Tuesday, September 24, 2013

THE WOLFMAN AND THE DUESENBERG ..... 9/25/13 .... a part of the LYCANTHRO-SHARK story arc

A werewolf pack has many parallels to a true wolfpack. Offspring are raised by the group. 'Aunties' are ever eager to raise the little princes and princesses. And in this case, Romulus and Remus, being 'high caste' got lots of attention. Sometimes their human mother, Shimmy Kate, watched from the shadows, as wolfier in-laws entertained the little ones. They played games, tickled bellies and sang songs. Most people would say the songs were simply long drawn out howls, but human ears lack subtlety and that's a shame. At two months, the infants already raced 'round the cave on all fours, snapping at big, fat bugs in the larder. Their daddy was very proud.  Shimmy Kate stepped in to nurse. Of course she did that. And she loved the strange, little beasties. They were hers, after all. But she was not 'wolfen' and they, although not on the surface, were. Initial transformation had yet to occur, but it would. They had that ability. Tell-tale signs had already begun to manifest during dream time. Infantile faces contorted into tiny muzzles. Babyish fidgets became little growls and imaginary mice met gruesome ends. They kissed like wolves too, not with the mouth, but with the tongue. 

The alpha spent time with his human consort, taking her on long midnight walks through the trees.  Not every part of the bayou is wet. Some portions are higher than others, if only by a few feet. And those places are dry. That's where the roads run through. Granted, in the lupine lair those roads were more like foot paths, but foot paths were good enough.

 Conversation was minimal. Wolf-folk of this caste can articulate. Not with the nuanced grace of a French Quarter, or Garden District dandy, but well enough to be understood. He asked if she was cold. He pointed out hawks, bob-cats, gators and other neighbors too. Sometimes they sat and listened. Every species had a language of its own, blending into what Count Dracula would call 'the music of the night.' 

Once they found a car, an old, crumbling Duesenberg, long and sporty. Just the thing for discerning bootleggers and the like. An ivory-boned skeleton smiled from the back seat. But a bullet hole 'tween the eyes made its expression look down right idiotic. 

The alpha laughed in that raspy way of his. He said - Look how dumb he look. What can you expect? No brains..... And although she didn't want to, Shimmy Kate laughed back. He asked her if she used to ride in cars (the thought of a female actually driving one never crossed his mind). She said that she did, failing to add what else went on in those back seats.  He listened and nodded. Automobiles and other accoutrements of human culture were mysteries to him. What was an egg-beater, or a toaster, or a jock-strap to one as feral as he? Though he did run his paw-like hand over the hood. Shimmy Kate asked if he liked it. He nodded. She told him how it was in the city.... how cars looked when they were new, all shinny and fragrant and fast. He liked that, so she told him more... about picture shows and oyster houses and places where people went to get high colonics. The part about rectal irrigation didn't appeal to him, although she could tell he was very interested in everything else..... He asked if his children would see those things. She thought for a moment and said - I suppose they will, so long as you allow them to grow up human too..... The alpha studied the car again and said that he would.

On the way back he told her what it was like to never wear clothes or see unbroken glass, or taste fresh eclairs. His caste, due to their permanent lupine state, lived apart from men, except for those times when they ate their flesh.

And in this way, little by little, they began to understand each other...
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