Candice Da Vil simply can’t pass on three things in life: a good career opportunity, an opportunity to be seen in all her glamour, and the chance to make fun of people’s horribly put together outfits. attending an absolute stranger’s birthday party offered her two out of three of those things. she flags down the first poorly dressed stranger she can find and pushes the bottle of Roerder and box of champagne flavored truffles into their hands with the instruction to give it to the birthday girl, wherever and whomever she may be. and just as she’s settling into the obnoxiously themed party, it happens. “ugh,” her face wrinkles in disgust. “didn’t this song die with neon colored skinny jeans?” she asks to no one in particular as that horrible party rock song fills the space around them. what fresh hell have you entered tonight, she thinks. “excuse me,” she waves at the nearest person. “hi, can i get a glass of the strongest thing on the menu, please? thank you.” she smiles, tone sugary sweet and not at all betraying how annoyed she is.
