Slow Night With Vengeance On My Mind
So it's another weeknight, it's pouring rain in most of the South Bay, and even the vampires can't drag themselves out of bed to stop off at Caritas for a round of drinks and a few songs. The place is deader than most of the clientele, and I can just see Ramon sneaking glares at me while my back is turned.
"With an attitude like that, sweetcheeks," I say to him as I reach for another sea breeze, "it's no wonder your tips are so low."
I turn back to the empty stage with a sigh and, now that I've managed to completely disenchant the waitstaff, I'm thinking of declaring it an early night. I could use the beauty sleep, and, frankly, the concept of sitting around waiting for Ramon to finally spike my sea breezes with something stronger than Stoli is something I'm just not comfortable with.
I'm just about to turn to Ramon and tell him to turn off the sign when she walks in. Dear Anyanka, vengeance demon with a heart of ice and a voice...well, if she ever decides to pack it in on the vengeance circuit, I'm certain she could get a job training attack dogs with her singing.
No, I'm sure that's too mean. Maybe making bad dogs behave. She must have something there, if she'd just change her tune. I mean, I've been doing this for...awhile, and I've never heard anyone else walk in and sing "Sisters Are Doing It For Themselves" every time. Not alternating with "You Don't Own Me," not even occasionally bringing in "I Will Survive," and the concept of just once singing "You Oughta Know"? Nope, not for Anyanka. "Sisters Are Doing It For Themselves," and I wince even before she hits the wrong notes.
But at least her future is always interesting. The things women wish for! I try to give her a bit of advice, you know. Stay away from Buffalo, New York, don't let him touch you, remember that syphilis takes years to kill, things like that. It's the least I can do for her, and maybe in the long run, it'll help out some poor guy...
Not that most of these creatures deserve it, but you never know, right? They're not coming in here to sing for me... And, if anything, if someone dares decide that I'm not worth the time and effort, she'll bend the rules a little. A demon scorned is as good as a woman scorned, right?
But this time...oh this wasn't looking good for our favorite vengeance demon at all. All this death and destruction? This wasn't a scorned woman, this was Armageddon!
I was going to tell her not to go to Sunnydale, maybe she'd find another scorned woman in Los Angeles -- it's not like there isn't one every five minutes, but just as she was trailing off that last chorus (of course, missing the beat again), I caught sight of just a bit more of what would be happening.
I applauded and made my way up to the stage, grabbing the mike from her before she could do the aural equivalent of kicking the dying corpse that was that song. She looked at me expectantly. "So, Sunnydale, huh?" she said to me, her eyes positively gleaming with anticipation of more men to torture.
"Yeah, you know what, kid?" I said to her. I sipped my drink and smiled at the stragglers finally coming in. "Sunnydale's gonna be a good place for you."
She smiled widely. "What's it this time? Boils on the penis? Bubonic plague? Turning him into a dog?"
Always going for the illnesses and transformations, that one. Can't get enough of them. I smiled at her, put a hand on her shoulder tenderly, and just say, "Be good to him. Trust me."
Another night at Caritas, and another customer left wondering what the hell I'm talking about. The night's suddenly picked up.