*Phoebe is sitting at her computer staring blankly at the screen.*
Phoebe) Ugh! Writer's block! I have absolutely no idea what to write! Ebony, help me!
Ebony) *Appearing out of no where) Here I am!! Wadda you want?
Phoebe) *Having fallen off her chair* What what what what?? Where did you come from?! Oh, I get it. This is one of those things writers get, isn't it? The thing where they think they can see their characters who come and ask them 'what the Hell were you thinking in chapter 4' etcetera.
Ebony) Well, er, no. You called for me and I came.
Phoebe) ... that's pretty epic. So, you haven't come to complain to me?
Ebony) Well no, but... seriously, Phoebe, mauve top? Jeans? This is set in the future! What the Hell happened to fashion?!
Phoebe) Sorry, sorry, but I'm not gonna change it. It's too late now. Besides, it's not that far in the future.
*Ebony mutters something incoherent.*
Phoebe) Well, anyways, what do you want if not to complain to me?
Ebony) Me? Nothing. It was you who called.
Phoebe) Ooh! Do I get to call you whenever I want to?
Ebony) Well, only when you're trying to write, but yeah, I guess.
Phoebe) This is SO epic....
Ebony) You say epic too much.
Phoebe) Oh, thanks. Well, I don't really need you at the moment so you can go now if you want.
Ebony) Ok, bye!!
Phoebe) Bye!
*Ebony disappears*
Phoebe) Well, that was weird.
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