080. Diagnosis

[vicodincrutch]

Voice;

I'm going to simplify my confusion into one, and only one, question. The answer, the hard part, is up to you. Be concise.  The amount of focus it takes to write down my own symptoms on a napkin with a pen is tremendous.

And I don't feel much. Cool. Drugs, kids. They're something.

Back to the question: What the hell is going on?

Comments

call;

[miss-waldorf.livejournal.com]

[ This is an eye-roll if you can hear it. ]

I'm not wearing a bikini while filming.

[ooc; no worries, dahling~ I'm still here~]

call;

[vicodincrutch.livejournal.com]

There is a subtle admittance that you still believe that bikinis belie promiscuity.

That and you think that you're fat.



Seeing as we already have so very much to talk about, what's the time limit?

call;

[miss-waldorf.livejournal.com]

[ The observation silenced her because it's true, not that he needs to know that. ]

Ten minutes max.

So let's get this off the table: nothing you can say will get me into a bikini. Next offer?

call;

[vicodincrutch.livejournal.com]

How am I supposed to stay entertained? Do you juggle?

call;

[miss-waldorf.livejournal.com]

[ She heard that, but didn't know the significance. The most irritating thing about him was the tangents he kept going on. ]

Serena will be the host, and she doesn't need to wear a bikini to keep anyone entertained.

call;

[vicodincrutch.livejournal.com]

So she's the body. You're the voice. I still don't see how this will be worth watching.



We're gonna talk about boys?

call;

[miss-waldorf.livejournal.com]

I'm--

[ Hey, she's the body too, just not always so. Blair hopes he is as tortured by this conversation as she is. ]

You're supposed to be the entertaining bit --whatever topic you choose. I've heard enough about you.