Thursday, February 28, 2013

Tomas and Francis Talk,, walking in Wimbeldon 2/28/13

There are little parks and little lanes where no one goes at night. At least not that late. But the vampires walked there. Francis and Miranda and Tomas savored the clean, damp air. It was quiet. They were alone, save for an occasional rabbit, or some other hedgerow creature. And for the longest time no one said anything. But then Francis began to speak.

He whispered - What do you think? Do I still have 'the touch?'... Tomas thought for a moment. He stopped and said - You do... Francis said - What, and that's all?... Tomas looked down. He didn't know what to say. He just wanted to walk. He just wanted to think. He just wanted to see his old friends. But three hundred years is a long time, even by night-folk reckoning and his feelings were very much changed..... Miranda sensed it. Francis probably did too.... She whispered - Why must you be like that? Can't we just walk? Why must you be so particular about things. You had your night. You had your fun. The 'Spaniard' (his name for Tomas) was there. He saw you do it. And I saw how he watched. For a time he fell under your spell. Can't you keep your mouth shut?! Isn't that enough?

Francis looked hurt. But he was so good at aping 'human' emotion. He said - Tomas, are you offended?... And his eyes really did look concerned. Indeed, his theatrical aplomb was one of his charms. Shakespeare knew it and for that reason made him Hamlet's father's ghost, plus Oberon on two or three occasions. How he relished such mummery, for is that not what night-folk do each night, progressing through the lives of men like wolves among the sheep. A dusty fleece thrown 'cross the back can only hide so much. But Francis didn't care. Mortals were as pawns to him and London but the board.

They turned a corner and came out upon a pretty street of shuttered stores. Miranda studied her image in the small panes of a gift shop. Her two friends took seats on a little bench meant for tired shoppers, or old bones watching the passing scene. Francis reached out and playfully jabbed Tomas in the ribs...... Tommy, Tommy, Tommy, Tommy-boy - he said. Still pining for sainthood. Let me see those teeth. Come on. Give us a smile. Show us what you can do. Come on. Come on..... And he mussed the long black curls...... For an instant Tomas flinched and pulled back. He thrust his hands down into his coat pockets and feigned indifference. But Francis made 'eyes' at him and went tsk-tsk-tsk. Then he jabbed him and smiled once again...  But nothing. Miranda studied lacquer ware, while Tomas watched the moon.

Francis said - Am I that disgusting? Are my games so disappointing? I thought this night would be but a respite, away from that 'blue nose' who once ruled all Rome. But I was wrong. Go back to that house. Run, run back to Hoxton Street and learn the mysteries that serve no good.

Tomas quietly said - Do you know them?..... Francis shrugged... Miranda snickered. And 'The Spaniard' went on - For me the deed is not a 'play.' I gain the death another way..... Francis rolled his eyes and said - Ooh! A poet! Good night, Ruby Tuesday. Who could lay a name on you?! There! I know one too! .... And he stuck  out his bright red tongue. Then he levitated up into the nighttime air for approximately three or four cubits and pivoted 'round a street lamp, much as Gene Kelly did in 'Singing In The Rain.' I suppose to display his own magical prowess. But Tomas was not impressed. 

Miranda said - Lets go home. So they walked 'round the corner, heading back toward the car. Tomas said - Please forgive me, brother. I do not mean to judge. But the monthly meal is sacred to me. I make not sport, but say the name and name the sin... and then I take the blood.... How else could I do it? I... meant to study Scripture and praise The Name of God........ Francis exhaled and whispered -  And do you still believe it?.......... Tomas nodded and said - I've played this scene before and the end remains the same...

After a bit they approached the car and got in. Miranda drove back to the 'magic' house. And Tomas knew the truth was deep inside him. No outside force could change it. 

Hoxton Street was interesting. The 'Golden Dawn' intriguing.

