Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Location: Waystar Royco building, New York. Philomena Cunk sits on a director’s chair. She stares with open disgust at Logan Roy. Logan Roy stares back. Tension is thick in the air. “We need to have an honest relationship if this is going to work, so I’m just gonna come out and say it: I don’t like you, Mr. Roy, or your cardigan.”

Logan continues to stare in disbelief. Cunk’s beady eyes narrow. “You’ve got nothing to say to that, have you?”

Meekly, Logan says “No, I don’t.”

“Mm. Are you aware that your wrinkles look like whiskers?”

“I-”

“I suppose you aren’t. That’s alright. They’re quite cool.”

“If-”

“Why aren’t you dead yet?”

“So . . . You were named a spice. How come?”

Shioban Roy chuckles. “I think you're mistaking Siobhan for Saffron.”

“Really?” Cunk looks off into the distance. After a few moments of deep concentration, she says, “Huh . . . No, I don’t think I am.”

Shiv glaces off camera at Tom. They look at each other in mutual befuddlement. 

“Uh.” Shiv adjusts in the chair and brushes her trousers off. “Right.”

“Siobhan, what’s it like being in the political sphere-”

“As a woman?”

“Nah. As a redhead. Must be hard, since you don’t blend in with all the old white men. They’re usually blond. I’m so grateful we finally have a redhead in politics, growing up our only representation of redheads was Ronald McDonald and that was pretty scary.”

“So um. Hi, before we start off the interview I wanted to say I loved all your work, I find you absolutely hilarious.”

“Hilarious? I'm an interviewer, this is all very serious” 

“Oh yes of course.” Kendall put his arms up in reform, “My apologies.”

Philomena adjusts her position on the chair, “So, I would like to discuss the elephant in the room. Who do you think is better: Kendall Jenner or you? And have you two ever met? 

“Well . . . um yes, we have met before at a Met Gala. Briefly talked, very nice lady.”

“Was that the Met Gala where you had a squabble with Sophie Iwobi?”

Kendall chuckles, “No. Me and Sophie are on good terms, great terms. I love her show, it really is a fresh taste in the world of late night, you know, since um there are rarely women in late-night comedy.”

Cunk hums in understanding. She takes a breath, “You know, that reminds me of my friend Paul. One time, he got addicted to huffing clementine fumes to the point where his nose started bleeding and he had to shove a tampon up his nose to stop the bleeding.”

Kendall smiles like he’s dead inside but also a bit as though he finds this genuinely interesting. “Fuckin,, cool.”

“It was not cool.” Cunk’s eyes water. Kendall has made a grave mistake. “It was actually, really, really scary.” Philomena begins to sob and incoherently murmurs: “He left it in for too long and got Toxic Shock Syndrome.”

Kendall signals the cameraman. “Woah, I’m sorry. Don’t cry. Uh. Let’s take a break. 

Kendall tweets “Women's lives are so hard. I can’t believe they have to live in constant fear of Toxic Cock Syndrome. My fellow men, we all need to do our part in wearing condoms and not huffing oranges. #WhatSlursCanISayForBeingAFeminist” on break. 

Secretly, Kendall can’t help but ponder what huffing tangerines would be like.

Miss Sohpie Iwobi will make a joke about this later tonight on her talk show. 

Tom walks on from off camera. “Hi, how are you?” He says cheerfully while sitting down.

“Are you gay ?”

The camera zooms to Shiv standing in the corner, mouth open in awe staring intensely at Tom.

Tom looks away from Shiv and back at Cunk. “Well,” he chuckles, “No.”

The camera zooms into a different corner, where Greg is staring equally as intensely at Tom as Shiv.

Tom turns in his chair to look back at Greg. “I mean-”

“ Tom,” Shiv says.

“Right. No, I’m not gay.”

Cunk nods. “So does the sentence, ‘You can’t make a tomlette without breaking a few greggs’ mean anything to you?”

“ . . . No.”

She nods again. Behind her, Greg begins to shake. “What about, ‘I’d castrate you and marry you in a heartbeat’?”

Tom’s eyes flit between Greg and Shiv a couple times, before settling on the door. He bolts. 

“So how’s Napoleon’s dick?”

“I thought this was an interview for my political campaign?”

Roman and Philomena intensely stare at one another. The only noise that can be heard is their deep breathing waiting for the other to begin the conversation. Roman slightly shakes his head while leaning forward. Cunk responds with a sour face. 

“Why is your laugh so bloody annoying? Is it a rich people thing or . . . ?”

Roman scoffs, “Are you naturally that fucking bitchy because of your period red hair or are you just scared of that dick-looking thing hovering over us?”

Phiolemna contemplates the question. “Both” she replies confidently.

Roman hums and looks off to the side for a quick glance. Once again, there is a halt to the conversation. 

“So, recently Jeffrey Bezos went to the moon through his own rocket ship; Do you plan on going to the moon also? Is that a touchy subject due to your past experience with rocket ships?”

Off camera, Gerri makes an ‘um’ while staring at Roman in a concerned manner. 

