#romeebcss

Nate is armed with two cups of black coffee from Hutch and a tote full of various flavored bagels and cream cheese. He didn’t know what she liked, so he pretty much bought them all. He knocked, rapping three times on the door. He didn’t let her know that he was coming, because honestly, he wasn’t even sure if she would remember last night. When she swings the door open, very obviously having been woken up, he waves the bagels as a peace offering. “Bagels,” he explains. He holds up the coffee next. “And coffee. Good coffee.”

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Response for: @romeebcss Generator: “Nate and Romee go to a bar. Romee gets too drunk and Nate has to take them home.“

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     Romee isn’t just drunk, Nate realizes, she’s plastered. Like, hold her hair back while she throws up in an alley while a homeless man sleeps peacefully one garbage can down, toss her over your shoulder after so that she doesn’t run directly into the street, and get into the cab with her to go home because she cannot possibly make it up the four stories to her apartment by herself, kind of plastered. Nate doesn’t mind taking care of her. He’s been there, more times than he can count, but he is also well-practiced in the art of wasted girl. He has Serena to thank for that.

     Romee’s palms are pressed against the window. It’s hot in the cab so her fingers leave sweaty marks. Nate asks the driver to roll the windows down before she vomits from the heat, but honestly, he’s sweating through his suit. Romme demands to know where on Earth he’s taking her at least four times, and Nate explains patiently the first three times that he’s taking her home. The fourth time he tells that if she asks again he’s dropping her off at Rockefeller Center. The tourist trap is every New Yorker’s nightmare so the mere mention of it shuts her up.

     When the cab stops Nate slips him cash with a generous tip because he doesn’t have time to stick around for change before Romee is up and out of the cab and barrelling down the street, her arms spread wide like she’s a bird that’s finally been freed. Nate sighs, gives her a moment to relish in said freedom, and then once again crushes her wasted girl dreams. He herds her into the building and up the stairs and waits while she digs around in her purse for around 7-8 minutes for her keys. “Do you need some help?” He asks because he knows she does. “I got it!” She snaps because she thinks she doesn’t. She gives up eventually, shoving her purse at Nate without a word; just rage. 

     Nate finds the keys and pops open the door wordlessly, and Romee starts kicking her shoes off and throwing her coat to the side before she’s even fully inside. She leaves the door open, so he assumes it’s okay for him to come in. She walks directly into the bathroom and slams the door. He assumes she wants privacy for her wretching, and he busies himself with finding a glass and filling it with water for after. He leaves it on her nightstand, and by the time he’s picked her shoes up (so that she doesn’t trip over them in the middle of the night) and hangs her coat up, Romee is sprawled across her bed. And because he can’t leave without knowing that she’s okay and breathing and won’t choke on her own vomit tonight, he walks to her warily. 

     “How are you feeling?” He asks, sitting on the edge of the bed. She turns to him and her eyes are red-rimmed and puffy, either from vomiting or crying, he’s not sure. “I didn’t do it.” She chokes on the words, and he knows its true because he never thought she did, but its nice to hear. “I know,” he responds simply, because what else can you say? He reaches over her and silently hands her the glass of water. “Drink,” he commands. “We have a lot of work to do tomorrow.”

MEME GENERATOR  // @romeebcss​

Talia has offended Romee in some way but doesn’t realize it.

Like most Friday evenings on the Upper East Side, Talia found herself getting dragged to yet another elite event.  Someone was erecting a monument in Central Park or getting a hospital wing donated in their name or something along those lines, she didn’t really know.  At this point, Talia was really only coming to show face for the sake of her step-father and to take advantage of the open bars.  

In typical Talia fashion, she had made her way over to the bar in an attempt to find some amusement at the party.  It was a relatively active occasion; there were a lot of faces—some that she knew and many that she could vaguely place in her memory.  Everyone eventually sort of blends together for Talia; they were all just a bunch rich people. While the bartenders shuffled around behind the bar, she slid into a stool and turned her head to survey the event before ordering; it definitely wasn’t a tequila sort of night—perhaps rum would be better suited for tonight?

“A Malibu bay breeze, please.”  Talia said to the bartender when he came around to her end of the bar.  As he went to fix her drink, the room quieted as someone in a suit stepped up to the podium to welcome everyone and introduce the “star of tonight.”  

She turned to the blonde woman sitting to her left, who was actively listening to the speeches, “I wouldn’t get too invested,” Talia said as she lifted her freshly made cocktail to her lips.  “This is just another over-the-top charity event to stroke the ego of some already old, rich douche who’s about to get richer and probably only threw this party for the tax write-off.”  The comment wasn’t a drunken one, it was merely a blunt one that she’d put together based off of her previous experience.  These things were always the same, and generally the only true entertainment was to poke fun at it all.

Apparently Talia was of the minority in that regard, because the blonde merely turned her head to shoot Talia a distasteful look. With a shrug, Talia turned her attention to the others that sat at the bar as she lifted her drink to her lips yet again and took a generous sip through the straw.  She had come up with another witty comment to say to the woman a few moments later, but when Talia turned her head to voice it, the woman was gone.

Instead, the blonde stood on the stage in the front of the room, accompanied with an older woman and a man—and the announcer at the podium.  

mini scenario generator: maverick and romee going to an event that requires formal attire.

        anyone who knew maverick knew that he absolutely hated formal attire. he felt like a monkey in a stuffy suit, trapped around some of the most uninteresting people he’d ever met. maverick just simply wasn’t made for balls or galas. although he hadn’t partied in nearly five years, he found it easier to enjoy the chaos over calmly executed mingling. mav had almost forgotten that he’d agreed to attend the formal gathering as a favor for a friend, something he was very quickly beginning to regret. “ haven’t i been here long enough to score you brownie points?” his suit was starting to agitate the rockstar, causing him to pull at his tie every once in a while. “this monkey suit shit is for the birds, rom.”