"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

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

Beatrix had never seen anything like this before, not in her entire life. Even just watching it, it felt like she was seeing something incredibly alien to her, like glimpsing into a distant world. Living flowers, with petals made of shimmering crystals, dancing around on the wind. Naturally, faced with such a sight, she only had one response:

!!!LIVE!!! CATCHING RARE POKEMON WHILE JUST CHATTING!

Yeah, this was going to be a good one. This kind of weirdo Pokemon would definitely pop off in the algorithm! Way more than when she tried to stream catching a pack of Slakoth. That shit was pure analytics poison. That was like someone mixed together foxglove and nightshade and cannabis and shit and injected it straight into her viewership numbers. This, though? This was sick as fuck. If this didn't go viral, then something was seriously wrong with the world.

...Oh, and she should probably try to catch one of these "Glimmetra" while she was here, huh?

---

KVUyG|Kq

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

It's late. Far too late. Beatrix wan't even sure where the moon was in the sky, but then again, she couldn't really say she was paying much attention to that. In fact, she couldn't care less about what time it is right now. She didn't dress up fancy and spend an hour getting her make-up extra right just to stare at the night sky and watch a big rock moving about. No, her interests were far more narrow, and far more focused on the bar directly in front of her.

"Hey, hey!" She clumsily snapped her fingers, trying to get the attention of a beleaguered-looking bartender. "Another drink for ya girl!"

"Ma'am..." He began, before pausing. It's a pause filled with anticipated defeat. He already knew how this conversation was going to go, but at the very least, he's obligated to try. "Don't you think you've had enough...?"

"Oh, c'moooooooooooooooooon!" Beatrix whined, throwing her head back before slowly dragging it forward again, holding that high-pitched tone all the while. "Do I look like a lightweight? I do-- do I? Huh? Look, just trust me, kay? I'm totes fine. I'm, like, barely even drunk! So, c'mon, and hurry up with the drinks already! Chop chop!"

And so, with a sigh, the bartender walked off to prepare yet another drink, leaving Beatrice alone with her small stack of a half-dozen glasses and a purse full of more money than common sense.

---

Open.

Taking as an open.