Beatrix had never met this stranger before, not in her life... At least, she thought so. There was something vaguely familiar about his face, but she couldn't quite place where. Ooh, maybe he was famous? That'd be sick! Awh, but if she couldn't remember him, then he couldn't be that famous, could he? Tch, lame.

Still, lame or not, he had the right idea: There should have been a drink in your hand like, a minute ago. What did they say about great minds and thinking alike? A dumb smirk spread across her face as she doubled down, snapping her fingers with all the rhythm one would expect of a woman six drinks deep.

"Yeah, you heard the man! Chop, chop, chop!"

Alas, that didn't make the bartender mix her cocktail any faster, but it did amuse her. So, to help the seconds pass by in the meanwhile, she would turn her attention to Frank Caffey. Maybe he could keep being amusing for a while longer?

"Who, me? Nah. I'm just bored, ya know?" Beatrix plainly admitted, leaning an elbow upon the bartop as she rested her chin atop her wrist. " Bored, bored, bored, bored, bo-re-duh. How 'bout you?"

---

Frank Caffey

Beatrix's eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly as the man listed of all the supposedly better things she could be doing right now. It was certainly a list of other things she could be doing right now, but there was just one problem with it: She couldn't seem to remember asking for his opinion? And he was still giving it to her? And he was acting like she was supposed to care? The nerve of this guy!

"Yeah?" She began, a hint of smugness creeping into her tone. He wanted to give his unsolicited advice? Then he was going to get a solicited rebuttal! "Well, Einstein, maybe I'm in the mood for drinking, huh? Did you factor that into your big old equayshu... equasu... equ... eq..."

Alas, for better or for worse, she would never get around to finishing that sentence. Before she could get around to her fifth drunken attempt at the word "equation" (or was it "equasion"?), the bartender would arrive with her drink, and her train of thought would permanently derail.

"Took ya long enough... Do me a solid and put it on my tab like the rest of them."

With that handled, it was time for a brand new train of thought to leave the station. Picking up her glass, Beatrix would gesture vaguely towards her fellow patron, and after a second or two of her brain stalling, she would manage to formulate a coherent thought to go with it.

"So, yeah! That's that!"

---

Frank Caffey

"Who, me? Well, Frank..."

Beatrix paused, taking a long, long sip of her drink. Had she been here before? Difficult question. Had she been to this bar before? Yes, every single day for the past week without fail, and several times before that. Which, of course, was not a good look. She couldn't say that! But, really, what was a first time? When you really got down to it, what did that even mean? If you really got right down to it, did it even mean anything at all? It was all just words, words words words, and she wasn't about words, she was all about action! Action, action, action! Words didn't mean anything!

Of course, none of that actually meant anything at all when you actually got down to it. Still, no matter how worthless that line of thought was, it was apparently worth something to Beatrix. So, finally finishing her seconds-long sip, she would place her glass down and answer.

"Yeah, I've been here once or twice." She shrugged. And that was technically the truth! She had only been to this specific bar once before, so she wasn't lying, and she didn't seem like a drunken tool with no prospects! "It's not my usual spot, but you know how it is. Variety is the spice of life and shit. Gotta mix it up, right?"

Perfect. Truly, she was a master of technically-the-truthsaying. They should get her ass into one of those sick government spy agencies. She'd totally rock that shit to the moon...

"...Oh, right. Name's Beatrix. Beatrix Nash." A smug smile slipped onto her lips as she leaned back, as though to give the man a better view of her. "You might've heard of me."

Because of course, if there was anybody who would hear about an E-Tier fourth-rate past-their-prime variety influencer, it would be this maybe complete stranger who she'd probably never seen before in her entire life.

---

Frank Caffey

What? What?? What the fuck???

Her face fell into a frown. How could this guy not have heard of her? Did he even know how much money she had blown on advertising? How many digits she had spent to accrue herself a veritable army of bots... Which, of course, was her cutesy name for her fanbase, who were definitely flesh and blood, and absolutely not a server farm out in the middle of nowhere? But seriously, C'mon! How could he not know who she was? The mere thought of it made her sick. Y'know, metaphorically sick. Not literally sick.

"Are you suure? Like, suuuuuure that you're suuuuuuure?" Beatrix asked, prodding Frank as though she was turning her computer off and on again, like that would somehow cause him to remember her. "Ah, I get it! You've probably seen me, though. I'm pretty popular on Pikitok and stuff. Hang on, just let me... Let me... Let me..."

Slowly, Beatrix would fish her phone out from her handbag, but as she was solving the puzzle of her lockscreen, she was suddenly hit with an overpowering, all-encompassing revelation.

"BLAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUURGHHHHHHHHHHH!"

She was, in fact, both metaphorically and literally sick. All over the floor, mostly, but a little bit on his shoes, too. It's astounding how much you can throw up, considering how little you've eaten today. You've be impressed with yourself, if you weren't so busy vomiting your brains out.

"Alright, ma'am, that's enough." The bartender sighed. It seemed her business had finally became worth less than than his patience, so what came next was rather expected. "Go on. Get out of here. Now."

---

Frank Caffey