The Universe's Mixer

Upon her release from Arkham, Raven had gone back to the Magic Box to find it locked and dark. Well. That was disappointing; perhaps they'd all been herded off to the asylum, too? Or perhaps the morning manager had simply had a lie-in. You could never tell, really. Raven considered the possibilities as she dug through her satchel for the keys. She found the right one, turned it in the lock, and then shoved the door with her hip so that she could use her hands to flip the window sign from 'Closed' to 'Open.' Lights went on. The store was back in business.

Inside, product was lying about everywhere. Raven scowled, dropped her bag unceremoniously behind the counter, and went straight into cleaning up. Had they been dragged to Arkham kicking and screaming? Had leprechauns invaded again? Or was the evening clerk simply lazy? It didn't matter. Good natured or not, Raven grumbled in irritation under her breath as she stacked the books that had been left out on tables.

"Right, because Miss Archer will pick it up. Leave it for Raven, she gets an extra three-fifty an hour."

Soon, the stack of books was almost taller than the girl who heaved them across the room and to the bookcases, where she set about refiling them. No. Wait. If she was going to have to do tedious clean-up, she wanted music. Raven changed her mind and set the books on the ground, where the stack teetered ominously and threatened to overturn itself.

Raven disappeared behind the counter, where she squatted and started fumbling with the sound system. Hmm. Imogen Heap? Regina Spektor? Not Poe. It didn't matter if the woman sang well - the name put the little demon girl right off.

Eric looked around the bar. Appearance wise, it was exactly how he wanted it. Everything was in it's place. The location, however, was still bothering him. He hadn't even really left to explore at all, so he had no idea what was out there. He'd decided that the best way to get to know the people was to draw them in. So he'd had the posters put up by one of the stupid girls who had come to work for him.

He'd thought the twit human he'd had before was bad. The ones, other than George, who had come to find work with him had proven to be no better than goldfish. They had wide, sparkly eyes and ridiculously puckered lips and seemed to drift in circles until he told them specifically what they should be doing. It was obnoxious. He hated all of them. But he couldn't open the bar until he had a staff, and unfortunately, they were the best he could find on short notice. He wasn't willing to put off opening for too long. He needed something to do. Something to keep his mind from stewing about the strange things he'd discovered. Such as - apparently they didn't need deliveries. Every day the bar was refreshed with product. The fact that things around his bar seemed to change on the outside. The store that was across the way one day was not the store that was across the way the next.

At this point, he just needed distraction. Distraction and a way to meet people. Both of which the bar was good at.

Right at ten sharp, he unlocked the front door and placed one of the girls outside as the greeter. He'd rather have had a vampire out there, but as he didn't know any here, he had to make due with what he had. It had caused him a brief amount of wonder, were there any other vampires in this place? He'd sensed nor smelled none since he'd been here, at least not close by. That was both disconcerting and rather interesting. Imagine, being the only vampire in a city. What he could do with that.

Eric returned to his throne at the back of the bar. The place he always sat when the doors opened. Through most of the night, as well. Ready for humans and vampires alike to present themselves to him. It was also the place with the best view of the entire club. There wasn't a corner he couldn't see into, save for the other rooms in back. Luckily he could hear well enough to know if there was anything undue going on back there.

The girls waited for their first customers. A couple danced lazily, joined by a handful of males, at various places scattered about the large open room. Some with poles, some just up on especially sturdy tables. Things he'd arranged for vampires to dance on, not normal humans. But what could he do?

Lorne had looked at the Fangtasia flier, silently loved the pun and hated the name of the place, and sighed aloud. Vampire-friendly? Caritas was totally vampire friendly! Who was this Fangtasia person?

"Well, it doesn't matter," the demon mused. "This place is still gonna happen. Every night and technically twice on Saturdays."

When the opening night crowd rolled in at 9, a kid at the door handed out a special opening night menu with $5 drink specials and happy hour food, including the Best Wings in The City.

