Post-It: ETD 00:02am

[maced_eggs]

[Sitting in someone else's cabin wearing someone else's stolen leather pants is Mason, playing with a stolen mess hall fork. Either he can't remember where he lives or he just straight up has difficulty caring]

So wait.



I'm a pris'ner.


But I don't have to work.

And I get free food and my own bed.

And no one's fuckin' yelling at me to pay rent. An' I'm basically on a cruise line with a spa and a pool and pretty girls.


Honestly, I'm struggling to find a downside. Isreally hard.

Comments

[routemistress]

Oh, I won't tell, petal. Soul of discretion, that's me.

[Which, when it comes to other people's secrets, is true more often than not.

She shivers a little, though, when he describes his work.]

Day after day, death after death, and not ever one you can fix or prevent? Aye. That sounds like the shite end of the stick to me, all right, sweetheart.

Well, no problem. You don't 'ave to go back to it.

[maced_eggs]

No interfering. Thassa rule, hard line. You can't prevent death from happening. All you can do is 'ease their passing.' So you go in, you nab their soul just before they bite it, an' that way they don't feel any pain, right?

But it's fuckin' hard sometimes. It's fucking hard watching it happen. You'd think you'd get used to it but all you end up doing is drinking more.

[Speaking of drinking more, Mason takes another generous gulp from the bottle, his face flushed]

'Course I have to go back to it. I've been reaping since 1966. There's no option left, Iris love. It's what happens when you die.

[routemistress]

Oh lovey. I'm a time traveller. I know all about the no interfering rule.

[She leans across tto drape a companionable arm across his shoulder; this is genuine affection, but it's also a feint to distract him so she can nab the gin bottle with her other hand.

What, she wants some more.]

I mean, you can, sometimes. If you're very very clever - and I, Mason, am stunningly clever - but most of the time, anything that's 'appened 'as to stay 'appened. Spacetime unravels on you, otherwise. And then you've got a right old mess on your 'ands.

[She lifts the bottle in a toast and takes a deep swallow of her own.]

Nope. Not if you graduate, you don't. That's a rule 'ere.

[maced_eggs]

[Easily susceptible to women with their arms around him, Mason barely notices it when the bottle's taken away. He goes back to his peanuts, staring at Iris through red-rimmed eyes]

You can't. You really, really can't. You'd break death. Reapers need to be there to take souls. Isswhat lets you go on to the next life. Instead of trapping your soul inside you.

An' I...have to do it. Until whoever the fuck says otherwise. The Admiral, maybe. I dunno.

[routemistress]

Dirty job, but someone's got to do it.

[He really is adorable. And venial shallowness aside, it clearly does bother him; it would bother anyone with a vestige of empathy. Iris pulls him closer.]

Well you're stuck 'ere for the foreseeable, my darling. So they can just find some other mug, can't they?

[maced_eggs]

[It is nice, sitting in someone else's arms. Mason does not usually get much comfort these days due to the smell and the petty larceny and the taking advantage of other people's generosity, but here he's new enough where he can enjoy it, letting Iris direct him every which way like a rudderless toy boat]

Yeah. Yeah, I'm replaceable. All reapers are, all they do is just transfer you around or get some new, recently dead one to do it.

I've been doin' it forty fuckin' years. I don't want to do it no more.