A/N: Hi! Anyways, here is a new story. It's an AU. I hope you like it!
Disclaimer: I don't own Percy Jackson and the Olympians.
Hi. My name is Percy Jackson, and to put it simply, my life currently sucks. I'm a twenty-two year old straight out of college, but with nowhere to go. You see I want to be an author, but my biggest problem? My lack of inspiration, and a shortage of money. But if I had inspiration I might not have to be so bored when I'm not doing my shifts at the bar.
That's where I work, this bar called: Riptide. It's this biggish place where there is a bar, some tables, and sometimes we have some performances. It's nice and all, but not the place I want to work for the rest of my life. Plus, I don't think that it would support the rest of my life, I can barley support myself paying half a rent and living alone on ramen noodles and Mac and cheese.
I'm especially lonely because I live alone. Well, technically I share my apartment with my cousin Nico, but he spends most of the year traveling, and only stays when he visits New York. Luckily, he's nice enough to help pay rent regardless, otherwise I might not be able to afford the place I have now.
It's not like I want to spend the rest of my life there or anything, but it's a nice place and all. It has two bedrooms, and a kitchen that is connected to a living room.
So, as you can very well tell, my life kind of sucks, right? Well luckily, it's all about to change.
***
It all started the when Grover got sick. He got the swine flu, and therefore wasn't able to come into work, which means that I have to take of his shift and side of the bar.
I was refilling someone's beer when she came in. At the time, she wasn't anyone special. Just some girl who I'd never seen before who walked in and decided to sit at the bar instead of a table.
"Can I help you?" I asked as she sat down. She looked especially summery, wearing a blue and white striped short sleeve shirt and jean shorts. She had her hair pulled back into a bun, and sunglasses resting on top of her head.
"Sure," she said, "What should I have?"
"Normally people decide that for themselves," I answered, unsure what to tell her. It's not every day people ask me, the bartender, to order for them.
"Well, I've never been here before and since I don't want to order something I hate. Therefore, I would like you, the maker of the drink, to choose for me," she said plainly.
"Fine," I said, still unsure of what to make, "What type of things do you like?"
"Finally," she said, "A good question." So far, this has been the most peculiar conversation I've ever had with someone I've served. It's weird though, I kind of like it, trying to figure out what she wants. It's nice to have a change.
"You still haven't answered my question, what type of things do you like?" I repeated.
"Things that are sour," she said, popping one of the cashew nuts that I put down in front of her into her mouth.
"How about a stole gimlet?" I suggested. She merely shrugged, giving me no help in my quest to give her a perfect drink.
"On the rocks?" I asked, trying to get closer.
"Sure, why not." She said, not sounding too enthusiastic.
"C'mon, you've got to give me something. I'm not good at coming up with things out of thin air! If I was, than I wouldn't be having writers block!" I said, tired of playing guessing games.
"What you suggested is fine." She said a bit bitterly, "What were you saying about 'writers block'?"
"Well, you can't quite call it 'writers block' seeing as I haven't written anything yet," I said. I got out the glass and began to make the drink, "but yeah, I want to be a writer, but haven't had any inspiration or ideas, so I spend all my time working here."
"That's tragic," she said. I couldn't tell if she was being sarcastic or not, but either way, it didn't make me feel any better about myself.
"Yeah well, what are you going to do?" I replied, and placed the glass down on the counter top.
"Work harder," she said simply, before putting the glass to her lips and sipping, "Wow, this is good."
"Thanks," I said, taking the compliment, "What do you mean 'work harder'. How do you know I'm not already working hard?"
"I can just tell." She said, before taking another sip of her drink.
"How?" I asked, leaning against the counter top. I hoped nobody wanted refills; I'm too engrossed in the conversation to care.
"By the way you shooed it aside so easily. If you really cared about your writing, you would have a much more determined attitude when you talked about it, instead of just pushing it aside like you just did." She said, giving me a quizzical look. I was getting psychoanalyzed for free, and I didn't even have to ask.
"So what makes you think that you have life all figured out?" I asked, I grabbed a dishcloth and began to wipe down the counter top.
"I never said I did, but I do in the business area I do," she said, "I just graduated from Yale last June, and now I'm going to Columbia for a year of graduate school then I'm going to get a job in architecture and do something with the rest of my life."
"So you do have it all figured out then." I said, impressed. She must be hard working, to get into all of those Ivy League collages and still want to work that hard, she must be a genius.
"I guess you could say that." She said, and then began to dig through her purse for money and put some down on the table, "Thanks for the drink," She squinted for a second, "Percy."
She then got up and left the bar. At first, I wondered how she knew my name, and then I remembered I was wearing a nametag. Little did I know, this wasn't the last time I'd ever see her.
A/N: I hope that you enjoyed it! Please review, I want to know if you love it, hate, can't decide, or anything. Please let me know!
