Chapter Text
Yennefer Vengerberg is a responsible fucking adult. So here she is, on a Wednesday night or morning or whatever, it used to be Wednesday but now it’s three am so she’s confused. But anyway. It might be Wednesday, and as a responsible fucking adult, she is watching the news. She is also very, very intoxicated.
Well, not intoxicated. She’s had two-okay, she’s had four-no, wait...She’s definitely had less than twelve shots of tequila, but beyond that, she doesn’t really feel good about her estimation abilities. Estimation. Huh. That’s a fun word! Well, she estimates that the news is all bad and also really boring, as tends to happen at three am when one is having difficulty understanding the queen’s English, or any other language for that matter. But that’s okay because she doesn’t need to understand what the fuck they’re saying. She knows that generally, the old man with the horrible beard who is yelling will be bad, and the hot brunette looking like she wants to murder him is probably one of the good guys. No one that hot could be evil. Probably. Actually, no, all the hot ones are evil, and her head feels like a bubble, not the fun floating kind children like but the ones that form when you’re drowning that split into dozens of smaller ones under the water pressure and she was going somewhere with this metaphor, but she’s not sure where anymore. The point was maybe that she feels like shit, and her hangover will be chronic but her ass is iconic, or something to that effect. She’s not sure, because the news is actually interesting right now, or at the least way more fun to watch because she’s a big bisexual mess and Hot Lady looks really good in her blazer and tie.
Hot Lady opens her mouth and announces to all who might be listening at three am on a Wednesday or whenever this was actually filmed because no one looks that good at three in the morning or that pissed off, that perhaps if the republicans did something Yennefer’s brain doesn’t understand right now related to healthcare, then something else about abortion, and then she looks whoever she’s talking to up and down and says that sending a man accused of child abuse to talk about abortion rights is the height of hypocrisy and that the man, who turns out to be named Stregobor and also a major fucking asshole, should be fired.
Yennefer kind of agrees. Drunk logic tends to suck, especially hers because the last time she got drunk she decided to vandalize Julian “call me Jaskier” Pancratz’s stupid fancy car and got arrested, but in her mind child abuse is bad and abortion rights and gorgeous women are good and that’s the end of it. The host looks kind of terrified, and Stregobor the asshole looks very terrified and also furious, and then the host is saying thank you to senators de Vries and Stregobor for coming in but they’ve run out of time because he’s a coward.
Senator de Vries is hot. He should have mentioned that and then had her host the news so Yennefer could keep looking at her stupidly pretty face. Like, this woman was carved from marble and then brought to life, and then apparently decided to fight the patriarchy in tailor-made suits. This is Yennefer’s dream woman, right here.
Why didn’t the stupid host mention that, and also if she was single? The news is for talking about important shit, after all, and she is unsure how the nation isn’t putting aside their differences to talk about how hot Senator de Vries is. Ooh! She should tell them. After all, until ten seconds ago, Yennefer didn’t know how hot Senator de Vries was! She has, like, a hundred million followers last time she checked. And she’ll be doing each and every one of them a service by pointing out this woman because damn. Triss had very patiently told her why drunk tweets are a bad PR move if she doesn’t want stupid magazines saying she’s a drunk and only being cast in movies for her tits, but this is political. Isn’t it trendy for movie stars to care about politics? It is! She is a genius, and Senator de Vries is gorgeous, and Triss will probably be asleep right now and also not care. So there. Now she just has to find her phone. Did she leave it in the car? She hopes not, because her car is red and the car she drove home is yellow, and wait that isn’t her car. Fuck. Okay, she’ll deal with that tomorrow, but first her phone and googling more pictures of the sexy senator. And maybe she should also ask Triss if asking someone out over twitter is a “bad PR move.” And then do it anyway if she says no.
Tissaia de Vries wakes up at five-thirty am to the shrill screech of her alarm, just like every morning. She immediately checks her phone before taking a shower, like she does every other morning.
Unlike every other morning, she has over twenty thousand twitter notifications and according to her accountant, her campaign fund received several million dollars over the course of the last two hours, and what fundraiser did she do at three am?
Tissaia was asleep at three am. Everyone she knows was asleep at three am! Who didn’t sleep at three am?
With no better ideas, she opens Twitter to see what the hell must have happened to get so many people involved in her campaign. She knows she’s been on the news a few times this week and her social media interns do good work, but this level of community engagement usually takes a disaster or a death. Oh, gods. If Stregobor died, she’s going to need to pretend to be sad. Please let that be it. If there is a god, let Stregobor have been shot by an angry mistress!
It is not anyone’s death, though it may end up a disaster. There, in black and white text, is a mention from one Yennefer Vengerberg, scandal magnet and darling of Hollywood. Apparently, it is “a fucking crime” that people are not aware of how attractive Tissaia is, and also that “Senator Stregobor can go choke on a dick.” While this message may be crude, poorly-spelled, and likely the result of liquor if the tabloids her employees like are anything to be believed, people see to be agreeing. A lot. And while there are many more tweets that seem to get less coherent as the chain progresses, Tissaia is more concerned with the fact that these people are visiting her campaign site and posting pictures of her that she didn’t even know existed. And, apparently, donating money to her campaign. Which is wonderful, of course, but leaves her in a rather unusual position. How does one respond when a celebrity drunk-tweets about how hot you are?
Triss Merigold is having possibly the worst morning of her entire life. She had told Yennefer “no more drunk tweets.” So what does Yennefer do? Post not one, not two, but thirty-four tweets about a) how attractive Tissaia de Vries is, b) how a great deal of Republican politicians can do a great deal of disgusting or violent things to themselves, or c) how much she’d like to bury her face in Tissaia’s cleavage and never come up for air again.
So yes. Not a great morning. She’s mildly relieved when Senator de Vries replies to Yennefer with a polite thank you for the compliment and well wishes for dealing with her inevitable hangover, noting that she should also “try and get some sleep” since she decided to start her chain of twitter nonsense at three in the morning when Triss was unconscious and unable to stop her. Why didn’t she stay up and stop her?
Still. Tissaia’s response is good, sort of. She could be horrified or announce that Yennefer needed to be arrested or whatever older, classy women did when twenty-three-year-old movie stars tried to flirt with them over twitter. But really. What was she thinking? Was she thinking at all? Because now there’s a hashtag and a ship name and people are making edits of Yennefer kissing Tissaia in front of the white house and insinuating she should be the future First Lady, which is just...Such a bad idea. Should Triss be worried and maybe bring up rehab again, this time with more brochures? Actually, no. She loves Yennefer and is very concerned about her friend’s health, but at this moment Triss needs a drink, some coffee, and maybe someone to hug her and whisper soothing things like “You’re not going to get fired, Yennefer won’t blame you for her own bad choices probably” or “No one is getting arrested.” She can’t stage an intervention while being a massive hypocrite, so that means no drink. But coffee. Lots and lots of coffee. And no hugs, because she decided to be a strong independent woman and is therefore very single and also trapped at her office until her delightful, famous children who didn’t know they were her adopted children got their shit together.