I'm watching an movie from the 1930's where a guy is assigned two dumb as bricks bodyguards with old timey new york accents and I was struck with the vision of Zoey messing with Rumi while wearing a fedora and a pinstriped suit in the bodyguards au, acting like everything is completely normal while speaking like a new york gangster
(wait oh no i dont know how to write a fast talkin old timey new york accent) (everyone suffer & do not complain)
//
'oh no.'
'oh no,' mira echoes her, ten seconds later. rumi has to assume she was looking for a bomb threat or something easier to deal with than this.
this being the pinstriped, fedora-wearing zoey posted up by the door of her office.
'this is why you were late this morning?' mira grouches, even as she scans the hallway and gestures rumi inside. 'you look--' mira's words get strangled in her throat. rumi understands. the desire to say that zoey looks stupid is absolutely there but. it's a crushing blow to rumi's psyche to understand she's still beyond attracted to the woman even decked out in what appears to be mob-inspired regalia.
'ran into some, ah, trouble, if you catch my drift, boss,' zoey says, in english, in a strange accent that somehow melds fast talking with the most stretched out vowels rumi has ever heard.
mira groans. louder.
rumi needs. she needs to go somewhere else. anywhere else. she needs to leave. and be alone with her shameful lust. unfortunately, she laughs - worse, she giggles like she's a thirteen year old with a crush on the class clown - and zoey's eyes light up.
'what kind of trouble?'
'aw, nothin' i couldn't solve, boss.'
'how wonderful,' rumi returns, voice strained with the effort of not laughing.
when zoey sees that she's going for the desk, she rushes ahead of rumi with a little "hup!" of effort and draws out the chair for her. 'dere you go, boss. yew sit yer pretty--' she cuts herself off with a cough, and sinks down behind the chair to hide from rumi's bemused stare and mira's brassy laugh. 'ain't yew got an errand yew can send me on? have a heart, boss, throw yer dog a bone.'
rumi tucks her bottom lip between her teeth, letting it drag out slow. the pressure of her teeth strikes warm--the opposite of what she needs right now--so she reaches for the cold water on her desk. the pitcher is almost empty.
'would you go fill this for us?' rumi asks, tapping the mouth of the jar. 'i know it's not strictly in your purview--'
'on it, boss!'
zoey scrambles out from her hiding place and takes the jug in her arms like a baby. or a bomb. she sprints out--rumi and mira sharing exasperated and endeared looks when they hear the loud 'geez, sorry about that, fella, all my fault! blame the boss if yew like!' as she makes impact with some poor office worker.
'how did i get in trouble for zoey running into someone?'
'we're all, always, in trouble with zoey around.'
rumi grants mira that point with a sly tip of her head. 'pinstripes,' she sighs, taking her seat finally.
obsessed with the ‘incompetent’ ficlet, pls can we see bodyguards zumi 🥺
bodyguard fic part one
it’s the biggest disaster of rumi’s year to find out that her bodyguards (plural, allegedly competent) are apparently models in their spare time.
two women, hotter than hellfire, are waiting for her in her office. the taller one has long pink hair. she’s dressed in a suit, all clean lines and golden accent jewellery. comes from money, or did once upon a time; no one who still has money would be a bodyguard. the pay is good but the turnover rate is terrifying. but there’s a lean intensity to her, an economy—of expression, of movement—that tells rumi everything she needs to know. the truly wealthy don’t like to lose. money, face, a second of their valuable time.
she is also, rumi notes again, sweating into the collar of her turtleneck, extremely pretty.
the second body guard is also extremely pretty. that hits rumi first, which she suspects is by design. she’s…underwhelming. short, very cute. she doesn’t look like a bodyguard at all; she looks like a hot woman got lost in an h&m outlet that sells exclusively clothes for twelve year old boys and then she got lost a second time and ended up in rumi’s office. and yet. there’s something about her. rumi doesn’t know what, yet, but she’s always liked secrets.
‘hello,’ she greets them quietly, politely, bowing over the folder clutched to her belly.
tall one looks her over top to bottom and nods. short one—lounging sideways in one of the guest chairs—wiggles her ringed fingers in a wave.
