bridgetloi-blog

[bridgetloi-blog]

psiolence‌:   

“For real?” Psi creeped from the chair to stand beside her. If this fish was saying anything, he wanted to hear it, too. For whatever reason, the thought of hearing a fish tell him to fuck off, even wordlessly, would have made his entire week. 

Psi stared into the water, attention sucked in by the soft rippling of the water’s surface from the bubbling filter in the corner of the tank. Quickly, he locked eyes with the chubby beaut. He was enigmatic. She was enigmatic? Did fish abide by the man-made laws of gender? “Lord.” he sighed, breath fogging up the tank’s glass in all his closeness. “You are magnificent,” he said to the fish.

A clang from the kitchen pulled him from his trance, and he shot right up. One of the most relaxing trances he’d been in in at least a week went FUBAR for a few dropped wontons. 

 “What’d you get?” he asked her, forgetting entirely what he’d asked for. Did he ask for anything at all?

Magnificent. 

This might mark the first, and perhaps only time the fish had ever been called that- what with the dinky horns. And laughably small fins. Still, he’s a funny little bastard, and clearly lord of the tank, so Bridget takes the moment to appreciate him in all his minuscule grandeur. 

“-Yeah,” she ends up breathing in agreement. “He’s the boss of the reef.” 

Fuck, was she drunk.

It was another closing shift, of course, and when a customer tips her with a few choice shots, some real top shelf selections that got a kick? Gin sure as shit isn’t gonna say no. 

‘What’d you get?’ 

She rubs her finger idly against the hem of her jeans, groggy, scraping her brain for her usual order. Shit. What did she get? There’s a pause, but she’s always one to talk. Especially to strangers, especially after midnight, drunk. 

“Char siu. Uhm. Soup? Peking duck, with the sweet bean sauce.” 

“I stick half of it in the fridge, cuz’ everyone knows it’s best at like, 4 am, when you’ve forgotten you had leftovers in the first place.” 

[bridgetloi-blog]

psiolence‌:  

✘ o p e n location: some lil chinese food joint in the jade district time: whenever. probably late night. like 1am but can be earlier.

He’s in his zone. The smell of grease in the air, a steady film of THC coating the nooks and crannies of his brain, the sound of woks sizzling and a huge fish tank bubbling (salt water, of course, those were quality)—that was al the man needed in life. The only thing that could disturb him is someone tapping against the glass, bothering not only him, but the fish.

 In the moment they were one in the same, he and those slippery phylum chordata. He imagined himself in the tank, feeling the soundwaves of the large finger tapping against the glass. He was a fish, and he was bothered.

“Man, don’t you know you ain’t supposed to do that?” he muttered. “You’re, like, scrambling their brains n’ shit.”

The cowfish is staring at her. 

He jets across the tank with a burst of speed, surprisingly quick for an animal so... boxy? Plump? Bridget doesn’t know the target weight for a cowfish. She doesn’t know if this one is fat or not, but he’s cute. Very cute. 

She taps once. Twice. Like knocking on the door to a house, except a glass one with no privacy, where you get harassed by customers all day. 

Perhaps random commenter makes a valid point. 

She feels a pang of regret- but, as it is, she’s still drunk.

“-Yeah. I think this one’s, like. Trying to communicate with me. Maybe to tell me to fuck off, but I dunno.” A pause, and Bridget glances back towards the kitchen, eager to sop up the Tanqeray rolling around in her stomach. She sighs. “He’s enigmatic.” 

[bridgetloi-blog]

ofxfrenchie‌:  

Frenchie sighed as she continued to play with the garment, tying and untying the bow for what felt like forever before she finally just settled for one that was more practical than it was beautiful.  “Whatever.”  She muttered, giving it one more glance in the mirror before giving the fellow Drink her full attention.

A fit of giggles escaped her when the girl reacted to her words the way she did, a hand reaching out to nudge Bridget lightly as she composed herself.  A bushy brow cocked at her friend’s words as Frenchie took a moment to do a sweep around the venue.  While scanning, her eyes immediately fell on a familiar face, Val, accompanying Juliana.  Lookin’ sharp, Bomber, she thought giving the man mental props before continuing her quick little scan.  There were a few of Dertosa’s elite that caught her attention, but just for a moment — nothing that really stuck. “Not yet,” she replied, her gaze shifting back to Bridget, “But then night is still young.  What about you, Hotstuff?” 

