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Angel reunites with his least favorite grandchilde, Spike, at Caritas.
7/3/2016 7:00 PM
Caritas San Francisco
Caritas[]
The lights are on, illuminating the area.
This could almost pass for any quirky neighborhood karaoke bar, except that most of the patrons are visibly non-human. Demons, vampires, werewolves, and all manner of folk seem to gather here, hidden from prying eyes by a layer of glamours and protection spells. Perhaps it's the niche clientele that assures such a steady crowd. Most nights, it's got just about the right number of people to make things friendly but still comfortable. It's decorated in splashes of silver and purple, and the decor of the place feels like the grandchild of mod-deco, punched up here and there with chintzy theatrical flair.
Subtly varied spot lighting creates just the right mix of tables where one can be seen or not seen, with a mix of small tables in the center and quiet booths along the edges of the room. A stage at the back features a high-end karaoke setup, the backdrop featuring a silver curtain that can be drawn aside to feature a full cinematic projection screen. Along one wall, the bar is stocked with everything from high-octane cocktails to fruit smoothies. Notably, they check IDs very diligently when drinks are purchased, as this is an all-ages place -- and they cut anyone off who hits the sauce too hard. For that, they'll tell you, go down the street to the Bear and Staff Pub.
Outside, it's clear, warm, and breezy.
Caritas is famous for many things. Lorne, the Host, who's not in at present. The Karoke machine, which is designed to help Lorne do what he does best. A clientele involving every single possible thing that goes bump in the night imaginable. And, perhaps most importantly, really first class anti violence spells that prevent clients that hate each other from punching each other. Caritas also serves most everything in unlimited supply. From the finest of whiskeys to blood.
The Karaoke machine is currently empty, as nobody seems to see fit to use it if Lorne's not around.
Angel, meanwhile, drinks a covered mug of blood...fastidiously, as he tries not to gross out any of his more human allies with what he actually is.
"Well well!" It's a familiar voice that Angel should know, and if he takes a look, he'll notice a familiar gleam of platinum hair, a familiar twinkle in these eyes, a familiar black leather duster that isn't strictly ideal summerwear. He looks great it in anyway. "Come to tickle our ears with a stirring rendition of your favorite tunes? Or is it you're trying to find another way to draw blood?" Spike, of course, looks supremely pleased at himself as he pulls out another chair at Angel's table, flopping down into it casually, as if he were invited to seat himself. "How're you holding up? Getting enough brooding per calendar day? You know what happens if you don't brood!" He's like the vampire equivalent of a morning person, somehow.
Angel knows that voice all too well. And the quality of his evening just took a nose dive. Why, oh Powers that Sit On Their Butts, have you chosen to do this to him? "...Spike." And he can't even punch him in here because the anti violence spells in here prevent that. Of course, that equally means he doesn't need to worry about sneak attacks either. That's something. "I thought you were gonna find Dru and make her love you again. Didn't work out for you?" And fortunately, what happens if he doesn't brood isn't going to happen anymore. But he declines to enlighten Spike as to that particular fact.
Spike shrugs his shoulders, just as a waiter brings over his glass -- glass! -- of blood. Because he just doesn't care about who sees or doesn't see. Sure, any other occasion it would be beer or some harder alcohol, but he's chosen his refreshment specifically this time. Because he knows. "How'd things go between yourself and Darla? Must've been a great old reunion." He picks up his glass and lifts it like a toast.
"Wolfram and Hart originally brought her back human. But she was dying, and despite my best efforts, I couldn't save her life as a human. So...she went looking for another answer. And found it with Dru, who resired her. Now she's somewhere. Probably with Dru." That's something worth brooding about. Human Darla had a soul, temporarily. Now, of course, she doesn't again.
Spike sips his drink, chuckling, and then sets the glass down before folding his hands over his stomach. He sits back in the chair, leaning a little. "Sounds like she's got the better end of the deal. Fangs and a holiday with Dru...who wouldn't prefer that over torment and brooding every day?" Though truth be known, of course it does bother him, just slightly, that he wasn't any part of this himself. For whatever reason. Maybe it just happened to fall on a bad day.
"Considering the alternative, most people prefer me brooding every night. Including you." As far as he can tell, even Spike prefers Angel over Angelus, since the latter is just a little destroy the world happy and broke him up with Dru besides. "...She had the chance to be human again. To live her life. But even today, Syphillis doesn't have a cure, so there was nothing medicine could do for her."
"Yeah, but that ain't to say magic don't." Spike quips, but honestly, Angel probably resorted to whatever he could get. Then again, he also probably didn't have quite the same resources or contacts he may once have. And while Spike isn't eager to see Angelus again, mainly because Angel is much more fun to play with, there's something to be said for underworld networking. "But really, who wants to live a miserable short life in a miserable filthy world? You don't want that for her. She clearly don't want that for her. Dru obviously didn't want that for her."
