[West's sort of sprawled across the couch, looking almost like a normal girl writing in her diary-- except for the limpness to his limbs. It's a bit of a struggle for him to be writing right now, and he's really just doing the journal equivalent of drunk dialing, as a bottle of brandy sits on the floor beside the couch. Looking up, he smiles sunnily-- and drunkenly-- and waves a hand]

Billy!

...

[He drops the journal and rolls onto his stomach, propping his arms and head on the armrest as he stares at Billy]

You-- [a point] are not Billy.