All Hallows' Eve: Grand Opening at Caritas. Let's have ourselves a Masquerade Ball
This is it. This is the night where all the hard work, the months of long nights and days of making everything click together with contractors and material and paperwork.
Tonight, Caritas opens its doors to the outside world. Humble by outward appearances, the building is a plain, good, old-fashioned structure that could be any other were it not for its chewy center. Don't judge a book by its cover, they say. It's a proverb that Mister Kennicot, Honky Tonk to his old patrons and Lorne to his friends, has taken to heart. Caritas may have an unassuming cover, but once you look inside, you see what it's really all about.
In what Lorne would jokingly call the ante room - a small room full of warm colors and soft lights - gorgeous guys and dolls in simple but elegant suits will take your coats and your hats and your gloves with amicable but professional smiles. The host and proprietor himself will show you to the lounge. Here, you'll find a well-stocked bar the likes of which will suit even the most refined palate. The lights are low, but even so, the warm, sumptuous colors and textures of everything from the walls to the upholstered bar stools to the paintings pop out in the gloom. There is no music here, only what one might call an eerie sort of ambiance pouring from the hidden speakers. There are tables arranged artfully along the walls of the vast room, each and every one of them lit up by amber-colored, bulbous glass holders (hand blown, of course). Each round table seats up to six people, and there are more than a dozen of them, with room to spare. The lights reflect in the smooth, shiny black of the floor.
Off to the side, there's a stage, suitable for a small orchestra or band, or, perhaps, it would be just perfect for karaoke.
What the host is wearing? Not a costume, that's for certain. In honor of the evening's festivities, Lornell has opted for a more somber look, wearing a black suit complete with an oxblood red suit highlighted by Asian-inspired embroidery in matching shades of red and copper, and a rich plum vest and tie so dark they might as well be black as well. His hair is combed back and smooth, and yet 'mafia hoodlum' is the last thing he'll remind you of. Some guys just pull that sort of thing off, supposedly.
With an entrance fee and dress code anyone can afford, and the posh location only the elite would take for granted, Caritas promises to cater to as many cats and kittens as there are corrupt policemen in Gotham.
Suffice to say, if you're looking for a good time and you're not locked up in Arkham, Caritas is the place to be.
Tonight, Caritas opens its doors to the outside world. Humble by outward appearances, the building is a plain, good, old-fashioned structure that could be any other were it not for its chewy center. Don't judge a book by its cover, they say. It's a proverb that Mister Kennicot, Honky Tonk to his old patrons and Lorne to his friends, has taken to heart. Caritas may have an unassuming cover, but once you look inside, you see what it's really all about.
In what Lorne would jokingly call the ante room - a small room full of warm colors and soft lights - gorgeous guys and dolls in simple but elegant suits will take your coats and your hats and your gloves with amicable but professional smiles. The host and proprietor himself will show you to the lounge. Here, you'll find a well-stocked bar the likes of which will suit even the most refined palate. The lights are low, but even so, the warm, sumptuous colors and textures of everything from the walls to the upholstered bar stools to the paintings pop out in the gloom. There is no music here, only what one might call an eerie sort of ambiance pouring from the hidden speakers. There are tables arranged artfully along the walls of the vast room, each and every one of them lit up by amber-colored, bulbous glass holders (hand blown, of course). Each round table seats up to six people, and there are more than a dozen of them, with room to spare. The lights reflect in the smooth, shiny black of the floor.
Off to the side, there's a stage, suitable for a small orchestra or band, or, perhaps, it would be just perfect for karaoke.
What the host is wearing? Not a costume, that's for certain. In honor of the evening's festivities, Lornell has opted for a more somber look, wearing a black suit complete with an oxblood red suit highlighted by Asian-inspired embroidery in matching shades of red and copper, and a rich plum vest and tie so dark they might as well be black as well. His hair is combed back and smooth, and yet 'mafia hoodlum' is the last thing he'll remind you of. Some guys just pull that sort of thing off, supposedly.
With an entrance fee and dress code anyone can afford, and the posh location only the elite would take for granted, Caritas promises to cater to as many cats and kittens as there are corrupt policemen in Gotham.
Suffice to say, if you're looking for a good time and you're not locked up in Arkham, Caritas is the place to be.