"I tried magic. There was this special place underground that had 3 trials I had to go through. I actually passed all 3 of them, to the curators surprise. It apparently doesn't happen often. He went to cure Darla of her disease...and couldn't, because apparently his ability to offer someone a second chance at life doesn't work if they're already living a second chance at life. So now I have some kind of IOU from those guys. Don't know how they'll pay up." Angel really did go through the ringer trying to save Darla. Threw everything he had at the problem. Wasn't enough. And so, Dru. "I didn't want Darla to go back to her soul free existence. But on being resired, that's exactly what she became."
Spike snorts, glancing to the stage and back to Angel. "You know well as I do the whole thing ain't that straightforward. Can't you even be happy about *that*? Darla's still out there somewhere. You and your second-rate goody-two-shoes hucksters -- 'trials' and 'IOUs' and got better than you wanted anyway, and here you are crying in your blood." He leans forward and suddenly sits with all the chair's feet on the floor, along with his own. "So anyway, here I am! Your own little ray of sunshine. May not be as pretty as Darla, but you won't hear me complaining about my *soul* of all things."
Angel wouldn't call a resired Darla out there killing people every night 'better then he wanted.' If Darla showed up in town now, like that, she'd probably just get herself staked by Buffy or Faith or whichever other Slayer happens to be around at the time. "It's not better then I wanted. And what I actually got out of those trials...I don't know. But it might be." Depends on how good at making the impossible possible those guys are. "Ray of sunshine is a good phrase for you, yes." Because a ray of sunshine is a pain, and so is Spike.
Spike isn't too concerned. Darla can take care of herself, and no Slayer's about to take any of them down anytime soon unless they get very, very lucky. "See? You still love me." He picks up his glass and takes another gulp of it. "So anyway, I'm gonna need a place to stay for a while and I heard you got your hands on some prime real estate."
"I think you forgot how much of a pain rays of sunshine are." As for the idea of living with him? "I have Slayers living with me. You might've heard Buffy activated all of them. I don't think they're going to put up with you." Okay, the only Slayer actually living there is Faith, the junior Slayers live elsewhere, but still, it's the principle of the thing.
"No," Spike answers. "They may burn, but you know you'd still love to be able to...well, you I guess would frolic around in them like a huge pooftah." He sets his glass down, rolling his shoulders back. "Oh, you're a turncoat now. Didn't know you'd defected. Still, if anybody was going to, it's you. You can put me under your protection though, right? For what it's worth."
"The only time I was a turncoat was when Angelus got out. Other then that...I seem to recall you personally making a rather long speech about how Buffy and I aren't going to be friends, ever. I was always defected since meeting her and you know it." It's pointing out the obvious, but it's how it is. As for protction? "I could, but your habit of eating humans is something Slayers don't approve of. And if they catch you eating someone they'll just get very angry at me and go to stake you anyway." He's ALREADY catching flack for trying to redeem Faith!
Spike gives a pfft through his lips, before having another mouthful of blood. A tiny bead escapes from the corner of his mouth, and he takes a hand to wipe it up, sucking it off his finger. "Don't think the way you're using the term is what it means. Anyway, you seem to have yourself well screwed. Here I thought I was hard up. I mean..." he shakes his head, gesturing with his other hand, holding the glass, "you brought it on yourself, of course. Can't stop chasing Slayer skirts."
Angel gets a rather haunted brooding look. "In 289 years, I've only loved one person, Spike. While I have other Slayers all around me, they're entirely platonic. Faith actually became one of my best friends, once I pulled her out of the Darkness she sank into. I know enough of evil to reach out to someone lost in it...and pull them back."
"Blah blah blah, love friends PLATONIC. Are you listening to yourself?" Spike gestures, waving his arms grandly as the leather dances on him even seated and so restrained. "We should just go out. And get you laid. Just go somewhere, see a band, get pissed out of our minds, and have it off." Shaking his head, he reaches to rest one hand's fingers around the glass's curve. "Bound to be someone that'll take one for the team. Maybe if you just don't speak..."
"Uh huh. And what would you do if Dru walked in that door, huh? Maybe with Darla coming along with her?" That'd be the entire Whirlwind at that point, though the 'leader' of that group doesn't really exist when bound by a soul. But as for getting laid? He can wait. "And it's not my fault that your idea of getting someone to love you again was tie her up and torture her till she likes you."
Spike shrugs in answer. "They could get laid too. I mean, ain't like they don't have needs, right? Or! We could *share*!" It's almost evocative of a kind of innocent, all-consuming sense of wonder with the tone Spike says that. But the rest of it, that makes his face flash smug and his lips curl like the wickedest sort of grin rolling from the center of his lips. "That so? How soon we forget, once we're tryin' to act all nice and proper and fangless for our pet Slayer. *You* taught me everything I know."
Considering Darla's choice of profession when she was mortal was how she ended up with Syphillis in the first place...and considering Darla's skill when he tried to sleep with her in an attempt to return to the Angelus state...yes, Darla does indeed have needs. And Angelus had personal experience with Drusilla's needs too, back when he was temporarily unleashed on the world once more. "They have needs alright." He eyes Spike for a minute. "So very many needs. Apparently I didn't teach you well enough, or you wouldn't have had Dru kissing Chaos Demons."
