Catching Up with Claire

Errrrm. ehm. eh-hem.

Her houseguest cleared his throat several times in hopes of attracting her attention. Claire was still debating the image of her toy poodle sniffing her corpse. "This is just wrong," she said.

"Pardon?" He looked hopeful that she was coming out of the shock phase the pamphlet had described (he'd double-checked while she stared off into space just to make sure it was all kosher). He hoped she would cry or thank him or something because he knew management would be having a hissy if he missed the Hindi granny next on the list - her family had made many sacrifices for her to die in her sleep and it was nearly waking hour in that part of the world.

"This.Is.Just.Wrong." Claire turned and he flinched. The pamphlet said nothing about those who, when greeted with news of their demise, seemed to turn into unstable nuclear material. "I won't go for this. I've been a psychic for years and I've known how I would die for as many years, so this is just wrong. The dog is wrong, you are wrong and this is wrong."

He stood, flabbergasted, then he felt an emotion that could have been described as anger if he'd known exactly what anger was. He was tired of this death crap already and she was only number 2. How was he to know who or what whispered to her in the past and promised her a death while having sex or eating a piece of the best fried chicken on earth? How she thought she would die was none of his nevermind, he'd done his task, he felt he'd been pretty good on the whole thing what with taking time to entertain her illusion of tea, and not disappearing when she fell apart and this - THIS - was the thanks he got??

Claire appraised the Joker/death and wondered if he'd gotten the job through some third-rate employment pyramid scheme. Either way, he wasn't leaving til she got back into her body and died properly and that much she knew HAD to happen.