[there is a lot of groaning from the blonde woman who is holding the phone on her chest. You can barely make out her face, but she looks almost hungover. Or drugged, which would be the case. Either way, she's not getting out of her bed, and anyone who knows Atwood would recognize the type of brick on the wall behind her. She reaches up and rubs
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The only people allowed to say "diabolical master plan" are people stroking white cats.
I'm pretty sure that's a rule.
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Eh...
Jury's still out.
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We're seriously lacking in entertainment. Which isn't surprising, considering the fact that the last party we had was invaded by, you know, zombies.
Have I mentioned we have zombies?
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So where are you from, exactly?
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I have a guitar.
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Not like we're going anywhere.
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