Wow, I still can't get over how easy it was to charm that bouncer. He really-really didn't want to let me past, and he still folded a lot quicker, and more completely than James did when I tried the same thing on him after school. A piece of memory floated up from the thousands of years of knowledge that were still being assimilated, and Harmony nodded in sudden understanding. Oh, okay. There's a link between how I look and how easy it is to influence people. With James it was only HarmonyPlus trying to charm him, and doorguy back there had to deal with the real me. The hotter I am, the more attraction they feel, the more their natural defenses against being controlled relax, and the deeper I can sink my hooks into them. That's the key to all of Amora's influence and control magic, right there; and one more reason why she's so obsessed with her looks--besides the raging narcissism, I mean.

The girl grinned, still amused at the mountain-sized ego the goddess had possessed. Also noteworthy was the way that ego was steadily working at overcoming and replacing Harmony's own insecurities.

How's that song go? The one that Cordy likes so much?

'Learning to love yourself,
is the greatest gift of all'

"No worries there; I'm making some serious progress with the self-love," she whispered to herself, with a soft little laugh. "Definitely feeling much more comfortable with myself than I was yesterday!" With one hand she tugged her micro mini-skirt back down, and with the other she flipped her hair back, absolutely in love with the sensation of the heavy, silken softness swaying back and forth across the bare skin of her thighs and upper back.

Just inside, a young woman behind a counter was taking money from the couples who had gone in ahead of her, and Harmony took a second to compose herself again. There was a large sign posted on the wall, proclaiming most emphatically that no one under twenty-one years old was to be admitted. The counter-girl was in her mid twenties, and moderately-pretty in a generic, sandy-haired sort of way.

"Hi," the girl said, looking up with a smile as the couples moved on inside. "The cover is five dollars."

Harmony nodded, smiled back, and opened her purse. She didn't mind paying to get in this one time, since she fully expected to have multiple boyfriends (and girlfriends) eager to take care of the money thing for her in the very near future. When she handed over the cash, the neophyte goddess noticed that the girl behind the counter was giving her an odd look, and she nodded to herself as she read the conflicting expression and body language.

She's almost sure I'm too young to be in here, but she's also aware that it's the job of the guy out front to have carded me. On the other hand, she can see how attractive I am, so that explains how I got past him, only she doesn't want to make a scene, especially with someone who might be totally legit.

"I'm sorry," the girl apologized, taking Harmony's money but not making any move to put it in the register. "I just can't help but notice that you look really--"

"Stylish?" Harmony supplied smoothly, with an embarrassed smile, looking down at her outfit and smoothing an imaginary wrinkle from her ultra-tight skirt. "That's sweet of you to say. I just got back from a trip to Europe, and this 'trashy-chic' thing is all the rage over there right now. Believe me, as soon as I get a chance, I'm going to update my wardrobe from top to bottom!" She leaned forward slightly, and surveyed what the counter girl was wearing. "Oooh, now that is way cute! I love the way the silver and the white look together; it makes you look like a goddess!" She couldn't keep the wicked grin off her lips at that, but the girl laughed in delight even as she shook her head.

"Thanks! And you look sooo hot in that corset thing," she looked Harmony up and down, and gave a wistful sigh. "I wish I had the body to pull off something like that. And that hair!" The goddess-girl gave a regal nod to acknowledge the entirely deserved compliments, and watched as the other belatedly dropped the money into the cash drawer, apparently forgetting all about her momentary misgivings as to Harmony's age.

You've gotta love the mystical, magical charisma; it's good for more than just blindsiding the boys, she mused happily.

"Here you go," the counter girl said, holding out a small stamp. "If you're going to go over to the restaurant or Champions, you'll need this to get back into the club." Harmony wasn't ecstatic about an ink blob marring her perfect skin, but she submitted to the process with as much grace as possible.

"Thank you," she told the girl with a smile.

This is actually a good thing, the not having to use actual spells on people for the minor stuff. This way, I can still get what I want, so long as it isn't completely unreasonable... without having to rewrite their brains in any kind of permanent way.

Not that she was especially concerned about the welfare of mere mortals... no, wait; actually she did care, at least a little. Sure, those parts of her that were Amora didn't see humans as anything more than convenient playthings, and Harmony herself didn't exactly have a history of being the nicest person on the planet. Even so, there was no reason to leave a swath of mentally-damaged people behind her if she didn't need to... right? A little compassion wouldn't cost her anything, and it was just plain mean to bludgeon random innocents with mind-altering spells when there were other options.

The music blasting from just ahead of her caught her attention, and she pushed that bit of introspection away for later consideration.

"Baby all I need is time...."

"Oooh; Britney!" she exclaimed, though the song ended almost before she recognized it. Some generic, synthesizer-heavy piece started blaring from the sound system, accompanied by a strobing, multicolored lightshow. Pouting in disappointment, she looked around and wondered what to do now.

