Ft. Cami & Phoebe - Blog Posts
“ okay , i've never been peer pressured into eating glue before nor had i ever peer pressured anyone into doing so —— who the fuck would peer pressure somebody into eating glue anyways ? that's just fucking bizarre . and sure , you might say you're fine right now , but isn't that still dangerous ? like are you sure you're not just gaslighting yourself into thinking that eating glue is fine ? we should probably get you checked or something . ” maybe camille just got lucky she didn't have much peer pressure growing up , and she would like to believe that she could very much stand up for herself and say no to doing things that she shouldn't be doing ( re : eating glue ) but maybe kids tend to be more relentless and it's easier to give in to peer pressure when you're younger . with a tilt of her head , camille gives the other an eye roll before saying , “ all i'm hearing right now is excuses , babe . i don't know who the fuck dragonrider420 or whatever that thing is , but if you're too scared to do this you can just say so . i'm not gonna peer pressure you into it . ” camille has never been the ultimate peer pressurer after all , even if she might seem like she is . “ if anything you were the one trying to poison me with your glue - infused drink , ” she teases , followed by a laugh . “ you can just put it on my tab and throw it out so we can both stay alive , by the way . i promise i won't snitch on you . ”
with phoebe crane, whose mouth is silently constructing eloquent aspersions of the decidedly un-babe-like kind, there is no calm before the storm. there is only the rambling tornado that sends limbs flying into a sign language with no signal for stop, that breaks the fujita scale into the components of a virgin mojito. curse her for thinking camille would understand. then again, if camille couldn’t get behind the extremely real feminist movement of turning fungal overgrowth into a fashion statement, there was no way she’d get the glue-eater tag trending without some real persuasion. if she almost knocks the shot glass over while presenting her case, it’s a happy coincidence that only highlights the passion with which she defends her life and its questionable continuation. ‘ i didn’t do it on purpose! either the wrong-alcohol-putting-inning or the glue eating. you know what peer pressure is, right? i mean, i guess you’re basically the ultimate peer pressurer, but that just means you have a civil duty to drink glue with me whenever you’re done with whatever you’re dressed up for, ‘ she says, scrawling a jumble of digits and decimal points onto the counter with the chipped tip of her fingernail in an attempt to calculate ninety-nine per cent of one hundred. her concentration is broken by the other’s dalliance with negotiation, which phoebe replies to with a grin that’s all incisors. incisors that are also covered in the shiny, fake flavour of expired lip balm. ‘ uh, we’re out of straws. save the turtles, y’know. also, god is a woman, and i dmed her about this whole sitch and she said that i cannot leave my campaigns to the grubby hands of dragonrider420. ‘ in one swift motion that suggests ample history with health inspectors, she brings out a photo of her favourite npc thus far – a grotesque goblin kid with pupils shaped like daggers. ‘ do you really wanna condemn this adorable baby to eternal oblivion? ‘
“ whoa , calm down , babe . that's like a lot of words for me to process at once , ” she tells phoebe , trying her best to recall what the girl was even saying in the first place —— something about her eating glue as a kid , something wrong with the alcohol , something . . . well , something for sure . “ okay , first of all , you don't even sound that fine to me right now but you know what ? that's fine , i'm not gonna judge . why are you acting so suspicious though ? like are you sure it's just a wrong kind of alcohol instead of , you know , glue ? although i'm not sure how you even got glue in here , but then again you said you used to eat glue a dozen times as a kid , so maybe i'm judging a little . old habits die hard after all . ” there's no hint of malice in camille's words , however . “ ninety - nine percent discount for a drink that could cost me my fucking life isn't gonna cut it . i'll tell you what , ” camille tries to propose , a glint of mischief in her eyes . “ maybe if you share the drink with me , i'll consider it done . at least we're in it together if , god forbid , something wrong happened . what do you say ? ”
open. int. crane's crooning den - night, but there's never quite an acceptable time for her bs. @nepofmstarters
listen, chum, airstrip one has nothing on phoebe crane’s attention span. as a wise woman once added to her essay seconds away from submission, the whole death of the author deal totally applies to authoritarianism, and the prattling autocrats that purport themselves to be her bosses are recipe puritans to the point where all those words swim into her boston shaker and come out much of a muchness. what does that mean? that she is in so much trouble because she put her sanitiser in a miniature vodka bottle as a joke and put it next to an actual vodka bottle and left for fifteen minutes to yell at the dj about his awful taste in technocountry and she can locate neither bottle. she taps on the shoulder closest to her panicked flurry of motion, and her words come out a mile a millisecond. ‘ okay, listen, i ate glue, like, a dozen times when i was a kid, and i’m literally so fine now, right? look at my tongue. ‘ she sticks the relevant appendage out. ‘ the polka dots are from my lip balm – don’t ask how, industry secret – but my point is that if i happened to put the wrong kind of alcohol in here, nobody would mind, right? i mean, cranes don’t even croon, so clearly the shits given about detail are at a record low. ‘ then, in a sordid sort of whisper that’s as quiet as the trap jazz blasting through the bar: ‘ maybe you could test my whole hypnothermite out. hypothesis in. i don't know, man, just do it for the ninety-nine per cent discount. ‘ she has neither the executive power nor the economic prowess to deduct such a quantity from the sticky notes clinging to the counters, but they don’t need to know that.