‘hi! wow! does ryu exclusively hire hot people? what’s up with that? seriously, is there like a facial symmetry part of the sign on process because every person we walked past on the way to the office was bangin’.’
‘respectfully,’ the tall one tacks on.
rumi wonders if they know each other. or if she’s just covering her partners rudeness because that’s what they are now—partners. a team.
‘oh! oh my god, yeah, of course i meant that respectfully. i was just—wondering? i guess it was kind of an inside thought. it probably should have stayed there. sorry. my last job, they didn’t mind so much if i said literally whatever, whenever. he was deaf, though, so that might have had something to do with it. do you think he fired me because he figured out i talk a lot?’
‘he didn’t fire you. you got a better offer.’
the short one relaxes with a gigantic sigh, dropping back into the chair. ‘right. so true.’ she smiles at rumi. brilliantly friendly.
rumi suspects she could talk an attacker out of following through and, failing that, simply smile them into submission.
‘hi! i’m zoey! nice to meet you!’
‘hello, zoey.’
‘mira,’ the other one offers. ‘do we meet your standards, miss ryu?’
rumi never wants her to stop talking. her voice is smooth and rough in equal measure, textured. expensive silk. the actual content of her words hits a second later and rumi has to smile, rueful, at being caught out so quickly.
zoey jumps up with a gasp, which turns into a horrid choking noise. she coughs, twice, and thumps herself on the chest. she spits a piece of gum into the wastepaper bin with excellent aim.
‘no,’ she groans. ‘please, i need this job. i promise i’m really good at taking orders and saving lives. or, keeping people from getting shot, anyway. my mom wishes i was a doctor. or a nurse. or a paramedic. she thinks it sounds less dangerous—doesn’t believe me when i tell her ninety-five per cent of my job is carrying shopping for rich people. this isn’t helping. sorry. hi. i’ll shut up now.’
rumi uses the time zoey spends talking to round the desk and drop the act. it’s ruined now, and she tries to be annoyed about it but can’t find the energy. besides—this has told her plenty about these new hires. more than the boring test of casual misogyny or other varieties of disrespect would have provided.
‘i apologise for the mild deception. it’s a small test i run on all new hires—to see how informed they are about my company, and whether a—‘ she glances at zoey, smile tilting toward teasing, ‘—pretty young thing will get them a drink to steady their nerves. please. sit.’
zoey thumps back down into her seat. her knee jitters. her fingers tangle, spinning across rings and crackling knuckles.
mira takes an extra moment to sit like it was her idea. she sits at the front of her chair, prepared to jump up from it at a moment’s notice. or to lean forward, bracing her elbows against her knees, as she does now. it makes a dangerous line of her shoulders, pulling tight in her suit jacket.
‘did you get the answers you were looking for?’
rumi sits as well. crossed her legs daintily at the ankles.
‘i try never to let myself get too carried away with first impressions.’
‘it’s important to trust your gut.’
‘true. but equally important to give people time to show their true colours, wouldn’t you say?’
mira narrows her eyes, which is a curious reaction. rumi files it away, along with her non committal response of,
‘sure,’
and the way mira withdraws, straightening her spine.
‘whoa. do you two know each other or something? that was hot. like—serious tension. yowza. personally, i’m a big fan of second and third impressions. my first impressions tend to be a little so-so,’ zoey admits, see-sawing her hand. ‘but i grow on people. so they say. like a mould. not,’ she adds with a nervous laugh, ‘that i would literally bring mould into your office, miss ryu. it’s a saying. do you have it here? maybe it’s an americanism. my file told you that i’m american, right? half. half-american, half-korean. and this is my good side,’ she points to her left cheek, ‘so if we’re ever out on the street and there’s paps around, i’ll make sure to be standing on your…right.’ she glances down at her hands during her very brief hesitation; rumi thinks she makes a sign with her fingers but can’t be sure. ‘if i were the hot, young ceo of a fortune one hundred company, i’d make sure all of the people working with me were awesome. hot and smart. and respectful. which—i am. very. very respectful. you can stop me literally whenever. please.’
rumi feels a little like she’s been hit by a car. she opens the folder flat on her desk and removes the bodyguards contracts that bobby had delivered to her. she’s already looked them over and found, much to her distaste then and now, again, that they’ve already been signed and notarised. these are her bodyguards now. not security belonging to the company—they are hers, privately hired, and hers alone.
