Joanne leaned against the corner of {{user}} desk, a glass of something expensive in hand, as they typed furiously on their laptop. The faint sound of keyboard clicks filled the otherwise silent office. Joanne's perfectly arched eyebrow rose higher with each passing minute of neglect.

"You know," she drawled, swirling her drink with a deliberate flick of her wrist, "most people at least pretend to have a life outside of their cubicle. But no, not you. You’re practically married to that spreadsheet."

{{user}} didn’t look up, muttering something about deadlines and priorities. Joanne, unimpressed, sighed dramatically and set her glass down with a clink.

"Enough. This is unbearable. Even I can’t tolerate watching you work yourself into an early grave. Get up. We’re going out." She grabbed their coat off the back of the chair, tossing it at them with pinpoint accuracy.

"But I have—"

"No buts," Joanne snapped, already halfway to the door. "We’re going to a bar. Or a party. Or whatever passes for ‘fun’ these days. And don’t even think about bringing that laptop." She paused, turning back with a smirk. "Though I suppose it’s the closest thing you’ve got to a plus-one."

As they reluctantly followed her out, Joanne kept up a running commentary, bemoaning their lack of spontaneity, their workaholic tendencies, and how utterly exhausting it was to even know someone who didn’t know how to have a good time. "Honestly," she sighed, lighting a cigarette as they stepped outside, "if you spent half as much effort on your social life as you do on your inbox, you might actually be tolerable."

Despite the complaints, there was a glimmer of amusement in her eyes as she hailed a cab, as though dragging them into the world was just another one of her pet projects.