D.C.
Truth

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Keckler: D | Grade It Now!
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Do you promise to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth?

Previously on D.C.: Senator Abbott called Mason a smart kid but didn't really know him from Adam. Finley showed up and told Mason he had to let her move in or else their parents would have a freaker. Finley, Sarah, Lewis, Mason, and Pete took over a Georgetown mansion with a big dog. Mason talked about "doin' the right thing" but got fired anyway.

Lucy, the big dog that comes with the house -- who also has more personality than any of the humans she lives with -- gets Mason out of bed for a walk early in the AM. Upon returning home, Mason's greeted by an unfamiliar backside squeezed into a slicker-y black skirt. The Backside stands up and turns into a random red-headed chick with a serious case of bed head. Or couch head. Or just plain old mashing-all-night head. She's sporting one of those backless-disco-reviving-midriff-bearing tops whose only means of staying on are with two pairs of shoe strings tied in the back -- this particular creation is black with flashy silver studs. I think we can safely assume she's not there to read the gas meter. She turns at Mason's ever-so-polite "Hello?" and says, "Hi," with an apologetic smile. Mason recognizes her: "Kristi, right? You work for Piedmont," he says, pointing Lucy's lead at her. (And that would be Kristi of never-happen-that's-what-they-said-about-space-travel-Kristi.) "I do," she answers and points one of her spike heels at him, "and you work for Abbott." "I did," Mason corrects, "I'm looking for a new job." He introduces himself: "Mason." As in jars. They shake and Lucy explains her reason for being there: "I know your roommate --" And that would be in the Biblical sense. "Pete," Mason supplies for her. "Pete," she affirms, obviously glad she didn't have to try to remember his name for herself. They look at each other. "So, anyway," Kristi says, making her way to the door. "Good to meet you!" Mason says. Kristi nods, smiles and edges out with one shoe on. Meanwhile, Finley, the young scamp, has been spying from the kitchen. Mason joins her and Sarah in the kitchen, and Finley asks archly, "So, who was that?" "A friend of Pete's. Works for Piedmont," Mason states as he gets food out from the awesome glass-doored fridge. "Was that the same woman from Tuesday?" Sarah asks through a mouthful of cereal. "Tuesday was blond. You're thinking Saturday," Finley tells her. "This is the woman from Saturday," Sarah states. Mason finds the need and desire to explain, "No, this looks like the woman from Saturday. Different person." Sarah snorts, "Right. Wow." "It's pretty much a 'wow,'" Mason says, grinning at his best friend's hijinks. "Pete's a slut," Finley pouts and walks into the living room. "Finley!" Pete the Slut is topless as he calls down from a balcony overlooking the living room: "Is my phone down there? My cell phone? I'm expecting a call." "From your chippie?" Finley simps while mincing around the living room. "Your bunk-bunny? Your shack-mate?" Finley says all this while doing a hootchie-mama-Charo-shaking-her-chestless-chest thing. Pete guffaws sarcastically, "You're funny," and throws a towel at her. Oh, let the tickling and repressed sexual attraction horseplay commence!

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