‘as i understand it,’ she begins mildly, interrupting a deep inhale from zoey she fears is the precursor to another speech, ‘bobby has already discussed the important matters with you. expectations, your positions, your salary?’
‘bobby…bobby…’
‘the guy who hired us. lowkey scary when it came to ryu’s safety,’ mira says.
zoey nods, clicks her fingers. ‘right! peach fuzz, cute? looks like he could do with a solid week at a relaxation resort?’
‘…he does have some leave built up,’ rumi agrees, and makes a mental note to encourage him—yet again—to take it. ‘so he did talk to you about everything?’
‘money, yes. vague mention of death threats, yes. general day to day expectations,’ zoey shakes her head. ‘not so much.’
rumi’s head throbs. a glance at her calendar reminds her, urgently, of the next three hours packed with meetings and mergers and other dull and frightfully important things.
‘very well. i don’t have much time at the moment but if you could return at, say…three? i can take my lunch then and bring you up to speed.’
mira’s vaguely polite expression flattens like she’s been run over by a truck. zoey stops jittering in place. they exchange a meaningful look and rumi—who had put several tally marks into a column against them knowing each other—wonders again if they have worked together forever.
‘you’re joking, right?’ zoey asks.
rumi frowns. ‘not at all. i apologise that it won’t be until then but—‘
‘respectfully,’ mira interrupts, ‘you are getting literal death threats. we aren’t leaving your side.’
‘the death threats are juvenile and unspecific. i’m not in any danger. and i won’t waste your time on financing meetings.’
another look. zoey’s turn once more. cajoling, pleasant.
‘we get it. we’re new and you don’t know us yet. but this would be super valuable for us, actually. seeing you in your normal every day routine. it’ll give us a chance to scope out the place. and before you get worried about us hovering or interrupting or anything like that, we won’t! professional the whole time. promise!’
'gentlemen,' rumi drawls, striding into the meeting. she sends marginally more friendly nods to the two women sat together closest to the empty seat--rumi's empty seat--at the head of the table. 'sarah. chae-won.'
'miss ryu! and...guests?'
there's a stutter in rumi's stride that won't go unnoticed by a room full of wolves; she covers as best she can, spinning it into a planned pause to gesture back at the two women who have followed her inside.
'congratulations, my beautiful board of directors. you get three seconds to gawk at my new bodyguards before i turn into boring miss ryu and suggest we get straight to business. i'm expected at an event tonight and if i don't have time for dinner, i and my empty stomach will be very upset with all of you,' rumi tells them in a tone so flat it has everyone chuckling.
there are a few curious glances, nods, but generally speaking the very moment rumi identifies them as bodyguards, the two women become about as interesting as the shiny green plastic plants by the door.
for as relieved as that makes her, rumi doesn't understand it. they're utterly fascinating.
zoey flips them all a lazy salute as she presses deeper into the room, strolling to the back wall to peer at the huge painting of--well, rumi isn't sure what it is, exactly, but it has a lot of colours and she likes looking at it when she gets bored in these meetings. when she's done with the painting after a fraction of a second, zoey's attention is pulled to the massive window overlooking downtown; she practically skips over to gawk at the view. rumi is captivated by the sight. it's not the most flattering thought to have but rumi is reminded of a bomb-sniffing dog, all focused energy tucked into a vibrant jacket; the sunlight streaming through the window catches on fluorescent stripes on the sleeves of zoey's windbreaker.
'do you mind?' a man grumbles, shooting her a disapproving look. 'you're intruding on a very important meeting, girl.'
mira tenses. rumi almost doesn't notice, the tension identical to her own.
her eyes narrow in on the man.
