Billie Lourd attends The 21st CDGA (Costume Designers Guild Awards) Cocktail Reception at The Beverly Hilton Hotel on February 19, 2019 in Beverly Hills, California.
el was filled with amusement once the look of pure disgust waved throughout the other’s expression at the mention of nkotb. she couldn’t help but throw her head back as she released a silent laugh. her elbows now extending on the glass counter top, her chin resting on the cold surface. “JUDD NELSON!” el gasped, eyes shutting for a split second. “god, even his name sends this wave of electricity throughout every vein in my body. fuck.” she shook her head as if to shake off all thoughts of one of her celebrity crushes. “sorry, i was having a moment but – that’s bloody disturbing to the max. mainly the fact that he liked new kids but the third cousin bit doesn’t help, huh.” with a click of her tongue, elaine pulled over a box of vinyls she had been organizing to put them out on the shelves though she didn’t really want to do much today, she had to. first she had to find what to play in the store. “garage chic…” she mused with a soft chortle. “i’m el…and please don’t ask what it’s short for or i might have to rethink my newly formed opinion of you.” the dirty blonde grinned, pulling out a QUEEN vinyl. “thanks for helping me choose a better fitting thing to play here though. gotta say, at first glance i wouldn’t think you’d be into the shit you’re into. respect. who else do you fancy?” elaine wasn’t one to try to get to know strangers whatsoever. she never cared enough to but there was something about this sloane…
she smirks, keeping her gum pinched between her teeth and pulling it with her fingers, wrapping it around her forefinger. she turns to the magazine spread of judd nelson, dragging her fingertips across the picture of his face. ❛ ---ugh . . . you’re so right. judd is choice. i’d fuck him in a heartbeat. except we would never kiss. like, on the lips, i mean---- ❜ she glances up from the magazine to lock her dead eyes on the blonde parallel to her. ❛ i just can’t even imagine giving myself away to someone like that. i eat sushi all the time. ❜ she looks spooked for a moment, clearly unable to separate judd nelson from his character in the breakfast club; she flits her gaze hellbound, flipping the page of the magazine. ❛ yeah . . . especially since he got his second grade teacher pregnant. not while he was in second grade, obviously . . . like, fifth or sixth, but still . . . . grody. and everyone freaked out because he was, like, homeschooled or whatever, but that's not even the worst part; she's, like . . . butt ugly. ❜ she rolls her eyes, shaking her head critically. she pops her gum, closing the magazine and tilting her cranium to meet the blonde’s gaze. suddenly she is a dog with a bone. ❛ why? is it short for, like . . . elevator or something? ❜ she jokes before furrowing her brow. ❛ actually . . this is going to sound so crazy, but that would actually be, like, . . . a wicked powerful . . . so garage chic. so much better than window. that was my salamander’s name---- y’know, after that saying, ‘windows are the eyes to the soul’? anyway, i’m gonna use that--- i hope it’s okay. ❜ she shrugs, trailing behind the blonde clerk blindly. she accepts the QUEEN vinyl, chomping her gum and inspecting the front cover. ❛ i dunno. i fancy a lot of people, . . . i guess---- pretty much everyone i meet. ❜ she hugs the vinyl to her. with a sudden realization, she once again looks spooked. ❛ wait--- you’re not, like---- hitting on me or something, are you? i mean, don’t get me wrong, i’m totally flattered---- but i have this penpal and i’m pretty sure he’s going to propose. but he always has a way of finding out when i’ve been with someone romantically. i wonder if he writes to my mom, too . . . ❜
eddie clamps an unopened bag of crunch tators between his teeth. he’s got his left arm wrapped ‘round a paper grocery bag and his keys dangle from his right, because time is of the fucking essence and he’s got to set this shit down in his apartment immediately if he’s got any hope of surviving. it’s not life-or-death but this is life-or-something, and putting this bag down isn’t an option –– not when he’s on his last leg and the only thing that’ll bring him back on this abysmal morning-after’s a heaping helping of alcohol and salty snacks. he’s nearly got it, he’s nearly there –– the right key almost flips forcefully enough to land on the top of his index finger. it’s almost in the door, it’s––
“ mff–– fuggin’ damn it. ”
everything falls. except his trusty bag of tates. eddie tosses his hands up in defeat and stares at the squashed bag. bottle shards splice its interior and onto the carpet it bleeds out, slow and sweet. jack daniels, his fallen friend. eddie turns, chip bag still in his mouth, just in time to meet the eye of an unexpected hall companion.