Harmony and her parents had actually eaten in Legends, the adjoining restaurant, a few times before. Those had been fairly joyless 'celebration' dinners, after her father had won a particularly lucrative contract, or her mother had retained her place as the head of the neighborhood homeowner's association for yet another year. Because of that she had a fairly good idea of how the place was arranged, and yet she'd never made it inside the club area itself.

Until now.

There was a large dance floor, of course, with a fantastic array of lights up above it, positioned along metal frames. Some of them were on movable mounts, and could rotate or shift through different colors by remote control. There was a bar on the far side of the large space, and areas with tables and booths all around the edges. Off to one side was the tunnel-like hallway that led off to the rest of the jumbled structure; the sports bar place and the restaurant both. There were bathrooms through there too, although she could see the doorway for another set past the far end of the bar. Overall she found it incredibly nifty... and positively pedestrian. With a delicate frown creasing her perfect features, Harmony again found herself dealing with that odd double-perspective.

Okay, for me, Harmony, this is the most awesome place I've ever seen. Just look at the way the dance floor lights up from underneath!

And yet, at the same time, viewed through Amora's jaded eyes, the entire scene was tawdry... almost laughable. The club was too small, too plain, too... nineteen-eighties. She had traveled the entire world, had danced in clubs in New York, and Paris, and Berlin, that made this look like a child's clubhouse. Did the people dancing in front of her right now not realize how pathetic their efforts were?

With an increasingly familiar and automatic mental effort, Harmony shoved those feelings to the back of her mind.

Quiet, you. Anything you did was in some alternate reality anyway, not on this Earth. So enough with the attitude.

Of course the downside of facing the room with just her own perception of things was that it all looked intimidating, instead of infantile.

There were probably a couple hundred people in the room, some dancing, most not, and she didn't know any of them. Everyone here was also older than her, more successful than her, and more experienced than her. Super-sexual, super-beautiful Enchantress or not, that was still a little daunting.

So.... Should I just walk up to somebody, grab him, and lay out his new responsibilities as my boytoy? Or go out on the dance floor and show them what I've got... even though I'm not completely sure what I've got, dance-wise? I sure never impressed anybody with my moves before....

Standing there in the little entrance space, unnoticed by absolutely everybody, she heaved a little sigh.

And then something very strange happened....

There was a stirring within her, and a feeling like she was taking a deep breath... and it didn't stop. Something, invisible and intangible, expanded outwards from her in all directions. A faint whisper of energy, a breath of Goddess magic that moved through the club like a fluttering cloud of invisible, intangible butterflies, brushing along the skin of every man and woman there.

They sensed it, too, even if they didn't know what it was. Everyone, every single person, stopped in mid-dance or mid-move or mid-word, turned, and looked straight at her.

Feeling very much like a deer who suddenly found itself staring into the lights of an oncoming truck, Harmony looked back, eyes wide.

Um... what did I just do? She saw them considering her, and quite a few of them turned and whispered to their friends, the words buried beneath the half-deafening sound of the music.

Okay, at least they're not all frozen, or brain-zapped or whatever; everybody happened to turn around and notice the new girl at once, is all. With a little help from me, I guess.

Deciding that anything would be better than standing in the door like an idiot, Harmony drew on the reserves of courage that were the welcome byproduct of all that ego, and started across the room with her sexiest, most feline walk.

A quartet of college-aged guys, standing near the entrance with beer bottles in hand, tracked her progress with identical gobsmacked stares. That intense, silent, quadruple regard was a little disconcerting--until they managed to speak.

"Oh my fucking god...." All four of them said in awestruck unison, unable to look away, or even to blink, as she swayed past. Harmony was able to suppress her elated grin, if only just barely.

Hee! Just... Hee!

Working hard at staying in character as the mysterious and ultrahot new girl, she pretended not to have heard them--not difficult, given how loud the music was in this place.

Obviously sitting alone at a table was the wrong thing to do; she would feel much too much like Harmony-the-loser, doing that. So she stalked her way towards the bar, noting as she moved that people were going back to what they'd been doing, dancing or conversations or whatever, though she could feel a lot of eyes tracking her all the way across the room.

They're staring because I'm gorgeous, she had to reassure herself, over and over during that brief walk. Not because I look stupid, or fat, or ugly. I'm beautiful, and the staring is a good thing. In fact, it's a great thing.

When she reached the bar she found an empty stool that gave her a good view of the rest of the club (and, not so coincidentally gave the club a good view of her). Using every bit of skill Amora had, Harmony perched herself gracefully atop it--and without flashing anyone, either. A casual, almost languid movement left her legs crossed at the knee and one arm propped on the glossy surface of the bar. The bar stool was comfy enough, and just exactly high enough so that the trailing ends of her hair swung back and forth ten inches from the floor.

The bartender nodded in her direction to let her know he'd seen her, and went back to finishing up someone else's order. Harmony used the wait to think about what had just happened.

