Delilah: You’re not as destructive as you think you are. You still have wild delusions about your own power. That’s the narcissism of youth. Guess you’re not as old as you thought you were.
sisters
Sisters, on abs.
Delilah: You seem slightly flattened.
Cecily: Flattened how? Empty? Somebody told me that the other day. I think I’m waiting for something exciting to happen and ruining other people’s exciting lives in the process. This is because I am a heartless succubus that enjoys sucking the life out of others for my personal pleasure.
Delilah: Jesus, I was just talking about your abs.
Cecily: How can you see my abs?
Delilah: That was a joke; a line to contrast the near tide of somewhat uncharacteristic personal revelation.
Delilah, on New Year’s Eve.
Delilah: How did you celebrate this castratingly realisational passage of pointless measurement of arbitrary parameters? Did you have a snog and a whisky? Or a cabaret and a spliff? Or, dare I say it, a bottle episode?
Cecily: Bottle episode. Setting: my house. Cast: every Tinder date I’ve met over the past year. Food: fromage. Ending: catastrophic, as preordained.
Delilah, on overly encoded language.
Delilah: According to my tutors, I’m a master of hermeneutically self-referential, overly encoded language.
Delilah, to Cecily.
Delilah: So, brother, I’ve been shook the fuck up. You must be Jesus, the devil, or some kind of prescient energy force that transcends the need for physical form but comes to humans in the form of a slightly manic, dry-witted succubus.
Sisters, on dressing.
Delilah: Tell me, are you dressed entirely as Zelda Fitzgerald?
Cecily: How does Zelda Fitzgerald dress?
Delilah: With regard.
Cecily: I am in bed. So I am not dressing with regard.
Delilah: Perfect. Not dressing, with regard. You should know, it’s dangerous leaving punctuation to your adversary.
Sisters, on annexation.
Delilah: Tell me something. What’s a gal to do with insurmountable neuroses and twenty thousand Mongolian Tugriks?
Cecily: Is twenty thousand a large amount in set currency?
Delilah: I could probably buy… six hamsters.
Cecily: Do you want six hamsters?
Delilah: Not at the present. That comes later. After I annex Russia.
Cecily: So why do you need advice?
Delilah: This Mongolian currency is almost obsolete. By the time I annex Russia they could be dealing in tiny Serbian model aeroplanes.
Cecily: Then quick, invest in those.
Sisters, on celebrity.
Cecily: You’re building quite a fan base.
Delilah: Excellent. Wait. What? Amongst who? Satanists?
Cecily: Everyone. Your darkness is a lovely foil to Cecily’s sparkling naïveté.
Delilah: Wonderful. But how do you know?
Cecily: People write me and tell me.
Delilah: Interesting. I guess without this face, the darkness becomes a lot easier to accept. How are they regarding Alexander?
Cecily: They’re either Team Cecily or Team Alexander.
Delilah: I never expected your writing to get ‘teamed’.
Cecily: I am polarizing.
Delilah: Yes. But I assumed fans of your prose would deride any hint of group identification.
Two sisters, on the box office.
Cecily: I may be in love. I need your advice.
Delilah: Well, there are about six million romantic comedies you could consult that have more knowledge on the subject than I.
Cecily: Can you suggest one?
Delilah: That’s not really my scene. From my understanding of the genre, romantic comedies generally build up to a truth-telling climax wherein the man’s dreams are torn in twain, or a comical farce in which the man turns out to be gay. Or a neo-nazi.
Cecily: You’re thinking of opera. Or Broadway.
Delilah: The point is, it’s not your job to be psychologically tortured by love feelings. The story will be a hit at the box office either way.
Two sisters, on genetics.
Cecily: One wonders how our parents, being who they are, created us.
Delilah: Well, what would you retrospectively expect? A russian count and a coquettish haberdasher? If you pay any mind to matters of the completely random you’ll go inaccessibly insane before your prospective memoir publishers have time to commence their battle royale.
thedailymails 