Frenchie’s face pinched slightly at the girl’s words, but she shrugged it off.  While they were family, Bridget could do whatever she wanted to do.  If the girl ever needed French, she would be there in a heartbeat, and Bridget knew that.  “Alright, just be careful.  And keep an eye out; you look too good to let it go to waste.”  She returned the wink.

Bridget makes a noise- a soft hiss of air between her teeth as she assess Frenchie’s work, something close to a laugh. 

“Look. Don’t sweat it. You could wear a garbage bag and still look hot.”

An absolutely true statement. She follows Frenchie’s gaze around the room, over the familiar and unfamiliar, assessing the current selection of, well. Options. Nothing that seemed of particular note, but her friend is right. The night is young. Young, and stretching out before them with a dozen possibilities, each one more interesting than the last. (Each one involving alcohol).

Alright, just be careful

Her lips quirk up.

It was nice- that notion of being cared for, even if was just the fair and rational urging of a friend to use common sense. 

There’s a swell of affection. She smiles, flaps a hand at Frenchie, as if to wave away any potential misgivings. 

“Hey- you think one of these elites is gonna waste a xanax on me? No way. I’m lucky if they don’t try to have me dragged out by my elbows just for lookin’ at them funny.” 

A beat, because she can’t help herself.

“-What I’m really gonna do is steal their prescription weed.” 

[bridgetloi-blog]

valentinexbomber‌:      

“Yo–” He sucked at his teeth. “I thought it was cheese! How the fuck was I supposed to know.” Three more hours of this shit! Val was beginning to feel the effects of what many (mainly below the age of 25) refer to as hangry.  Maybe he would take Eris’ advice, after all, and order in a pizza…

The moment she reached into her bag, Bridget promoted herself to the position of his very best friend. He would sing songs of her loyalty and kindness someday… maybe. Probably not, though. He would definitely think it, though. 

Valentine tilted his head back and moaned, “Ohh, are those the fruit snacks?” in reference to the Welch’s. Those were his favorite. “I’d go for the bar thing, but I’d get it all over my suit.” 

From that wide nose came a snort. Was he that out of place? He couldn’t help but be a little flattered at the insinuation that he didn’t quite belong within the swells of Dertosa’s most luxurious. 

“I’m workin’, gin. How ‘bout you?” A large palm, turned up toward the ceiling, reached toward her for a snack.

Bridget grimaces. 

“Have you ever actually seen cheese in real life?” 

She shakes her head, with an air of exasperation, as if she might just whip out some cheese flashcards and begin quizzing him.

Still. Mistakes were made. That doesn’t mean the night can’t be salvaged. 

She deposits the bag into his hand (which dwarfs her own) and sets about tackling aforementioned granola bar: it’s delicate work, but she manages to open the top without immediately spraying herself with a wave of crumbs.

So far so good.

“Ooh. Keeping some bigwig safe, huh?” 

A hiss. One misstep was all it took- her hand shook ever so slightly, and now there’s a proverbial desert of crunch balanced treacherously on her thumb. She grins at Valentine regardless. 

“Besides spilling oats on myself? I dunno. Never been to this before. I’m gonna get into some general mischief, but probably still go home in one piece.” 

[bridgetloi-blog]

ofxfrenchie‌:

Frenchie was glad to be met with Gin, the fun glimmer in the younger girl’s eyes only helping her own smile grow larger.  They weren’t meant for occasions like — far too gritty and grimey for Dertoa’s finest, but they sure knew how to look the part.  

Or at least try. Gin offered little-to-no help in her little fashion malfunction, but that wasn’t at all surprising to French.  “You suck.”  She laughed.

“Whatever titties I have are shown with or without the dress untied.” She continued to try and fiddle with the ribbon, turning to her side so that she can view it in the mirror, shooting her friend a smile before adding, “The kitty, however, is a different story.  She doesn’t come out ‘til I decide.”

