Disclaimer: I will only say this once. I do not own Guilty Gear or it's characters. Likewise I don't own any of Shakespeare's works.

A/N: This is a collection of Bridget centered fics, written for the 20foods challenge on livejournal. I hope they are enjoyed as much as I loved writing them! Updates will be every week. Twice a week if one of the fics is too short.

Theme: I don't want to fight

Food: Bread

He knew about her madness for keys. It was obvious from the picture in the wanted poster. They were everywhere, from her seven-foot-tall weapon to the hair decoration that appeared to pierce through her skull.

The bounty hunter briefly wondered why she was obsessed with the object, but then he realized her compulsion would make an easy lure. He began to put himself in her shoes, keeping an eye out for keys loitering around. He picked up each and every one he found, and when that wasn't enough he bought cheap key-and-padlock sets. He almost threw the padlocks away and then shook his head, considering that if there was a bounty obsessed with keys there was a high probability there was someone who felt the same for padlocks.

When he was satisfied with his lures, he began to ask merchants and fellow travelers about the woman. For as much money as she was worth, not many had even heard of or seen her. It took a month and a half before one man passing through the country had any information.

"When I was in Belgium a week ago, that young lady robbed the locksmith. Of all things, she only stole the keys..."

Lucky for Bridget, Belgium was only a three-hour ride from where he was at the time. As soon as he heard the news, he hopped a train, and he also came to realize his change purse was significantly lighter.

Upon arriving to Belgium, he bought food for his stay, then set out for the outskirts of Belgium, moving towards the forest. There, he set one of the many keys he collected on the poorly-cobbled path. A few feet away from that, he set another and so forth. It was like the trail of bread crumbs Hanzel and Gretel left to find their way back, only Bridget's hopes were that the keys would lead her to him instead of leading him home, bounty-less.

He set up camp near the last key. He was thankful that he was near an abandoned shack. He didn't know what he would do if he had to make shelter out of his surroundings.

The shack was rusty and shook as he opened the door, as if it would collapse in on itself if he dared shut the door. He breathed in and coughed, then sneezed. The action caused the dust littering about to raise up and curtain the air. Faint light from the cracked ceiling illuminated the spider webs. Even though he had a shelter already made, he would have to work at it to make it suitable to live in.

He returned with long branches to swat the spiderwebs, and also in his arsenal was a towel reserved for bathing (except for this moment). He ran the cloth wherever he could reach. During the first round of cleaning he had a coughing fit from the dust, but as he worked away the grimem his coughs were replaced by whistles and humming. By the time he finished cleaning it was night and though he was tired he took the time to devise an alarm system.

He took a long thread of fishing wire and tied it to the remaining key. On the other end, he tied a set of bells and pots and pans that he had found abandoned in the shack. He tied that end of the string to the large oak as a finishing touch.

OOo

Waiting was the boring part. He spent countless days reading the huge book of Shakespeare's plays that he had brought with him, then spent another set of days reading it. Bridget began to worry that his plan wasn't working at all. He began to stare out of the window less and was less reluctant to leave the shack for food and water and bathing. He also spoke to Roger more frequently; unfortunately teddy bears were not great conversationalists.

After a while, he found a routine: he practiced fighting in the mornings, careful not to get out of practice. During the afternoon he entertained himself by practicing lines from Hamlet.

"Though this be madness--"

He quieted, still and unsure if what he had just heard was real or just wishful thinking.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

He set the book down and peeped out the window, half expecting it to be a bear or other animal. Blue eyes widened in delight. He scrambled together his yoyos and Roger, then jetted out the door.

"Miss. A.B.A., is it? If you would just hand over..."

Bridget's words trailed off; she hadn't even noticed him. She was too preoccupied with getting the key (which was double-knotted to the tree branch).

A.B.A. gave a few forceful tugs at the branch, muttering incoherently. She stared at the key, the tree holding it prison, then closed her hand around the prized object tightly and pulled with all her might. The tree branch snapped and toppled over Paracelsus, knocking him down. A.B.A. turned to him and proptly set her boyfriend upright

"Excuse me..." Bridget called again.

