Bars were all fun and games until someone was too drunk to be tolerable. Bars were all fun and games until some woman was sobbing in the bathroom, her tears fueled by a suspiciously large amount of tequila on half priced margherita night and the source of them drinking something fruity while he entertained some scantily clad woman at the bar that reminded our first subject of their finished relationship. Bars were all fun and games until it was 2am, and every ounce of testosterone in the watering hole had built to a thunderhead, where the clouds bashed into each other in human form with the support of their bloodied knuckles and misplaced pride. So many people chose bars as their form of weekend entertainment, a destination looming on some kind of neon horizon with some kind of prize nestled between the generally over-indulged thighs of what would, in the morning, turn out to be a "3" versus the "10" our lovely protagonist scored at the end of his night. This weekend entertainment watering hole served the purpose of many different patrons, offering various methods of escape for those looking to do so. Each magic tonic brought you to the same result, intoxicated, although the road towards said end goal could take many turns. Enjoy nudity? Tequila will always comply. If you want to sob endlessly into a box of chocolate when you return home from your jaunt, wine will pat your hair and tell you that it is, in fact, a wonderful idea to order whatever it was on the shopaholic channel you saw that might make you feel a little better. Liquid courage in the form of a shot glass will always be your partner on top of the bar, helping you lose your mind and probably your dignity seven ways until Sunday. And if your problems weigh heavier than the world on Atlas' shoulders, Scotch will secure the apparatus that rigs a support to help you last just a little bit longer until the world crumbles at your Titan feet.

We had taken a few turns during our night at the bar, casually tasting every path that the particular bar we'd landed at had to offer. Damon's choice of drinks were suspiciously similar to mine, even when we ordered separately which made the night go smoothly, rife with antics that would probably continue to make me laugh after the sun had come up. The night would end, though, not only in a good-bye but in the actual business deal that I'd wanted to propose. It would be helpful to have someone who was talented and seemed to accept my existence on my side, so to speak. It had proven, lately, that this sort of friendship or relationship or even partnership, whatever, was going to be necessary as the tides of the city were quickly changing. The Dark Hunter's council had me uneasy, and even though the work I did often looked similar to theirs? There was no question that I didn't want the slightest option for mistakes. Damon's participation would mean that while yes, there was more of a liability, witches as a whole could never be wholly blamed for any of my actions.

When the fools had seemed to have enough darts pinging into their thick, pig-like skin and resigned from the mind control emanating from my companion, I reached over the bar for the bottle of bourbon nearest before seating myself unceremoniously on a stool by a table that had acted as a judging booth for our circus.

"Before you turn into a pumpkin, I think it's time for a little business, Cinderella."