internet quiz.

“i––” he pauses, clearly confused, just a tiny bit uncomfortable. “i don’t? i mean, like, i don’t think that parker stood me up, actually?” 

“friends! can i just, like, change your question a bit? am i allowed to do that?” he’s not speaking to anyone in particular, kind of just making a scene for.. himself, really. breaking the fourth wall, as if he were on the office or something. “um, my best friends, like, my absolute favorites, are my girls; lia, rue and autumn. and then i also adore my french speaking roommate, lucien. bless his heart.” 

“ooh! okay, so, it’s me, living somewhere in new york–– no, wait, west hollywood, totally. yes. and i’m just, like, living my best life, doing my thing, you know? being a star, obviously.” he talks with his hands, tone almost serious if it wasn’t for the bratty rich girl voice. “i’d probably own, like, a villa with the biggest pool and accidentally have two sugar daddies.” 

“ooh, okay, that’s so fun. can i, like, do it without mentioning names? oh, fuck, i’m totally doing that. everyone likes riddles, right?” brows furrow, a short laugh escapes. “okay! so, one is so fucking arty, and, like, i keep saying i can’t stand it, but it’s actually, like, the coolest fucking thing, ‘kay? like, you don’t get it—  when she goes like ‘oh, hey, i’m gonna do this completely fucking weird thing that doesn’t, like, make any sense whatsoever but represents something really, like, clever and fucking valid”, and then sits down and does it, and you’re just like, ‘what the shit? that’s, like, so clever and fucking valid?.’ i dunno, she’s so cool, i luv her. and the other is, like, my sister-in-law thing, kinda, i dunno. we’re, like, such girlfriends, it’s amazing.” 

“rose lemonade. and if we’re feeling crazy, rose lemonade with three shots of bombay gin and a slice of grapefruit, definitely on the rocks, and two straws— but, they gotta be paper.” 

“oh, my god. blondie, and duran duran. and that’s, like, it, basically.” 

“oh, i know this one! lucky’s bed around nine in the morning, right before boooring american history lessons with good guy george. and when it’s, like, rainy out, and you’re not going anywhere because you, like, convinced yourself to skip, because you’re just a whore like that? yah, i live for it.”

“i’m actually allergic to both, but yeah, i think so. cats are pretty fucking cute and i’m not.. too crazy about dogs? i don’t know, they, like, smell, and stuff?”

“mm,” a grimace. truth be told, he doesn’t even wanna think about it. cry, probably? freak the fuck out, pass out? or maybe he would’ve been that drunk kid who laughs it off and mindlessly carries the murder weapon around in their purse. who knows? “i’d be so very not into it, at all?” a pause. “can we actually, like, not talk about the knife?” 

“no, gosh, i’m not a lesbian!” a dramatic wave of the hand. elias laughs. “i totally have. back, back, back, back in the day.”

“my gosh, absolutely. all the time. always, six times a day.”