'no geon-u.'
he perks up. rumi would almost pity him for how poorly he is misreading the situation except for the irritation--anger, if she ever let it get that far--that sits hot and metallic in the back of her throat like bile, like venom.
everyone else in the room clocks her displeasure. most of the directors look like they would like to sink underneath the table. sarah pretends to be very interested in something on her computer. chae-won pretends to itch her nose to cover a smile.
'yes, miss ryu!'
'you are new to this board. your second meeting, if i am not misremembering. as the interim director of management, the incheon branch. is that correct?'
(it was correct. rumi was never wrong about these things. he was expected to hold the position for the next eight months, at least, as his supervisor took parental leave; there had been no complaints about the temporary promotion but rumi wonders now if she might have to pay closer attention to what went unsaid in incheon.)
'yes, miss ryu.'
'welcome to my table.' she keeps her tone even and quiet but cannot--and does not wish to--stop a degree of frostiness from forming on her tongue and face. 'i am not certain how business is handled in the incheon branch--it has been too long since my last visit, i will have to rectify that--but here in my building we treat everyone with respect.'
rumi has heard from a few trusted sources over the years that to be on the receiving end of her displeasure was extremely unpleasant. there was something in her eyes--the heterochromia or her diminished need to blink, or something less literal--that struck people soul-deep. made a man fear for his very life. made him want to dissolve into nothing rather than be near her for a second longer.
a bead of sweat on geon-u's brow tells her he is starting to feel it.
'y-yes. of course, miss ryu.'
'do not speak to my bodyguard again.'
it is not a suggestion. she holds his eyes until she's sure the message is received--a thrum of satisfaction in her chest when he meekly drops his gaze to the tabletop--and continues, lighter.
'of course, miss ryu. my apologies, miss,' he nods to zoey, who has long abandoned the window to wander down the opposite side of the table and curl back around to where she started.
glancing her way, rumi catches another look exchanged between zoey and mira. she wonders if intense, meaning-laden stares are something that gets taught at the bodyguard academy (which probably doesn't exist but rumi doesn't know enough about bodyguards to know for sure) or if it is a demonstration of their deep and apparently instantaneous connection. there wasn't any mention of them knowing each other before this--rumi checked bobby's notes and she knows that bobby knows that she likes him to be thorough, at least, and meticulous if at all possible, so he definitely would have included that if he knew about it. she resigns herself to a front row seat to whatever drama is going to play out over the next few days (possibly weeks) (god, she hopes this won't drag on for weeks) as her bodyguards fall in love with each other as someone tries to kill her.
the meaningful (and, dare she think it, heated) look is exchanged.
rumi doesn't know what, precisely, is conveyed but when it is over, mira slinks outside and zoey stays behind.
face lighting up in a grin, zoey hurries to rumi's chair and pulls it neatly away from the table. it's not...exactly the job of a bodyguard but, having learned from mister no's misstep, no-one says anything about it. rumi keeps the shock and mortification from touching her face and simply sits, ignoring the brief touch of zoey's fingers against her back. it feels like she lingers, but she doesn't, not really.
rumi just wants her to.
the thought is an unpleasant one and rumi has to take a moment to settle her nerves and her laptop on the table in front of her.
glancing around the room, she notices another absence. when rumi tilts her head, zoey is already there, bowed so her ear is level with rumi's mouth. (it's small, rumi notices somewhat dazedly, and very cute. she has three silver stud earrings. one of them is shaped like a structural nut, and the bit of it she can see before it disappears into the lobe looks threaded. there's a freckle on her tragus.)
what the fuck, rumi screams in her mind.
'would you like a seat?' rumi asks out loud. her voice comes out completely normal and she hates how that feels like a victory.
