Chapter Text
Not that Regina truly ever gave it much thought, but heaven’s not all it’s cracked up to be.
A little buzzed, she mindlessly swirls the olive in her drink around as she avoids making eye contact with anyone in her immediate vicinity. It’s her fourth drink, and it’s just as weak as the last three have been. She has half a mind to ask the cute bartender she’s been eyeing for most of the night to stop being so stingy with the vodka, appearances be damned.
Downing the rest of her drink, she plops the glass back on the counter with more force than necessary, and moves off her barstool. But the second her feet hit the floor, she’s hit with a wave of dizziness, the light buzz she’d been feeling suddenly a ten times stronger. It seems those drinks packed a bigger punch than she thought.
“Are you alright, m’lady?”
Regina turns to see the cute bartender right on the other side of the counter, a small little smirk on his face. “The drinks are stronger than they seem,” he tells her, his voice slightly apologetic. “The upside is no nasty hangovers the next morning, however.”
Oh, well. At least there’s that.
After regaining her balance, she perches herself back on her stool. “Drink of the Gods?” Her nose scrunches up, and she stops herself from rolling her eyes at her own bad joke.
The bartender smiles, and extends a hand. “Robin,” he introduces himself as she gives him her gloved hand to shake. “I’m your next door neighbor. I would’ve introduced myself earlier this week, but apparently you’ve been busy getting the grand tour.”
The breath Regina lets out sounds more like a huff, but she works to keep the rest of her frustration in check.
It’s been three days since she died. Or so the ugly bird calendar in her too-small kitchen says. Time drags here, and she’s not sure if it’s because of how much she despises it here or if it’s just another “perk” of afterlife in the good place.
She knows she doesn’t really have a right to complain. After all, this place actually would be her own personal slice of heaven. If she really was the person these people thought she was, that is.
Regina bites back another frustrated sigh. She doesn’t belong here, and if that hadn’t become glaringly obvious in the past three days, it most certainly has tonight. A party thrown to celebrate her and the other newly arrived people to the good place, and she’s spent most of the night avoiding the all too sweet demeanors of the townsfolk, avoiding her supposed soulmate, and drowning her sorrows in much-too sugary cocktails as she contemplates coming clean about her identity. If only to relieve the pressure of trying to live up to someone she most certainly is not.
Robin places another drink in front of her. “Something on your mind, m’lady?”
“Regina,” she supplies, belatedly realizing she hadn’t given him her name. She takes a sip of her drink, relishing in the stronger buzz she’s feeling, magnified when she looks into the bright blue eyes of her bartender.
“I hate my house,” she blurts. The anxiety of revealing too much isn’t as strong, muted by her buzz, and the upward quirk of Robin’s lips helps settle her nerves.
With another quick sip of her drink, she takes a deep breath and unloads her worries.