Diana feels out of place, and then she feels stupid. Bars are like a home, its the cynical part of her that says that. But fancyĀ bars are like someone renovated her home and did away with the cluttered chicĀ that she was going with and embracedĀ modern minimalism instead. And, okay, so sheād been watching a lot of Love it or List it. This bar; a definite List it. Diana grumbles, shifting in her stool. Its all too fancy, too proper. She likes her dives to feel more like she could sink into the floor and no one would find her body, this makes her feel like all the ornate lighting fixtures are on her. She hates it. She hates it so much sheās up to leave early, in her simply sweater and jeans, surrounded by suits and dresses andāĀ āFUCK.ā It happens like its God taunting her with cruel slow-motion. Her drink; sloshing out of her hand. The hem of someoneās ornate dress; stained.Ā JƤgermeister was a stupid idea. No one over the age of 30 drinks it, but it stains. And oh, it stains badly.
By luck or more cruel fate, the woman doesnāt seem to have noticed that the back of dress now sports a rather unfortunate stain around her posterior area. In the fancy lights, it looks almost like sheāsā¦well, Diana wasnāt going to say it out loud. Instead she taps the woman on the shoulder, desperate for her attention.Ā āSorry, excuse me,ā Diana is smiling, as the woman spins around, she starts flushing. As it turns out, its very hard to tell someone as put together as this that thereās a stain down her dressās skirts that looks like, well, a toilet accident. Itās harder to admit she caused it.Ā āI justāyouāre soā¦hot!ā Dianaās smile is nervous; her face is as red as her hair.Ā āLet me buy you a drink! Youā¦sexyā¦womanā¦personā¦thingā¦ladyā¦cleanĀ dress-wearing entity.ā And flirting to distract from crime isnāt her strong suit.
Of course sheād be out getting drinkies on a weekday, saying itās all in the name of her career. Vivian had her methods: if she convinced at least one person from the office to go out with her every night, it could easily be called a work meeting rather than just a night out. And then sheād spend a few minutes talking about work, sure, and a few drinks later neither would even remember there was an office to return to by the morning. What can she say, itās all in a dayās work. Sheās on her fourth or so drink of the evening, toasting and raving rather smugly about how literally any bar is a gay bar if youāre just spontaneous enough when a tap on her shoulder steals her attention.
Well, would you look at that. Point proven. Vivian turns around to properly face the woman, delighted by how the timing couldnāt have been any better, and giving her coworker a full view of the disaster taking place on the back of her dress. Now, youād think Devin, Vogue associate and very good friend, taking a look at the unfortunate mess would decide to let Vivian know about the terrible misunderstanding that was about to happen.
Youād be wrong. He lets out an outraged Oh my God, but ultimately ends up wearing a mischievous grin as he leans closer to fully appreciate the scene. Vivian Baccal, in an act of... unforeseen foolishness. āOh. Hey there,ā casually she mutters, āYouāre a beautiful woman yourself. I feel like I should be the one offering you a drink,ā and quickly she notices the otherās... peculiar fashion choices. Viv has to swallow that one dry; pretend not to be as bothered with the jeans and sweaters duo as she actually was, āWhatās your name, honey? Unless youād like me to call you a... jeans wearing - woman - thing, or something.ā