There was a good turnout, mostly human, from what Lorne could gather from the singers. The place wasn't packed to the walls, but seats were at a premium. There was a lot of laughing, a lot of singing, and a lot of free-flowing liquor. Lorne was happy; he wished someone from back home could see this. Caritas as it was meant to be.

Also not on fire.

At 9:30, Lorne was onstage, mic in his hand, extra snazzy royal blue suit on, and a big grin on his face.

"Hey there, City dwellers. I'm your Host, and this.... is Caritas." Lorne's eyes sparkled as he said it. The place, in all its incarnations, had always made him so happy. "Caritas is a little different from places you might be used to," he began. He nodded to the piano player off to his right, and a slight, slow strain of accompaniment began.

"Y'see, folks, Caritas is a sanctuary. I'll invite you once again to take a gander at the House Rules over there," he said, gesturing to the large poster on the wall. "...and realize that I'm very serious when I say everyone is welcome here, everyone should get to feel good here, and we do mean business of the seriously fun kind."

The crowd applauded, and Lorne nodded. "I'm so glad to be opening up another set of doors for this purpose, that, well, I just feel like I need to sing about it."

He nodded at the piano player, closed his eyes, and felt completely happy--and an awful lot of happy coming out of his patrons, too. "This is a song I've been loving a lot lately, and tonight it goes out to the guy in the back. In the hat."


( Lorne started to sing. The song was jazzier than the original version, full of vibrato, and had the audience laughing and clapping along in less than 30 seconds. )

Her day started with a ringing alarm clock. Buffy picked up the old fashioned clock and stared listlessly for over twenty minutes before deciding to turn it off. Even then, she did not immediately rise from her bed.

She showered. Dressed. Weapons were serviced and cleaned and then put away. The house was tidied. There were exactly two dishes to be done in the sink.

And then she had the rest of the day. There were no trips to the Magic Box. No Big Bads to investigate. Patrols were normally saved for sundown. That meant there were several hours left to fill. So Buffy took heavy steps and spent much of that time breaking the imagined bones of a high end, professional grade punching bag.

At least the asylum had mixed things up. ( (What a terrible thought.) )

In his escape from Arkham, with thanks to Frank Castle, Lestat drank seven orderlies and nurses nearly to death. He hadn't drained anyone *to* death. Just to the brink. He'd needed to replenish what the staff had taken out of him when they shackled him to the wall.

Despite himself, in his anger, Lestat had also snapped the neck of the unfortunate boy who'd tried on several occasions to make him drink dead blood. He viewed it as self-defense, nothing more, forgetting for the moment how broken he'd felt standing in the hall of his dead in Hell, his catatonia, his eye and the reason for the first set of shackles made of hair.

He'd been flying, literally and figuratively, often the last few nights, riding a kind of high of more human blood than he'd had in quite some time. In the absence of other vampires, though--specifically the absence of other vampires that'd allow him to drink their blood-- it was a necessity. And it made him feel... amazing.

He'd caught a familiar and enticing scent, near the City botanical gardens. He'd know it anywhere, since he so fixated on the person to whom it belonged. Lestat stopped in midair and levitated slightly above the ground, watching the young man walk through the greenery and the flowers.

Smiling.

When it became clear that he wasn't making enough noise, even for this person with heightened senses, Lestat let himself touch down on the ground.

The place was dark, as if no one had been there for a while. It wasn't that it was dirty, just empty. Alfred was probably here, somewhere, but then, he lived in the manor, not here in the Wayne Industries building. Then again, he could have an apartment all his own, which would have been fine.

Zoe Washburne worked in Wayne Industries Security department. She'd insisted on taking the tests and doing the paperwork. Alfred had made the suggestions, and she had insisted they follow those suggestions. She was an official employee. It gave her a reason to come in everyday. She was placed quickly in a consultant/special needs position, and was then left alone. She drew a normal check, but Zoe didn't want for anything. She had Bruce Wayne's backing, even if it was a secret backing that only his most loyal man, Alfred, knew about.

As soon as she'd gotten away from the Strange man, she'd headed to "work." ( Just a flash of the badge, and she was in. )