Lucas was not in a good place when he dialed Peyton's voicemail.
"Hey Peyton, I...don't know how to tell you this, but I'm not coming back to Fandom," his voice cracked and he steeled himself before continuing. "Take care of Brooke for me."
"Of course you're not my mother! She's a lot more, er, loud. And you haven't left me any failed erections yet. Not that you would! I'm just saying, if you were my mother, you'd be a bit... different. In that sort of motherly way. I hope you don't own a guillotine."
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"Hey Peyton, I...don't know how to tell you this, but I'm not coming back to Fandom," his voice cracked and he steeled himself before continuing. "Take care of Brooke for me."
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"I be never turnin' down a drink in me life! Meet ye around seven, aye, 'n ye can tell me all yer issues."
So he could broadcast them, naturally.
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What? A lap dance? Who the heck is Robin and why would they be watching, and more importantly, what is your problem?
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"Of course you're not my mother! She's a lot more, er, loud. And you haven't left me any failed erections yet. Not that you would! I'm just saying, if you were my mother, you'd be a bit... different. In that sort of motherly way. I hope you don't own a guillotine."
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You know where I live."
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