TITLE: "Shaken, not Stirred"

FEEDBACK: Yes please - but be gentle with me, I'm new to this!

ARCHIVE/DISTRIBUTION: Wherever, just ask.

SUMMARY: Lilah has a shitty evening. Wesley has a good evening. A vampire hostess bar is involved.

SPOILERS: Up to end Season 2 AtS, Season 5 BtVS

CONTENT/WARNINGS: Some swearing. No porn.

RATING: (British System 'cause I don't get the US system) PG

DISCLAIMER: I am not now, nor have I ever been, Joss Whedon. Not mine & not profiting from it - don't sue!



Lilah Morgan picked her way through the crowd in Caritas with the utter confidence of someone who was certain that everything in the room wanted to fuck her or eat her - or possibly both - and didn't *give* a damn. You think you're bad, every line of her sharply tailored form asked them. You don't know the *meaning* of the word. Get in my way and you'll find out. She glanced back over her shoulder and cast a bright, predatory smile at her well-fed client and so it happened that she had her back to the booth containing Wesley Wyndham Price as she stalked past him.

Just behind Lilah and her rotund client walked two soberly dressed Asian gentlemen. Wesley eyed the smaller man narrowly, taking in his pale skin and an indefinable something about the way he moved. Vampire, he thought - more a gut feeling than a quantifiable certainty, but he'd have bet this month's pay on it nevertheless. He was suddenly very conscious of the stake in his pocket. A taxi home later really wasn't a bad idea at all, he reflected.

"It is a karaoke bar," murmured the vampire disdainfully in Japanese as they passed Wesley's table. "Why do these Americans always think I will enjoy karaoke bars? They are so crude. Does this man Anderson imagine that this vulgar place is anything like my Tea House?"

The Englishman's ears pricked up automatically. Wesley Wyndham Price was fluent in an impressive array of languages, many of which had not been designed with the human vocal chords in mind. Learning Japanese had been a piece of cake next to the court dialect of the Trj'knz slime demons. And Wesley had got an "A" in his Trj'knz exam. He leaned back to listen as the four people took their seats -any distraction from the painful tangle of emotions Angel's return had provoked was more than welcome

I do believe that I'm having a James Bond moment, he thought to himself, smiling again, for here I am spying on the latest machinations of Wolfram and Hart in my spare time. The name's Price. Wyndham Price. Licence to stake. Wesley nibbled another onion ring absent- mindedly and toyed with the idea of ordering a dry martini.

* * *

Something with six limbs was singing an Elton John number on the stage in front of them. Badly. This was not one of Lilah's favourite venues, but Mr Anderson was the client and the client was always right. At least in matters of so little importance.

The waiter arrived with their drinks. Lilah peered through lowered lashes at the impassive face of the vampire opposite her as he accepted a glass of warm blood. She was trying to assess whether he was pleased with the negotiations and thinking about the kudos that this deal would win her if it all went smoothly. Surely the board wouldn't pick Lindsey Fucking McDonald over her? The guy was a *joke*, no discipline, lousy track record, no loyalty to the firm when it came to his stupid fucking kink for vampires - helping Angel and then running around after that syphilitic old vamp- tramp Darla, the original Good Time Had By All. but for some reason he was still there, still her main competition when other, better lawyers had fallen by the wayside. In some ways the firm was still a goddamned boys' club.

"To mutually beneficial business relationships", said Lilah Morgan, smiling a sharp, lipsticked smile as she raised her Virgin Mary to clink against the other glasses. Mr Anderson smiled just as broadly as he echoed her. He slopped some of the Czech beer he was drinking onto the floor in an unthinking libation and muttered a quick dedication to a couple of patron deities or demons before touching any of the drink himself, which came as no surprise to Ms Morgan. She all knew about the deals one made with other realms to get the kind of earthly wealth Mr Anderson had.

"Did you enjoy the opera, Shimazu-san?" asked Mr Anderson. The vampire nodded briefly.

"I am fond of Puccini, thank you. The performance was quite good."

"I thought the soprano was excellent," offered Lilah warmly.

In the ensuing lengthy pause the demon behind them croaked another three lines of "Candle in the Wind" and Lilah's knuckles whitened visibly around her glass. So much for small talk.

After a moment the vampire and his lawyer exchanged glances and then the lawyer looked across at Lilah and set his glass of soda on the cheap table.

"Mr Shimazu finds the terms of your contract generally acceptable. Your price is high, but if the merchandise is guaranteed to be of the quality you claim then Mr Shimazu will pay it. He stipulates that this price will only pertain to virgins under the age of sixteen, however, and only if the paperwork - medical certificates, birth certificate, passport, travel visa etc - is in each case as intact as their honour. In the case of older girls or of non-virgins under sixteen he expects a discount. The level of discount will naturally vary according to the condition and appearance of the merchandise. I have drawn up some guidelines and a breakdown of the charges Mr Shimazu thinks appropriate and I have amended the contract to Mr Shimazu's specifications. In principle, though, Mr Shimazu accepts your offer to supply fresh hostesses for his Tea House each month, with Wolfram and Hart to handle documentation and oversee the export process itself on an ongoing basis. The contract will cover an initial five year period, at which time it will be subject to review." He passed Lilah a leather document wallet as he spoke.

"I believe that we have a deal," said Mr Shimazu quietly, looking around at the bar.

"Well I'll drink to that!" exclaimed Mr Anderson, lifting his beer once again. "To Shimazu-san's little American Geishas - may their blood be sweet as cotton candy! In fact I think this calls for champagne. Waiter?"

Lilah beamed.



