to write when I want as a kind of mental constipation.
serialkarma said: The world does not have enough Due South/Dead Like Me crossovers, in which George runs into Dead Bob and leaves feeling thoroughly confused and disgruntled...
This is bran.
due South/Dead Like Me
Modern Life is Rubbish
When George said she wanted a vacation, Chicago wasn’t quite what she had in mind, but then Rube said she should be grateful that Happy Time was willing to let her have time off; and Mason complained that Rube never sent him anywhere. Daisy started going on about being in Chicago during the great jazz era and being there when Velma Kelly killed her husband and her sister, and George just tuned the whole thing out, because didn’t Chicago have reapers of its own?
George was placing her breakfast order when Rube explained about the rotating holiday schedule, and Roxy had cop training for whatever cops trained for, and then George was on this plane to Chicago to reap this one person: A Hanrahan of 148 Walnut Park who didn’t even have the decency to be where he was supposed to be, when he was supposed to be there. Instead there were just these two older guys sniping at each other like George’s parents; and then Rube called and said that she had the wrong post-it, and she’d have to hang around another day or two, which was odd because Rube never gave anyone the wrong post-it.
Now she was sitting on a park bench in the middle of Chicago with no around and no one to reap, and she could’ve been at home doing stuff.
Not that George had 'stuff' but that wasn't the point.
If life sucked, Undead life sucked more.
"Do you mind if I sit here?"
"Jesus!"
Correction: there had been nobody around; George knew because she looked, but now here was this old guy with white hair and a strange hat, dressed up like the Nutcracker.
“He was a really unreliable kind of son, wasn’t he? Jesus Christ?,” the old man said, sitting down when George shrugged. “He went around preaching and leaving his mother at home; I raised my son better than that. Yes, my Benton, he’s a good boy. Not too bright sometimes - do you know he’s living with a Yankee now? Blond hair. Spiky. Very temperamental.”
George shook her head and stared. There was this guy in this bizzare get-up next to her, talking about his son, and what did any of this have to do with Jesus?
Why did the wackos always know how to find her?
“Um.”
“Don’t say ‘um’, dear, it’s the clearest sign of a vacant mind.”
“Yeah, sure, I’m just going to go now.”
“So soon? But you just arrived.”
George looked at the lake and then back at the old man. He looked really old. At least sixty. Old and not quite-sleazy, but still weird and talking to her. Yuck. “Yeah, well - hey, how did you know I just arrived? Have you been watching me? Okay, that’s just really creepy.”
“What else is there for the dead to do but watch? Well, that and paperwork, but I hate paperwork. All those forms.”
George looked to her right and then to her left.
This had to be a test. Rube was testing her. She hated Rube sometimes, even when he called her ‘Peanut.’ “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said.
“Dead,” the old man said, banging on the park bench, making George jump. “Dead as a door nail or a plank of wood or a herd of caribou in hunting season.”
George thought very hard for a moment. “You think you’re dead?”
“No, I am dead,” the man corrected. “I’ve been dead for about five years now.”
“Okay, if you’re dead, then why are you talking to me?”
“Because you can see me.”
This was not good. This was crazy. This had to be a test. "Except you’re dead," George repeated. “You’re really dead.”
"You're a very astute young lady. Is there anything else you'd like to tell me?"
"No, I mean, like, really, are you supposed to be dead?"
“I was murdered by Gerrard.”
If George were alive, she was pretty sure her palms would be sweating and her heart racing. This guy was a nut job dressed up like Santa, except without the beard.
“Do you want to see the bullet?”
“What? No! No, if you’re dead, then…”
“Unfinished sentences at such a young age?” The old man pulled on orange out of one of his many pockets and began to peel it. "Think about it for a moment -- if I’m dead and you can see me, what does that say about you?"
"It says that I'm a reaper, of course I see dead people, and you -- you buster, you are supposed to be dead. That means done. Adios. Vamos."
"Dead, dear, but not gone."
"Noooooooo. You're supposed to go wherever the dead people go, you can't be here, you're messing up the system. Rube'll kill me if he finds out. He didn’t even give me the right post-it, and now I’ve got random dead people following me. I hate Chicago."
“I know, it’s not the Yukon is it?”
“What?”
