Having a Lousy Time, Wish You Were Dead
by murinae and aishuu
Of all the rules Light detested, the one where you could not kill a shinigami by using her own death note was the one he thought most unfair.
He was smart enough not to say that aloud, since he had the feeling George didn't care much for him, either. She might actually decide to screw whatever rules governed her half of their relationship. He had no need of the chaos. But it was tempting, sometimes.
George - not Georgia - lounged on his bed while he worked through the criminals he'd discovered that day. She was staring up at the ceiling, tossing a red rubber ball she'd gotten from somewhere back and forth between her hands.
He had tried only once to convince her of his vision of the future, of a world where there would be no more crime, no more wanton destruction, no more decay.
She had merely raised an eyebrow. "But wouldn't that be totally boring?"
"It would be a perfect world. With the fear of Kira in them ..."
"Bor-ing." George even had the gall to yawn. "Look kid," she smirked. He did not give her the satisfaction of reacting. "Not to piss on your parade, but people have been dying ... have been afraid of dying ... since the world began. And having actually, y'know ... died... all I can tell ya is it doesn't change. It all still decays and goes to shit."
He arched an eyebrow. "It's because there was no one strong enough to change it before," he answered.
"Ever hear of Julius Caesar?" she had retorted. "He remade the world in his image, too. Then whack!" She emphasized the sound effect by clapping her hand together. "He probably should have bought the beer more often."
It perhaps was from that point that Light knew that he and she would never quite work well together. The words, "E tu, Brute?" would always be there, like unspoken dialogue between them.
Light glared at her, wondering how she'd ever ended up with a death note. She'd rambled once before when he asked about the shinigami, something about a toilet seat and filling quotas. And frogs.
It was her own form of a joke, Light wagered. Death incarnate as a frog was simply illogical -- and wholly unsatisfying on the "change the world on an epic sort of scale."
Seemingly even more bored than usual, George merely sprawled into an even more laid back pose - which was a feat, since George seemed to have mastered the art of slacking off even before birth. If he had any trace of sympathy in him, Light would have spared some for George's mother. She must have labored for days to move George out from her womb.
He watched her balance the ball on the bridge of her nose and wiggled her fingers in the air, apparently for no reason at all. He could feel his IQ decreasing for every day they spent together. He wondered if stupidity was contagious.
"Stop that!" he finally barked out.
"What? Do you want me to stop breathing now so I don't bother your royal pissiness?" George snorted, then snapped her fingers. "Oh wait... that's right, I don't breathe. You got lucky there, kiddo."
"You sure use up a lot of oxygen for someone without breath," Light muttered, his temper getting the better of him. To make matters worse, he smudged the name he was writing, wasting precious space in the notebook. "Why did I have to get stuck with you?"
"I keep asking myself that," George replied, rolling her eyes. "Make one little mistake, and you've suddenly got a psychopathic would-be god using your Death Note. If you really want to get rid of me, all you have to do is give it back, oh great-exalted-one-on-high."
"You wish," he retorted. It was the only thing he could not do, of course. George grated on every one of his last nerves. The girl was lazy, something of a slob at times, and wholly unorganized. From what Light had gleaned about her past life, death had not changed her much. It was her sort that he sought to purge from his perfect world, the useless wastes of space.
"What are you going to do, once the killers and rapists and really bad awful stinky guys run out, anyway?" she abruptly asked him. "Who are you going to kill then?"
He stared long and hard at her, though he knew that shinigami couldn't read thoughts. At least, he thought they couldn't. Unless George had omitted the fact... again. It was another thing to add to his lists of reasons to detest her: George never told him the important things.
George grinned, and there was a sharpness there that Light made pause. "Y'know, not even death made me go away," she pointed out. "Death doesn't just make it all go away. Give me my damn note back."
He didn't get why she was so obsessed with something she'd carelessly misplaced. She was like a little kid, wanting a toy she'd given up back just because someone else was using it. "Why? You never used it," he told her.
"I did too!" she protested half-heartedly.
"Maybe I was just warming up."
"You had it for a decade."
"When you're dead, a decade is just warming up," she told him. "Unlike someone I can name, I'm not a homicidal egotist. Some of us have, like, style."
"And some of us actually have a pulse."
"Ohh. Touche." She put a hand to her forehead dramatically.
"But that's the truth, isn't it? You can't do anything for anyone here anymore." He steepled his fingers together. "When was the last time you could even say a simple hello to a loved one?"
George stilled, in a way that only those past death can. He knew he had her then.
"I'm still alive, and that's more than you have. I can still do things in this world. And I can still aim to become a god. Which is more than you will ever do or ever did."
The red ball smacked hard into the wall, just missing his head. "Fucker."
Light just grinned and mentally chalked up another victory. Some people were just born – and had died – losers.
But she had been alive once. And someone had the misfortune of being her family.
Light tapped his pen against the desk, ever so slowly. There were always a way around any problem, after all. You could not kill a shinigami with her own death note, true.
Her last name is Lass. That's a place to start.
But unlike George, he was motivated to try.