The Universe's Mixer

Charlie was on his own for the evening, and that could mean any number of things. This particular evening meant checking out a bar he'd heard about. Supposedly there was karaoke and fortune telling. He wasn't sure he needed his fortune told, nor was he all that sure he wanted to sing; but, he was curious. He gave in to curiosity and hoped he wasn't the cat in the box with the possible poisonous gas. Dead, yet not dead. That was a thinker.

He stepped into Caritas, his badge in a pocket not out to be seen, just always there. His off-duty piece stored at his hip under a light jacket. The blade was stored in his pocket. He didn't plan on doing anything with them, but he didn't go anywhere without any of it. He also was curious to see how a certain riotous type was doing. He knew Logan Echolls worked here; he wanted to know if the kid was still working and doing well. He knew this could end badly, but he wanted to know all the same.

The detective headed slowly toward the bar, pausing when he thought he saw someone with a horn? He knew some people liked putting things under their skin to give themselves an interesting profile. Everyone had control, for the most part, of his or her own body; if they wanted to augment, it was their choice, wasn't it? Even if he always thought that extreme augmentation was...extreme. Charlie wasn't much for extremes.

Dinah was doing the avoiding thing for the most part. Zee had tried to call and she'd sent a text telling her friend that she just needed some time and would call when she was ready. She didn't want to talk to her friends right now, but she did want to keep busy. Which meant that she'd been spending a lot of time working on getting the shop fixed up. She was currently sweeping up the glass and soon she would be installing the new windows that had just been delivered. Unlike the last time the shop had gotten trashed when the materials to fix it up had just magically appeared, Dinah had had to wait for everything to be delivered.

But it was here now, and working with her hands was exactly what she needed.

Working with her hands and... answers, really. She needed answers. She wanted to know what had happened to Jake. She needed to know if he had made it back home-even if she dreaded the confirmation of that news.

She knew how his story turned out. She knew that if he'd made it back home, he didn't have long before his death.

She knew all that.

But she still needed to know. Not knowing was driving her crazy.

Somewhere in the middle of sweeping up the last of the glass, it hit her. There might be someone in the City who could answer her questions. Someone who had shown up when they'd needed him most. She still didn't know if he was a god-or God, capital G, or just a guy with god-like abilities. She really didn't know what to believe in that.

She also didn't know how to get ahold of him, and she wasn't usually much for praying.

All the same, she did say a little prayer. She wasn't sure if she should say it silently or out loud. And she wasn't really sure if she was wasting her time or not.

"Um, Jesse. If you're out there, I could really use someone to talk to right now. I suppose if you are around, you're probably busy with more important things. Assuming you can hear me at all. But if you can hear me and you're not too busy... I could really use your help."

A tear slipped down her cheek as she admitted out loud that she needed help, but she just swiped at it and went back to sweeping. She didn't expect an answer, but she'd tried anyway.

Jensen was feeling pretty thrashed emotionally after Fred left. It didn't help that she pretty much told him how much of an ass he was. He didn't need her to tell him that. He knew that already, but damn it he was allowed to be pissed off! And hurt. But you don't tell people you're hurt when you're a guy. No. What you do is you text message another guy that you were in a vulnerable place right now and wanted to do something stupid like go out and get drunk off of whiskey and hurricane shots in an effort to numb the ouchy parts, possibly get in a pointless and needless fight and he should come be supportive. That translates to:

Dude. Girls suck. Beers? Sent to Logan's phone. Logan, who responded in kind to something that translated into: I totally understand and sympathize, man. Why yes I would be happy to meet you for imbibing alcohol and support you in your hour of need for indulgance and school yard behaviour. Still won't bail you out of jail, though.

Logan had the night off and suggested another bar to go to, some place called The Roadhouse. Jensen had texted back saying if Patrick Swayze was going to be there to not be nice when it was time it was a no go. He was assured there would be no Swayze ass kicking so to the Roadhouse it was. He showed up with the mostly dead flowers and tossed them on the bar in front of Logan before sliding onto a barstool. "Here. Don't say I never gave you anything."

It was 'date night' for Logan and Veronica. Which meant that he had the night off from Caritas and he'd actually been able to pry her away from her case long enough to watch the Big Lebowski and eat some takeout. Logan hadn't seen a whole lot of his girlfriend lately, so he'd actually made an effort to clean up the discarded beer bottles and pizza boxes so his apartment was presentable.

Man, he missed having a maid or at least room service.