There's a moment where Spike's visage takes a decidedly dangerous flash, but it's only a twinkling and then it's gone. "*I* didn't have her doing it. And frankly, there's another reason why it even happened that, surprise surprise, *my* methods got from her! So you can take your sanctimonious claptrap and stick it...wherever." Propping his cheek on a hand, he sighs again, looking into his now mostly-empty glass. "Not like you could keep Darla around. Or anybody else, for that matter. Maybe I was too good a student."
"I kept Darla around just fine when I was soulless. Turns out souls are a turn off for her." So very much a turn off. He remembered trying to reunite with her, back in the early 1900s. But the soul, the filthy soul as Darla put it...wouldn't let him. And in Buffy's case? He left her, against her wishes. Twice, and she doesn't even remember one of them! But he won't speak on that. "So unless you've suddenly been reensouled yourself, you have nothing remotely comprable to blame for your current state of loneliness."
"And who said I was lonely?" Spike raises a brow. "You're the one all platonic friendy skirts, mate. Not me. I don't suffer from Empty Bed Syndrome." He sneers, looking particularly proud of himself. "Unless you were hoping I'd be lonely. I mean, I'm not saying I'd put out...you'd have to *really* pile on the booze, understand, but if you missed me *that* much..."
Angel sighed. "I'm waiting. Trying to give her the patience and space she needs. It's hard though." Her being Buffy, in this case. "She'll come to me when she's ready. She already knows what I managed to pull off last month." Angel and Spike are at a table, each with blood, although Spike put his in an open glass as opposed to Angel in a covered opaque mug.
"Well no wonder, if it's been a month since you've pulled it off..." Spike half-mutters to himself, gesturing with his glass as he sits back again in his chair. "You're a regular Dalai Lama, you are. Or some other kinda dromedary, I don't half imagine. Beast of burden. Tell me, d'you ever just flog yourself with wet reeds or anything? That sounds like something you'd get into."
Lorne arrives then, dressed in a snappy yellow suit with orange accents, and makes his way through the bar. He greets the regulars, buys a couple of people drinks who look like they could use one, and then pauses for a moment at the door to greet new arrivals. After his circuit is done, he heads over to where Angel and Spike are, offering the two a nod and a (curiously knowing) smile. "Well, don't you two make a picture. I could just frame you and advertise 'all the brooding-eyed chemistry you can absorb.' The empaths would go nuts." He sips his drink, then adds as an afterthought, "And that's not even counting the inevitable fangirls." He glances over at a table by the bar, adding, "Fanboys, too." "...Thanks."
Not at all enjoying the idea of fangirls, fanboys, or anything else. But then Angel gets an idea, thanks to Lorne's presence. Perhaps there is a way to break up the reminiscing of old times and sniping going on. "Ya know, Spike, there's an open mike up there, and you've got a better voice then most. Go give it a try." At least, he has a better voice then Angel does. Then again, that's a REALLY low bar. Spike is legitimately good.
"Best advice is, don't try to frame us together. The glass would break." Spike finishes his glass and sets it down on the tabletop. "*He's* the broodmaster. I'm the lovable working-class romantic." The smile that he gives just following this declaration is very nearly convincing! It would probably sway someone who didn't know him too well, or someone who wanted to believe the best. "Oh, what am I supposed to sing?" First he looks to Angel, then to Lorne. It's rare, but Spike has legitimately been caught a bit off-guard. Disturbed from the easy target that Angel is, derailed from catching up with his new methods of self-flagellation, Spike is now onto something more interesting. A shinier jewel.
Quirking an eyebrow at Angel, then the other at Spike, Lorne says, "Well, noted, but... still. I'm picking up /something/ there." But he lets that go and regards the two, sipping his sea breeze thoughtfully. "I'm going with a feeling here, but... how about some Slayer?" He flags down a waiter, who hands him a small, spiralbound book, which Lorne then offers to Spike. "That's our track list for the karaoke machine. Got a pretty extensive library, if I do say so myself."
Angel would love nothing better then some Slayer...though not the band, in his case. Didn't help bestie Faith went out of town for a week either, though her sacrifice paid off and helped heal things between Angel and Cordy very well. He grumbled, "Long history. Being evil for parts of it doesn't help." But since Spike is apparently intrigued by the idea of belting a tune out, he figures he'll be relatively quiet and let him.
The suggestion puts a sour expression back on Spike's face, when it had been doing so well just visiting temporarily. "Did you *really* have to?" With a huff, he takes the book and starts flipping through it. Tuning out most everything else as he goes through the listings, he calls out immediately as he seems to find just what he's looking for. "Here! This one!" At least this place has some good stuff. Book in hand, he takes to the stage and presses the numbers on the keypad. Notes that will be familiar to many start up: "The Passenger", a song made famous by Iggy Pop and later covered well by Siouxsie and the Banshees. This one will hit some notes. Who knows if they'll be pleasant ones; Spike clearly doesn't care. He opens his mouth to sing.