bridge it! (kurios) wrote in fableless, @ 2016-10-11 23:29:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! log/thread, bridget kluge, roman kimura |
WHO: Roman Kimura & Bridget Kluge (BROMANce)
WHAT: Roman gets a promotion, Bridget deals with her workplace getting robbed, they get drunk, Bridget thinks she finds her Talemate (bnr).
WHEN: Evening of October 10th (MONDAY)
WHERE: Some bar.
WARNINGS: Drunkenness of the white girl wasted variety.
“Alright, make my day. Tell me your good news, Roman.” “Oh my god, okay,” Roman started, clearing his throat, planting his palms on the table and grinning widely. You’d have thought he’d gotten engaged by how much he was building this up, but they were… X amount of bottles (how many, even?) in now and he didn’t give a fuck about how ridiculous this revelation seemed. “Basil made me the EXECUTIVE secretary!!” “What does that mean? Are you the secretary to the executive? Because that’s a huge diff.” Bridget took a big gulp of her vodka on the rocks. “Or are you, like, the head of all secretaries?” Roman polished off his current bottle and for the moment, couldn’t be assed with flagging down a waitress for another one. “Obviously, I’m the head of all secretaries. I have the power to like… Schedule executions and veto legislation, now.” “Schedule … executions?” Bridget’s face contorted into a confused expression. She definitely needed another drink to deal with this ridiculous bout of “good news” Roman had promised would make her shitty Monday that much better. “Let me guess, you have a guillotine now.” “Yeah!” His smile made it a little difficult to tell if he was joking and believed such things. Roman didn’t quite know either, but he did know that sort of power would be amazing if he actually had it. “I was thinking of commissioning one. And then having the Business Office hold onto it for me so they could lose it immediately.” Bridget’s first instinct was to smirk at the idea of a guillotine in 21st century Woodsbridge -- come on, how absurd would that be, it’s not like I’m in the French Revolution or Wond-- “Wait,” escaped her -- rather loudly. She lifted her chin and squinted in his direction. “You,” she hissed as she drunkenly pointed -- no, jabbed a finger at him. “Me, me and more me,” Roman beamed, happy as could be. It was either the alcohol or the guillotine that was contribution. No wait -- definitely both. Then his face fell into similar suspicion and he squinted back. “Wait - why me?” “You--” Bridget re-jabbed her finger at him, making sure to poke him on the nose this time (though this was admittedly a harder task, given her level of inebriation). “I know who you are.” “WAIT HOW.” A look of raw panic flashed across his face, obviously aided by the questionable state of soberness he was fluctuating between. Had he really been so obvious? He hadn’t mentioned reindeer once! “Goddamnit, Roman, all this time,” Bridget muttered. She harriedly downed the rest of her vodka. “You chose this moment to tell me that you were the Queen of Hearts? ‘Executive secretary’?” She held up her hands to do the exaggerated air quotes. “Really?” Roman stared blankly for just a moment, eyes large, unblinking, confused. And then his lips spread into a wicked little grin. “I can’t believe it took you this long to figure me out, Alice.” “Screw you,” Bridget groaned. She slammed her glass on the counter. “I--” This was too much. She woke up far too early on a Monday only to hear that her workplace got robbed and there was an eighty-five percent chance of getting interrogated at the police department. And she just wanted to drink, damnit, drink herself into a subhuman stupor with Roman, but no, he had to rub his good news in her face as a way to reveal that he was a Talemate she’d long been looking for… “I hate you so much. I should have known. Of course you’d choose to tell me when I’m ... like this.” Her voice was increasingly slurred with exasperation. “I mean, look, you asked me. I never planned on telling you shit because I didn’t want to deal with all of this -” He waved his hand animatedly between them. “Awkwardness.” Roman paused and felt his cheeks. “...Are my cheeks red?” “You look like you pulled a Sylvia Plath in an electric oven,” Bridget retorted, a touch louder than she had intended. A pause barely settled in before she shrugged exaggeratedly. “Are you going to behead me or what?” “Fuck you,” Roman shot back, echoing Bridget’s already too loud outburst with his own, equally disruptive laugh. “Jesus, Bridget, you need to work on your come ons.” “You first,” she shot him a wicked -- or drunkenly exaggerated? -- smile as she said so. “You need to work on pacing yourself.” No sooner had she chided Roman did she pick her empty glass back up and wave it wildly to flag down the nearest bartender … waitress … whatever. “Why? It’s Monday and we had a shitty day.” Roman grinned when they got more drinks. “...I mean, you had a shitty day. Mine was great because Executive Secretary.” Or executive something, the ‘secretary’ bit sort of jumbled together. “Whatever, keep bragging, Executive TO the Secretary.” Bridget’s eyes felt like they were going to roll out of their head, but that somehow didn’t hinder her as she plucked a fresh round of shots from the bartender’s tray. “Cheers. To ---” “To ME. The Queen of Hearts!!” Roman lifted his glass, but some of it spilled onto his arm. “OOPS -- Anyway, to the Queen of Hearts! Heads will roll!” He clinked his glass against Bridget’s. |