The effects of the wine Alya had consumed were becoming more and more prominent. She was instant BFFs with every person she came across, and as Marinette followed her to the bar, Alya acquainted herself with the young man patiently waiting for her to tell him what she wanted.
"I'll have a vodka cranberry, and my friend here will have a tequila sunrise," the slightly swaying redhead ordered.
As Marinette was served her drink, she was delighted at the separation of colors.
"How do you make the red stay on the bottom?" she wondered aloud, her nose just barely touching the cold glass as she examined the liquid inside.
The bartender stared at her blankly. "This is your first drink, isn't it?" he asked.
Marinette blushed. "No, it's not," she defended herself. "I've had lots of alcohol before. Lots."
"Mm-hm." Clearly the bartender didn't believe her, and he didn't care. Well, Marinette was going to show him.
She thought it lucky that the tequila sunrise tasted sweet enough that it didn't take long to order her next drink. She strutted up to the bar and, hiding her phone behind her back where she had just taken a Buzzfeed quiz to determine her next drink, asked for a black margarita.
The bartender raised his eyebrow a bit at the request, but set about pouring and flipping liquor bottles around his head.
Alya flopped onto a bar stool next to her. "Giiiiiirl. This is drink number four for you?"
Marinette giggled. "No, Drunky McDrunkerpants. It's only number two. I'm not going to get too crazy tonight," she said loud enough to be overheard by the bearer of her margarita.
"Get on my level! Whatever she's having, put an extra shot in it, on me!" Alya called, obviously directing that last part to the bartender, who only shrugged and did as he was told.
Marinette made a mental note to keep an eye on her friend.
Sipping the freshly made margarita, Marinette winced as the extra shot of Chambord slid down the back of her throat. It was true that her knowledge and experience with alcohol was limited (as in, she'd only ever tasted the rum her parents baked with in their desserts), but she was positive that the drink would have been much more chuggable without the added liqueur.
It really wasn't long before she'd finished it though, and an even shorter time period before she found herself bopping around on the dance floor with Alya. The club's overhead lights were dim and the neon strobe lights coupled with her current state of intoxication made it hard to see. She wasn't by any means trashed, but she was feeling awfully good.
"Alya! I want to get another drink!" she shouted at her friend, who already had her sixth? seventh? glass of wine finished off. She made sure she got a thumbs up from Alya before heading to the bar again.
This time, she came prepared. She'd overheard another girl ask for a gin and tonic, which she thought sounded sophisticated and elegant. The bartender gave her no satisfaction, however. He was very preoccupied with the girls at the far end of the bar and very quickly made her drink and accepted payment. She didn't mind, though. It allowed for her to quickly return to the dance fiend Alya had morphed into.
"Well, I showed him!" she cheerfully congratulated herself. Choosing to believe the best of the world around her was an essential part of her personality.
"You showed who what?" asked a familiar male voice from behind. A goofy grin crossed her face as she turned around, and she thought she should be feeling something, but couldn't quite remember what it was. All she felt was relaxed and confident.
"Adrien! I was just saying, that bartender over there thought I'd never had a drink before!" She doubled over laughing as if this was the most hilarious tidbit ever.
"Well, have you?" he asked, amused at this new version of Marinette.
"Um, of course. I mean, I've had caneles de bordeaux so, yes!"
Now it was Adrien's turn to laugh. "I'm sure. Why don't you finish that, and then you can let me have the next dance?"
Marinette's mouth dropped open. Now she was positive she was supposed to be feeling a certain way. But yet, she couldn't remember. All she felt was pure delight at her high school crush asking to dance with her.
It really wasn't smart, and poor Marinette really had no past experiences to draw from, but she tipped the gin and tonic back, downed it, and set the glass firmly back on the bar.
"We go!" she announced, taking Adrien by the hand and tugging him into the dark throng of people, not far from Alya.
It was very hot in there, and the tiny ravenhead was pleased with herself for wearing her dress. She adjusted it, drawing Adrien's attention to it.
"I really like this style on you. Where'd you get it?" he yelled, hoping to be heard.
"Me! I did it! I got it from me!" she answered in kind.
The impressed expression on his face was not hard to identify. "You're very talented! I bet you could send your portfolio into my father's company!"
Something in the back of her mind felt weird for having this shouting conversation in the middle of a nightclub, but he'd just encouraged her to apply with her favorite designer.
"That's my dream! Maybe you can put in a good word for me!"
The wide smile on his face would have alerted anyone that he probably wouldn't remember this conversation the next day, but he enthusiastically answered, "I will! As soon as I get home! Maybe one day I'll model one of your designs!"
Now that… that was enough to make Marinette melt. And this time, she did pounce on him. She did wrap all four of her limbs around his torso. And the way he grabbed her hips was so… familiar.
"I think you're amazing," the girl said breathily, in the way that only intoxicated college freshmen could say.
The blond's eyebrows shot up into his hairline. She could hear his breathing become more shallow. And her heart pounded when she noticed him leaning in.
It was a chaste kiss, not one that you'd normally see in the wee hours of the morning at a Paris nightclub. But she felt it right down to the tips of her toes as she slid down to land on those tingling feet.
A moment of clarity.
"Uh… Adrien… I never-thank you-No! I mean… I-"
He only chuckled and fished in his jeans pocket. He placed the pen in her hand and pointed the tip at the back of his.
"Write down your number for me?" he asked, almost so quietly that she couldn't hear him.
She mumbled something about "can't hear a damn thing in here, thank you, sorry" as she neatly printed her phone number on his skin.
Both of their heads jerked up as they heard a screech from Alya.
"Look!"
All eyes were directed at the bartender, who stood on the top of the bar dressed in a ridiculous outfit of brightly colored silks. He had a moth-shaped mask on.
"Oh, fuck."