It was then that Frenchie gave the girl a once-over, her lips pursing in approval as her dark eyes trailed on her frame.  “You look hot.  What’s the game plan for tonight?”

Bridget, most likely, is going to make matters worse. She’s no Tim Gunn, so she’s unsure on how to arrange the ties into some sort of ... tasteful draping.

But she’ll stand here with Frenchie for moral support. 

“-The kitty?” She half shrieks, biting her tongue in obvious pleasure. “Please tell me you’ve got your sights on someone already.” An admiring glance. These crispy-tailored men- and their wives - didn’t stand a chance. Not if Frenchie was on the prowl, looking as she did.

She winks. 

“Right now? Get drunk, for sure. Hobnob with the wealthy. Those rich bitches, the Real Housewives- they’re always on something, right? Maybe I’ll get ‘em to share a xanax.” 

[bridgetloi-blog]

valentinexbomber‌:   

Oh, God. Of course someone saw him. He’s not so much embarrassed as he is annoyed by the idea that one couldn’t find any privacy at these types of events. At least it was one of his own that saw him. It would be something for them to laugh about later when he wasn’t so frustrated, and his stomach not rocking back and forth in his torso. 

“There’s a mac n’ cheese ta–” He was about to start flipping tables if that was the case, but her expression told him otherwise. “Fuck off,” he retorted with the type of kindness he reserved for drinks, only. 

His attention was brought to the bag at her hip, and its delicious contents. “That’s what I have you for, though. Right?” 

Her eyes crinkle. 

Oh. Classic. Mac n’ cheese table. Bridget saw that slight glimmer of hope in his eyes right before it was so cruelly snuffed out. 

“Serves you right for eating cat food.” 

Valentine doesn’t need to worry, however. His little pate misstep was safe with her. She wouldn’t tell a soul- just each and every one of the drinks, during various times of the event, complete with a reenactment. 

Bridget waves off the retort, downs the contents of her crystalline glass. She glances back down into her purse to list his options, because she can’t just let him starve. 

“Uh. I got Nature Valley- so, like, crumbs galore. And then I got Welch’s.” There’s the further crinkling of plastic. “-Orchard Medley.” 

She squints. Why was he here, anyway? For fun? Fat fucking chance. 

“Hey. Blink twice if you’re being held here against your will.” 

[bridgetloi-blog]

valentinexbomber‌:   

e v e n t ✘ o p e n [3]

location: gala time: mid-evening. feels-like-i’ve-been-here-for-hours-but-there’s-still-like-3-hours-to-go o’clock

For a guy that would put any type of substance in his mouth as long as it had the slightest appearance of food, with joy, it was remarkable how quickly he spit out the hors d'oeuvre. 

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. The masticated remains of that little piece of toast with the brown mushy stuff on top (he would never come to learn that it was pâté) was spit back into the little napkin it was served on. Why was it always the pointlessly extravagant events that had the worst food? He brought the corner of the napkin up to his face to wipe the remainder of the snack off his tongue. If ever there were a time for a chaser…

Val looked over his shoulder to see if anyone close by was paying attention to his actions. When it seemed like the coast was clear, he moved to a nearby potted plant to dispose of the trash. 

This event is clear proof- just because you spent a lot of money on something, doesn’t mean the end result will be something edible.

Bridget watches with bright, sympathetic amusement as Val figures that out first hand. 

“Looks like you haven’t found the mac n’ cheese table, huh?” 

She grins. 

There was no mac n’ cheese table. If there were, god, Bridget would be glued to its side for the remainder of the night, no question. Rather than filtering through fava beans and palmiers. 

Bridget reaches into her own slender bag, sorts through her selection of fruit gummies to find the strawberry flavor. 

“Shoulda’ brought a purse so you could put snacks innit.” 

