Chapter Text
There’s five things Veloce Visrin is confident in:
One— Opening a wine bottle without a corkscrew is considerably barbaric; and the how-to articles and videos on the internet entirely solidify this notion.
Two— Allowing Weirin to wield a hammer will never end in a favorable outcome.
Three— Her thumb really hurts.
Four— Shoe laces, nails, screws, clothes hangers, knives, and paperclips have no business being near any alcoholic beverage; consumed, or otherwise. (Especially if they further fail and hinder said consumption of alcohol)
Five— She really needs a drink. Now... more than ever.
And for the first time in her life—
Veloce Visrin completely understands what the concept of being heartbroken means.
“Weirin, please.” Veloce whispers gently, softly pleading to the younger girl. “You have to stop.”
Slowly guiding her roommate’s hand away from the screwdriver that’s sitting haphazardly between them, Veloce silently wonders if this feeling of distraught and hopelessness is what plebeians feel on a daily basis. There’s a strange clenching in the middle of her chest that blossoms as they both end up staring at the wine bottle that’s been transformed into something awkward.
It’s utter devastation
“Can’t you see that you’re tearing this friendship apart?” Veloce forlornly adds on, looking at the half chiseled cork that’s proudly gazing back at them in defiance. The strewn flakes floating carelessly in the wine bob back in agreement.
“It looked so easy. Why is reality so bittersweet?” Weirin heaves out a long sigh as she sweeps the army of tools aside, disappointment far gone and replaced with something akin to dejectedness.
“I can always sue them for negligence, you know.”
“Please don’t.” Veloce groans out.
“Hear me out now—“
“We’ve talked about this before, Weirin. You cannot sue our landlord for not providing complementary beverages and attendants.”
“Why not? I know for a fact that he has enough funds to cover the costs of both those suggestions.” Brushing off the loose flakes from her shorts, Weirin vaguely motioned to the surprisingly large hole in the wall that’s (approximately) an accidental hammer’s throw away. “Or at least we can negotiate the circumstances of our security deposit.”
The dust and loose drywall falling seemingly nod in agreement as well—though more judgingly.
“Negligence is not the same as brazen ignorance.” Veloce challenges back, motioning to the carnage of their previous wine opening attempt; the broken glass and stain damaged wood flooring clearly wanting nothing to do with this whole situation in general. Though, Veloce had to admit that they were more (slightly) successful before than currently. At least the cork wasn’t jammed further in—
“You know.” Weirin is silent for a moment, subtly catching Veloce’s attention. "We can always ask the girl across the hall for help." After all, she is the only person close to their age that’s on their floor. Out of everyone, she would probably be the most sympathetic to their situation. Emphasis on: Probably. (not really)
Veloce looks at her incredulously, crossing her arms in challenge. "You mean the one who’s probably a hitman?"
Weirin rolled her eyes, as if to say ‘are you still going on about that?’ mixed in with ‘it’s after midnight; we either do this or I’m off to bed’. And Veloce narrows a glare, as if to retort ‘you’re the person who said we could manage this without a corkscrew’.
"Okay, look here. When we moved in she nonchalantly offered to help us out in the future and if there is anything we need right now—it's exactly that."
"I'm pretty sure she was either alluding to espionage, blackmail, or embezzlement."
Weirin shrugged, completely unfazed with the notion. At this point, Veloce knew they were both being completely unreasonable.
“Fine.” Veloce says reluctantly, standing up and gesturing extravagantly to the door. “Lead the way''
As if on cue, the rest of the hanging drywall falls with an anticlimactic plop as Weirin marches past them with purpose; wine bottle poised ahead like a drawn sword.
Actually, there’s eight things Veloce Visrin is confident in:
Six—Blackbird always grins. Always. She also intimately smirks when caught hacking the laundry machine for free and infinite usage. (She’s a bad example, but a phenomenal teacher)
Seven—Blackbird maneuvers in the shadows so majestically, silent, confident, and comfortably; as if she wore and owned it. It’s actually very unnerving; especially in stairwells.
Eight—The (first and) surname posted on Blackbird’s mailbox looks like it’s pronounced as strangely as she is.
However, two things both Veloce Visrin and Weirin Lin are is NOT confident in:
One— Blackbird, herself.
Two— Is she the infamous “Rapscallion” the maintenance guy has unofficially declared war on (quite loudly in the midst of malfunctioning lawn sprinklers and swarms of seagulls) during three separate occasions in the last month alone?
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Overall, Weirin Lin could care less. Except for the last one.
The maintenance guy is an asshole.