Author's note: Hello all and welcome to my first Dead Like Me fic. Another great TV show that isn't owned by us fans, but alas, life goes on. I hope you enjoy, and please review with suggestions, comments, and the like. I've got ideas on where to take this one, so I hope you like it 3
Chapter 1: Hello, George
George lifted her head woozily and stared at Mason and Daisy. She had been doing a fish impersonation through her glass of whiskey when the two of them had come up to her.
"Umm… George, honey, I don't think you should be drinking so much. It's bad for your health and complexion." Daisy gave her a faintly 'older sister' look, to which George snorted. Mason just stood there looking uncomfortable.
"Since when do you care about my complexion, Daisy? After all, you're the actress. I just work at Happy Time." George went back to staring at them from behind the glass. Her one eye that was open showed triple size through the glass. Daisy picked up the glass, sniffed it, then hurriedly put it down.
"Whiskey? My goodness, George, I thought the bartenders only give it to you mixed or as a shot. How did you ever get a glass this size full of it?"
"For your information, Daisy, I can be very persuasive when I want to. Now go away and leave me alone." George closed her other eye, lifting her head just enough so that all she had to do to take a drink was tip the glass ever so slightly. The burn of the whiskey felt good going down her throat, so she took another drink. Daisy huffed at her and flounced away, with Mason following just behind her, silent.
"Huh. Wonder why they were stopping by? Sent to check on me by Rube? Feh." George sat and drained her glass, coughing slightly as she finished the drink. Wiping her hand across her mouth, she struggled the other arm into her jacket. When her hand got stuck, she cursed and shoved it through, nearly tearing the seam.
"Stupid jacket. Stupid life. Stupid death," she muttered to herself as she walked out of the bar. Thank God Milly could drink, otherwise she would've gone crazy. She staggered down the street, thanking Whoever that reapers didn't get hangovers or alcohol poisoning. Halfway to her car, she stumbled and fell over, groaning and cursing. She picked herself back up and staggered on, drawing several concerned looks from passers-by when she got into her car. She crawled into the back seat after locking the door and promptly passed out. As she was giving in to the blackness, she thanked Whoever again that she wouldn't get a hangover.