Buffy looked around her new business. She'd never seen herself as the owner of a Night Club, hell she'd never seen herself as the saviour of the world, but look how that turned out. Truth be told the slaying business was slow, ever since the destruction of the Sunnydale hellmouth, the legions of darkness just weren't as plentiful, and Buffy was bored. She could hardly remember the last time she'd seen a Vamp, demon or Hell god. So, opening a bar seemed like a sensible, adult like thing to do. And what better bar than the Bronze, the Scoobie Gang's old stomping grounds back in Sunnydale.

It had taken a bit of time to find a suitable place. A disused warehouse, in the bad part of town, located by the shipping docks and railroad tracks. When you entered the bar, it looked pretty much like it was, a warehouse that had been re-purposed, Offices immediately on your right, and a cloakroom on the left, all made from a simple wooden frame construction. Down the short hall brought you to a curtain, and the bar beyond. The Bar itself was about 15 feet inside the main area, square, four sides, with a serving hatch entrance on the left hand side, and a central shelving centre that held various drinks. Wooden Kegs sat beneath each of the four worktops supplying local beers to the pump handles.  Beyond the bar where a series of metal pillars that supported a gantry that ran around the whole building around 15 feet in the air, allowing people to watch the action below. Around each pillar was a shelf allowing people to rest their drinks, and in the intervening spaces where Art Deco wrought Iron tables and various seats, from standard Wood frame chairs to chaise lounges, armchairs and sofas.  In between the two foremost pillars sat two full size 6 pocket billiard tables, buffy planned to fill all angles to maximize her profit, including serving minors, so she needed something to draw the youth into the club.At the back of the warehouse was a stage, well lit with incandescent spotlights, using a modern 1000 watt lamp, much safer that the old Carbon Arc lamps.

Just like the original Bronze, Buffy hoped to showcase the best local talent, playing a mixture of cool blues and modern Jazz. That should bring all the Flappers, guys and necking parties to the Bronze, and help her turn a tidy profit. Any way, that was the idea, hopefully things would work as planned.

Hopping off of the plan as soon as it landed, Nixe made his way to The Bronze, directions dictated by the crude written scrawled upon his hand. In hindsight, he could have done better. But alas, the youth's sense of direction was mangled horribly, lending him trouble when it came to differentiating right from left. The brunette was about a third of the way there when he realized that there was something that could solve his problems. He could take a fucking taxi. "Fuckfuckfuck, I'm so stupid," Nixe muttered to himself, as he hailed down one of the great, bright beasts. Clambering clumsily inside, he delivered the coordinates of his destination.

And it wasn't ten minutes later that the cabbie pulled up outside the specified building, in which Nixe jumped out in a rush, tipping the man with an apologetic smile. After heading inside, it wasn't long before he spotted Rae. With a smile plastered onto his face, the pale man approached his friend. "Hey, I finally found this place," chuckled Nixe, as he checked his watch. "And look at that - I'm not late for once!"

Buffy stood on the gantry and looked down at the crowd below... well not so much a crowd as a small group of couples and individuals. The Club hadn't been as popular as she had hoped, god knows her grandfather's business had had people travelling from all over to stay, but then, living under the shadow of the Legendary Rockfather was a tough act to follow.

Still, it could be worse. Open 2 weeks and not a single Vamp or demon attack. No dark power trying to sacrifice her patrons, as few as they were. Things definitely could be so much worse... they could also be a whole lot better. But the club was serving its purpose, a place that she could lauder her more ill gotten gains, and help pay her sister's way through college without attracting the unwanted attention of the Feds.

Leaving her vantage point she went down the stairs and wandered through the bar, enjoying the music and smiling at people.

Andi needed a drink...ing binge.

It was a long week for her, doing felony after felony to keep herself afloat. She had just enough cash to spare for a night of heavy drinking, so she entered the first bar she saw-- one called The Bronze. Not really an alcoholic, she was quite the lightweight but she didn't care, she just wanted to cleanse her conscience with a little alcohol and unwind at this small hole-in-the-wall. As she first entered, Andi was unsure if it was a bar at all and not just an abandoned warehouse until she heard the upbeat sounds lilting around. A small smile crept on her face, she was feeling lighter already.

"One gin and tonic please, keep 'em coming." She told the bartender before sliding on a stool and waiting for her drinks. When they finally came, Andi started nursing her glass as if it was her prized possessions and started tipping them back one by one. It didn't take long for her to get tipsy and started telling the bartender her life story. After a solid 10 minutes of her mumbling nonsense, she fell off her stool and onto the floor, knocked out cold.

"No regrets." She mumbled before drifting off to sleep.

Third time lucky, perhaps. The clientele was a tad young, the music was a tad loud, the drink was a tad crap, but it was cheap. So Evil grabbed a stool and propped up the bar, drinking whatever they were trying to pass off as whiskey in this shithole. Still, it smelled better than the first joint.

ToE needed a drink, like an astronaut needs air. It was desperate times, so he decided to give the Bronze another go. The Clientele was still a tad young, the music was still a tad loud, and the drink was still shit. Watered down piss, no whiskey, whisky, or bourbon. What the fuck was a Cosmopolitan anyway, it tasted like a frui... homosexuals drink. Not that there was anything wrong with that, someone had once thought ToE batted for the other team as he was always downing Jack, Bud, Jim, Johnny or Jose. Removing the plethora of garnishes and straws from the glass of mildly alcoholic fruit juice, he downed it in one, dropped $5 on the counter, and headed down the road to the next establishment.