Unfortunately, those days were behind him which meant that his apartment usually looked like the typical slob's bachelor pad. Which meant that it had taken the better part of an hour to get it looking more like... a slightly neater bachelor pad.

The food had already been delivered, which meant he was just waiting on Veronica. He was already hoping that he could distract her from the movie after they'd had the chance to eat. Especially since they hadn't seen that much of each other lately. Hey, he'd missed her and all the things that went along with seeing her on a regular basis.

Life was actually going smoothly, for once. Logan realized that he'd better not get used to that. After all, nothing went smoothly for very long. Especially not his life.

But for the moment, he had his job and he had Veronica. Things were going fairly well at Caritas. Even with the arrival of a new bar in the City (yes, Logan actually kept an eye on these things int terms of competition potential now) business at the karaoke bar was still going well.

He was actually taking time for the moment to study. Which meant holing up at a nearby Starbucks with coffee, his laptop and its wi-fi connection and trying to keep himself from getting distracted by gamefaqs.com while he worked on a paper for one of Business classes.

Logan didn't usually like Christmas. Christmas at the Echolls household had involved big showy parties where everything was over-the-top and everyone looked the other way while his dad had snuck off with half the female guests at the party. Then there was the actual day of, which usually involved presents (the good) and fights, generally of the particularly nasty kind that Logan preferred to repress.

Repressing was always good.

All his dislike for Christmas aside, he knew that Veronica did like Christmas. He also knew that this was her first Christmas where she didn't even have the option to celebrate with her dad. While he couldn't literally relate to missing a father, he knew how close Veronica was with her father and he knew that this time of year might be hard for her.

Which was why he was more than willing to celebrate Christmas with his girlfriend. He was doing well at Caritas, though not nearly as well as when he'd been living off the trust fund. All the same, he was doing well enough to get something nice for her.

So he showed up, right on time, at Veronica's apartment and pushed the buzzer to be let in.

"...whoa." Jensen looked around himself at the kind of posh, upscale shopping center. There were more than a couple of reasons he was out of place. The least of which was the pink Petunias tshirt he was wearing, but it could be the gun he had in his hand, the comm headset in his ear. Y'know. The little things. Hastily he tucked the gun into his pants in the small of his back and touched the button on the comm bud. "Clay. Clay it's Jensen and this really isn't funny. Clay?"

He gave his best charming smile to a middle aged woman who was walking by giving him the stink eye and replayed the last twenty minutes of his life. Miami. Shipyards. A drug cartel expecting a shipment of the latest product, a portion of the proceeds of which were finding their way into certain state government officials. But the last expected payment had gone awry (Thank you, Jensen. Oh, you're very welcome! No, really. That redirection of funds by scattering it into the public school systems of Miami-Dade county was the most beautiful piece of genius we have ever seen. Stop it! You're embarrassing me!) so the governor himself was going to be at the docks to meet the shipment to find out why. Threats to be delivered and all that. Meanwhile the Losers were set up to take down both the drug runners and expose the governor.

There was a sleek black car. A forklift moving a load of cargo boxes. Some south of the border looking men, a well dressed white bread guy getting out of the car and it was show time. Jensen and Pooch moved into position. Pooch went around the freight container first then Jensen...only when he rounded the corner he came out from a set of planters with artfully trimmed topiary trees, gun aimed on some socialites out buying new shoes with price tags in the triple digits. To say Jensen was confused would be a mild understatement.

"...Clay?"

The evening hadn't gone at all like Fred had expected. She should have just danced, smiled pretty for the camera, and waited. She should have played the part, but her mouth went away with her. Plus, for all she knew, she could have had a wonderful night. It could have been a silly fear. Jack had been right in suggesting they sleep on it. Things may be better in the morning, and she wouldn't have some strange sinking feeling in her stomach, like when she ate the six hot dogs then followed it with a chocolate milkshake chaser. That was never a good idea. The smart woman knew that it was nothing like the hot dogs and milkshake; it was nothing like anything she'd ever experienced before.

Rather than going straight home, which might have been a very good idea, Fred went in search of the only friend she could think of who knew her. Or sort of knew her. He could know her with just a few bars of "Oh, Susannah." He'd probably tell her she was being silly, or he'd see what could happen, just anything. She needed help, and he might be the best choice.

She arrived at Caritas, still dressed for a formal function. She needed a shoulder to cry on, or an ear to listen. She needed help finding her path. That was why she walked in and looked around for the coolest demon in the City. Since she didn't see him right off, she headed to the bar to ask the bartender if he'd seen him.