“ whassup, ” he mumbles around foil wrapping. “ gravity’s bunk. ”
the clatter alerts her to another presence. absently, she turns to survey this newcomer, glancing momentarily before returning her gaze to the wooden plank of the door. she does a double take then before looking incredulously at the door in front of her. ❛ wait . . . if you live there . . . then wh------ ? ❜ she’s interrupted by a shrewd female voice sounding from behind the door urging her to flee before the cops are summoned. of course, she had been there for a full hour whining his name with the hopes he’d emerge. ❛ sorry . . . ! ❜ sloane sing-songs enthusiastically, frivolously gliding solacing fingertips down the wood of the door as though she may have offended it instead of the person behind it. she waits a beat before pivoting on her heels and ambling in pursuit of the person she had intended to visit. her arrival is punctuated by the pop of her gum as she steps into place beside him. she tilts her air-headed cranium, investigating the smattering of shards haphazardly strewn along the concrete. she quickly (or quickly as she is physically able, mind you) realizes what has happened. ❛ ----dude . . . that’s like, . . . alcohol abuse. ‘seven years of bad luck’, just like stevie wonder said. i hate to sound like the fruity-granola type---- but i’d totally start aligning your chakras if i were you. ❜ she warns with a melancholic shake of her head. her cranium tilts the opposite direction while the alcohol flows free from its captivity. ❛ although; it’s kind of---- beautiful . . . like, . . . a metaphor for coming of age. i know i hide it well, but truly . . . i feel broken on the inside. ❜ she turns her dead-eyed, beady gaze towards eddie, deadpanning before returning them to the crime scene below. ❛ if i had any feelings whatsoever . . . i’d totally be crying right now. ❜ she pops her gum, letting the thought hang before concluding dully, ❛ i can’t believe you’ve done this. we’re pinched for sure. my biorhythms are completely shot to shit if i don’t start my day with a fifth of whiskey. ❜
Auggie couldn’t stop one of his brows from arching at the mention of wearing leashes and collars. He knew how punk it was to wear one inside out, but wear one with your significant other’s name on it was a whole other step. Blinking the quizzical look from his face, he managed to respond with: “I figured.” He replied with a small smile. Auggie looked her over for a second before pushing his hands off the counter to fold them for just a second. “You a big fan of gothic poetry then, or just random facts to freak people out.”
she permits herself to reminisce for a few moments longer before her non-expressive eyes drift lazily to the consignment clerk. she furrows her brow, glancing from side to side before retorting condescendingly, ❛ who said anything about gothic poetry, dweeb? i needed the size four of the men’s flannel. ❜ she deadpans, smirking knowingly. ❛ chill, i know what you’re thinking: i don’t look like a four in men’s anything. i mean, i did, like a year ago, but i started eating these weird weight loss bars from indonesia---- i lost, like, a ton of weight, and most of my hair . . . anyway, it’s not for me. it’s for my pen pal. he lives in brazil. or . . . ukrainia or whatever. the point is, he’s not from the states. ❜ she shrugs her shoulder suggestively, smirking. she retrieves a tattered picture from her pocket book and proffers it to him, a picture undoubtedly of ralph macchio that has clearly been ripped out of a magazine. she’s none the wiser. ❛ he has the voice of morrissey with the hips of prince and sexual prowess of mick jagger. of course, he’s never confirmed any of that---- he’s super humble. but i just know these things, y’know? i have six cents about things like this. i’m usually almost always somewhat right. ❜ she purses her lips confidently, raising her chin.
