Log; ongoing

[written-rancor.livejournal.com]

When; September 29th, evening.
Rating; TBA
Characters; Mort written_rancor and George reaping_havoc.
Summary; In which a writer mooches off of has dinner with a reaper. Yeah, this is really going to turn out well.
Log;

The Fountain seemed to be one of the more talked about, frequented places in the City, so it wasn't very hard for Mort to find it.

That and it's kinda impossible to miss. Hello huge, mysterious landmark.

Frowning slightly, he took the cigarette that he previously had been smoking whilst on his way to the Fountain and crushed it underfoot before scanning his surroundings.

"George?"

Comments

[reaping-havoc.livejournal.com]

George turned at the sound of her name, poking her head out from clear on the other side of the fountain. Why the hell was she doing this? She wasn't the one to normally stretch out a hand and offer to be social, for crying out loud. But there'd been something about the pathetic nature of this guy's begging for food that had clearly reminded George of Mason and his own woeful self. And hadn't George just been going off on the importance of making a home and feeling safe? One meal, even if it was out of her own pocket, would probably keep the guy from starving. And wasn't he a writer? How much money could he possibly even make?

Plus....His name was Mort. That had to be some fucking sign.

She walked around the edge of the fountain, stopping a few feet away.

"Over here, genius."

[written-rancor.livejournal.com]

He raised his head. "Oh. Hey. Didn't see you there."

Don't sound too guilty, Mr. Rainey. You're only bumming dinner off of some already hostile kid. Sure you'll pay her back, but you've succeeded in coming across as a total dick. Wonderful first impression. Still hungry?

Grimacing, he shook his head, feeling a migraine coming on.

[reaping-havoc.livejournal.com]

"Figured you didn't" George hopped down from the fountain's edge and observed Mort curiously.

"Soooo....Morty. I'm just letting you know right here that this isn't going to become a regular thing between us. I mean, you could be a psychopath, and there I'd be, just inviting you to meals all the time. Are you hungry? I'm hungry, let's go."

And with that, George turned and headed towards the nearest diner. Withhold the love. That's what Mason said. Withhold the love, and get people to follow you anywhere.

[written-rancor.livejournal.com]

Yeah, because I obviously look like a Grade A nutjob. Jesus Christ.

He shrugged and followed her, decided to keep all unnecessary sarcasm to himself. That would be a bit hard; sarcasm and Mort Rainey went together like peanut butter and jelly, though in a situation like this, you just didn't bite the hand that feeds you. Literally.

[reaping-havoc.livejournal.com]

George walked along the city streets, ignoring and brushing by the citizens of varying shapes, sizes, and species.

"So how long've you been here, Morty?" A dumb, simple question, but at the moment George couldn't think of any better.

[written-rancor.livejournal.com]

"Six days, give or take," Mort answered, hands in his pockets. He looked up, seemingly contemplating the sky.

"What about you? How'd you find yourself here?"

[reaping-havoc.livejournal.com]

"Fuck if I know. I fell asleep at our table in Der Waffle Haus, and woke up on a bench being harassed by Saya and Pup. Thought somebody had moved me outside."

Upon reaching the door to the diner, George pulled it wide, holding it open for Mort. She'd picked this establishment after coming here several times previously with Arion to partake of their delicious coffee, and felt it up to par with her expectations. It wasn't home, but it was close.

[written-rancor.livejournal.com]

"Talk about a rude awakening, huh?" He commented glumly as he entered the diner with George. Surveying the restaurant, he found himself mildly surprised at how similar it was to the one back in Tashmore.

[reaping-havoc.livejournal.com]

"It sucked, I'll tell you that much." George glanced around, seized upon a table further from the other patrons, and dropped into the booth with little grace and fewer poise. She picked up a menu and opened it, already knowing what she wanted to eat but simply for the comfort of looking down all the rows at the foods and their respective prices.

"Eat what you want, but I'm gonna tell you right now, I'm not some all-you-can-eat buffet, Morty. My kindness has its limits" she declared from behind the menu.

[written-rancor.livejournal.com]

"Oh, I think we all do," He drawled once he had ordered his "dinner": a cup of coffee and some toast. With cherry jam.

[reaping-havoc.livejournal.com]

George looked up, setting down her menu, addressing the waitress curtly.

"I would liiiike....the Breakfast special, three stacked blueberry pancakes with butter, jam, and please don't skimp on the syrup, my eggs fried, two, peppered and on either side of the pancakes, a blueberry muffin; just the top, and extra extra extra crispy bacon"

Smiling, she grinned back to Mort, leaning back. "What?"

[written-rancor.livejournal.com]

He smirked, sitting back. "You sure you don't want a light salad to go along with that?" He asked, innocently.

[reaping-havoc.livejournal.com]

"Fuck no. What've I got to worry about? Life is no longer just for the living" George declared, playing with one of her gloves.

"So where're you living now, Morty?"

[written-rancor.livejournal.com]

"Around," Mort responded slowly, almost absentmindedly. "Building Six, if that's what it's called."

If he could have it his way, he'd be living completely alone, away from any of these weirdos. That was part of the reason why he moved to Tashmore back at--

At home.

"And you?"

[reaping-havoc.livejournal.com]

"Some shack out by the beach with a cute hippie surfer guy. It's not so bad." George idly pulled over the salt and pepper shakers, making them do a complicated little dance with each other.

"Any family?"

[written-rancor.livejournal.com]

"Wife."

[reaping-havoc.livejournal.com]

George didn't even look up from the condiment tango.

"Miss her?"

[written-rancor.livejournal.com]

"We've been separated for six months," He spoke frankly about this as though they were talking about the weather.

[reaping-havoc.livejournal.com]

"Didn't ask that. Asked if you missed her." George picked up a napkin to add to the salt shaker's costume

[written-rancor.livejournal.com]

"Why would I?"

[reaping-havoc.livejournal.com]

"I don't know. Jesus. Some people when they make a big committment and then separate might miss their significant other? Fuck if I know. I never got married."

[written-rancor.livejournal.com]

"I don't miss her," Mort said at length, trying not to appear more uncomfortable than he already was. "She's happier now, anyway."

There was a trace of bitterness tinged with the forced apathy of his tone.