Sunday, May 27, 2012

TOMAS KNOWS ABOUT THE KILLINGS and also tells some old tales

Tomas here~~~ I feel each senseless killing. We all do. It offends our nature. Whether the obscene death comes at the hand of an 'enemy' or a lapsed noble vampire makes no difference. The disorienting pain is just the same. But know this...There are ways to bring down these villains. Subtle tricks and life-eater chicanery. You can figure it out. Go on. give it a try. I will tell you in a night or two. If you like, post your guess as a COMMENT. But I am referring to human assassins, like the beast responsible for last nights tragedy. Renegade vampires of the noxious sort are treated differently. To each his own, as they say.

But I have been witness to night crimes and foul misdeeds. I have seen our 'enemy' at play. It happened in London, just before my crossing, just before I came to Philadelphia. The City was a merry place. Assemblies, balls, brothels and bear pits were everywhere. And I sampled everything. Some bloods (I always loved that term) sported long, shoulder wigs, made from the finest Persian lamb. Others, possessed of more luxuriant locks, fashioned their own wavy tresses into something akin to the Cretan style. I , quite naturally fell in with the later group. Ah, those times were good, discounting the plague and fire, I mean. The town was in a constant state of flux, determined to throw off every last vestige of pre-Stewart methodologies (although the plays of Mister Shakespeare were naturally much in vogue.) Domiciles took on a less 'storybook' appearance, adopting a form you might  almost call Georgian. And the Trinitarian prayer houses, led by Sir Christopher Wren, sported grand, neo-Roman finery. Domes were all the thing. And every gentleman of a military bent fancied himself another Scipio Africanus. Heroic busts, commissioned to prove that point,  found refuge within a myriad of niches in the newly plastered walls (Tudor paneling being decidedly declasse.) of  aristocratic, West End establishments. 

Yet the bear pits still remained, a potent reminder of ancient barbarity. All the best clubs had them... raw excavations in damp, Thames-side mud, surrounded with rude fencing separating one or two tiers of boisterous young bucks  from the wild, bloody carnage below.

The usual thing involved a flea-bitten, addle-brained bear, often quite bloated on ale, or lager of some sort, forced into the enclosure at spear point, where it was summarily torn to shreds by huge, coarse-coated hounds. The spray was horrible. The stench, even worse. 

Wagering went on in a fast and furious manner. How many minutes til dispatch? How many dogs would die? Would the bruin be blinded, castrated or  worse? Many a noble, or near noble house lost plenty. Let me tell you that.

But one night, the sport was quite different. Oh, the dogs were still there, though the ursus was not. In it's place was a finely formed, clean limbed young man. And he entered the pit willingly. That was the thing. He was calm of manner and mild of face. The eyes had a certain all-knowing sorrow. At first the stands went silent, waiting for some sort of explanation. Was this some type of re-born gladatorial contest? Could it be a novel form of public execution? Puzzled faces flickered in and out of the dim, orange glow cast by crude, iron sconces along gray stone walls. Minutes passed, in order to give them time to contemplate the uniqueness of it all. And then he spoke. The master of ceremonies stepped out onto a pulpit, placed high on the wall and began - M'lords, knights and gentlemen, tonight we offer an exceedingly rare diversion, one unseen in these parts since The Lion Heart. Behold the creature standing before you, human in every detail save one... the wretched bewitchment of his immortal soul. For this is no man, but the fruit of a succubus ........ Then he yelled down to the unusual young man. He said - Show us your teeth, lad.......And the attraction complied, opening his mouth to reveal the fangs. Some spectators gasped, a few made the sign of the Cross, not so dangerous under the present governance. There were calls of - How'd you get 'im? Why's he here? And the master replied- We didn't get him. He offered himself up free of charge. What we have here tonight is an act of atonement. For this pitiable being seeks absolution. He's tired a sinnin'..... (looks down) Ain't ya, boy?......... The vampire, stripped down to linen drawers and a tear stained face, simply nodded.

There was no wagering..... not that time. Though it was recommended that all in attendance turn over a gold ducat, or two for the opportunity to see such a thing....... A few, a very few, departed. But most stayed and the offering baskets filled to the brim (half promised to charity) as the barriers slid open and the dogs poured in......

The 'death by natural beast' had begun........


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