*Casually dusts off this story*
wELL. Hello there, friends, I am back with a new installment! *angels sing in the distance*
I've been really preoccupied with other things for a long time, and RTN has had to be put on the backburner for that long time. That long time being three months. Jesus Christ, that's the longest I've ever gone without updating this pleASE SEND HELP I FEEL SO BAD.
Anyway, though, here's an update! I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! <3 On the side is Naledi's outfit for the event she's attending! ^_~ Also, I've changed Cody's actor to Jamie Bamber! (how he looked in Battlestar Galactica, btw)
Enjoy!
xx
_____________________________________________________
April 8th
“Murderers and Trannies”
The Condo (San Diego, California), living room, around . . . 8am
“Please, tell me that for the love of all things innocent and beautiful you're not doing what I think you are.”
“I am!”
“UGH. You're gonna get murdered, Naledi, I just know you're going to get murdered.”
“I'm not gonna get murdered, Leia! There'll be a ton of other people there!”
“A ton of other people who will murder you.”
“You're being damn irrational right now, okay?”
Yes, yes I was, in fact, being damn irrational. See, thing is: Naledi is quite the attractive woman. Seriously, if we weren't practically sisters, I'd probably hit that. That being said, this caramel-skinned, dark-haired, athletic woman trying speed dating was an episode of Stalked waiting to happen. Not to mention the fact that her face was seen on television every damned week by at least ten million people.
“Be that as it may,” I said loudly, pointing my index finger at her, “this is dangerous. You know it is. These things always have been dangerous.”
“I'm a wrestler, Leia; I live for the dangerous,” Naledi told me, placing her laptop on pine-and-glass coffee table and jumping up, towering an even four inches over me. She put her hands firmly on my shoulders, bending over slightly to meet my eyes. “If someone tries to murder me at a speed dating event, I will turn over every piece of designer clothing I've ever purchased to Good Will.”
Ignoring the mild offensiveness of that statement, I huffed as I disengaged from her grasp, walking into the kitchen. Still mildly worried, I opened the refrigerator and retrieved a Bolthouse Farms Daily Greens juice.
“Just be careful,” I conceded, uncapping the juice and taking a swig. “Okay?”
“Okay,” Naledi laughed, putting her hands up. “Want some pancakes?”
“Since when can you cook?” I smiled.
“Since I made pancakes with my dad like twice between the ages of fourteen and sixteen, that's when.”
With that, we pulled out a pan and vaguely followed a box of pancake mix's directions on how to make pancakes, substituting regular milk for soy milk and adding in butterscotch chips and blueberries because we're reckless bitches.