[bridgetloi-blog]

68th Annual History of Dertosa Gala | Event 001

[bridgetloi-blog]

ofxfrenchie‌: 

“Fucking shit.” Frenchie mumbled as she angrily fiddled with one of the two only ribbons on her doily gown that kept her from completely exposing herself to everyone in Dertosa.  The woman normally donned a much more casual look, but for once she wasn’t working and she made sure that everyone knew the usually tough girl had come to play.  She donned what looked like practically one garment of black lace, clad against her front, back, and left arm only as the material met at her ribcage and the curve of her hip.  It was that one on her hip that was giving her issue, threatening to expose her womanhood upon entrance to the event.  She pulled herself aside, resting her champagne flute (that she was in a hurry to get) next to an empty table closest to the mirror-covered walls as she tried her hardest to tie the ribbon in a knot that was both secure and still “fashionable.”  

When she was having no luck, her dark eyes darted to the entrance about 10 feet to her right, eyeing each person that filed in to see if one of them would be trustworthy enough for the job.  The last thing she wanted was to flash everyone when the night had just started, spending the rest of the night as “the girl whose coochie was served before hors d’oeuvres.”  When the first familiar face came through the door, Frenchie hissed and beckoned for them to come over to her, clutching the two fragments of the silk ribbon in one hand.  “Now normally I’d ask you to get me a drink before I had you feeling all up on me, but I’m desperate.” Frenchie rolled her eyes before offering them a small laugh, “Not like that.  Just do me a favor and tie this in a bow that’s gonna stay, but not look like a huge, lumpy knot.”

She’s never claimed to be particularly classy. This venue, this event, in all it’s finery and splendor, might be well above Bridget’s level. ( It probably is .) But it’s gonna take a lot more than some distant feeling of inadequacy to stop her from having fun. Or being nosey!

So Bridget waltzes in, smiling, descending upon the fellow drink with a delighted air. Just the person she wanted to see! 

“No, no.” She muses, eyeing Frenchie with a mock sort of seriousness. “Just untie the whole thing.” 

A pause.

“-I think this is more of a titty-out look.” 

Her own dress is silky, pink, very Moschino inspired- though god knows Bridget has nowhere the amount of cash needed to spring for a Moschino resort gown. Ugh. One day, maybe. But for now, she’ll just settle for brushing elbows with couture. 

[bridgetloi-blog]

rebelliumhq:

“An apple?” Cypress barked out a laugh, pleased to see her diving after the prize with the intense focus of the starved, “Jesus Gin, are you dieting?” 

Sure, bar tending was hectic work, but he couldn’t imagine the tattooed refrigerator that headed security backhanding a substantial snack out of her hands. Clearly the situation was much graver than Cypress had anticipated. 

This might call for two baskets of tots. 

His predictable more-food train of thought ( – there’s ice cream in that giant walk-in fridge there’s gotta be) is punctuation by the martyring of the sauce that’s currently painting the concrete,  Cypress letting out a wounded noise as if bearing the pain in the condiment’s stead. 

Maybe it would’ve been more forgivable if she hadn’t almost sniped his shoes.

“I’ll propose to you in the kitchen instead, s’gonna look like a crime scene real soon if we stay out here.” 

Cypress lingered on that statement, shoved in another tot and chewed thoughtfully, though his expression suggested something more along the line of dazed from a blow to the head before announcing:

“We gotta get some Cholula.”

Gin groans.

“No, just. Sometimes I get bursts of inspiration to eat, like. Healthy. LIke those acai bowls? They look cool.” 

Stupid, stupid girl. As if something of actual nutritional value would be enough to sustain her, especially on a work night. 

She flosses a green onion out of her teeth.

“Yeah? They gonna do blood splatter analysis on barbecue sauce?” 

Frankly, this back alley had likely seen far worst substances than a basket of loaded tots- likely every kind of fluid. Not limited to blood. 

But it still wasn’t the most appetizing place to to eat. Even with their standards.

‘We gotta get some Cholula.’ 

Oh, he was so genius. 

Bridget pulls at the door, motions at Cypress cautiously. 

“Fine. I need to grab a fork anyway. But I wanna know what the occasion is for your inebriation. Other than our recent engagement. And other than the fact that it’s another Thursday.” 

[bridgetloi-blog]

[bridgetloi-blog]

M E E T    T H E    D R I N K S

@ofxfrenchie @moscatox @tequilsc @mickeyslim@valentinexbomber @jackdvniels

[bridgetloi-blog]

toxicityrp + TEXT POSTS  — 

ft. @ofxfrenchie, @awomanlikeecstasy, @bridgetloi, @danimccray @nghtshvde, @handscanheal, @morphium-d, & @theunforgiven-veteran       1/???