Logan was enjoying a day off from schoolwork and Caritas. Sure, he had a huge paper due on Tuesday, but it had been a long time since he'd had a good day of slacking off. He also still hadn't rebuilt his video game collection.

As such, he was currently walking the streets of the City in search of a Game Stop. He actually had money coming in again thanks to his job at Caritas, which meant that he was going to track down an X-Box 360 and some of the games he'd owned back in Neptune. And he wasn't going home without them.

He muttered to himself slightly as he passed the fourth Bed, Bath and Beyond and still there was no sign of a Game Stop.

"More pillowcases and sheets than anyone could ever want and no videogames? This City needs to seriously reconsider its priorities.

So Shadowcrest had uprooted itself (and her!) to a city without a name that you can't leave. That, or this City nabbed Shadowcrest (and her!) and trapped them here. Of course Zatanna wasn't convinced of anything of the hows she and her home got here. John could have screwed around with something, had it backfire and it whammied her here. One of her enemies could have done something to get rid of her. Some kid with an ounce of talent in China could have sneezed. The variables were endless.

None of that mattered, really. What was important was that Zatanna didn't like being trapped. It could be her version of paradise and she wouldn't want to stay if it was forced upon her. Batman and Superman were apparently in town as well. Batman she didn't want to see AT ALL! He would probably sooner crush her beneath his bat-boot than talk to her anyway. Superman...well, she wasn't as comfortable talking to him, either. Not after the Dr. Light mess. She always got the feeling he was disappointed in her, and it was worse coming from him than it would have been from her dad.

So it was up to her. Fair enough. Shadowcrest wasn't letting her in the library which meant the damn house knew something she didn't. Fine. She didn't need it anyway. A quick incantation changed her into her costume: top hat, coat with tails, white pressed button down with matching bow tie, fishnets and high heeled boots, and she was ready. Lacing her fingers together she got a determined look on her face as she cracked her knuckles then spread her arms out to the sides. "Trapped my ass! tropeleT em emoh!"

[ooc: Looking for volunteers to have Zatanna suddenly appear wherever you want! The City obviously won't let her leave so she will be randomly popping up places as the City rebounds her spell. If you want a fishnet clad mystic encounter start a thread and have her appear wherever you and/or your character want her to!]

Murphy understood why the city had sent her to Harry's, in the beginning. She had been so focused on fixated on her belief that he was still alive somewhere that she hadn't really cared about finding her own place. All she'd been able to think about was the fact that he was right there, beside her, and she'd been so relieved.

Now, she was afraid that if they didn't put some objective distance between them, they were going to ruin what was left of their friendship.

So there she was, sitting at a little outdoor cafe, newspaper spread across her table, and a coffee in hand, enjoying the lingering warmth of a swiftly fading summer while she searched the classifieds. She needed a job, even if she ended up just working as a mall cop, it would be better than nothing. And it might give her a little more freedom to up anchor and go on holy rescue missions, if and when she figured out how that whole 'go where I'm called' thing worked.

She wanted her own house back, but any affordable apartment would do.

Dean was happy. Or as happy as a man could be when he knew his brother was no longer a dog and when he had a wayward angel to worry about. So, the hunter was probably not the happiest fellow in the City, but he was more than eager to take care of a job he knew he could do - if there really was a job to do.

Fred called earlier than he would have liked that morning, but the information she gave him made up for it. It seemed that a woman in some apartment building had seen a ghost. In fact, the woman, who could have been crazy, said that the ghost had a habit of stealing underwear; Dean would have placed money on the woman's insanity, but Fred had promised to give him 75% of the fee the woman had paid in advance to have the ghost dealt with. Fred was keeping a finder's fee; the woman had come to Angel Investigations after all.

Dean left a note for Cas...Jimmy, and sent off a quick text to Sam. If this was a ghost and Dean did die at the spectral hands of a panty thieving ghost, he wanted to make sure that someone knew about it. At least they'd know where he had gone should he go missing for a while.

The hunter did a quick stop by the Library and found nothing in any archives about the building, only that it didn't exist until recently, which put yet another mark on the crazy side for the woman who'd hired a real ghostbuster. With no info, he headed over to the apartment building only to find that the woman was not at home. He guessed she'd decided to do her laundry somewhere else.

