Danielle Fleur Lebeau
Dani had just looked up from checking her phone when suddenly something wet, and cold, splashed over her from behind. "Oh shit, I am so sorry," came from the crowd somewhere close by. The voice was male, and clearly American. She stood, shocked, for a moment, before rounding on the clumsy tourist. "Diable? Vos yeux américains ne peuvent-ils pas voir un pied autour de vous? Dans l'intéret de Dieu! Ma chemise est imbibée! Merci, âne, j'ai juste obtenu outre du travail!" (What the hell? Can your American eyes not see one foot around you? For God's sake! My shirt is soaked! Thanks, jackass, I just got off work!) Enraged, she threw her hand into the air to stop whatever babble was about to come forth from his gaping jaw. With a frustrated growl she shoved her way back out of the crowd. She made her way to the edge of the room, cussing heatedly in French all the while.
As she made it to the bar, she sat her beer on the counter and whistled for Marco, her Brazilian coworker. "Can you toss me a rag, Marco? Some idiot splashed his drink all over me..." Her French was of course flawless and rapid. The Brazilian nodded and tossed her a bar rag. Grumbling to herself still, she set about trying to wipe off her soaked side and attempted to absorb some of the liquid from her shirt into the rag. "Juste essayant d'apprécier une nuit outre du travail. Est-ce que peut-elle une fille font même cela? Non! Naturellement pas." (Just trying to enjoy a night off work. Can a girl even do that? No! Of course not.) In her rage, she hadn't even gotten a good look at the male that had spilled his drink all over her. What a night. More importantly, where the hell was Shay? Feeling herself grow more frustrated, she tossed the rag back onto the bar and took a seat there. After polishing off her bottle, she tipped the empty glass toward Marco, signaling for another. If tonight was going to be this kind of a night; she might as well not remember it tomorrow.