baby blue

Mm, what a couple of miserable softies we are, eh? No wonder Bambi makes fun of us all the time. Oooh, well then, aren’t I a lucky guy, surrounded by a myriad of weird women. Ugh, but I suppose territorial French women are the least of your worries now, hm? We still have a good chunk of time before you can even leave this bloody city. Aww, am I really still in trouble? Come on now, little bird.

Ah, we've got an entire city full of cynicism, I like our little world of sweet words and lingering glances - I've got no apologies about it. Hey, we're excellent source material, aren't we? At least it's never a dull moment! Ugh, don't remind me, I'm essentially trapped in this damned place. But I'm trapped with you and Daisy, so things could be worse. We've essentially set up fort in our bedroom and you have to say the magic password to enter --- no mingey lawyers allowed. Oh no, no, don't you even dare start looking at me like that, Freddie. You just - you don't play fair. 

'Softie' is meant to be a compliment! Right, that's up there next to callow and weak-willed, eh? I can be mean, thank you very much. Well, see, that's what the Union Jack is meant to imply. Her father will probably have me assassinated, but it'll be worth it. So, the lesson is that girls are weird? Speaking of Bambi, I've come up with a way to get us to London without ruining her day. See, we get her something expensive and shiny, and then while she's marveling it, we can slip away to our plane. It'll work, I'm certain. Aw, but that's the entire point of my self-deprecation, innit it? Getting you to flatter me.

Oh, you English folk, you think sentimental compliments are meant to be some sort of backhanded insult. I happen to like the fact that you're essentially a teddy bear. Of course you can be mean, I've seen the way you look at handsy gentlemen in bars. But you know, don't tell anyone or anything, but you're not so bad, Freds. I wouldn't have you any other way. And yes, I'm telling the truth and buttering you up. Just the girls you associate with, anyway. Love, she has a diamond ring on her finger and she still picks up the scent of plane tickets in our back pockets. She's liable to hide our passports one of these days. Mhm, luckily we've got the rest of our lives to smother each other in sickeningly sweet compliments, don't we? Til then, you're still in trouble for allowing me to leave the house looking like this. 

See, I’m far too good a liar. It’s why I’m a poet. There’s actually just a swirling vortex of nothing beneath this chest here, even less so up here in this head of mine. Oh, spot on, love. We only need to find you a Union Jack shirt and you’ll be set. Mostly because I may or may not have already gotten Daisy one. I am not always critical of them! I just think Paolo is a bloody stupid name! Honestly, what would you say if your sister started dating some artist named Paolo? Ugh, nooo. I’d rather stay in New York. Oh, sod that for a laugh, I think she quite likes you. In fact I think she’s mostly just confused about why you’re seeing a bloke like me and frankly, I can understand the feeling.

You could never convince me that you don't have a heart, Jim Dear, you're far too big of a softie towards every person you meet. Which is a good trait, despite the way you wrinkle your nose whenever I point that out! Mm, your head is one of my favorite places to be, though, I love watching the way those wheels work. Ah, most of Daisy's wardrobe is made up of items you'd be amused to see her in... I'm sure if you couldfind a shirt that said 'Mommy's Boyfriend is the best', you'd have it on her in a second. Well, my sister has dated a Paolo, and a Roberto and all those exotic stock names. But then she points out that I married a guy who wore polo shirts to every big event I ever had, so we all make bad choices. Point is, I came to my senses, and I'm sure Arya will come to hers eventually. Mm, bless you for that, I don't think Bambi can see us leave for London again, she's liable to burst. Oh, god, really? Don't make me flatter your ego with all of the reasons why I'm not only incredibly lucky to date a 'bloke like you' but also why I'm never letting you go. 

Ahh, that’s the secret, isn’t it? A little bit of truth in the lie, more realistic that way. That may be, but your pyjama-clad self is more vital to me — and the world, if I may be so bold — than a cup of tea, which, I think you can agree, trumps coffee any day. Last thing I lied about? Hm. I told Arya that her new bloke seems nice. Between you and I, he seems like a bit of a cad. Oh, I agreed with my mum that I’d be visiting soon. Definitely a lie, that one.

Ooh, I knew it, so you really do think I'm a travesty, don't you? Where's the hidden cameras then? Naturally, this relationship only exists as some sort of reality show hoax, I'm convinced it! Of course tea triumphs coffee... I tried to go back to coffee, but you've turned me on to the beneficial wonders of tea. As you so often remind me, "coffee stunts your growth." Was that a good accent? Am I getting better? Oh, but you're always critical of the guys Arya dates, so that's hardly anything. You don't have to lie to your mum, though, we could go. I'm trying to convince her that I'm a nice, normal American girl that can totally be trusted with her son, and I don't think she's quite won over yet. 

A lie? Hm. Okay. I think you’re terrible. Downright awful, really. You’re a small, strange woman who does not look obscenely hot in her pyjamas. I dunno, darling, I think I’m a damn proper liar. Mm, no complaints here.

Well, I am a small, strange woman, so I'm liable to think that your entire statement was rooted in truth! Also, nobody looks cute in pyjamas... I mean, you do, but you're the exception to everything --- I don't like anybody in the mornings, but you're more vital to me than a cup of coffee. What's the last thing you've ever lied about? I mean, present situation aside. Mm, of course not, silly Brit.

Who? Me? Why, I surely resent that, Miss Waters. You know I only pull out the curses when it’s gravely important. You, your sweats, and your pout are very important… And also, yeah, I’m softening you up.

You know, you're very good at plenty of things - writing, drawing, pulling brownies out of the oven at the exact moment when they're a bit soft but not too fluffy - but you're an awful liar. C'mon, tell me a lie right now, see if I believe it. As if that's very hard to do to me, especially as far as you're concerned.

Which is why we must always buy our sweats from Saks. Being a style icon is tough work, hm?

I'm pretty much sure I bought these at some outlet mall in Nashville, which is only adds to the classiness of it all. Style icon? Oh, no, my job is to make others stylish... I mostly just reap the benefits. If anyone should be answering that question, it's you, Roxie. You look happier than usual.

Do you have any idea how bloody adorable you look, pouting in your sweats?

I think somebody is trying to soften me up because they insisted that I would be fine leaving the house in my sweats... but it's working. Damn those eyes.