summary: Marissa. Is. Not. Dead...just, Undead.

rated M for now for language and (in later chapters) violent scenes of violent deaths. rating may change, though.

i don't own the characters you recognize or anything, or the plot line of Dead Like Me. they belong to their respectable owner.

--

Dead Like Newport Living

Marissa Cooper sighed. His name was M.E. Borman. Now all that Marissa had to do was find Mr. or Mrs. Borman before they bought the bullet. She sighed and glanced down at her watch, trying to see the time through the flashing bulbs of paparazzi cameras and the powerful lights of news helicopters from above.

It wasn't like she wanted to be here. This was only her fifth soul and this one was going to be hard to find. He/she could be anywhere in the exclusive Oscars after-party. And if that weren't enough, Marissa didn't know what he looked like. Only his name, the address of his death, and an ETD.

The flashing bulbs did nothing for Marissa's headache. And once she reached the shelter of the dimly-lit hall relief flooded over her. That and the sight of full wine glasses being carried by handsome waiters in penguin suits. She grabbed one and looked at her watch again. She was early for her appointment. Sighing again, she went and tried to mingle, barely listening to the conversations and fading into her own little world, occasionally taking a sip of wine from her glass.

It wasn't like being undead was a bad thing. I mean, it could be worse, she thought to herself. She could actually be dead. At least, undead, she could still go places. And talk to people. Although there were probably people in heaven to talk to… but they were probably all old or something. Like her grandmother. Or (shudder) Caleb. Marissa made a face at this and proceeded to pick up another wine glass.

It wasn't like her death was bad. Well, it was traumatic. But she hadn't felt anything. But it was weird, watching her body die as she stood not three feet away, desperately trying to get someone's attention. Finally, an EMT called out to her and pulled her away from the accident scene, talking rapidly about something. But Marissa could only feel numb and missed most of what he had been saying.

Marissa grabbed another wine glass and took it like a shot, pouring as much as she could into one mouthful before hastily swallowing. She was kind of surprised that none had gotten on her expensive dress. Well, okay, it was a rental. A rental she'd had to get using someone else's money. That's right, Marissa Cooper was broke. Marissa snorted as she grabbed another wine. You wouldn't have guessed that she was so poor from the way she glided through the party. But she was here on a mission and the dress would be back at the shop, tailored, fitted, and primped just in time for the morning rush.

The night after her accident and the days following had kind of gone by in a blur. She caught words like "dead", and "reaper", and several other death terms, but she didn't put them together into coherent sentences. It took her a few days, but she finally figured out what they were saying. She was dead, and she was undead. She was a grim reaper.

Marissa glared at her watch. Mr. or Mrs. Borman's Estimated Time of Death was at 10:56 pm. It was now 11:03 pm. Marissa sighed angrily. This was the fourth time this week in which the ETD had been incorrect. She grumbled angrily and went to go and ask a rather large group of people if they knew who the hell M.E. Borman was. She turned to them just in time to see the chandelier fall from the ceiling and shatter.

"Oh, shit," Marissa hissed, and went over to pick up M.E. Borman.

--

...more later?? review, then. .