1O1 | an advanced rp discussion

Victoria was a nice person. Victoria was a really nice person, but some people just liked to test her patience. Victoria, what about this skirt? What about this shirt? Don't you think this dress is perfect? The answers: no, no, and fuck no, unless you'd like the contestants to look like they walked straight out of 2003.

The incompetence of humans was truly amazing.

She had spent the entire morning on damage control after one of the interns decided, what the hell, let's put in a bulk order for neon florals, which had never been in style and never would be, except maybe in an alternate universe where Victoria Yang wasn't beautiful (ha, as if). So, after downing a couple Advils to relieve her building headache, she had grabbed her purse to go out and get some tasteful swatches. Because no one else could, apparently. God. Everyone here was an idiot.

Well, she amended, perking up when she saw a familiar face, maybe not everyone. (That was a lie. Jonathan was an idiot too. The difference was that he was her idiot.) She quickened her pace to fall into step with him, looping her arm through his. "Rough morning?"

"Mmm." Not surprising. Even if she hadn't met the other publicists from Jonathan's department — and she had, and they were stupid — she could have guessed their levels of competency simply by looking at his face. "Proofreading again?" Because, of course, no one wants to go to college to be a professional proofreader for intern statements. Why, she always wondered, aren't the interns the ones proofreading?

But Victoria had never understood those things, which is why she worked with fashion. "Cheer up." She reached up to pinch his cheek lightly. "We can order in tonight." Of course, like any good girlfriend, she might have offered to take over cooking duty — except that they'd both known each other long enough to know that Victoria's cooking was more punishment than treat.

"To say the least." Normally, she might have leaned into him to rest her head on his shoulder, but instead they bumped arms — thank you, five-inch heels. "Interns ordered the wrong fabrics. I was heading out to pick up the new swatches, but they wasted my morning, I can stop to talk for a few minutes."

"Never." It was true — even when they both suffered from their jobs, they suffered together, and Victoria could always use a short break from the other workers in her department. "I'm sorry. They'll probably have you writing more once the show airs, though." Because it was only a matter of time before this kids started wreaking havoc and tarnishing their own names, and intern statements weren't going to cut it once they were revealed to be bullies or racists, or were discovered banging in a restroom, etc.

"Ha." It was meant to sound haughty and exasperated. It came out more like, this circus act starts in a week and at this rate the contestants would look better if we sent them out on stage as naked as the day they were born and death would be kinder probably. "I wish. No. The interns thought that the most desirable patterns were neon green-and-orange florals and gingham. No one over the age of eight wears gingham."

It was, truly — and Victoria didn't use the expression often — a fashion disaster. (That's a lie. She used it quite frequently when describing her work to Jonathan, along with fucking idiots.) "But. But! That's why they hired me. At least I know I'll never be put out of a job if they keep up at this rate."

Victoria let out a sigh of exasperation. "Honestly. You'd think they knew better by now." Except that they did, and Victoria was perfectly aware that the drama and controversy led to more viewers. But it also created more work to be done. More work, but also more pay, so. Maybe she shouldn't be complaining.

"Right? I'm starting to think they really are blind." Blind, tasteless, or with an inappropriately timed sense of humor. The show was starting in a week and they needed them to look as good as possible. The bad styling had to wait until after the kids had shown their personalities, and then Victoria could give them clothes as ugly as their souls.

She gave a small huff (and a tiny bit of a smile, not that most people could tell). "Well. I'm optimistic, you're caffeinated, so I guess we're not doing too badly, after all."

She plucked the coffee cup out of his hand, taking a sip before handing it back. Bleh. It wasn't even hot anymore. "Beats me." It was whatever, Victoria supposed. It wasn't like it really affected her; and if any of them did decide to be a little brat to her, she'd just put them in that neon floral the intern had ordered. Maybe with gingham accents. Simple fix.

Victoria tilted her head to the side, mulling it over. "Well I do need to go..." She glanced sideways at him. "But if you're done proofreading for the morning... I could use an extra pair of hands. And a coffee." Also, she didn't exactly love the idea of walking that in stilettos. She wouldn't have worn them if she'd known that someone was going to fuck up the order.

((sorry its short rip))

“If you say so.” Victoria deadpanned. She dropped her arm from his, turning to face him. “Hey. Boyfriend. Drive me to the fabric store and buy me a coffee.” She rolled her eyes, heaving a teasing sigh. “You say this like you're not the one who offered first.”

Not that she was complaining — just the opposite, actually. It was a sour morning turned slightly sweeter, if only at the prospect of caffeine. (Just kidding. It was mostly because she’d be spending more time with Jonathan. Mostly). Maybe he could even help her out, give a few opinions. Even if, yeah, Victoria had basically been dressing him for several of the years they’d been together, it wasn’t like Jonathan had bad taste. After all, he loved her, and Victoria Yang = great taste.

“Well,” she said, lacing her fingers through his. “Let’s go, then. We can pick up coffee on our way back.” Meaning: You will be carrying so many samples and bolts that you will not be able to hold a coffee cup until after we’ve tossed it all in the trunk. But that was okay. They’d both have their hands full.