“Nothing,” the old man made a dismissive wave of his head. “Orange?”
George slumped against the back of the bench. This afterlife sucked. “No thanks,” she said. “So, seriously, if you’re dead, why are you here?”
“Why are any of us here?” the old man asked with a smile.
George frowned. “Because Rube said that I needed a vacation.”
The old man looked at her for a long time; it was really unsettling. "You don't by any chance mean Ruben do you? Dark haired man, a little on the sarcastic side, could perhaps use a bit of an attitude adjustment? Been dead for ages?"
"You know Rube?" she asked.
"A fine man if ever there was one." The old man ate a slice of the orange.
"You have to tell me about Rube, does he even have a last name?"
"Now now, you know what they said about curiosity."
"I'm already dead, it's a little bit late for that!"
The old man ate another slice of his orange. “You’re not dead, dear, you’re Undead. There’s a difference.”
George opened and closed her mouth once, twice, and then sighed.
“I know the feeling,” the man said, slipping the orange peel into one of his innumerable pockets. His uniform looked really complicated. It had strings and leather, and only George could attract the attention of a geriatric guy into S&M.
Her head hurt, and the guy was still talking.
“I remember dying and wondering if this was it. If this was the big fuss. No white lights, no angels, no all-night sledding. It was a big disappointment, I can tell you. But you have to look at it in the right light -- think of being undead as your chance to finish up your unfinished business.”
George picked up a lock of her hair and studied the split ends. “I got killed by a toilet seat from space.”
The man glanced at her out the corner of his eye. “That’s - that’s unfortunate.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
“This is your second chance, George, appreciate it.”
George blinked.
This wasn’t a test.
How did this guy know her name anyway?
“How did -“ George’s words fell away as she realized she was alone.
The man was gone, if he had ever been there at all.
She looked around just to make sure, but the only company she had in the park now was a tall dark-haired man in flannel walking a husky-looking dog. Shaking her head, George got up off the bench and stretched. She needed to call Rube and find out what was going on; this afterlife sucked, but it was all she had.
-end-
Beta by serialkarma. Remaining snafus by me. Title kindly provided by Blur.
serialkarma said: The world does not have enough Due South/Dead Like Me crossovers, in which George runs into Dead Bob and leaves feeling thoroughly confused and disgruntled...
This is bran.
due South/Dead Like Me
Modern Life is Rubbish
When George said she wanted a vacation, Chicago wasn’t quite what she had in mind, but then Rube said she should be grateful that Happy Time was willing to let her have time off; and Mason complained that Rube never sent him anywhere. Daisy started going on about being in Chicago during the great jazz era and being there when Velma Kelly killed her husband and her sister, and George just tuned the whole thing out, because didn’t Chicago have reapers of its own?
George was placing her breakfast order when Rube explained about the rotating holiday schedule, and Roxy had cop training for whatever cops trained for, and then George was on this plane to Chicago to reap this one person: A Hanrahan of 148 Walnut Park who didn’t even have the decency to be where he was supposed to be, when he was supposed to be there. Instead there were just these two older guys sniping at each other like George’s parents; and then Rube called and said that she had the wrong post-it, and she’d have to hang around another day or two, which was odd because Rube never gave anyone the wrong post-it.
Now she was sitting on a park bench in the middle of Chicago with no around and no one to reap, and she could’ve been at home doing stuff.
Not that George had 'stuff' but that wasn't the point.
If life sucked, Undead life sucked more.
"Do you mind if I sit here?"
"Jesus!"
Correction: there had been nobody around; George knew because she looked, but now here was this old guy with white hair and a strange hat, dressed up like the Nutcracker.
“He was a really unreliable kind of son, wasn’t he? Jesus Christ?,” the old man said, sitting down when George shrugged. “He went around preaching and leaving his mother at home; I raised my son better than that. Yes, my Benton, he’s a good boy. Not too bright sometimes - do you know he’s living with a Yankee now? Blond hair. Spiky. Very temperamental.”
George shook her head and stared. There was this guy in this bizzare get-up next to her, talking about his son, and what did any of this have to do with Jesus?
Why did the wackos always know how to find her?
“Um.”
“Don’t say ‘um’, dear, it’s the clearest sign of a vacant mind.”
