A girl in a corner, and some rowdy boys

The pub is really... pub-ish. It's wooden, grimy, and open enough. In a corner, you see a pair of guys playing pool, but you ignore them as you walk over to the counter. A TV at the back has a talk show talking about how Muslim refugees aren't properly **** pure Scandinavian women, unacceptably.

There's only a couple of other people here. A group of guys, off by themselves, is harassing a waitress, and she passively takes it. Slaps on the butt, squeezes of her breasts, drawing their drunk faces close to her - nothing seems out of bounds for her. The bartender watches approvingly, nodding to himself - maybe she's part of the entertainment.

One of the boys walks over to another customer, a girl in the corner. From what you can make out, he says something rude, she slaps him, and he walks away, face not as bruised as his pride. She stares at him as he walks away, her expression a mixture of anger and... jealousy, maybe?

Oh. Oh! You know this story. You've seen it play out with all the boring basic sorority bitches back home. Hoefaces, you and your friends used to call them, because you were immature and there was no official name for them. Not a real mixed breed but a cultural thing, hoefaces were (some of) the girls who'd been mixed between so much white that they didn't have a genetic fetish at all. On one hand, they tended to act like they were superior to other girls; on the other, they tended to have a pretty massive inferiority complex about guys usually liking other girls more than them.

You know how this game is played. And so you toss a bit of cash at the bartender, buy her a drink, and wait. Show her a little attention, and it'll be hook-line-and-sinker.

When she gets the drink, she looks up at you and raises an eyebrow. You smirk. She looks back down at the drink, and at you, and then heads your way.

"You know, you're the only person I've met in this stupid country that knows how to flirt." You're not sure where that accent is from, but it's European and sexy as hell. "All these British boys are used to meek, stupid girls who'll bend to their whims. Makes them terrible lovers." As she speaks, you notice more and more about her - her light red hair, her high cheekbones, her heavy eyeliner, her long lanky frame... With the amount of effort she must have put in to her appearance just for a bar, she's definitely looking to get laid tonight.

And, honestly, so are you. You haven't bowled over a British chick's wickets yet - is that the phrase here? You don't know - and you wouldn't mind some fuckbuddy to help you out while you look for one. "Well, I'm glad I have such terrible competition!" She smiles a bit at that joke, and you tell her your name.

"Nico - Nicole," she says - a stutter? You're not sure - and leans forward.

"I think they're not really much competition," she says.

The pub's fun, and you end up taking her home at the end of the night.