"What, no one is trying to trap you under the mistletoe?" Marie winked, and she definitely would have - nevermind that she'd need a stepladder to reach the top of Cohen's head to dangle the mischievous plant, she'd still do it. "Mais oui, I understand. My holiday is very boring too." Work and return home to her cat - what was exciting about that? Not much.
Ah, and now here they were. Their doom was awaiting them. Marie carefully pushed open the door to the women's restroom, peeking inside with a certain amount of caution - her senses, sharp as pin points, told her already that it did not smell pleasant in here.
And that was confirmed when she opened the door further.
The distinct aroma of vomit permeated the space - apparently their esteemed customer had thrown up while in one of the bathroom stalls, puke literally everywhere, and then had Houdini'ed her way out, leaving the door locked from the inside. They would have to figure out a way to not crawl through a puddle of vomit to get it open (maybe the tall bartender could hoist her up and she could lean over the door enough to unlock it), but she'd worry about that in a moment - there were also the pressing issues of 'chicken thighs on the floor' (raw ones) and a bra literally stuck to the wall.
Raw chicken and a bra - none of this was computing. Marie also noticed the window was open which helped with some of the smell, but it was apparent the culprit had escaped through the window - a shapeshifter, she guessed, changing into something that would allow for a quick retreat.
Sighing, she went back outside. "We will need heavy-duty cleaning supplies," she told Cohen.