[ when the PCD clicks on, it shows a blonde teenager in a red and white cheerleading uniform, trying her best not to cry. that was supposed to be over, the tears being something she left behind with that part of her she shed while she was working off all that weight over the summer after giving birth to beth. she was less hormonal, less prone to
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W-What? Who's there?
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You start meowing at me, and this conversation is over. And don't call me babe.
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[ not that she even knew who she was talking to. she didn't know anyone who was british. this had to be a dream. some sort of really messed up nightmare brought on by stress and falling asleep with the tv on. it was probably showing some episode of CSI or law & order with her brain following along with the plot and shaping her dreams around it. right? ]
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...there's something in there?
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Quinn!
Please cease yelling, you will attract unsavory attention. Calm down. I will come get you and bring you to safety. Okay?
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Oh my God, Rachel? How are you here; did they get you, too? ...please tell me this isn't some sort of really messed up Glee Club hazing.
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I've done nothing to deserve this.
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And you think the rest of us have? What a sense of entitlement.
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[ if she weren't scared out of her wits right now, she'd be able to muster a bit more of that queen b meanness. ]
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Who's responsible for this? [ ... ] Did you do this to me?
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[ Blah, blah, blah, Buffy. Blah, blah... Blah. ] Long story short? You've been dragged out of your own time and space into a completely whacko alternate dimension. There's no way out. And now everyone that's here who isn't supposed to be just... Has to deal.
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[ please let this be punk'd, please let this be punk'd. ]
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