[bridgetloi-blog]

streiknine:

“I don’t know what a Mai Tai is,” Vincent said, a lost expression crossing his features when Bridget zoomed to the next drink. “I— yes?” It took a little bit to process, she’d spoken decently quick and he hadn’t prepared for having to pay quite that much attention. “I don’t know.”

There was a pause in the bombardment of words — surely not that many in the grand scheme of things, but Vincent was starting to get that tiny burn of tiredness sit at the middle of his back. Murder was hard work don’t you know. But Bridget’s words registered, and Vincent lit up at the mention of chocolate.

“Oh,” he breathed out, “I love chocolate.” He tapped the top of the counter with his middle and ring fingers. “Is there a lot of alcohol in it then? Can you taste it? I’d like to try that one anyway, please.”

Bridget hums. 

“A mai tai, is like, what you order at a swim-up bar at a Sandals resort.” She pauses, amends the statement. “-Or if you’re just having a really rough wednesday.” 

Really? Never once a Mai Tai? Perhaps he was too busy doing... whatever unnamed activities for the Poisons to sip at the hummingbird-feeder concoction.

But she might be on to something with the chocolate. 

She smiles. 

Good. Bridget was worried she was losing him with her chatter- and yes, Bridget does chatter. Occasionally quite a bit.  

“There’s definitely booze in there,” Bridget nods, working her finger silently against the top of her notepad. “But I’d say chocolate would be the strongest flavor. Some people even get whip cream on top, believe it or not.” 

[bridgetloi-blog]

rebelliumhq:

“The perfect amount – 

“ Fuck, is that nacho cheese?” 

Nicky’s pretty aware he’s being taunted. Friendly-taunted, but taunted nevertheless – she’s lucky the fucking tots smell so good. If he’s not painting the walls of his stomach with that noxiously orange slime in ten seconds or less, he might actually cry. 

“Just give it, I’m not gonna make you do alley cleanup.”

Gin’s caution is vindicated. He grabs the red plastic basket like she’s offered him the last  communion wafer before the rapture, diving fingers first into crispy, greasy goodness. 

The noise Nick makes would be censored for an under-eighteen audience. He’d been dreaming about this the entire swaying-walk over.

“I’m proposing to you when your shift’s over. Shit.”

When he looks back up at her, he’s pretty sure he sees solidarity-hunger in her eyes, “Take some,” Nicky encourages, shaking the basket right back, maybe a little too hard, one of the tots getting slung wildly off into the alleyway, “D’they even feed you in there?” 

They’re both gleeful, inebriated goblins. 

“I mean- it’s definitely more plastic than cheese, but I would argue there’s absolutely a nacho element to it.” 

It’s like at a zoo- when they do those animal feedings, and they end up throwing chicken thighs into the crocodile enclosure. That’s all Bridget can see at this moment, the voracity in which Cypress is springing after those tots. The noises! The sound effects! She’s just tipsy enough to find it fascinating, instead of gross. 

She grins. 

“Uh. Please don’t make me reject you in an alleyway. I don’t either of us want to sink that low tonight.”

He shakes the basket. Her stomach tightens painfully- by god, did she want some of that unholy slathered concoction. She moves. Tries to navigate with as much grace as her tipsy senses will afford her. 

“I mean, I brought an apple to eat on my break, which was honestly so stupid of me, because-”

A pause, and a thick ribbon of barbecue sauce trails off her hand and on to the asphalt. Plop! She looks back at Cypress, who is probably seconds from rolling around in it. 

“-Do we need forks?”

[bridgetloi-blog]

,,,, i love to have fun

[bridgetloi-blog]

Champagne & Roses

champagne: what topic could you talk about for hours?

Anything, honestly. I really don’t shut up.

roses: If it had to be winter, autumn, spring or summer for the rest of your life, which would you choose?

Autumn, but like. Specifically the day after halloween, when all the candy is on sale. I want to be able to six buy pounds of Snickers for two dollars, tops.