The Universe's Mixer

"Anything. As long as it's not whiskey. How about...that." Amelia pointed at a bottle at random. It was something she couldn't pronounce, and she knew for a fact she had never tried it before. The bartender asked her if she wanted a margarita, or straight up. She had no idea what a margarita was, and figured her best bet was to find out if she even liked the alcohol before mixing it with something, so she went with the straight up. The bartender filled a shot glass, placing it in front of her, following it up with a salt shaker and a small dish of lime slices.

Amelia eyed the salt and limes in confusion. Was she supposed to put those in the shot? Not wanting to appear completely inept, she smiled at the bartender. "Can I get you one?" She wondered if his smile was simple acknowledgement of the offer, or if he already suspected she had no clue what to do with it. If he knew, he had the decency to pretend not to notice as he slowly went through the maneuvers of licking his hand and sprinkling the salt on it, then waited for her to do the same as he took the shot in his hand.

He licked his hand? Amelia could think of little that could be more disgusting and unsanitary at the moment. It was something she NEVER would have done before. Which meant it was exactly what she was going to do now. Following the bartender's lead, she sprinkled the salt, then held the glass up as if to toast.

"Ready?" asked the bartender. "Lick, drink, bite." Amelia followed him in near unison, licking the salt and slamming back the shot. It caught her breath, but as soon as she put the lime slice in her mouth, the sensation seemed to ebb.

"Mmmmm. That's good! I'll have another, please."

"Careful with that. It'll get to you fast. There's a reason they call it 'Ta Kill Ya.'"

Amelia nodded, not really listening, or caring. She had always been able to hold her whiskey fairly well. How bad could it be? The bartender, for his part, declined her offer of another, apologizing that he was on duty, and had to keep a clear head.

This time, as she lifted the glass to drink, she mumbled to herself bitterly, "Here's to you, Elizabeth Peters."

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. )

Getting ahold of the Transnuding Furies in The City was a lot like getting Lorne's mother to stop yelling about how much he'd failed her--impossible.

After talking with Harry, Lorne started figuring exactly what he'd need before he could open Caritas for business.

The City'd been generous with him, that was true. There was a new, state-of-the-art Karaoke machine, and a bunch of song list binders. There was a piano on the stage, a decent microphone, stage lights and half a dozen different colored gels for them. The stage was small, that was true, but it could fit a person (or a demon) and that piano comfortably. Group performances would have to take place on the floor in front of the stage, but that was fine with Lorne. The tables were far enough back.

The bar was stocked.
The kitchen, small and off to the side, looked like it had everything it needed. Just to be sure, Lorne hired a local line cook and asked what the guy could make. When he said he could do onion rings, wings, and fries... Lorne hired him on the spot. He'd need a full-time bartender, but he'd found a part-timer.

Harry'd set up some wards for him, and had offered without Lorne asking, so that was wonderful. Lorne would need a witch or the furies to do the rest, but the wards would hold until then. A framed list of house rules hung on the wall, and it read as follows:

Caritas Sanctuary Rules
Hours of Operation ~ 9 P.M-3 A.M.
1. No violence of any kind will be tolerated here. Take it outside. And remember, you were warned.
2. Please sing one song at a time. No medleys. You can sign up for more than one song and perform throughout the evening.
3. Not tipping your bartender or waitstaff may result in trans-dimensional ejection from the premises without refund.
4. Be careful who you insult. We do not tolerate bigotry or prejudice in any form here.
5. If the lady said no, she said no. Leave her alone.
6. If you are too drunk to stand, you will be asked to leave. We will call you a taxi if necessary.
7. Leave your attitude at the door. This place is a haven, and while anyone is welcome here when in a foul mood, if you are ruining everyone else's evening, we reserve the right to slip something into your drink.
8. No heckling.
9. No throwing fruit or vegetables or booing.
10. We do not run tabs, unless you are a vampire with a soul.


The demon hummed, printing out basic menus on colorful computer paper, double-checking stock of the bar, and sending out this thing they called a Tweet from his phone, using the tiny incredible internet the phone had inside it:

Green Machine Hey City cats & kittens, Caritas opens tonight! $5 drinks till 1, wing specials & hooray til close!
Green Machine Please read the House Rules as you enter.

He flipped the switch that turned on the outside neon sign with the club's name in red, and he wondered how long it'd be until someone else like Angel walked through the door.