Dean knew that he could break in, but he decided to go a different route. He pressed all the buttons to see if anyone would let him in. Maybe he could even find someone to talk to. If there was something going on, maybe someone else had actually seen it. He was desperate enough for a little action, that he was giving crazy woman the benefit of the doubt.

"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."

Charlie felt strange. It had hurt, turning into this...whatever it was, but in the end, he decided that it could be a good change. He'd never been an animal before, other than the one known as man, so this would give him a different life experience. He was lucky that Lucy-Belle wasn't at home; he didn't think she'd like his new face. It was definitely not his old one, save for maybe the eyes somehow. He stared at himself in the bathroom mirror, and gave a testing bark. It wasn't a bad bark. He spent sometime testing out smells and tastes before heading downstairs.

He caught a scent back in the kitchen where the attack had happened. There was something that smelled tangy, not bad but not right..blood? He snuffed some more, finding other scents, some good, some bad. He finally found one that told him food. He followed it; it reminded him oddly enough of an old fur coat his ex-wife had had. Rabbit? Strangest coat. Bunny. He may have found his bad bunny.

He didn't leave a note, but he was kind enough to close the door that he had left open this whole time behind him. He started trailing that bad bunny. It had bitten him, and he wanted to bite back, or at least show it the error of its ankle biting ways. Charlie wondered why he couldn't have this ability normally; it seemed like very ideal for a homicide detective.

The trail was leading him away from the mansion and the orchard to the Park. This was going to take some very good detective skills and the keen sniffer this particular incarnation of this particular police detective just happen to have.

Murders, chaos, the usual was going on. They were still no closer to finding the answers than they had been, although Charlie's gut kept coming back to the only cannibal he knew that lived in the City. He was beginning to worry about his partner, but he wasn't sure if he should butt in to her life. He cared about her, much like he had cared about Reese; he'd have to talk to her eventually about Simon Tam. Apparently the doctor was no longer working at the Hospital, and his apartment was now someone else's home. He'd wait for the right time, if there was really something like that when it came to the matters of the heart.

Lucy-Belle was out with Jake again, which he wasn't going to stop. At least one creature in the house seemed to be having a good time of it. It was nice to know what the fluff ball of a Persian thought of her home, and when Jake was around, she would often times be rather vocal. Who knew cats could be so demanding, or so exacting?

Ted was...probably around. Charlie would need to spend more time with his friend. They hadn't done anything in a while. Not much at all since they'd decided to get a cat.

To be nice, and perhaps in hopes of seeing that strange woman again, Charlie went out to gather some fruit to make Ted a nice salad. Now and then Charlie would look for a particular tree, a strawberry with chocolate sap tree. It was a fanciful idea, but Charlie was curious to see if it would happen. Though he'd supposed it'd be more of a bush or a vine of some sort rather than an actual tree. So, there he was, collecting fruit to make a salad for his housemate, now and then saying something to the fruit to see if it spoke back to him.

What was it with things in this City wanting to bite him? Logan wondered to himself absently as he walked through campus on his way back to the dorms. He'd just spent the entire day in the hospital after a bite from a rabid dog of some sort this morning. He was cranky, his head ached, and he was starting to get extremely itchy.

He resisted the urge to scratch and instead focused on just how much this City sucked sometimes.

Demons were one thing. Demons he could almost deal with, given that his boss was a demon and a pretty okay guy. Vampires? He still wasn't crazy about the fact that one had bitten him and he didn't even remember.

But now rabid dogs, and the crappiest healthcare he'd ever received in a hospital? That was just not right. He'd never had to wait so long for anything in his life. The Echolls name generally opened doors, but here it didn't seem to mean a hell of a lot.

Well, that was an understatement, really.

All the same, Logan was not in the best of moods as he walked back to his dorm.

Yet another night at Caritas was winding down. Logan still hadn't quite gotten used to the elaborate make-up and prosthetics worn by about half the clientele, and by his boss. He really wasn't sure what to make of the posted rules referring to vampires with souls and trans-dimensional ejection for not tipping, except to conclude that Lorne had a strange sense of humor.

For that matter, Lorne himself was a little strange. Nice and a lot of fun to work with, but not exactly like anyone Logan had ever met.

He absentmindedly wiped down the counter with a bar rag as he waited for the last of the patrons to finish their songs and drinks and shuffle out. He did his best not to wince at the particularly bad rendition of 'I Will Survive' currently being... well, performed was too kind a word for what it was really.