Cunk, Greg, and Shiv watch the door bang shut, the sound of Tom’s footsteps fading down the hallway. 

The cameras turn to Shiv. “Are you gay?”

Shiv walks out of the room.

“I was interested in politics from a very young age and you can quote me on that!” Connor perkily delivers.

Cunk hums while nodding, deeply fascinated by this statement. “How young?”

“Sorry?”

“How young, Mr. Roy?”

Connor freezes. “Um. Pretty young.”

Cunk glances at the camera. “The producers want to get an actual age, in years. Unless you were only weeks or months old when your interest in politics began. In that case weeks or months are acceptable, too.”

“Young,” Connor repeats deep into an existential crisis. 

Cunk leaves the room. Roman watches her leave for a second, then takes out his phone. “Fucking weirdo,” he says before accidentally sending a dick pick to his dad, again. Philomena hears a shriek of terror in the distance. “FUCK.”

Cut to Cunk rapping “L to the OG” for Logan while he sits there in pure confusion. She clears her throat, “Mr. Roy, last question. Who did you vote for in 2020, Trump or Biden?”

In the distance, Gerri can faintly be heard sighing underneath the loud layer of Roman’s cackling.

Logan rolls his eyes. After a brief silence, he exclaims “Oh fuck off!” Logan stands up and storms out of the room with the camera following and a boom mic following, “Jesus fucking christ.”

Chapter Text

Philomena Cunk is back in action, walking down the halls of the heart of Waystar Royco. “These halls are the same halls that billionaire Logan Roy used to roam. But now he’s dead. So he isn’t. Now he’s walking to the gates of heaven; I say heaven instead of hell because he probably paid during his lifetime to get there. Last time we were here he was in the last few months of living and didn’t even know it! Fuckin crazy how fragile life is. . . I hope I live longer than that lad . . . it would be pretty embarrassing if I didn't . . . especially since I’m not rich enough to go to heaven.”

Cunk sits across from Shiv and Tom. The tension in the air is palpable. Cunk’s eyes flit between the two, before settling on Siobhan. 

Philomena clears her throat. “So . . . what are you doing Friday night Siobhan?” 

Shiv stares, mouth slightly agape in disbelief at Ms. Cunk’s boldness before turning into a smirk. Contrasting this, Tom squints. “You know we’re marr-”

“I wasn’t addressing you, Tim.”

“It’s Tom.”

“I don’t think so,” Cunk says. She hasn’t looked at him since the conversation started, instead staring at Shiv — who is glowing in melancholic beauty. “Saturday night works too, but I’m afraid I’ve scheduled a consultation from 6 A.M. to 9 P.M. that would be a bloody pain to cancel”

“Oh?” Shiv tilted her head in interest. “A consultation for what?”

“I’ve been interested in my clothing lately . . . I’ve been doing that color analysis and whatnot to really execute my beauty and am planning to take it a step further by finding my fabric” Cunk states. “I never realized how important fabric is to a person’s persona until I was with my mate Paul and he was wearing corduroy . . . it was tragic. 

Shiv momentarily blanches, before her facade of sharp wit reappears. Tom isn’t having this. “Excuse me, but this interview was for a piece on the Waystar Gojo deal. I don’t see what fabrics have to do with that.”

Cunk sniffs. “Just making small talk. You of all people should know the importance of a person’s ideal fabric Mr. CEO.”

“I am the CEO, so-”

“Tom, please,” Shiv says. She doesn’t roll her eyes, but the derision is clear in her tone. Tom hears it too but fixes his expression to something more pleasant. He nods at Cunk to continue.

“Do you remember what we discussed the last time we gathered in this room?” Tom and Shiv’s faces drop for a millisecond, but before they can respond, Cunk continues. “Any comment on my theory of you both being the other’s beard?”

“So Mr. Roy, how have you been since your departure from Waystar Royco?”

“Um . . .” Kendall furrows his brow in deep concentration. Hesitantly, he replies “I’ve been doing good, yeah, lots of hanging out with my kids and I'm really getting to know myself and yeah, great stuff man.”

“And is this time with you kids spent in or out of the court, or perhaps both?

Kendall’s eyes widen; the lad is stunned. Faintly, in the background, a cackle can be heard from Stewy. 

“So. Roman Roy. Have-” 

“ So-oh. Roman Roy,” Roman mimics in a terrible British accent, his parroting managing to come off as doltish and cruel. Roman’s snark is still intact, unlike his reputation.

The redhead huffs. “You know, sometimes I’m glad you got trampled during that riot.”

“Yeah. PC police brutality is a real issue in America.” 

“What’s your opinion on ‘Judas’ by Lady Gaga?”

Greg adjusted himself in his seat — straightening out his back to appear more formal and then immediately readjusting himself to then appear relaxed “Oh, um, yeah, I love Gaga. She’s very good at what she does. It’s a good song to just jam out in the club y’know?”

Cunk hums in agreement. She does know. “What’s your opinion on him?”

“Judas?”

“Yes.”