“Carla–! I told you, we are a thrift store. So no, I don’t think that mens flannel comes in a size four.” He snapped to his coworker from his station at the counter. God– he just couldn’t wait for her to go home so he could close up alone. He couldn’t concentrate on his book with all her whining and snapped it shut before groaning, lulling his head back. As it came back around, his gaze landed on the person before him. “Sorry about her–she does this every day. She got new bracelets too so now if you can’t hear her voice coming for you, she jingles like a dog on a fuckin’ leash.”
❛ -----ugh. my ex-boyfriend used to do that . . . except he would actually wear leashes. like, insist on it. ❜ sloane’s mouth curves into a ‘u’ at the memory, though her eyes maintain their glossy, half-lidded, placid stare. ❛ one of his favorite collar tags read ‘sloane’s bone’. ❜ she recalls aloud, tilting her head to the side as though lost in the obviously fond memory. she adjusts her gaze to the clerk in front of her. ❛ i’m sloane. ❜ she reverts her gaze away to return to the memory. ❛ she might annoy you now . . . but just you wait until she’s dead and gone, ❜ her eyelids begin to dilate. ❛ sometimes . . . in the dead of night, i can still hear his leash jingling . . . like that old dude’s heart in that story written by that egg poe guy. ❜
Adam frowns, “You’re always vulnerable to the elements, unless you’ve secretly been half Atlantian this whole time,” he says as he inhales deeply, “If you become invulnerable to fire or drowning, I’d love to know.” He runs a hand through his hair vaguely, a brow raised, “I just stood next to you, you started talking to me,” he reminds. At her question, he shakes his head, “Why would you want to find me? I can offer you nothing, and stealing my eyes would probably be a crime if you did it.”
peering in each direction speculatively, she returns her gaze to her foe-turned-friend, her expression contorting with confusion. ❛ ---is that, like . . . a kind of . . . martian, or something? god, you are such a dweeb. ❜ she rolls her eyes, shaking her head incredulously with a huffed sigh. ❛ either way, you’ll be the first to know, ❜ she says earnestly, though her brow furrows at the punctuation of her sentence. ❛ unless . . . you drown me or set me on fire first. then you’ll really be the first to know. ❜ she merely blinks at his confused stare before following it up with a waspish sigh. ❛ i dunno---- i’d probably tell, like . . . my mom or something before i’d be able to get to you. ❜ her confusion only grows, though she maintains clarity. ❛ that’s total bogus---- you stood next to me first. and your eyes were definitely hitting on me . . . they said all the things you were afraid to say out loud. ❜ she speaks with a certain air of conviction, smiling with a fondness at the love story she is fabricating in her head. she deadpans again. ❛ sloane fitzpatrick. i’m in the yellowpages . . . probably. let those fingers walk. ❜ she smirks confidently, winking seductively before pivoting on her heel away from him.
Adam opens his mouth for a moment, “Do you normally spin on a dime about people like this? Or is this a special case?” he asks, finding himself somewhat curious. At her question, he laughs again, though it’s still not exactly a proper laugh considering he’s not really smiling, “I’m not mormon. I just don’t drink. I came to grab dinner, but it’s busy and it’s taking a very long time to get my bill.”
she flits her gaze elsewhere, as though the answers to his questions were written somewhere in the void. ❛ no. sometimes. i don’t know. my cat’s death has entirely rehashed the issue of non-permanence for me . . . i’m vulnerable to the elements. i’m also on the rag . . .sorry . . . ❜ she pinches the stem of her martini glass and begins to whip it back and forth subtly, avoiding his gaze momentarily. she reverts them at the sound of his laugh, as though startled by the reaction. ❛ ----oh. well. i shouldn’t bother you anymore. even though technically, you bothered me first . . . in a good way, i guess. i should get going anyway. that bitch devra’s probably eaten all of my funny feet by now . . . the snacks, not my----- actual feet. my feet are pretty normal. ❜ she rises from her chair. ❛ how can i find you? you know . . . if i wanted to. in case i find some creepy goblin dude in need of eyes, i mean. it’s not entirely inconceivable. ❜
Billie Lourd at the “Booksmart” Press Conference at the Viceroy L'Ermitage on May 03, 2019 in Beverly Hills, California. (Photo by Vera Anderson/WireImage).