Things were finally starting to go well for Logan. School was still out for summer and he'd been working with Lorne. The guy was... different, but mostly in a fun way. He still hadn't quite gotten used to the demon make-up, but he'd definitely gotten used to having a regular paycheck. Not to mention that he was surprised to find he actually enjoyed the business of running a night club. Doing the books, making sure maintenance was taken care of, overseeing employees... all that stuff was something he actually felt like he could do, and actually enjoyed.

It was... odd, to have a sort of purpose. To actually have to work for a paycheck. Make that, work for a paycheck that actually covered more than the bare minimum he'd been making while working in the cafeteria at the university.

Perhaps things were looking up, he mused as he made his way home from Caritas early one morning. He wasn't being particularly cautious about his surroundings or being out so late, as he still suffered from the delusions of invincibility that most men his age had. Of course, getting shot and walking away without a scratch earlier that year didn't help with those delusions.

So when three shadowy figures fell into step behind him, Logan didn't hear them coming. He didn't realize anyone was there until he turned his head slightly, just in time to catch a sharp blow from something cold and metal. A gun, he reflected as he crumpled to the ground.

"Give me your wallet and any valuables you have on you," a voice growled as Logan looked up into the sharp glint of silver metal, pointed directly at him.

He chuckled darkly.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me," he said. "I've had money in this City for all of two weeks, and this happens?"

Yeah, Logan wasn't the best at keeping his tongue in check, even when his life was on the line.

Drinking with Devon, his asshole of a roommate was probably a bad idea, Logan reflected. He'd accepted the invitation out without giving it too much thought, but now the jackass refused to shut the hell up.

Logan downed another beer, hoping that he would get less annoying through the pleasant haze of alcohol.

"And that girlfriend of yours... I'd definitely do her," Logan caught the last bit of that ramble. "If you ever decide you're done with her, let me know."

He slammed down his beer, and turned to his roommate. He stood up, puffing his chest out.

"You want to say that to me again?"

"Sure thing," Devon agreed and stood up, crossing his arms with a grin. "I said-"

His sentence was truncated as Logan's fist impacted squarely with his jaw. Devon reeled, and then dove at Logan.

Before Logan quite knew what was happening, several others had joined the fight and he was now parrying drunken blows from all sides and taking the advantage to work out some of his aggression as he fought his way through the crowd.

A new round of posters and fliers came out days prior to the event, if just to serve as a friendly reminder or perhaps another purpose entirely.

Mrs. Coulter paced about the room with folded arms, wearing a capped sleeve forest green pencil dress. Time and time she would turn away and try to look at the venue with fresh eyes.

A carpeted meeting room good for 50 persons, rented from the The City Convention Center. Inside the room were curved rows of wooden cushioned chairs. A microphone stand situated at the middle. The arrangement was too functional than aesthetic. It seemed to promise hours of boredom, she herself would step out of it if she would. But she liked to believe that people would come, not because they had nothing else to do or for the free food. They would come because they would be curious. They would come because they needed to know once and for all, she told herself. Anyhow, the lights were bright, the air was cool and the chairs seemed comfortable enough to be sat on for a long period of time should it come to that.

The thought of losing her first venue still disappointed her. She still preferred it, a more calming and familiar space, one that would be conducive to discussions. Yet she had expected to be prevented of its use. By who and what, it was plainly obvious. Nothing else would outgrow that pitiful garden with such speed and only weeks before her convention. Mrs. Coulter shrugged it off, she was prepared with her fall back plans no matter how regretful they'd end up to be. She would have her society come together, even in a broom closet. Her organization, one that she named in the true spirit of her world: the Society for Metropolitan Studies.

Meanwhile, the golden monkey was more interested with the long table behind the room, which contained what the invitation promised: tea cups, tea pitchers, and layers of cakes, biscuits, among other pastry snacks. It had caught Eames’s attention, too. As he nudged the biscuits back into neat circles with the bourbon cream he’d pilfered, he flashed the monkey a quick and cheeky smile.

“Mr. Eames,” Mrs. Coulter’s silky voice echoed across the room, a reflective hand upon her chin, “I honestly do not feel like talking to a voice transmitter device. Do you think my voice is loud enough? I’d rather speak without aid.” She mused while her daemon growled at Eames.

"A microphone," corrected Eames. "And if you can fill this many seats-- well, I'll be surprised."

“Whatever,” Mrs. Coulter waved off. It was not the time for Eames’ vocabulary wars. Those things never end. “If it's only Chiba or whoever she thinks of parading around, so be it. I’m simply not used to settling for anything less.”