It wasn't a spell that made them all notice me like that when I was coming in; because I sure didn't cast anything. It was more of that para-magical stuff, like the kiss, and the charisma, and the reading people's emotions thing. Not anything as simple as magic, it's Goddess power. My power.

It was still there, too, flickering around the room, just at the edges of her perception. The effect was faint; what had served to subtly affect how a classroom of students saw her, earlier that day, and to make the big man at the front entrance submit to her will just now, was all but buried in the much louder, higher-energy environment here. It had gotten her everyone's attention upon her entrance, true, she just didn't think she should count on being able to do much of anything else to the room at large. One on one would be a different matter, obviously.

Something in her Amora memories was nagging at her, seeming almost indignant at the turn her thoughts had taken there. She tried to track down the source, to find what it was that she was so offensively wrong about, but was interrupted.

"You're kidding, right?"

Harmony looked up, surprised, and saw the bartender regarding her skeptically.

"Excuse me?" She had to pitch her voice to carry; the music was loud. He leaned forward a little, so she didn't have to strain to hear him.

"I said, 'If you're twenty-one, then I'm Patrick Swayze'."

She hadn't been expecting any trouble once she was safely inside, but this shouldn't be anything she couldn't handle.

"I'm not twenty-one...." she admitted to him, playing it ultra cute and a tiny bit shy as she toyed with her hair and glanced down at the bar in faux-embarrassment. "...I turned twenty-two in August." A glance up at him then, with a warm, velvety chuckle that invited him to laugh along, and accept her story. "Everyone always thinks I look younger than I am. Not something a lady should ever complain about, I suppose." She made a conscious effort to pour on the mystical reinforcement as she spoke. Even without a kiss, that should make it all but impossible for him to actually refute her story. And the longer they talked, the more he would find himself captivated by her, and entranced by her, and unable to contradict her in any way.

After all, it was really just a Goddess-powered version of what nature had hardwired into his DNA already: be nice to the pretty girl, do things to make the pretty girl happy (and, eventually, 'do absolutely whatever it takes to have sex with the pretty girl'). Of course, it didn't hurt any that, all magical powers aside, she was far, far beyond being a merely 'pretty' girl.

In fact, I'm so far past pretty, you couldn't get here from there with a map and a compass, she thought, with what she considered to be quite justifiable conceit.

The bartender was staring at her, eyes wide, which should mean that he was at least halfway to being both smitten by her (magically-boosted) charm and gobsmacked by her (Goddess-Awesome!) hotness. Just to make sure he was at least far enough gone to not have her thrown out for being underage, she unleashed a dazzling smile designed to him squarely in a certain male appendage. Coincidentally, the act of reaching for her purse required she lean forward slightly, which treated him to a fantastic view of her gravity-defying breasts.

"Here," she murmured, as quietly as she could manage and still be heard over the sound system. "If you think you really need to see my ID, if you really don't trust me, then I have it right here...."

He laughed out loud, a genuinely amused sound, and waved his hand at her purse in a throwaway gesture.

"I'll bet you've got it right there. Nah, forget about it, my boss isn't here right now, and if that Neanderthal at the door let you through, it's not my fault you're in here." He winked at her, grinned at her dumbfounded expression, and then indicated the array of bottles behind him. "So, what would you like?"

Harmony blinked, more than a little confused, and even though her mind was now stronger, faster, better, etcetera, she was still momentarily stupefied.

Whu--Wha--Huh?!

She knew her goddess-power was working; she'd felt it with the door guy, she'd felt it with the girl at the counter, and she felt it now. And on top of that, nobody should be able to just brush her off this way anyway; she was just that hot. This one, though, a normal-looking, thirtyish, good-looking guy, had been hit with everything she could throw at him, and was giving her a conspiratorial smile, like the two of them were sharing a secret joke.

How--? Why--? He can't do--! She shook her head, making the miles and miles of golden hair fly. Okay, what is this?! All of that, and he doesn't even blink? Come on, *I* would have been smitten if I'd been on the receiving end of that much mystically-powered cuteness! I mean, he's not throwing me out or anything, which is good, but... why isn't he smitten?!

"Hello?" he prompted when she didn't answer him immediately. "Earth to tall, sexy, extremely young blonde girl? This is the bar, we serve drinks here. Tell me which drink you'd like, and I'll make it for you." He propped his elbows on the bar and looked at her from close range, a gently amused look on his face. "It's what I live for."

As he spoke she'd been examining him with her mystical senses, trying to see if he was carrying some protective charm that was helping him act this casually, when he was face to face with what had to be the most mind-bogglingly beautiful woman he'd ever seen. There was nothing out of the ordinary to be seen in the magical spectrum, however, and she let her eyes fall back into their normal mode of seeing.

"Uh, sorry. A drink? Um... do you know how to make a Pink Bunny?"

He frowned, and eyed her like he was waiting for the punch line of a joke.

"I thought you wanted a drink, not a marshmallow peep."

