ARReSTeD DeVeLOPMeNT - 𝑎𝑛 𝑢𝑛𝑛𝑒𝑐𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑎𝑟𝑦 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑢𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛

12 || casting calls

It was the same boring day in the same boring book, and boring ass white ass jawline ass medical degree ass normie ass foot fetish ass probably STD ass slacker ass Chris (surprising that he actually has some defining qualities now) was walking back to the hospital from the Bluth family model home, sweating profusely in the blistering sun that's to be expected on a summer day in Orange County, California. Which it was.

Common knowledge is that history often repeats itself. Sometimes in ten years, sometimes in hundreds. Today, though, it repeated itself almost immediately because Chris, out of boredom and malicious vengeance, began singing "These Boots Were Made for Walkin'" as he dragged himself along the seemingly endless road.

"One of these days, these boots are gonna walk all over you," he grumbled, adding a dramatic gasp of despair at the end, but no tears came out because all his water had been used up to sweat in the almost-deadly heat, and also to ejaculate into Lindsay's ankle boot, as one does.

The reason he was attempting to cry was because he meant the line of that song literally in terms of the boot. In his perspective, the song perfectly displayed how he felt about Lindsay Bluth and her ungrateful cast crushing the very essence of his soul. Unbeknownst to him, though, his soul wasn't the only thing it was crushing.

In fact, Lindsay was currently beating her cast against the edge of the almost completely-deconstructed wall in their front entrance.

"Yeah," Google Translate cheered her on unenthusiastically, although it's the thought that counts. "Yes. Perfect."

On a side note, I just got word that Google is still extremely protective over the rights to the usage of their brand and its name in media, but I decided to put the word in anyway instead of sticking with "something" as a replacement because fuck you and fuck long-term joke consistency. If you're reading this, Google, you can eat my ass. I'm sure you could probably sue it, too, but how can you sue something you already ate? Asshole.

The wall chipped then, and dust from the sheetrock spewed onto the floorboards. Tobias raised his fists triumphantly in the air. Nobody else moved. Nothing was ever new anymore.

Lucille heard all the thumping from upstairs, where she was digging through the attic boxes again in search of the box belonging to her missing exchange student. She closed her eyes in irritation with every new thump she heard, getting consistently more agitated as more and more boxes marked Annyong were empty when she opened them.

"Will you stop that thumping?" she called down the stairs.

"No!" Lindsay called back. "I need to do this!" And so she continued.

The reason all this was happening was because, upon getting inside and moping about how she'd have to be bedridden with her own husband and actually start spending time with him, Lindsay discovered that her cast was starting to itch incredibly bad. Tobias assured her, however, that this was completely normal with casts (and he would know; he'd had something around seven so far this week) and that whacking your injured bone against something as hard as humanly possible was a fantastic way to soothe the skin outside it.

So here they were, doing a better job of taking down the wall than the pest control pornstars themselves. Although Lindsay had to argue that this hurt her foot a lot more than helped, judging by the fact that her skin was just as itchy as before and also her ankle was starting to give her shooting pains again even though she was on three different painkillers and a suspiciously high dosage of Ativan.

"I think I might have just re-fractured my ankle," Lindsay realized aloud in a eureka moment of pure enlightenment. Her third, fourth and fifth eye opened at once and she promptly removed her foot from the wall.