Not Quite Dead Like Me
Summary: Mason’s reap doesn’t go according to plan.
Disclaimer: Oz and related references were created by Joss Whedon. Dead Like Me was created by Bryan Fuller. Charmed is part of the Spelling empire.
“When the question, ‘which came first, the chicken or the egg?’ is asked, it’s implied that eggs have to come from chickens, but there’s really no reason to assume that.” Rube mused as he cut up his eggs, over-easy-not-too-runny-with-a-side-of-ham.
“Why wouldn’t you be talking about chickens?” George poked at her oatmeal, wondering why she bothered ordering it in the first place.
“Well, peanut, it’s a question about evolution, and clearly the chicken had to come from something which laid its own eggs. In which case, clearly eggs came first.” Rube answered before taking another bite. “Hmm, still a bit on the runny side.”
“Unless you think that God created chickens. Then they don’t have to come from anything.” Roxy countered with her no-nonsense glare, daring anyone to contradict her.
“Touche.” Rube acknowledged his second-in-command with a fork salute.
“That makes no sense. If God made chickens, he would make eggs at the same time. Who cares what came first?” Daisy punctuated her comment by daintily wiping her mouth with the paper napkin.
Mason slid into the booth, forcing George and Daisy to slide over. “Did I miss anything?” He whispered to George.
“Rube’s obsessing about his eggs again.” She answered.
“You’re late.” Rube added.
“Good, I didn’t miss anything.” Mason reached over George’s bowl to grab a grape off Daisy’s plate.
“Hey, I was going to eat that! Well, probably not, but still.” Daisy protested.
“Now that we’re all here, we should get started. Roxy.” He handed a post-it note to the cop, who took a single glance at the time and address before slapping her tip on the table and taking off for work.
“Daisy.” He handed the blonde a post-it note. “Don’t get distracted on that one.”
“Ooh, is this by new mall in Oakdale? You know, I’ve been thinking we could really do with some new throw pillows, because our current ones just aren’t very good.”
“We don’t have any throw pillows.” George glanced at her deceptively vapid roommate.
“My point exactly.”
“Peanut.” Rube passed the youngest reaper a yellow post-it note. George looked at the time and address. “I suppose I can take an early lunch break.”
“That’s the spirit.” Rube commented. “And Mason, don’t be late.”
“I won’t be late.” Mason rolled his eyes before checking his reap for the day. “Wait, I know this address. Why do I know this address?” He showed his note to George.
“How should I know?” George shrugged.
“Let me see.” Daisy grabbed the post-it from Mason. “Oh, that’s easy. It’s on the radio.”
“Oh right, 6969 Mulberry Street, where every night is Ladies’ Night.” Mason grinned. “Hey George, wanna come with?”
George glanced at the post-it note as Daisy passed it back to Mason. “Are you kidding? That’s at 2:30. I need to be at work.”
“No you don’t. It’s a.m.”
“Wait, 2:30 in the morning? That’s… It’s Friday, isn’t it?”
“No work tomorrow… come on, you know you want to.”
“It’ll be fun. I’ll help you pick out something to wear.” Daisy offered, inviting herself along to the reap.
“Well, I was planning on calling it an early night tonight.” George wavered.
“Great, it’s a date. Me, you ladies, and a D. Osbourne.” Mason winked at Daisy. “Bring your dancing shoes.”