The redhead stiffly turned her head to the blonde and stared apathetically. Bridget cautiously stepped forward.

"If you would come back with me I won't hurt you."

A. B. A.'s eyes widened and she clung to Paracelsus, backing away.

"Ah. I don't intend to hurt you, don't be afraid. Please."

His voice only drove her further away. Her shoulder raised and head lowered defensively, but her eyes locked onto his.

"Why?" she said quietly. "Why do you want me to come with you?" Her words were jagged and slow.

"There's a bounty on you, Miss. A.B.A."

"Bounty." She tasted the word on her lips, as if she never heard it before.

"Please, make your decision quickly," Bridget pressed. "If you will not surrender I will use force."

A.B.A. watched him blankly, then walked off. The tree branch still attached to the key dragged in the dirt.

"Weird..." Bridget concluded. "Very well, here I come!"

He ran after her. When he reached a yard's length, he jumped in the air and lashed his yoyo out. The attack was blocked by Paracelsus's head. A.B.A. cautiously peered from behind her weapon. Her eyes were wide and sullen, carrying an innocent despair. Bridget raised his weapon. She shifted, legs spread out, holding her ground and her lover close.

The yo yo swerved towards her. She dodged, and then raised Paracelsus up and spun on the balls of her feet. The hit felt like a whole brick house on impact, and sent her pursuer high in the air.

Bridget snapped out of his brief bout of unconsciousness and regained his balance as he made his descent. His legs trembled, still in shock over the blow dealt. He held his stance, expecting more, but only saw the trail of the tree limb. Bridget followed the marks, weapon at the ready, and walked on tiptoe, careful of fallen branches. When he found her, back turned, he dispatched one of his yoyos and then charged at her again. She responded just as before, (as he had expected) and in one quick motion landed atop her weapon and then leaped backwards, throwing an attack along the way. She fell back and he pulled her forward, using his spare yoyo.

She and Paracelsus fell in a heap. The force of the fall gave rise to dust and the birds quieted. A minute passed as slowly, triumphantly, Bridget approached. He leaned forward and tilted his head. He grew rigid. His nerves tingled and there was a dead weight pulling his insides. Suddenly his victory was replaced with unease.

The redheaded woman before him raised her head mechanically, glaring needles. She stiffly ros. Dirt splotched her bloodied bandages and face. Before she had looked like a hospital patient runaway. Now her appearance was that of the undead.

She gruffly pulled out a packet of blood and threw it in Paracelsus's eager mouth. A wide grin replaced her dreary features and Paracelsus turned a deep mahogany color, his blunt round face now the head of a ram, its eyes clouded rubies.

She made her move, raising Paracelsus with such speed that Bridget could barely react defensively.

To think, this woman was dragging her weapon, and now she was running, striking profusely without a hint of exhaustion. She was berserk and she was winning. For each block Bridget managed, she countered with a harder hit, literally wearing him down.

He flinched under the shadow of her attack, expecting death. And then, he felt nothing but the sun on his bruised shoulders. He opened one eye warily, then blinked, his face inches away from A.B.A.'s. Her eyes were drawn to his chest and without reservation she rummaged under his shirt collar.

"H-- hey." Bridget flushed, holding an arm over his chest.

From under his clothes, she retrieved a small trinket. The gold flashed under the sunlight.

"That's my house key. Give it back."

But she wasn't listening, mesmerized by the sheen, a brightness rivaling Paracelsus. Nothing in her collection was as ornately made as this key.

She pulled at the large bag she had been carrying. Bridget had a feeling about its contents.

She dumped the bag out, creating a mound of keys, and to Bridget's surprise, money.

"I thought you only collected keys."

"For food," she simply replied, and then began to separate the keys and cash. She threw her prized possessions back in the bag, but left the money on the ground. When she finished, she walked off nonchalantly dragging her lover and her bag.

Bridget achingly sat up and prodded at the money.

"I guess she wanted more room for her collection..."

He counted the neglected money and gaped. The sum was more than her bounty was worth.