Billie Lourd attends the 21st Costume Designers Guild Awards x Getty Images Portrait Studio presented by LG V40 ThinQ on February 19, 2019 in Beverly Hills, California. (Photo by Rich Fury/Getty Images for LG V40 ThinQ)
— ❝ wait is that BILLIE LOURD ? or is that SLOANE FITZPATRICK who arrived in las vegas ONE YEAR AGO? SHE is a TWENTY-TWO year old. last time i checked they were a PHONE OPERATOR. rumour has it they’re very DEADPAN and very DENSE. the CISFEMALE reminds me of HEAVEN KNOWS I’M MISERABLE NOW BY THE SMITHS.
hey hey krusty krew !!!! i’m cat, est, she/her prounouns & this is my problematic trash daughter, i am sorry for exposing u all to this level of nonsense. bullet points are below:
SLOANE FITZPATRICK, twenty-two, hailing from santa barbara, california.
sloane is inspired by a large array of characters, including but not limited to rose rylund from golden girls, lydia deetz from beetlejuice, phoebe buffay from friends, chanel #3 from scream queens (obviously) and so on.
on the surface, sloane is as dense as it gets - she’s off-beat, emotionally constipated and surprisingly pessimistic for the daughter of a wealthy business tycoon. she comes from a long line of excellence, success and intelligence; thus, she is the black sheep of the family.
she has lived a semi-charmed life in almost its entirety save for ‘86, when her family cut her off. she fled to las vegas with the hopes of getting their goat, but they have yet to procure her. she is slowly coming to terms with the reality that this mexican standoff is not much of one at all, and is reluctantly settling down in the city.
she has an older sister, devra fitzpatrick, whom she does not like. she began living with her three months ago, and often avoids her apartment so as not to see her.
as with any character, there is obviously more than meets the eye when it comes to sloane. known for her unenthusiastic world view, her convoluted and nonsensical stories, she is often written off as an air-headed duchess lacking normal life experiences; all of this aside, she does have her occasional moonbeams of wisdom to offer. as a friend, she is loyal, compassionate and benevolent. despite her calloused surface, she is deeply emotional and lacks the ability to sift through her own emotions (mood).
sloane has been attracted to the darker things in life since she was a child. she watched a man commit suicide to avoid being drafted to vietnam. ever since, she has always felt a disconnect between herself and others. she is creative, a painter when she’s in the mood, and writes when she gets the inclination.
sloane majored in psychology and regularly references this to validate her audacious claims.
she is a cancer/leo cusp.
i’ll probs add more later but aifjsdijf there u go enjoy
He shakes his head, a quizzical expression still on his face for a moment, “Well, they’re all yours. I just don’t see any reason to be possessive over them post mortem, especially if you’re happy to donate your kidneys. After all, they’re just as important. And, hell, your liver’s doing a lot of work tonight, you should value it as much as your eyes,” he says, shrugging a shoulder as his gaze flickers to hers for a moment as he feels her eyes back on him. “I really don’t care what you do, it just seemed inadvisable to me,” he says vaguely as he inhales, “I am in no way interested, I don’t know where I’ve given you that impression.”
she smiles meekly, tapping her cheekbones with both hands as though perhaps confirming they were still in her head. she rights herself, offering an olive branch of the smile she dared not exercise at the beginning of their conversation. ❛ i know you don’t care . . . i definitely don’t either; but you’re alright. ❜ she nods understandingly, flexes of humor emerging from her otherwise impenetrable expression. ❛ it’s okay . . . my sister isn’t either. ❜ she shrugs placidly, finishing off her martini. her brow furrows with a realization. ❛ you aren’t even drinking . . . are you a -----mormon or something? ❜
Adam’s brow draws together, only all the more concerned as he pulls his wallet from his back pocket, “Jesus Christ, man,” he mutters softly to himself. Of course, he hadn’t put that sort of mockery above her, but it still hurt a bit more than he was willing to admit; luckily, though, he is as stone faced as ever, his expression only ever showing confusion and some inevitable irritation, “I believe the hospital would be more likely to know if you have a DNR, it’s on record, that’s why you had to have a lawyer sign it. Also, why would it wig you out? You’d never know,” he says, shrugging a shoulder, “I’d let them take my eyes, I don’t give a shit. I mean, good luck fitting them in someone else’s skull but, you know, whatever. Maybe another creepy goblin dude will need an eye.”