* * *

Wesley reminded himself that he was slightly drunk and thoroughly alone in a bar full of demons and that physically he was in pretty lousy shape, what with the recently-acquired bullet hole in his side. This was really not an appropriate time to be contemplating swashbucklingly heroic action.

On the other hand he felt duty-bound to do *something* about interfering with the export of All-American virgins to Japan as a vampire delicacy now that he'd heard about it. It was a little like having a cat - one couldn't do anything about saving all the small creatures it savaged when it was out of one's sight, but if it dragged a mouse into the kitchen one felt obliged to intervene on the mouse's behalf. As distractions from his immediate concerns went, this was quite a good one.

Bugger, thought Wesley, wondering what to do.



* * *

Raoul arrived promptly with a magnum of Moet & Chandon, four champagne flutes and a bucket of ice.

Lilah gave a calculatedly girlish giggle as the waiter carefully popped the cork with minimum spillage and filled the glasses. Take that, McDonald, you cocky little fuck, she thought to herself. This financial milch-cow was going to provide a very healthy little flow of profit. She couldn't believe Shimazu had gone for Anderson's first offer - she'd been prepared to negotiate downwards, but he'd actually gone for it. Ha! What was the last success Lindsey had had? He was too damned busy concentrating on his pet obsessions. He was getting lax. Lilah was going to be Head of the Department, she could feel it in her bones. Lindsey McDonald would just be a bloodstain on the carpet.

They clinked glasses in a fresh toast and drank. Shimazu knocked back the champagne like it was water - vampires often had remarkable tolerance for alcohol, she remembered. God, but she felt good.

"What about a song, Shimazu-san?" boomed Mr Anderson unexpectedly. "Come on, my friend - I know you Japanese love this kind of thing." Lilah blanched visibly and held her breath, watching the other lawyer's eyes widen and dart across to his employer. If Shimazu was a big karaoke fan she'd eat her briefcase. How Anderson could be so astute a businessman and yet fail to gauge Shimazu's temperament baffled her.

"My voice is very poor, but if you insist, my friend, of course I shall join you, " replied Mr Shimazu with vicious courtesy. It apparently didn't cross Anderson's mind that he had made a gaff, or that Shimazu was underlining it. Or perhaps he knew perfectly well and saw it all as a power game - Lilah wasn't sure.

Mr Shimazu made a mental note to kill Jeff Anderson very, very slowly at a later date - just as soon as it was sure not to inconvenience his own business plans. The vampire looked at his lawyer and across at Lilah with a faintly malicious expression on his pale face. "But my friend .and the beautiful Ms Morgan must certainly join us, Mr Anderson. After all, we are all one big happy family now, isn't that so?"

Lilah's smile was so wide she thought her face might crack. She despised this kind of thing more than words could express. "I should be honoured, Mr Shimazu," she replied with a flutter of her dark lashes as she swung her slim legs out from under the table. She slid gracefully to her feet. "And then perhaps the anagogic demon who runs this place can give us some good news about the future of our business partnership. What song did you have in mind?"

* * *

Lilah was *seething* when she got back to the table. Goddamned "Wind Beneath My Wings". Huh. Thank fuck McDonald wasn't here - he'd have relished her discomfiture, the one-handed son of a bitch. Still, at least he couldn't play that fucking guitar any more, she remembered suddenly. The thought cheered her up tremendously. She indulged in a quick image of Lindsey being slowly cut up into small chunks while she, Lilah Morgan, was promoted in his place. The smile that she shone on her companions a moment later was quite unforced, for once. "More champagne, Mr Shimazu?" she asked flirtatiously, leaning forward and angling her smooth white neck towards him in an accidental-seeming way. "You look a little. thirsty." Another flutter of her long lashes and she saw his eyes dart briefly to her throat.

"Thank you, Ms Morgan. I am."

"We'll have to do something about that. And please, you must call me Lilah," she breathed, holding onto the image of Lindsey bleeding the last of his heart's blood onto the carpet. Anderson beamed and pulled the magnum from its ice bucket. He refilled their glasses and a moment later Lilah lifted the delicate glass flute in another toast, her eyes sparkling wickedly.

"To profit..and to slaking one's thirst," said Lilah.

A little flat, she noted with a touch of regret, swirling the liquid on her tongue - but then it had been sitting there open for several minutes, letting all those lovely bubbles escape while they sang that *stupid* fucking song. Still, she could see The Host heading over towards them and there was always the possibility that he might have gleaned something useful about their immediate future, something to help their business dealings to flourish.

Shimazu knocked his champagne back, his eyes still fixed on Lilah's exposed throat, watching her swallow. Anderson refilled the flute at once and the vampire tossed back another glassful, but even as the muscles of his throat closed, an odd look crossed Shimazu's face.

Lilah was a little surprised by the feral expression in the vampire's eyes but she ventured another girlish ripple of laughter when the fangs unfurled from his mouth and the smooth forehead suddenly crumpled into his game face. Flirting with demons was never dull.

What she had not expected, though, was to have to dodge as Shimazu hurled his empty glass towards her with a wordless howl of fury. And she had most *certainly* not expected him to then crumble into a sudden cloud of powder- fine ash, coating the table, their drinks, their clothes, their hair, their skin and the suddenly worthless contracts with a fine layer of silt.

"Oh *shit*," exclaimed Lilah furiously as the dust settled. "Shit, shit, SHIT!"

* * *

In the next booth Wesley Wyndham Price slipped a newly-emptied hipflask into his jacket pocket and dabbed a few drops of Holy Water from his hand with a greasy napkin. He waved innocently at the waiter.

"Raoul? A dry martini, please," said Wesley, grinning like a schoolboy. "Shaken, not stirred."