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Summary
Both George and Death stare at the scale for a long moment.
“So, is this when I go to hell or whatever?” George crosses his arms, “Is it as warm as they say? I like a balmy twenty-five degrees, if possible; do they take requests in hell, or is it more the brimstone and pitchforks variety?”
Death’s shoulders roll back at his snide commentary. The hood has obscured the face of the end of his life from George for their entire acquaintanceship, and now one of those gloved hands reaches up abruptly and shoves the hood back.
George jolts back, mouth falling open, as hazel-green eyes glare at him. Death is strawberry blond and has curls for days, thick brows and a strong jaw. At least the grim reaper is cute.
“I thought you said this would be easy,” Death snaps at him, in a voice totally different from the softness of before.
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George lives a shitty life and dies a shitty death, not that he minds dying too much. And then he a) meets Death, b) gets bitched out for not living well enough, somehow, c) gets brought back to life, and d) is forced to deal with a new roommate who wants him to do good deeds and live a fulfilling life for reasons George doesn't quite get.
Great.