Harmony gave him a little scowl, still unsettled from her less than successful attempt to charm him.

"It is a drink. It's the only kind I like, actually, but if you don't know how to make it...."

Her pout was half-intentional, the way her lower lip quivered was not. Having this baffling turn of events occur at the start of her so-called 'fun' evening was bad enough; if she couldn't even have a drink--

"Whoa there, Princess," he said hastily, hands raised. "Don't cry, it's all good. I'm not standing back here just because my dazzling good looks match the decor; I do know my way around an AA meeting... er, I mean, around a bar." He watched her carefully, and when she couldn't help but smile, albeit tremulously, he grinned back at her. "There you go. Now, if you walk me through how you make this 'pink bunny' of yours, I'll have one for you before the DT's can even think about kicking in."

That took her back to a scowl, although this time there was only exasperation behind it, not incipient tears.

"I am not an alcoholic!"

He nodded sagely.

"Of course you're not, pretty girl... and you're not underage, either," a broad wink accompanied that one. "You know, compulsive lying is a disease too, and most people who suffer from it eventually seek treatment; I've got the number of a good shrink, if you want."

Harmony started to deny being a liar, and then thought better of it. She had been lying almost constantly since Ethan's spell had hit her; it just seemed to come naturally, now. Besides, lying to people, seducing them, and manipulating them into doing what she wanted pretty much described what her goddess-self was all about. And really, wasn't that better than being a monster, or demon, or even a Slayer, whose only power was being able to kill things efficiently?

"Okay then, here's how you make my drink." There, by refusing to play his little game any more, she could gain at least some control over this situation. "Start with a Strawberry Daiquiri."

"No problem so far," he replied, deftly gathering the ingredients.

She watched, then waved a hand to get his attention when he picked up a glass.

"You'll need a bigger one than that."

He cocked an eyebrow, switched to a large tumbler instead of the little cocktail glass, and then got back to it.

"Not an alcoholic, she says," he muttered, loudly enough for her to hear it clearly.

She did her best to ignore him, more concerned about what was happening in the rest of the club. The techno-song ended, fading into something vaguely hip-hop. She could see that the dee-jay was a blonde woman in a tight black outfit; she couldn't make out more than that since the sound booth was on the far side of the club. The dancers out on the floor looked to be enjoying themselves, though she noticed that nearly all of the men out there happened to be facing in her direction as they danced. The people sitting at the tables and in the booths also seemed to be spending a lot of time looking in her direction. Especially interesting was the way they would look away when she met their eyes, but when she turned her head they would immediately start sneaking looks at her again.

All of that was, well, flattering and all, and yet she couldn't help noticing something else which sort of cancelled out the rest of it.

I've been sitting here for a couple of minutes now, and nobody is coming over to talk to me. Nobody's even coming over to sit down next to me.

She ran a hand nervously through her hair, and as part of the same motion turned her head just far enough for her to check the rest of the room out of the corner of her eye. No, she wasn't imagining it. Everyone, even those engaged in conversation with people at their tables or standing with them, were at least glancing over at her frequently. Quite a few were more or less staring at her, with varying degrees of lust visible in their expressions. And yet, she was still sitting all by herself.

Not sure what to think of all this, she checked on the bartender's progress. He seemed to be most of the way there, although what he was working on wasn't quite what she usually got when she ordered her drink.

"Um, usually there's strawberry schnapps involved? And also a blender?"

He didn't look up from what he was doing, which was plopping six actual strawberries into the bottom of a shaker, squishing them up, and then adding a carefully measured amount of white rum.

"Please," he told her, sounding mildly offended. "I'm making a daiquiri here, not a slushy." Adding a tiny shot of the clear sugar syrup that gave the drink a touch of sweetness, he closed the silvery metal mixer, swept it up with a flourish, and began shaking it in time to the song that was playing. While he was doing that, a couple of women made their way over from a table, to stand at the bar a short ways down from where Harmony sat. They obviously wanted to place their orders, but the man ignored them, holding her eyes and giving her that same conspiratorial grin as before as he mixed her drink. The women both looked impatiently at him, then turned their heads in unison to give her narrow, unfriendly, appraising glares.

I'd almost think they were jealous, only it isn't like I'm stealing all the men in here for myself or anything. Her hands were on her thigh, in the zone where her high boots and short skirt left her skin bare. The touch of that warm, perfect smoothness should have been reassuring. It would have been, if she'd had any idea what was going on. Turning her head the other way, she saw more guys looking at her, a few more unfriendly looks from women scattered through the crowd, and still no one approached her.

What, did my face fall off when I wasn't looking? Have I turned back into poor, semi-pretty, stupid little Harmony without realizing it?

A hasty grab at her purse accompanied that thought, and she quickly located and opened her mirrored compact, anxiously checking her appearance.