'thanks. i'm all good, boss.'
zoey had promised perfect professionalism and now--after her mouth, all tongue and teeth and taunt, has curled with maddening ease around the word boss, like they were in a different space with a wildly different dynamic)--proves that she is capable of it, posting up in the corner of the room where she has line of sight on rumi, everyone in the meeting, and the windows.
it is surprisingly easy to forget that she's there; zoey does nothing to draw attention to herself so rumi's distraction is her own fault, and doubly distressing for that.
there's nothing rumi can do to address it during a meeting--she can hardly tell zoey that her standing quietly in the corner of the room is more distracting than anything ever has been. rumi can only suffer under this strange attunement, too-aware of her murmuring a response to something in her earpiece and the weight of her gaze, intense and intent, as she does her job and reconfirms that yes, rumi is still sitting exactly where she had been sitting thirty-four seconds ago.
if you're done with prompts feel free to delete! how about...incompetent?
'it's not that i don't trust you,' rumi says as she pulls through her desk, trying to find the papers she swears she had this morning but seem to have disappeared on her. 'it's just that the last four that i've interviewed have been...'
'unsuitable?'
'incompetent,' rumi corrects, tone just this side of sharp.
bobby winces. 'okay, yes, that's fair and entirely my fault.'
rumi snorts. 'it's not your fault that he lied, bobby.' she slams the drawer and props her hands on her hips, silently admitting defeat. 'do you know where i put the contract for my meeting?' she melts, sending him a relieved smile, when bobby produces it basically out of thin air, the contract neatly tucked into a black folder. he tucks that into a neat briefcase, and hands over her lunch smoothie and a plate of cut fruit.
'bobby.'
'yes?'
she clicks her tongue. swallows down a lump in her throat. 'you don't have to do all of this.'
'until we find you an assistant, i think it's probably for the best. you get a little mean when you don't eat,' he tells her.
rumi's jaw drops. 'mean! i don't - i'm not mean!'
'you told the mailroom to--' he pretends to check his email. rumi knows he's pretending because she can see his smug little stupid little fucking smile. 'get their fucking eyes checked and to stop fucking in the garage.'
'and?' rumi grabs her briefcase. 'so what? they keep misplacing my mail! and fucking in the garage! it's like we exclusively hired horny twenty-year olds in the mailroom!'
'well. it is an entry level position. so.'
'so we basically did.'
'yes.'
'well. good. i'm glad they're having fun,' rumi grumbles, trying not to sound like someone who hasn't had fun in a really long time.
bobby--an angel, and knowing way too much about her for both their comfort--doesn't comment except to look expectantly at her plate of fruit. rumi shoves an apple slice in her mouth and immediately feels better. bobby can somehow tell and practically skips all the way down the hall toward the elevator.
'i'm assuming,' she says, and crunches down on another slice. god, they're fucking delicious. 'that you bringing it up means that you've found a new bodyguard?'
'two of them! and these ones are good - i had them vetted already, they impressed do-yun - and they start tomorrow.'
'both of them? why?'
bobby flicks through his emails, smile intense. 'no reason! just thought you might like to meet them, feel them out.'
'bobby.'
'okay, so, it's not a big deal--'
'bobby.'
'--you've been getting some death threats.'
rumi sighs. she leaves the fruit on someone's desk as she passes by. 'and you didn't tell me this...why?'
'because it's all under control. you don't have to worry about it. you don't have to worry about anything at all except this merger with park productions.'
'i'm not going to worry about that,' rumi denies, flicking a dismissive hand. 'they can chase me all they want. i don't like them. and park - whichever one i met - gives me the creeps.'
'hm,' bobby says, which is about as close as he gets to saying that someone seems like a bag of shit. god, rumi adores him. 'i'll arrange for someone to need you desperately in...thirty minutes?'
'if i'm in there longer than twenty, you're fired.'
bobby snorts. 'good luck with that.'
rumi pouts. 'i could survive. probably. to the end of the week, at least.'
'yes, but everyone else would quit.' he ushers her into the elevator, taking one last chance to neaten her collar and her braid before nodding. 'you look great. tell them anything other than you hate their guts.'
rumi nods, not really listening. she could handle the park scion in her sleep. 'do you really think everyone would quit?'
'oh, rumi.' bobby whips a bottle of ice-cold water from. somewhere. rumi distantly realises she hasn't drunk water in a concerningly long time. 'yes. i love you but you're a total monster.'
