This isn’t my off-ramp.
[ cordelia had been expecting white fluffy clouds ... or at least a mall again. which means one thing: skip. but, then, that didn't explain the talking cat … if this was skip's doing, she's sure keanu reeves would be somewhere, lurking in the corners, ready to enter an alternate reality with his glasses. but, he wasn't. ]
[ she fiddles with the device, switching it from audio to video with a few misguided clicks, and her face, eyebrow cocked, distress clear in her eyes and voice, can be seen. the gardens are behind her. she's sitting by the large pond. ]
Can someone tell me which direction a large, metallic looking thing who is a big fan of Keanu Reeves is? Don't let the exterior fool you, he's super friendly. I need to talk to him; it's important. Like I've lost my ruby shoes and this isn't Oz, but, hey, there's a talking cat who knows how to work a phone kind of important.
I can handle red demons and blue demons and singing demons and spikey demons and, hell, vampires with souls! But talking cats?
[ is she freaking out? no way! (yes way.) cordelia can handle green, singing demons with hearts of gold, but talking cats? no way. no, no, no. she's wiggin' out right now. she has to go kick skip's ass for being a jerk and then make him send her on her merry way to becoming ... whatever it is she's meant to be now. ]
[ inhale, exhale. she's back on the right track. ]
His name is Skip. Honestly, you can't miss him.