We are Grim Reapers. Not the sycthe weilding, quasi-demon, harbinger of death you always picture, we are normal people, like you. Instead of going to the "Great Beyond", we get fucked over, so we have to reap souls in the External Influence Division. Hey, at least it's not Plague Division, they haven't had any work for 657 years... But anyway, we had lives, but now we have new ones, and to top it off, we have to live with seeing our family degenerate and mourn our passing. Anyway, now we work for
the big man, but we don't get paid for it. Yup. We have to keep some suckass job so we can eat. ((If you are interested, the OOC is
here.))
He flipped through the paper. Sitting in their usual booth at the local Waffle House, he had orderd his usual Cheese & Ham Omelet also, which seemed to be taking a little while longer, but maybe it was just him, he'd been doing this way too long.... Henry finally came to the Obituaires, which were, like, the sports page for Reapers. Mainly to see which Reaper had the most deaths that they had reaped in the paper. He looked at the clock with an icy glance, noting the hands seemed not to move since the last time he had checked, 7:35 AM,
Where the hell are they today? He asked in his mind, he had a job to accomplish, and waiting for his accomplices wasn't making it easier...