Whew! Nope, nobody here except us goddesses, thank god--um, well, actually I guess it's 'thank Me'. She frowned at the flawless face in the mirror, and tried to figure out what was wrong. Even if I came in here as plain old Harmony, I'd think someone would have sat down and said 'hi' by now. And at school today, when I was in Harmony-plus mode, I was really popular, and everybody was going on about how pretty I was. Going by that, then looking like this I should have the whole place eating out of my hand. She stared into the little mirror, and let out a frustrated sigh. It can't be the way I look that's the problem. This is everything; full-on Amora, without anything hidden or held back, and I don't think it's physically possible to be much more beautiful than this. So....

"There's nothing wrong with you, Princess," the bartender told her in a conversational tone, while pouring the pink liquid into her glass through a strainer, so as to remove the strawberry pulp.

"No, there's got to be something," she replied absently, reaching for the little brush she used to apply powder finish. "Maybe I'm a teeny bit shiny? It's kind of warm in here. Or maybe I need more lip gloss...."

He reached out and intercepted her hand, stopping it short of another reach into her purse.

"It isn't you," he told her firmly, before removing his hand. "You look perfect, you look hot, you look better than any other woman here. Actually, it's probably not an exaggeration to say you look better than any woman anyone in here has ever seen in their entire lives. That's the problem." He sat her glass in front of her, garnished the rim with a pinch of ultra fine sugar, and then eyed her expectantly. "There; your strawberry daiquiri. Now tell me, how do we get from this to a Pink Bunny?" Harmony stared at him, her compact forgotten, and considered what he'd said.

My looks really are the problem? But he just told me that I'm hotter than anyone here! How can that be a problem?

"Here's all you do," she said distractedly, while most of her attention was still focused inward. Reaching over to his side of the bar, she picked up the bottle of sweetening syrup. It was just water, basically, with as much sugar dissolved in it as would go and still leave it liquid. Upending it over her drink, she gave it a firm squeeze. Because she'd had him use an oversized glass, the pink concoction didn't even reach the halfway point. That changed when she added more syrup, and then more syrup, and finally more syrup, until the contents had nearly reached the top of the glass. Setting the bottle aside, she picked up a straw, used it to swirl the mixture around until it was a faint, uniform shade of pink, and then put it to her lips and took a tiny sip.

"There; that's a Pink Bunny." She touched the tip of her tongue to her teeth as the contemplated the taste. "Not bad. I'd still rather have the strawberry schnapps than rum, though."

He looked at her glass, then at the now half-empty syrup bottle in front of him, and finally up at her.

"That... would be fairly revolting," he told her. "If not for the fact that you look unbearably cute drinking it." A flash of his now familiar grin failed to cheer her, and she took another, longer sip of her drink.

"Oh, I'm cute all right," a pointed look at the empty stools on either side of her own, and she drank some more. "I'm so cute that nobody is coming within twenty feet of me." The man nodded in sage agreement.

"Exactly right."

Harmony pouted prettily, sipped her Bunny down past the halfway point, and then gave him a petulant glare.

"You said that before, sort of. What exactly are you talking about?"

He gave her a very serious look, thought it over for a moment, and then--

"--Excuse me! Hello, excuse me!?" One of the women down the bar was waving a hand imperiously at the bartender, and her companion had Harmony fixed with an unwavering, hateful stare.

"Can we please order our drinks now?" her friend demanded. The man behind the bar just nodded, and then gestured one of the waitresses over.

"Sure, ladies," he said agreeably. "Mandy here will make them for you; I'm dealing with a bit of a crisis, here." The attractive, dark-haired waitress slipped behind the bar, smiled brightly at the women, and the man turned back to Harmony.

"Sorry 'bout that, Princess. Now, where were we?"

She tugged nervously at her hair, glanced around at all the people having a good time, and then gave him a sulky look.

"You were saying that what's wrong with me is that there's nothing wrong with me... or something like that."

He winced at her tone, though he nodded in response to her words.

"Close. The problem here, I think, is that you're seriously underestimating the--"

"Um, Gyan?" The waitress-slash-bartender girl, Mandy, was looking a little harried as she looked at the man with whom Harmony had been speaking. "They want something called an Oatmeal Cookie shot? Only I don't think we have any oatmeal back here." She went back to searching among the dozens of bottles, and then peered underneath the bar itself, where there was storage space for various mixing supplies. Another waitress arrived at the bar in time to hear that, and with an exasperated look at her coworker set down her tray.

"An Oatmeal Cookie shot does not have oatmeal in it!"

Mandy, frowning in confusion, kept searching.

"Sure it does... doesn't it? It would have to...."

The other young woman shook her head forcefully.

"No, it doesn't. All you need is some Bailey's Irish Creame, butterscotch schnapps, and Jagermeister."

The head bartender--Gyan--gave a little sigh that only Harmony was close enough to hear, then smiled apologetically at her.