perhaps she penetrated a nerve. she retracts slightly in preparation for a cool-down session. she can never tell with these things; she’s quite dispassionate in general, but she is also deeply emotional . . . not fully unreachable. brow furrowed only slightly, she observes, hoping she had not pushed this man to the brink of physical hostility; merely happy in the haze of a drunken hour, good sir. she hadn’t meant to be cruel. besides . . . she did mean it. with the question, she involuntarily crooks her head in the opposite direction, mulling over her answer. ❛ dunno. seems taboo. besides, i always liked my eyes. ❜ she haphazardly pats the high points of her cheekbones, feeling more vulnerable than she’s used to. her gaze plunges to her sweater, and she adjusts it meekly. she then reaches for her baby bottle drink. she takes a swig, slowly adjusting her gaze towards him. once again, she has snapped into her dead-eyed ditz persona. ❛ i’m not actually going to sleep with my sister’s husband. he smells like mothballs. ❜ she dramatically flits her gaze away from him. ❛ no matter how tempted i may be . . . i’ll be good. which means you’ll have to sleep with him for yourself. sorry. ❜
Adam looks to her, shaking his head as he leans over to talk to the man behind the bar, asking for his bill before he returns his attention to her, “No, she died many years ago now, but I appreciate that anyway,” he says flatly. As she continues, he laughs, though it’s entirely without mirth, “I can’t imagine you’re much older than me, in which case, you were similarly not alive in the 50′s, so I don’t know what you’re getting at,” he says, “I don’t care what you think about me, I do care if you’re having some sort of medical crisis that’s making you struggle to produce linear thought.”
she blithely watches the interaction between he and the bartender before gesturing toward her martini and pinching her thumb and forefinger together with the remaining digits still raised in the universal sign for “good”. she returns her dead-eyed gaze to her company, crooking her head ever so slightly as though to indicate she’s listening like the good girl she is. ❛ the pleasure’s mine. i’m sure she’s resting peacefully---- anyway, it’s kinda hot, the way you obviously haven’t dealt with it. ❜ she dramatically shifts her gaze to her drink, reminding her that it’s still full. she takes a swig. ❛ i thought you weren’t sweet----- that’s the sweetest thing i’ve heard in my entire life. i’m a DNR, in case it comes up. organ donor too, but make sure they don’t take my eyes. wigs me out. and my name is sloane---- also. ❜
Adam looks at her quizzically for a moment, “I’m fine,” he asserts, his tone as even as ever. He rolls his eyes and sighs at her words, “I genuinely do not care if you think I’m lame,” he mutters, waving a hand vaguely, though not towards her. At the word, he narrows his eyes, but he says nothing, deciding to keep his irritation to himself, as he keeps most things. “Yes, my grandmother is dead, but I’m not looking for a replacement,” he says, inhaling deeply as he leans over the bar. He half tunes out as she seems to ramble on further, not really sure he had any hope of following that. “I know what year it is, why are you-” he shakes his head and rolls his eyes, “You were allowed to know about films in the fifties, probably, I wasn’t alive,” he says, “What are you trying to say right now? Because it’s not making a whole lot of sense.”
procuring her drink from the bartender, she shrugs coolly, her smirk still plastered upon her visage. ❛ cool. i don’t care that you don’t care. although it seems like you care a little bit. i still don’t care, though. ❜ she takes a swig, tapping the glass with her finger to indicate how good it is. ❛ sorry for your loss---- if you don’t mind my saying, it’s probably too early anyway; it’s evident the wound is still pretty open. you’ll come around. i’m rooting for you. my nana is too. ❜ she retorts quickly, holding her drink to her shoulder. ❛ no shit you weren’t. you’re, like, fourteen. ❜ she shrugs, smirk growing wider. ❛ why do you care? you didn’t, like, 12 seconds ago. what changed? ❜
Adam looks towards her as she continues, his mouth slightly open for a moment before he quickly recovers. Did people really talk like this? He never really went to bars, considering he doesn’t drink, but he’d have to further insist on avoiding them if this was typical. “Right. You are correct, I do not understand at all. That seems like it would be extremely detrimental to maintaining a symbiotic sibling dynamic, but I suppose I don’t have a sibling,” he says with a small shrug, only vaguely meeting her gaze for the moment. Her gaze doesn’t strike him as odd, as he isn’t the sort to understand that sort of thing. “It doesn’t help, but, uh, I…hope that connection brings you some comfort?” he says, turning his head slightly, “Are your emotional responses usually so closely tied to film releases or is this a coincidence?”