“Yeah, sure, I’m just going to go now.”
“So soon? But you just arrived.”
George looked at the lake and then back at the old man. He looked really old. At least sixty. Old and not quite-sleazy, but still weird and talking to her. Yuck. “Yeah, well - hey, how did you know I just arrived? Have you been watching me? Okay, that’s just really creepy.”
“What else is there for the dead to do but watch? Well, that and paperwork, but I hate paperwork. All those forms.”
George looked to her right and then to her left.
This had to be a test. Rube was testing her. She hated Rube sometimes, even when he called her ‘Peanut.’ “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said.
“Dead,” the old man said, banging on the park bench, making George jump. “Dead as a door nail or a plank of wood or a herd of caribou in hunting season.”
George thought very hard for a moment. “You think you’re dead?”
“No, I am dead,” the man corrected. “I’ve been dead for about five years now.”
“Okay, if you’re dead, then why are you talking to me?”
“Because you can see me.”
This was not good. This was crazy. This had to be a test. "Except you’re dead," George repeated. “You’re really dead.”
"You're a very astute young lady. Is there anything else you'd like to tell me?"
"No, I mean, like, really, are you supposed to be dead?"
“I was murdered by Gerrard.”
If George were alive, she was pretty sure her palms would be sweating and her heart racing. This guy was a nut job dressed up like Santa, except without the beard.
“Do you want to see the bullet?”
“What? No! No, if you’re dead, then…”
“Unfinished sentences at such a young age?” The old man pulled on orange out of one of his many pockets and began to peel it. "Think about it for a moment -- if I’m dead and you can see me, what does that say about you?"
"It says that I'm a reaper, of course I see dead people, and you -- you buster, you are supposed to be dead. That means done. Adios. Vamos."
"Dead, dear, but not gone."
"Noooooooo. You're supposed to go wherever the dead people go, you can't be here, you're messing up the system. Rube'll kill me if he finds out. He didn’t even give me the right post-it, and now I’ve got random dead people following me. I hate Chicago."
“I know, it’s not the Yukon is it?”
“What?”
“Nothing,” the old man made a dismissive wave of his head. “Orange?”
George slumped against the back of the bench. This afterlife sucked. “No thanks,” she said. “So, seriously, if you’re dead, why are you here?”
“Why are any of us here?” the old man asked with a smile.
George frowned. “Because Rube said that I needed a vacation.”
The old man looked at her for a long time; it was really unsettling. "You don't by any chance mean Ruben do you? Dark haired man, a little on the sarcastic side, could perhaps use a bit of an attitude adjustment? Been dead for ages?"
"You know Rube?" she asked.
"A fine man if ever there was one." The old man ate a slice of the orange.
"You have to tell me about Rube, does he even have a last name?"
"Now now, you know what they said about curiosity."
"I'm already dead, it's a little bit late for that!"
The old man ate another slice of his orange. “You’re not dead, dear, you’re Undead. There’s a difference.”
George opened and closed her mouth once, twice, and then sighed.
“I know the feeling,” the man said, slipping the orange peel into one of his innumerable pockets. His uniform looked really complicated. It had strings and leather, and only George could attract the attention of a geriatric guy into S&M.
Her head hurt, and the guy was still talking.
“I remember dying and wondering if this was it. If this was the big fuss. No white lights, no angels, no all-night sledding. It was a big disappointment, I can tell you. But you have to look at it in the right light -- think of being undead as your chance to finish up your unfinished business.”
George picked up a lock of her hair and studied the split ends. “I got killed by a toilet seat from space.”
The man glanced at her out the corner of his eye. “That’s - that’s unfortunate.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
“This is your second chance, George, appreciate it.”
George blinked.
This wasn’t a test.
How did this guy know her name anyway?
“How did -“ George’s words fell away as she realized she was alone.
The man was gone, if he had ever been there at all.
She looked around just to make sure, but the only company she had in the park now was a tall dark-haired man in flannel walking a husky-looking dog. Shaking her head, George got up off the bench and stretched. She needed to call Rube and find out what was going on; this afterlife sucked, but it was all she had.
-end-
Beta by serialkarma. Remaining snafus by me. Title kindly provided by Blur.