mischief | lrh

0.3

I know I keep changing the cover but im trying to make one ill like and actually keep so just ignore it and I also changed the title so ignore that too ok

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three;

It didn't take me long to find a place to drink, seeing as the part of town I had walked to had a bar or club around every corner. The bar was like a dive bar: small, cheap, and very fowl smelling. A minute after walking in, I wanted to leave, but along with the sharp smell of filth came the tantalizing smell of alcohol. God, I was a complete goner.

I couldn't believe it was only day one, and I was already sick of Aunt Welch and all of her rules. Actually, yes I could. It wasn't that hard to hate her bossy personality. She reminded me of Cassandra more than she should have. And I missed home. More than I thought I would. I wanted—no I needed—to go home. This place, this really fucking strange place, was not right for me. Back home I knew people; I knew places. More specifically, I knew people who weren't looking to screw me over and I knew of bars that didn't ID.

The building was fairly empty since the night was still quite young, but that didn't stop me from receiving hungry looks from the few college guys drinking the night away. If I hadn't known any better, I probably would've tried to take one back to Aunt Welch's with me, but after tonight's argument with her, I knew it probably wouldn't be the best decision on my part.

I leaned forward in my seat-which was hurting my bum profusely-and rested my elbows atop the dirty bar top, desperately trying to grasp the mixologist's attention. The bartender, who by the way only looked a couple years older than I, seemed to be tending to the needs of another female down at the other end of the counter. From his movements and gestures, I could tell he was trying to get lucky and take her home after his shift ended. And from the looks of it, the girl was eating it up. After a few long minutes of waiting and looking at the menu on the wall, I lost my patience and whistled through my teeth.

"Hey bartender, can I get a drink or not?" He finally looked over in my direction and I got a better look at him too. To me, he looked of Asian descent, but in reality he probably wasn't Asian at all. He stepped away from the girl, who at the moment was giving heart eyes to the back of his head, and slid on down toward me.

"Sorry about that, Miss, what can I get you?" He leaned forward into the same position I was in, stuck his elbows right in a puddle of warm beer, and grimaced. Serves him right. I shook my head at myself and glanced down at his name tag so I could address him properly.

"Alright Caleb, can I get the a shot of the strongest whiskey you have and an-"

"It's Calum." He gave me a blank look and I returned it with one of my own.

"What?"

"My name," He cleared his throat before speaking again, "my name is Calum, not Caleb. There's a difference."

"Oh right, sorry Column. Now can I get-" Calum abruptly slammed his fist down on the bar top, clearly agitated, and I flinched.

"Jesus fucking Christ, lady! It's Calum. My fucking name is Calum. Not Caleb, not Column. Calum." I bit back a smirk, not wanting to annoy him too much and have him throw me out or something. Not now, at least. First I needed a fucking drink.

"Sorry," I pouted, not feeling very sorry at all, especially since he'd clearly seen me walk into the bar, but chose to ignore me and continue on trying to get laid. Keep it in your pants, asshole, you're at work. "now can I get a shot and an order of hot wings or not?"

It was then when I realized I had no money. Sure, I had American dollars, but no Austrlian currency. The old bat never gave me any or pointed me in the direction of a bank. Fuck. I quickly shrugged it off, figuring that I could just charm my way out of this one.