“Um, well” Greg chuckles awkwardly, his smile fades slowly “He sure is a character am I right? I mean going against Jesus and all. . not cool.”

“Interesting . . . Recently, there’s been a lot of speculation around you being a Judas around here due to Mattson’s comment on press day.”

“Oh well, that was just a joke. Yeah, Mattson is a pretty playful guy,” Greg nods his head “Very playful guy,  like just the other day he told me ‘ah Greg I'm going to fuckin fire you.’” Greg sighed. “He’s very funny like that.” 

In front of Cunk sits an empty chair. She smirks at it. The chair stays silent. Then, she looks up to the ceiling, pointing and nodding in delight. She chuckles as she looks down. 

Cunk’s eye twitches as she looks at Roman. Then, she throws her hands up and says to no one in particular, since she is the boss, “I’M SORRY, I CAN’T DO IT.”

A cameraman has to dive to save one of those fancy lights from tipping when Cunk shoves it as she stands up to leave. She pauses in the doorway to yell, “You are an incorrigible, terrible, terrible little man. Your pants are always too tight-”

“Oh fuck off, my pants are fine-”

“-and your dad had to die just to be rid of the fucking embarrassment from being your father.” Cunk’s footsteps fall heavy as she storms down the hallway.

“Fuck you!” Roman shouts leaning towards the door.

“It’s been a rough few months for you two love birds hasn’t it? I mean your play went terribly, then you kickstarted your presidency which ended terribly I must say, and then your Dad dies on your fucking wedding day .” The interviewer turns to Connor, “How have you been able to cope with losing the election and the loss of your Dad? Must be so difficult, I imagine.” 

“Well yes, of course, the loss of a loved one is always tragic,” Connor turns to Willa, who is sitting beside him and grins “but I’ve been making it through with my lovely wife.”

Philomena turns to the blonde eye beauty next to him. “It must be hard for you too, I mean, placing a curse and all” she states.

“Excuse me?”

“Logan died on your wedding day right? Can’t be a coincidence” Cunk leans in “But between you and me, you did the right thing.’

Wila and Connor stare and Philomena in befuddlement. Breaking the silence, Willa awkwardly chuckles out “I did not kill Connor’s father.”

“It’s fine if you did, I won’t tell. I was planning to do it me self if nothing happened eventually,” Cunk cheerfully states.

Once again, there has been a pause in the conversation due to disbelief at what is going on from the interviewees; clearly their publicist did not prepare them. Faintly, a throat being cleared can be heard from one of the crew members. 

“Got nothing else to say ‘eh?” the interviewer says, sitting at the edge of her seat anticipating their response

The couple look at each other, somehow in unison they both begin shaking their head and look back at Ms. Cunk.

“Um no I don’t think so.”

“Yeah, no I think that's all.” 

This time, Tom is sitting on a loveseat with Greg. Shiv sits on a stool beside them, looking off-put and very much out of her element. Greg whispers something in his ear. Tom giggles .

“Tom. Greg. Have you ev-”

“This is bullshit. I don’t have to do this,” Shiv says with finality, slowly getting up and leaving.

Tom explains, “It’s the pregnancy hormones.” Greg nods at the camera, smiling. Looking closer, there is a faint red mark on his forehead in the shape of a circle. 

“Is this a torture tactic?” Stewy asks. Cunk has been staring at him for the past seven minutes in silence, face devoid of motion. He keeps looking off to the side, trying to catch the eye of the cameraman (or anyone in the room). “Seriously. Cause I’ve got coke and a JCPenney gift card in my pocket, and if we’re not getting anywhere then I’m gonna find a bathroom.”

Cunk points at the door. One of her staff gets up and closes it, standing in front of the handle as if to say, You’re not going, or doing coke, anywhere.

Cunk looks at Stewy’s pocket, which has his hand in it and looks back up, making a sour face, very much giving the message: You shop at JCPenney?

Stewy stares back. He’s getting more and more creeped out by the minute. “Uh-“

“You have lovely hair,” Cunk says, her first words this interview.

Stewy shifts as far away from Cunk as possible in his chair. He glances at the closed doors. “Hey, GUYS?”

Silence from beyond the doors. No one is out there. He’s alone in this. He has to face this alone. Stewy looks at the staff member guarding them, sizing her up, apparently wondering how ruined his suit would be if he tried to take her on. “Fuck,” he mutters when he comes to the understanding that he is trapped.

When it becomes clear that Cunk will say or do nothing more, he stands. He makes a step towards the door but freezes. His gaze wanders around the room. When he finds no exits, he looks for flat surfaces. Neither are present. With terribly concealed desperation, he yells “GUYS,  THE WHITE AND RED LADY IS FREAKING ME OUT . . . KEN. BRO! YO, GREG THE EGG! SIOBHAN? KEN!”

Cunk cackles. Stewy screams.

Kendall watches Stewy sprint out of the interview room and into the elevator. He looks in dire need of a shock blanket, and honestly, Kendall wouldn’t say no to one, either. “Hey, uh — New Jess? Yeah. Let’s never agree to an interview with that lady again, okay? Please?”