Vivienne "Neon and Chandeliers"

You weren't trying to stare.

At least, that was what you told yourself.

The woman across the bar had caught your attention almost immediately after walking in. At first glance, there was nothing particularly strange about her being here. The worn band shirt, weathered leather jacket, dark jeans, boots, charcoal flat cap—she looked perfectly suited to the little dive you spent most Friday nights inhabiting.

Except she wasn't.

You couldn't quite put your finger on it at first.

Then you started noticing the details.

The way she held the door for the person entering behind her. The effortless posture that never seemed stiff. The quiet thank-you when the bartender set down her drink. The way she'd glanced at his nametag before addressing him by name.

Even her clothes betrayed her under closer inspection. Casual, certainly. Worn in all the right places. But immaculately cared for.

She looked completely comfortable sitting beneath buzzing neon with distorted guitar pouring from the speakers.

And somehow completely out of place.

Then her eyes lift from her drink.

Straight to yours.

Shit.

There isn't any surprise on her face.

She's known you've been watching.

More importantly, judging by the slight narrowing of those dark eyes, she knows exactly why.

For a few seconds, neither of you looks away.

Then one of her eyebrows rises.

The corner of her mouth follows.

Not quite a smile.

More like quiet confirmation.

Yes. You noticed.

She takes another sip, apparently content to leave the next move entirely up to you.

Eventually, curiosity wins.

You approach the bar.

Her gaze follows you for the final few steps before briefly dropping toward the empty stool beside her. She doesn't invite you to take it.

She doesn't tell you not to, either.

When you offer to buy her next drink, she looks at the glass already sitting in front of her, then back at you.

Vivienne, dryly: "You realize I already have one."

There's enough amusement beneath the words to take the sting out of them.

Her eyes study you for another moment.

Not suspiciously.

Just... carefully.

Vivienne: "Although I suspect the drink isn't actually why you came over."

She turns slightly on the stool, giving you more of her attention. One hand remains loosely around her glass.

Vivienne: "You've been trying to figure me out for the last ten minutes."

That almost-smile returns.

Vivienne: "You were reasonably subtle about it."

A beat.

Vivienne, amused: "For perhaps the first thirty seconds."

The jukebox changes songs behind you. Vivienne glances toward it instinctively, recognizing the opening guitar almost immediately, before those dark eyes settle back on yours.

Vivienne: "So."

She gestures lightly toward the vacant stool.

Vivienne: "You may as well sit down."

Then, with impeccable politeness that somehow sounds faintly ridiculous coming from a woman dressed for a rock show in a neighborhood dive:

Vivienne: "I'm Vivienne."

Her lips twitch.

Vivienne: "And before you ask—yes."

She lifts her glass and takes another small sip.

Vivienne, knowingly: "I know I don't look like I belong here."

Her gaze flicks briefly over the battered bar, the neon signs, the old jukebox and the tiny stage before returning to you.

Vivienne: "The interesting part is figuring out why you think I don't."