"I'll be right back." He walked down to where the others were clustered, and raised his hands in a calming gesture. "Okay, kids, just chill. Mandy, actual oatmeal is not, in fact, required for an Oatmeal Cookie shot." He turned to look at the other waitress. "And Jess, jagermeister isn't anywhere in the mix either. It's Goldschlager." Her face fell slightly, and she mumbled an apology to the other woman. Gyan got to work mixing the drinks, and Harmony tried to tune out the loud, obnoxious comments that both of the female customers made over the next minute or so, about all three employees of the club.

Wow, what utter bitches they are, she thought to herself. Maybe I should hit them with a little curse, like I gave Aspen? A dejected glance left and right brought her mood even lower, and she tugged at her hair again. No, that's not a good idea. Doing magic requires concentration and confidence... and I don't think I have much of either right now.

She picked up her drink, noting even as she drained the last of it that her hand was placed gracefully on the glass, her first and last fingers delicately extended in an unconscious display of ladylike poise.

Hmph. So what if I'm beautiful and graceful and poised, if it doesn't always work? My looks got me in here, sure, but then this bartender treats me like I'm his little niece or something, and absolutely no one else seems interested in getting anywhere near me. What's going on? Why isn't everybody hitting on me? Why isn't anybody hitting on me? The magic, the spells, yeah, that'll take a while for me to figure out, I get that. Being the hottest girl, though, shouldn't that be a no-brainer? How am I managing to mess that up, when all I have to do is sit here and look good?

Her newfound confidence, it seemed, was more fragile than she'd thought, because it was all to easy to slide back into her old mindset of feeling inferior to everyone around her.

"...And I'm back." She looked up to see Gyan back in front of her, retrieving her empty glass and setting it aside. "Want another one?"

"Yes, please," she told him quietly. "And could you put more rum in it this time?"

"Coming right up." His hands moved with a wonderful economy of motion as he prepared another Bunny, even though his eyes kept returning to her as he worked.

"So, sad girl, let me get back to what I was saying, before those tears spill over and turn that pretty face all smeared and blotchy."

Harmony stared at the surface of the bar, refusing to meet his gaze.

"I'm not 'pretty'," she complained, though it was mostly her Amora memories and behavior patterns that prompted the response. "Calling Me 'pretty' is an insult."

He paused for an instant, and then continued with what he was doing, though his tone was wry.

"Fair enough, O supremely beautiful Princess, but that was the point of what I was trying to tell you before. You'd have more company right now if you were just 'pretty', and not drop-dead gorgeous."

Harmony frowned down at the glossy wooden bar, realized she was trying to see her reflection there, and looked up at him.

"That's... counterintuitive. Doesn't being more beautiful mean people like me more, want me more...?" Her words ended on a faintly uncertain note, and he held up one hand and waggled it back and forth.

"Sort of yes, and sort of no. Like I started to say earlier, you're underestimating the amount of courage it takes for your typical male to approach a woman. Especially a stunningly attractive woman. Now, if you were just slightly cute, then they could casually stroll over, chat you up, and then move on if you weren't interested; no big deal. However, with you looking like you do, every single guy in the place will be watching whoever tries to hook up with you. And if you shoot him down, then everybody will know it, and everybody will be laughing at the poor schmuck for the rest of the night. Maybe longer."

Harmony felt her eyes widen.

"Really?"

"Really. And not only that, there's also the women to consider. There might be a few here who are confident enough to not feel severely threatened by you... but I wouldn't count on it. Most of them hated you the second you walked in the door. All of them are looking at you, and trying to find some flaw they can use to make themselves feel better the next time they look in a mirror. And none of them are going to speak to any man who comes near you tonight, because that'll make them seem like a second choice--and all of them already feel too old, or too plain, too flat, or too fat, compared to you." He sat a fresh Pink Bunny in front of her, and poked a straw down into the syrupy mixture. "So no, it isn't that you're not pretty enough--excuse me, not gorgeous enough; believe me, you've cornered the market on gorgeous. It's just that you're intimidating the hell out of anyone here who would want to walk over and talk to you. Which is almost every guy in the place... and probably more than a few of the women, too."

Intrigued by his argument, and feeling slightly cheered despite herself, Harmony put the straw to her lips and sipped more of the pink, sugary concoction. This time around the alcohol was slightly noticeable, even through the overpowering sweetness.

Can he be right? Is the reason I'm being treated like outcast-girl that I'm too beautiful? How's that for irony?

It seemed ridiculous, and yet she did recall reading something similar in her fashion magazines, when they were interviewing certain top models and actresses.

I just never believed it, when they said that guys were afraid to come up and talk to them. It sounded like something they made up so that people wouldn't hate them as much, for having completely perfect lives on top of having those completely perfect faces and bodies. Now, though... maybe they were telling the truth after all.

She had gone through her second drink while lost in her musings, and Gyan the bartender had turned away to pour a series of whiskey shots that he then deposited on Jess's tray. When he saw her looking at him, he gave her a shake of his head, and a rueful smile.

