And sometimes... sometimes it meant filling out paperwork. In triplicate. That you'd been avoiding for at least four months (to be fair, a couple of those weeks had been because the universe had ceased to exist, but like Bridge could tell anyone that).
Being a Power Ranger didn't come with any fancy perks like a desk to do this sort of stuff on, so Bridge had set up camp in the common room, papers spread in what looked like a haphazard manner all around the coffee table. If you asked, he'd tell you it was a highly sophisticated filing system.
In truth it was really more of a piling system.
[ooc: open for fellow future-dwellers as well as calls, texts, emails, carrier pigeons, smoke signals, and singing telegrams.]