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Star:I’m a star. I exist in the heavens.
Conor:Oh, look. Hell just froze over too.
Star:You’d know seeing as you live in Hell’s Kitchen. What’s it like being next door to the devil?
Conor:Surprisingly humid.
Star:Figured it would be hot.
Conor:More sticky.
Star::P Hit me with the question.
Conor:What happened in Afghanistan?
Star:There was a war.
Conor:Sigh. I mean with you.
Star:Ah, you mean how did I end up being a sex slave?
Conor:Yes. Precisely.
Star:Director of the CIA is a Sparrow. I started sniffing around where he didn’t want me sniffing, and I got my ass landed in Sex Slave Central. Trust me, it’s not the kind of marketplace you want to visit.
Star:Unless you’re into that, of course.
Star:Are you?
Conor:Double sigh.
Star:Why are you asking?
Conor:You have a lot of long-term plans.
Star:I do! It’s my favorite thing to do.
Conor:Do you bullet journal?
Star:Do I seem like the kind of woman who’d bullet journal?
Conor:Hey, I don’t judge. Maybe you have a kill list and it’s decorated with hearts…
Star:I’m not a ‘hearts and flowers’ kinda gal.
Conor:Skulls and crossbones then?
Star:Lol. You got me.
Conor:What? Do you bullet journal?
Star:Uh huh. I use bullets to decorate my journal.
Conor:You’re no fun.
Star:I’m plenty of fun.
Conor:So, do you have a kill list?
