ARReSTeD DeVeLOPMeNT - 𝑎𝑛 𝑢𝑛𝑛𝑒𝑐𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑎𝑟𝑦 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑢𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛

13 || going out on a limb

Lucille was, as expected, "driving" herself home.

Swaying a bit as she approached her car door, she decided she didn't need to open it, but rather stepped over the door and into her seat, feeling proud of this for some reason and outwardly remarking that "This is what convertibles are for."

"Smells like semen," she whispered to herself after sniffing the car suspiciously. "Also... the wall?" Which, by the way, she still hadn't been told that Annyong was alive and well inside. The family had collectively decided to leave her out of this.

Lindsay was also, as expected, "driving" herself to the hospital.

Itching her foot by twisting it in a likely incredibly damaging fashion inside her cast, she peered over her tinted sunglasses to examine a slump of what looked like dead flesh on the side of the road. It wasn't the cat she'd run over earlier (that was on the other side of the road but, fear not, still there), but rather someone she knew: an old friend named—

"Chris?" she asked over the window that she'd rolled down.

Chris looked up, his skin red and hot and dehydrated, a quick flash of hope filling his eyes. "Lindsay," he breathed gratefully, trying to stand up and approach the car. "I'm so sorry for giving you an STD; I mean, assuming that there's only one because I never got tested so I'm not sure what it is or how many I've got. Can I get a ride, though? I won't do it again; I swear."

Lindsay had slowly been inching the car forward the whole time.

"Please, Lindsay," Chris begged, his eyes softening like a dog's as he pretended he had done nothing wrong and that his college debt truly was his only flaw. "This could save my life."

And so, that sentence being the deciding factor, Lindsay promptly drove off, leaving him in the minimal wind and high-heat sun. And that's alright. It wasn't worth bringing him back to the hospital; regardless, he would have been promptly fired upon arrival.

Not long after Lindsay abandoned him, however, he ended up calling 911 anyway, and was admitted to the hospital as a patient this time due to suffering from heat stroke. But at least he got there.

"Good thing you're here, because I wanted to give you some advice," his coworker said in the tone of Neil Gaiman in his Masterclass ad, connecting him to fluids and his daily hepatitis medication that he'd forgotten to take earlier as they set him on a hospital bed and intentionally made his pillow flat and shaped wrong.

"You know, my mother always said that if there isn't any reason that your subject will enjoy it, don't fuck it," he said wisely, and Chris glowered flatly back.

"God, Chad. Is this because of the feet?"

"Look, I'm just saying that foot babies wouldn't be very pretty. Probably end up kicking them out of the house. Foot joke," the doctor replied with a snort, putting his hands into the air in mock defense, putting them back down, and directing a nonchalant pointer finger at Chris' head. "Oh, also you're fired."

"Is this... also because of the feet?"

Chad shrugged. "It's one of your only flaws."

While Chris lost his job for malpractice, though, back at the model home, Maeby was busy picking one up for almost the same reason.

"Hello, this is Alicia Goldstead, the girl who has your job," a voice said over the phone. Maeby sporadically clicked her pen against the marble countertop.

"Hey," she said, forcing herself to sound extra friendly. "How's it going?"

"All good things, all good things," Alicia said, lying, because you're encouraged to lie if things actually aren't all good due to the questionable culture our society has raised. "I'm calling you with an inquiry."