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Caritas | Thursday Evening

Had there been a spree of dead bodies turning up in parks and dazed chess-club teens wandering in late to their Baltimore homes on the mainland over the last week?

No. Why? Had you heard something? Probably had to do with Christmas, right? Or maybe the new year?

Laszlo for sure didn't know anything about any of this.

But he had had a very merry Christmas, all the same.

Specials
Regular Human Gin

People still drank straight gin, right? "People drink gin, don't they?" Laszlo called to Tino as his hypnotized cameraman wrote out the special for him.

He got a shrug in return, and Laszlo took way too long (read: three-ish seconds) to decide that Tino probably tasted gross, anyway, and it wouldn't be worth it.

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Celebrate the end of Christmas music season.

Get you some...gin, straight from the bottle, poured into a glass.

". . . As opposed to that fancy, inhuman gin?" Rosa asked, smirking.

"As opposed to specially distilled gin," Laszlo offered, considering it and deciding that sounded legitimate. "For...not humans. Werewolves probably love gin."

Don't mind how grossed out he looked now, thinking about that.

. . . Right. This place came with as much weird as Roswell, if not more. Rosa bobbed her head a bit.

"Fair enough. I know an alien or two who'd be into it. Though I think they prefer tequila."

"Oh, aliens are new to me," Laszlo noted with interest. "Are they little and green and from Mars?"

Someone's alien expectations were perhaps a touch dated.

"They are not," Rosa said with another amused smirk. "You've been watching too many 50s B movies."

"There doesn't seem to be much other alien education where I'm from," Laszlo decided, and was that even true? Or had he just not paid any attention? Guillermo and Colin Robinson both probably had extensive, well-thought-out opinions on aliens. "But tequila, you say? Is that what you'd like to drink, as well, or are you interested in this gin I have on offer?"

"Oh, um." Rosa shook her head. "Neither. Just a soda for me."

She maybe shouldn't have hit up the bar when she was in recovery, but in her defense, this place had been hopping last time she'd come in. Maybe Summer saying Wednesdays were The Night for Caritas hadn't been exaggeration.

Oh, yeah, Summer nights were not really comparable to other Caritas nights.

"A soda," Laszlo pronounced grandly, selecting a gun and looking down the bar to Tino for confirmation. (He did not receive it.) "Of course!"

So what Rosa was ultimately treated to was a glass of seltzer, no ice, that Laszlo ultimately garnished with a maraschino cherry. "There you are!"

Great bartender.

Well, at least Rosa was highly amused by his efforts.

"Mmhm," she hummed, not trying to hide her smirk. "New at this, are you?"

"Is this not a soda?" Laszlo asked, somewhat offended but only because he was sure he'd gotten it right. Soda had bubbles! This had bubbles! What was the problem? "Oh, did you want the brown kind? Or whatever...this is?"

He dribbled a little orange juice out of the soda gun into a glass, frowning at it. No bubbles. Probably wrong. Orange juice hadn't really been a readily-available item when Laszlo had been able to drink things that weren't blood.

"No no, this is fine," Rosa said, sipping the soda water and managing not to grimace too much. (She had a sweet tooth and that was definitely not sweet.) "Love the cherry."

"Is that what that is?" Laszlo asked, interested. "I wasn't sure, I just liked the color."

Like he read any of these jars or bottles more than he had to. Seriously, what a fantastic bartender, everyone.

He was definitely new at this.

"I'm Rosa," she said, offering her hand as she used the other one to pop the cherry into her mouth.

"Laszlo Cravensworth," he told her, taking her hand and bowing chivalrously over the bar, almost as though he was going to kiss her hand (but, probably thankfully, he did nothing of the sort.) "A pleasure to meet you, Rosa. What do you do on this fair little isle of ours?"

It was obviously incredibly easy to get a job around here.

So incredibly easy. You didn't even have to talk to the boss, apparently.

"I work at the music store," she said. "Mostly because they said I could paint. And no one can tell me off for blasting my music in there."

"Is it a store that sells recorded music, or do you sell instruments?" Laszlo's curiosity was now much more genuine, because he hadn't noticed a music store! Finally, something that was actually relevant to him and his own interests!

"Both," Rosa said. "Though the instruments seem like they're about ready to take over the place. I guess someone figured out no one buys much physical media anymore."

"I may have to come by and see what's in your inventory," Laszlo decided, almost casually. "Presuming your store keeps late enough hours."

Because he could only come out after the sun went down. For reasons.

"I'm not sure if it's open after bar hours," Rosa said. "How late do you need it?"

Oddly enough, he didn't read "vampire" to her automatically.

"Oh, an hour or two after sundown should do." He liked to take his time waking up.

". . . So, like . . . seven?" Rosa guessed. "Or at least in the winter." She tilted her head. "You're nocturnal?"

"More people should be," Laszlo said with a nod.

He had his reasons, but even when he'd been human, he'd mostly gone out at night. Sure, it was because he had a serious alcohol problem and most of his town looked better in the dark, but still.

"But sure, like seven." Did he even own a clock? Who knew.

"Then yeah, we're open that late," Rosa said. She was definitely assuming this guy had some sort of addictive issue, yeah, but they'd just met. That wasn't her business.

"Regular human gin," Eric drawled from the doorway. "Why would you want to lure in regular humans?"

"What else do you suggest I try to lure in?" Laszlo asked, reasonably.

"Mediocre humans, naturally," Eric said. "They are so rarely missed."

"Everyone thinks they're at least regular, though," Laszlo reasoned. "A truly mediocre human wouldn't know what the word meant, probably."

Seemed like a good weeding-out strategy to him.

Eric pursed his lips thoughtfully. "True. Maybe advertise for special? Regular gets you the humans with a sense of humor."

"And 'special' does seem like I'll get exceptionally dull ones, doesn't it?" Laszlo mused.

Only terrible, boring people would respond to being called 'special.'

(Well, except for him. And, like, all his closest friends. They all thrived on simple praise.)

"There are a ton of exceptionally dull ones," Eric said, sighing theatrically. And completely unnecessarily.

Check out the decorations for tomorrow, which Laszlo has not even noticed.

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Caritas | Thursday Evening

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