Walking One-Liner Who: Callum and Mary When: About 5pm Where: Sing the Rage What: Functional alcoholism.
Callum was stealing from the patronage again.
Well, ‘again’ was a relative term really seeing how the Nausicaa was on its maiden voyage and therefore Sing the Rage never had real patronage to steal from before, so he couldn’t technically steal from them again but he was stealing from them nonetheless… and to great profit. So far he’d lifted a Blackberry, twenty bucks, a watch, a ring, a pack of Djarium Black, and a thong. (Less impressive than it sounds. She had it in her pocket at the time.)
By the time he left the dance floor – already hopping with the twenty-somethings, the single, the slutty and the smashed – his jeans were slung slightly lower on his hips with the weight of his purloined swag. There was a sweet little blonde thing who wrote her number on the inside of his arm in loopy blue ink. It had been hard to hear over the pulsing throb of the opening night music but she’d either promised him ‘amazing head’ or ‘rocking the bed’. Either way he was good with that.
He tossed himself up on the nearest bar stool and leaned over the counter to shout at the barkeep, whom was used to his presence at this point, “I’d loike a drink now if ya don’t mind it much, Mary!” He threw a thumb over his shoulder at the dance floor, slapped the twenty on the table. “Got money ta pay my tab this toime! Scouts'!”