Chapter Text
Life's funny. Death is even funnier. A dead birthday girl all alone on her birthday. It's her day off from work. She didn't tell Delores about her birthday. She didn't want her to make a big deal about it.
George walked into the Waffle House. A replacement for Der Waffle Haus. It's all crispy ashes now. Death is a real peach and a half. She had the post-it notes in her purse.
All collected from that day when they rained down on her from the heavens. It took her forever to pick them all up. Pricks. George figured it must've been Rube. One last goodbye. She imagined he'd say it's all you now, peanut. You're the boss. Good luck.
George wanted to puke. She really was fucked. It didn't feel the same without him there to call her peanut and tell her what she needed to hear. How could she replace Rube? She's a fuck-up. She's fucked up more times than she count.
She was the bane of Rube's existence. George didn't understand. It made no sense. She could never be Rube. He always knew what to say, even when it pissed them off. He said the hard truths no one wanted to hear and sent them on their way.
Now it's her birthday and she felt like dying. Too bad she already did. George watched them for a moment. Roxy ate her waffles with a coffee. Daisy was checking her makeup with a pocket mirror and leisurely sipping coffee.
Mason was chowing down on bacon and a load of waffles. Mason, Mason, Mason. George slid into the booth and pulled out three post-it notes. She handed them out and then stole a piece of bacon from Mason's plate. He protested, of course.
"Hey! You stole my bacon. She stole my fucking bacon," Mason shouted.
"Just because you're the boss now doesn't mean you can steal my bacon." Mason snapped. George gave a teasing smile.
"Actually, that's exactly what it means. Suck it up."
Mason grumbled curses and obscenities through a mouthful of waffles. He snatched the post-it note and shoved it into his pocket.
"Alright, children. Calm down," Roxy took a look at hers.
"Pier 54, Ye Olde Curiosity Shop at 11:00 a.m. That's a new one. I never stepped foot in that store. Always creeped me out."
"Death gave you another chance to check out mummified bodies." George sarcastically replied. She gave the waitress her order and waited. Daisy took a look at hers.
"Ah, The Butcher's Table, Westlake Avenue at 12:00 p.m. I bet it's a real slice and dice."
Mason wiped his mouth and pulled out his own post it-note.
"Baraka Gems, Greenwood Avenue at 5:04 p.m. Huh. No idea. Robbery?"
"Choking hazard." George said. Mason pointed at George.
"What's yours, George?"
George slipped out her note and read it.
"The Pink Door at 6:12 p.m."
Daisy gasped.
"Oh, I know that place! It's that fancy restaurant on Post Alley. You're so lucky, George." She exclaimed. George rolled her eyes.
"Great. I can't wait to eat caviar while someone dies." She replied. Daisy waved her sarcasm away.
"You just don't appreciate fine dining. It's a wonderful place. I did a movie there, you know."
Mason interjected with a grin.
"Mine's right before yours, George. We should team up."
George looked at him with an amused smile.
"Sure, Mason."
"It's a deal then." Mason said.
Mason stuck out his hand. George shook it. It felt warm. George ignored the way her heart skipped. Ever since, Mason kissed her the first time years ago, she'd been trying to squash the butterflies in her stomach. She was doing a pretty good job till he drunkenly kissed her again recently.
The second time, he thought she was someone else. George wasn't sure what possessed him to kiss her the first time. She thought he was high or drunk. He told her he loved her. He hasn't said it again since, but it lingered in her mind. No one's ever loved her before.
Her family loved her reluctantly despite her many flaws but this felt different. It felt strange. George pushed her thoughts away and ate her food. After a while, everyone else left. Only George and Mason were left. Mason interrupted the comfortable silence.
"What's wrong, George? You've barely touched your grits."
George looked up from her plate. Should she tell him? Is it even worth it? Ah, fuck it. It doesn't even matter.
"It's my birthday."
George was born on April 21st, 1985. She thought about her old birthday parties. When she was five, her mom tried to bake her a cake. It came out lumpy and burnt. George cried and called her the worst mom ever. When she was ten, her mom bought her an easy bake oven.
George accidentally burned the cookies. Like mother like daughter. George rarely said thank you for anything her parents did. She saw no point in it. It was just a birthday. She never appreciated them. She never kept the cards her family gave her.
When Reggie made her gifts, she threw them away or threw them in her closet. She thought they were stupid. She only wanted shiny things or pretty things. George will always regret the way she treated them. She was cruel and immature.
A dumb kid. George wants to believe she would've grown up eventually. The cynical part of her thinks she would've been selfish and mean forever. George realized Mason was pinching her cheek. She slapped his hand away. Mason just grinned from ear to ear.
"So how old are you now plus death years? Forty?"
George lightly punched him on the arm. Mason whined and rubbed his arm.
"No, idiot. Twenty-three."
Mason chuckled.
"So you're upset and a little punch-happy."
George nodded with a frown. Mason slapped his hands together. She jumped.
"Right, well then. Let's go have some fun."
George furrowed her eyebrows.
"What do you mean?"
Mason grabbed her wrist and showed her the watch on her wrist.
"We have so much time, Georgie. Why waste it? I say we have some fun till death comes to collect. Come on, birthday girl."
Mason got up to leave. He slapped four twenties on the table and strode to the door. George was dumbfounded but she stood up to follow. Mason held the door open for her.
"Milady." He gestured with a flourish. George rolled her eyes. This could be fun. Maybe.