But soon they'd return to the town house in Philadelphia...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
thank you. for more VAMPIRE WONDERLAND click HERE ... your COMMENTS and LINKS are always appreciated. if you have any questions about this narrative, please tweet us on TWITTER at @wilkravitz




The Honorable Maude Harcum .. TOMAS & FRANCIS & MIRANDA 2/28/13

Although Wimbeldon is part of Greater London and has been since 1965, it is still very much a de facto independent jewel-box municipality. There's a beautiful, cozy shopping district... a section for stylish flats and a secluded quarter, privately set aside for manor houses. If you're in The States, think Riverdale in New York, or Chestnut Hill in Philadelphia and you'll know what I mean.

Francis and Miranda love to visit the big houses, sometimes as guests... sometimes as something else. They stand there, waiting by the side of a bed in a still, dark sleep chamber. Often taking turns. One hides in the deepest shadows. One stands in a moonbeam. You know, the best draperies almost always let a little bit leak in. 

And night-folk can wait for hours. Vampires are adept at such things. They can drift away into an almost out of body experience and savor the flavors of far off places. Francis dreams of undersea cities ruled by the Mer-King , bathed in cold, blue light emanating from huge, tree-like, crystalline channels, the remains of giant corals, housing immense colonies of phosphorescent, ancient microbes. Boulevards of such things line stately thoroughfares  and smaller 'shrubs'  front all the houses. Such a perfect place for those adverse to light. 

So he stands there, like a dazed statue, while Miranda inventories the shoes. 

Then the victim stirs. perhaps she farts and curls up tight in an attempt to forestall peeing. Ah, the covers feel so good. Even the best houses get chilly at night.  But the tightening of groin muscles can only do so much, so she opens her eyes and peers into the near-black charcoal grey, contemplating the five meter dash to her neo-Edwardian en suite. 

Two heartbeats later, minute fibers deep inside the cranial orbits begin to focus. And then she sees it, a human hand not two feet from her face, pale and white in the gloom. At first it seems disembodied, a gruesome piece of human carnage floating in the night. It's a dream. It's a dream. It must be a dream. And the 'pee pinch' disappears, for just a little. Then the irises dilate, allowing a few more ghostly photons  to dance through the pupil and die upon the retina.

She sees the outline. She sees the body, all in black. The face is smooth and young... relaxed. The eyes are dazed, still swimming with the mer-folk. And she pees a little. The smell instantly wakes him. He looks down and smiles. She screams, but there is no sound. His magic can do that.

This one has hurt people. This one has killed. Mean girls can do that with words.... their own sort of evil magic. It oozes from the pores.... A frenzied sampling of pills gathered from the leavings of public school fledglings eager to test their talons. 

And the Honorable Maude Harcum, great niece of a Viscount, stood there watching as a lesser girl passed away. 

Well, tit for tat, as they say. This time it's her turn. Francis kneels down, takes her hand, kisses it and bites off a finger. She shudders and pees the bed, bathed in the wet , hot stink.. 

All she can do is gasp 'please..please..please.'... as he laps up the blood from her wound. She tries to kick him, aiming for his doggy parts. But he punches her square in the stomach. Francis is not one for games. Then he twists her head, exposing the neck and goes in for the kill.

Miranda creeps out from her hiding place, wearing a new pair of costly shoes. And Tomas is right behind. They take in the scene and wave at the girl as she gives up the ghost and melds with the shadows, reluctant to leave her form. Ectoplasm hangs in the air like smoke, til Francis bats it away with an impatient wave of his hand. 

They watch small, blue flames skip across the body, joining together and burning it up. The sheets remain... the coverlets and the pillows. But the naughty girl is gone. And a tiny Lhasa Apso runs out from 'neath the bed, leaps up onto the embers and laps the grease away.

Miranda whispers - Was she good?

And Francis answers - Very.... as Tomas' appetite begins to grow... 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
thank you. for more, please click THIS ... your COMMENTS and personal LINKS are always welcome.