"I should probably mention that orders for the hard stuff; whiskey, tequila, and jagermeister, have spiked noticeably since you showed up. So if you really want company, all you have to do is wait around until everyone's liquid courage kicks in, and then you'll be set. Of course, it's going to be semi-coherent, really drunk company by that point...."

Harmony nodded to show she'd heard him, but something else was bothering her just then.

"Assuming you're right, about all this--"

"It's always a good bet, to assume I'm right about everything," he put in, with only a tiny little smile lurking around the edges of an otherwise serious face.

"--Then what I'm wondering is... why aren't you intimidated like everyone else?" His eyebrows rose, and he tried to look oh-so-very surprised and innocent, only she wasn't buying it. "They're only looking, from way over there. You're right here in front of me, close enough to touch me, or kiss me--" She leaned forward a little, with her head tilted up slightly, obviously offering him the chance to try a kiss... and he just nodded, and didn't move, and she pulled back, pouting in annoyance. "See? It's like you don't even see me as a woman or something, and it's freaking me out!" He leaned back, carefully, against the well-stocked shelves behind the bar, and crossed his arms as he regarded her.

"All right, that just proves that you are very, very young, young lady. Because it's obvious that you're bright, on top of everything else you have going for you, but you are most definitely not experienced in the ways of the world. One might even go so far as to say that you are painfully naive."

She nibbled at her lower lip as she stared at him, and pushed her empty glass across the bar, silently prompting him for another one.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked aloud, and he grinned at her in a curiously gentle sort of way.

"It means that while I can certainly see that you are a woman, and a very beautiful one, the fact remains that I do not swing that way."

Her eyes widened as realization finally arrived, and she stared at him in shock.

"You mean you're...?"

"Gay," he supplied helpfully.

Oh. Oh, well, poop. She felt a little like the old Harmony for a moment, since even someone suffering from mild retardation should have connected the dots a little sooner. In her defense, however, he didn't act especially gay, with an out there manner of speaking and extravagant gestures. Of course, that sort of stereotype might not be common outside of the television shows she watched.

And then there's the thing where it shouldn't matter, she realized, surveying Amora's memories to double check herself. Yeah, see? If I can make even theoretically 'straight' girls like Fawn feel attracted to me, then he shouldn't be able to resist me either.

"That shouldn't matter," she said aloud. "Not when we're talking about me." Gyan's eyebrows were already as high as they could go; when she hit him with that he seemed caught halfway between incredulousness and laughter.

"What? Are you saying that absolutely everyone you meet, regardless of their sexual orientation, has no choice but to fall to their knees and grovel before you just because of that face, that hair, and that body?"

Harmony squirmed a little in embarrassment.

"Ummm... yes?" She consulted Amora's memories, then gave an uncertain nod. "That's how it's supposed to work in theory, anyway."

Because, while there had been a few men over the millennia who had been immune to the Goddess' wiles, the number was vanishingly small. Sexual preference was a spectrum, after all, not a simple yes or no affair. Even someone who wasn't into women in general would still have some attraction to them, however slight. Given that much to work with, her earlier attempt at enchanting him should have worked.

"Are you really gay?" she asked him, and then felt herself flush slightly in embarrassment. "I mean, okay, I believe that you're gay... but are you a lot gay? Because otherwise...."

He looked a little bemused now; it probably wasn't the sort of conversation he usually had with a customer.

"I think it's safe to say that I am very, very gay."

Almost without meaning to, Harmony's fingers went to her hair, then her cheek, then her breasts; brief, feather-light touches that only reinforced her disbelief.

"You would have to be really, really, really gay, to not be into me, I think," she told him. "I mean, like, super gay. To the point where gayness is your mutant power or something."

She was on the verge of just babbling, now, and no in a very polite way, either. Yet somehow, even though she totally would have understood if he did, the man still didn't get mad at her. Actually, he still looked like he was struggling not to dissolve into fits of laughter.

"Wow. Believe me, working here means I meet a lot of people with high opinions of themselves. And none of them has ever come close to matching you." He didn't say it in a mean way; it almost sounded like a compliment. So she took it as one, even going so far as to deliberately misinterpret him a bit.

"That's because no one else has this much reason to feel superior," she said, doing her best to get past the disappointment and put a playful face on things. "When you're as amazing as I am, humility ends up seeming a little disingenuous, don't you think?" She gave him a small, hesitant smile as she said it, and to her relief he finally did laugh in delight.

"Very true," he admitted, taking her empty glass and starting the assembly of another Pink Bunny for her. "It would be wrong--positively deceitful, in fact--for you to pretend you were a mere mortal like the rest of us."

"You have no idea," she murmured, noticing that he seemed oblivious to the other customers down the bar who were waiting impatiently. The two waitresses were spending more time covering for him, making drinks, than they were out of the floor delivering them.

Hm. Maybe he's not quite as immune as he'd like to think, she mused, while gazing at him through her lashes, and nibbling on one long nail in a deliberately fetching manner.

