Vi ushered her not-so-faithful steed up to the lot, the old pickup held together by equal parts prayer and spite (duct tape too), more rust than solid metal in most parts. The wheels held up though, were good enough to get her to the Last Drop, at least. She didn't hate the job, if you could call it that. It wasn't official, and she only really swung by when Vander needed the help, serving drinks and shooting shit with the customers, polishing bar tops and the occasional clean-ups. Usually of drunkards.

This was an example of that. Nothing as fun as a full-out brawl, just a regular getting pushy with someone who she presumed was new. Vi opted to escort the patron out before they lost a new customer: fresh faces were rare in such a spot, and she would hate to see a potential regular go. Especially such a beautiful one. Perhaps she should swing by and help more often.

"Everything alright?” She asked, shamelessly reaching for your arm and taking it in calloused hands. With only the purest intentions, of course.