(no subject)
WHO: Whitney de Winter [YOUNGEST DAUGHTER]
WHAT: Messages left for Phillip Cordon [PUSS IN BOOTS].
WHEN: Wednesday, March 19; between 5:30 and 7 p.m.
RATING: High, for increasingly bad language
"Phillip, it's Whit, I," groans, "ugh, Bridgette's calling, I'll call you back."
[two minutes later]
"It's me again. It's my mother. She's sick, hurt, something, I don't know, all I have is a message on my phone, please call me back."
[barely a minute later]
"She's in the hospital," sounds of rustling paper, "but no one in my fucking family is capable of leaving a coherent message without a secretary doing it for them! This is impossible, and why aren't you answering your phone?"
[twenty minutes later]
"Where the hell are you?! I can't reach anyone and Bridgette is the most scatterbrained moron in the world, she didn't even tell me what hospital. I've called three and," she's starting to sound choked up, "she's not there. I need to leave, now."
[fifteen minutes later]
"My fucking jet is fucking broken. Christ almighty, I need to book a flight. Why won't you answer your phone? Fuck it, where is my damned Compen-" click.
[a half an hour later]
"They," sounds of crying, "there isn't anything until tomorrow and no one is answering at the office to tell me if there's another jet in New York now and WHY HAVE YOU NOT ANSWERED?"
WHAT: Messages left for Phillip Cordon [PUSS IN BOOTS].
WHEN: Wednesday, March 19; between 5:30 and 7 p.m.
RATING: High, for increasingly bad language
"Phillip, it's Whit, I," groans, "ugh, Bridgette's calling, I'll call you back."
[two minutes later]
"It's me again. It's my mother. She's sick, hurt, something, I don't know, all I have is a message on my phone, please call me back."
[barely a minute later]
"She's in the hospital," sounds of rustling paper, "but no one in my fucking family is capable of leaving a coherent message without a secretary doing it for them! This is impossible, and why aren't you answering your phone?"
[twenty minutes later]
"Where the hell are you?! I can't reach anyone and Bridgette is the most scatterbrained moron in the world, she didn't even tell me what hospital. I've called three and," she's starting to sound choked up, "she's not there. I need to leave, now."
[fifteen minutes later]
"My fucking jet is fucking broken. Christ almighty, I need to book a flight. Why won't you answer your phone? Fuck it, where is my damned Compen-" click.
[a half an hour later]
"They," sounds of crying, "there isn't anything until tomorrow and no one is answering at the office to tell me if there's another jet in New York now and WHY HAVE YOU NOT ANSWERED?"