it could be the narrowing edge of hostility in his approach, but color her interest piqued. she’s amused, more of; call it petty, but she enjoys getting a rise out of people when she can afford the luxury. ❛ chill. she’s my sister---- she may be a parasite, but she’s not my mother. besides, it’s the best and only way to effectively dislodge her from me. i didn’t expect you to understand, but i’d hoped you’d be a little more sympathetic toward my perspective. you’re being totally lame right now. ❜ she smirks meekly, ❛ relax. i’ll sleep with him twice. once for each of us . . . brother. ❜ with a victorious quirk of her head, she smirks into the rim of her martini glass before finishing it off. she rises to flag down the bartender. when her endeavor proves fruitful, she seats herself, returning her gaze to her company. ❛ ----is it because you also don’t have a nana? don’t worry---- you can have mine. she likes them younger, ❜ she deadpans, ❛ i don’t need comfort, i told you. i’m fine. my blood pressure is exactly one-sixty over eighty and i don’t regularly piss into my tube socks. and i definitely don’t try to make people wear them for sport. sounds to me like this so-called ‘connection’ provided a level of clarity for the both of us. thanks. ❜ she crooks her head in the opposite direction of him, eyes wandering dramatically above him. ❛ life imitates art . . . i guess. as if the government doesn’t program us to feel and think certain things. it’s the eighties, dweeb, not the fifties---- you’re allowed to know those kinds of things now. ❜
“I am definitely not sweet,” Adam says, an eye narrowing for a moment as he pushes away from the bar. He had only having been lingering there to finish paying his bill. Unfortunately, he seems to have gotten caught and would probably have to meander here for a bit. It felt awkward, but maybe it wasn’t. “Uh, it sounds like you’re doing a great favor for a family member, but,” he clears his throat, not sure how he was meant to respond; it, after all, was a lot of information. He nods along as she speaks, his head turning slightly, “Right,” he says softly, “I have two cats. They’re healthy, but they are elderly, so I expect they may not have too much longer yet. The eldest is thirteen, she has a few health problems but none that are currently untenable.”
she observes his peculiar demonstration from the side of her eye with mild bemusement, stirring her martini with her toothpick before shrugging dispassionately. ❛ whatever . . . ❜ she retorts placidly, swiveling her head forward to steal a swig from her glass. truthfully, she had only been speaking aloud, hadn’t intended to ensnare anyone in perceived ‘meaningless’ conversation; hadn’t expected a response save for perhaps even more meaningless condolences. she is half-witted, surely, but she’s quite intuitive. after all, hadn’t she banished the idea of maintaining social courtesy? it’s 1987, for christ’s sake . . . still, cattiness was beneath her. it required a level of energy she verily could not muster. so she’d continue to dignify him with a response until one of them grew too disinterested to continue. ❛ not really. i’m hoping to sleep with her husband the second the divorce is finalized. i’m on a stevie nicks thing. you wouldn’t understand . . . ❜ she professes unabashedly, absently stirring the martini mix with her toothpick. her gaze dispassionately meanders back to her acquaintance; whether she’s looking right through him or doesn’t see him there, it’s not certain, but it is one of her many trademarks. the only indication of the former comes with her response. ❛ -----well . . . if it helps, my nana is the same way. she’s a bitch and a half, but i’m sure it’ll hurt all the same when she finally gets the ghost. maybe not. i don’t know, i haven’t cried since i was seven when my mom wouldn’t let me see child’s play. ❜
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