Title: "Burnt Sienna"
Fandom: "Dead Like Me"
Rating/Classification: PG-13, first person. George/Mason-ish, ficlet.
Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own her.
Summary: A short filler bit for the fourth episode.
Mason is not the sharpest crayon in the box. Really, anyone who smuggles coke or heroin into the country via their ASS and then proceeds to spend a week as high as a kite, and throwing up all over himself, can't possibly be a towering mental giant.
But he thinks I'm "marvelous". *Maaarvelous*, even.
And he's really, unfortunately, cute.
So, the mental deficiency can be overlooked.
As Rube keeps trying to drive into my skull, Reapers can't be choosers.
He makes me want to sigh and I'm not sure whether it's one of my mother's "I'm so disappointed in you, Georgia" sighs or the kind of heaving-breast sighs that chicks emit in romance novels.
It's not even like I have *time* to think about romance. Between my oh-so fulfilling hours at Happy Time, causing a hundred-or-so people to get fried to a crisp, pissing off Rube, and beating gravelings with a broom, my schedule is pretty full. Actually, pissing off Rube might just be my primary occupation these days. So thinking about Mason...when I'm not propping him up in doorways or watching him commit some sort of minor felony, usually only happens around 5:58 in the morning.
That's when I get a minute or two to groan about the fact that the most interesting--okay, albeit completely INSANE-- guy I've ever met in my life... I didn't even meet IN my life. About the fact that I eat more waffles now than I can ever remember eating before and it's usually while I'm slouched in a booth and whacking my feet into his sneakers.
Let's face it. Anyone who thinks I'm any kind of hot shit...much less "marvelous"...can't possibly be a prize. The drugs-in-ass thing notwithstanding. But, then again, since I now look like a crackwhore, we might just be a match made in Heaven. Er...limbo. German waffle houses.
He's really, unfortunately, cute.
And I don't have the time to dwell on it.
Because at 6:00, my alarm goes off and I get up to start another day.
My mental deficiency...? Can't be overlooked.
July 18, 2003.