"Are you sure you don't want to kiss me?" she asked, half-teasingly. "Not even a little bit?" He glanced up from what he was doing, and she stopped nibbling, and instead ran the tip of her nail back and forth across her lower lip, the tiny movement drawing his eyes like a magnet. He grinned again, and shook his head with a sigh.

"Sorry, still liking the boys."

"There aren't any boys here, talking to you," she pointed out. "And I am. Plus, I'm much prettier than any boy you'll ever meet; and that's not even counting the fact that I'm endlessly fascinating, too."

His hands finished up her drink, moving deftly even though he was staring at her with genuine curiosity mixed in with the amusement.

"Tell me, Miss green and gold Princess; is it even possible for you to accept the idea of someone who can resist you?"

She leaned forward, just a little, so that her lips were in range of a kiss, if he decided to surrender to her after all, and whispered:

"I think... no."

He gave her that easy grin of his, ignored the temptation of her ruby lips, and opened a fresh bottle of the sugar syrup that constituted half of each drink he'd made for her.

"In that case, let me say that, while you are stunningly beautiful, and come closer than any other female ever has to changing this fellow's mind about certain matters--" he took a moment to sweep a little bow in her direction. "--The fact remains that I am, regretfully, an extremely gay individual, and therefore I will not fall for you... at least not in any sort of physical way."

Harmony smiled faintly. Despite his fresh denial, she found herself feeling a little better about things.

Maybe that's true, mister bartender man, and maybe it's not. I think, given time, I could have you down on your knees, begging for the privilege of touching me... although you are being very nice when you don't have to be. So I won't push it, much. Knowing that I could change your mind if I wanted to is enough. For now.

She glanced around, took in the wider situation, and found it basically unchanged. Everyone was still checking her out; no one was willing to take the plunge and come hit on her. At this rate, her night of fun would end up being both unfun, and positively lonely--aside from some interesting conversation with a man who was determined to not have sex with her.

"So... you said I shouldn't wait for someone to approach me?"

He nodded.

"If you do, it'll be a while. In a place like New York or London, it wouldn't be a problem. Big cities are lousy with players who are absolutely convinced that they're god's gift to the world." He paused, gave her a significant glance, and laughed when she stuck out her tongue at him. "But here? In Sunnydale?" He made a dismissive gesture. "These people aren't nearly as sophisticated as they'd like to think. Unless they're completely blitzed, no one is going to take a chance on being the first one you shoot down in flames."

Harmony nodded in understanding.

"I need to get them past this 'total awe' stage they're in, and get them to the point where everyone can start fighting over who gets to be with the gorgeous new girl in town." She was being completely serious, so it took her by surprise when he laughed, long and loud. "What?"

He only shook his head helplessly.

"No, you're right," he managed, though he seemed to be having trouble keeping a straight face, and his voice sounded strained. "That's it exactly." He took a deep breath, and was able to go in a more or less normal tone. "Go and interact with someone; anyone. Talk to them, dance with them... even picking a fight with someone and getting into an argument would probably work. Let them see you're real, and not some flawless, unapproachable image on a magazine cover. Once you do that, then at least some of them will take the plunge and come up to you." With all the interruptions, it had taken him a long while to finish up her third Bunny. Now, though, he slid her drink across the bar, then looked up at her from beneath lowered brows. "Are you sure you don't want to slow down on these, Princess? There is alcohol in there, even if the taste isn't making it past the twenty tablespoons of sugar."

"Don't worry, I have a high tolerance," she told him. "Kind of... superhuman, actually." Then: "Why do you keep calling me 'Princess'? Are you making fun of me? Because someone named 'Gyan' really shouldn't be throwing stones."

He shook his head, hands raised to ward off her mock-glare.

"Gyan means 'knowledge' in Hindi; my parents were hopeless flower children, back in the sixties. And no, I'm not making fun of you. What do you think of when someone says 'Princess'?"

Harmony cleared her throat, a little self-consciously.

"Um, 'spoiled brat'?"

That got her another laugh.

"You really are completely adorable, aren't you?" This time it was her turn to use the arched eyebrow, and he quickly corrected himself. "Forgive me, I meant to say 'utterly charming, sophisticated, and irresistible', not adorable. But as for Princess, I think most of us associate it with someone who is elegant, feminine, and lovely... and you are most certainly all of those things."

So far as she could tell he was absolutely sincere, and she looked away, looked back at him, and found herself smiling a pleased little smile.

Is he saying that because he is a little smitten with me after all? Or because he really means it? I guess it doesn't much matter either way; it's still nice to hear.

"Thanks," she said, softly.

"You're very welcome." When she reached for her drink, he blocked her by resting his hand atop the glass. "Now, why don't you go out there right now, and dance some sexy-girl dance, and we'll count how many seconds it takes for you to attract a crowd of adoring fans?"

When he put it that way, it seemed like the obvious thing to do, so that's what Harmony did.

* * * * *