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Vampire flesh is very resilient. A human arm would come off, just like a piece of cooked chicken. But these creatures are different. Do they know why? They're vampires. There is no 'why.' Tests have been run. Alchemists gazed at blood. Some say that's the reason the microscope was developed, so a Dutch 'wise man' might study the tiny imps predicted to swim there. Yet he saw no imps, or anything else amiss for that matter. The blood of the night breed runs true, just like yours and just like mine... at least like mine did when I was alive. For I am a 'ghostie,' one of the disembodied spirits telling this tale. My name is Keith. That's all I'll say. Breathing relatives live nearby and they don't like my job. You see, to them, the proper thing for a dead sibling to do, is molder in the grave... just like that nineteenth century American, John Brown. Would that they knew he was giving hula lessons to sleeping tourists at Waikiki. After all, everybody likes to try new things.
And the crowd roared as Tomas took off an ear. Sir Ralph thrust toward his opponent's pee-pee, or what he formerly used (partly) for that purpose during mortal days. But Tomas was quick, snapping back through the ether, as if pulled by rubber bands. Two old vampirinos standing very near the action bore the brunt. And if none were behind them, they'd have gone over the battlements and down on the rocks below.
Sarah tried to send him strength. Baylah did too. Edith mumbled Piney Prayers and Annie just watched, with the wide-eyed wonder of a child.
Tomas recovered, delivering a sharp head-butt to Sir Richard's belly and black bile erupted from the baronet's lips bathing him and everyone else around him. Then he grabbed Tomas' shoulders and bit into his neck, but the maneuver was reckless and unmeasured. So he pulled away with a bit of flesh, but the arteries remained intact. You know, sudden blood loss can cripple a vampire. In that state a 'kill' would be easy. Gouge the eyes. Amputate the nether regions. Vampire teeth are well suited to that. But the strong 'young' vampirino cantered back, feigning pain he did not feel. Sir Richard moved in, all set to twist the neck and send the head flying. But Tomas sprang forward and grasped his arm, just above the wrist. Then he snapped back the hand, til knuckles met forearm. And the plump 'aristocrat' screamed, as his useless appendage flapped around like an errant glove.
Some thought it funny and tittered with laughter. Vampires can be a childish bunch. Others loudly voiced approval. Though the wily scoundrel soon found himself, lashing out with his good hand, tipped with leonine claws. And he ripped open the flesh o're Tomas' abdomen, sending blood gushing out, down upon his legs.
Sarah gasped. Even Annie pressed back against her. And her little friend, Larry, was nowhere to be seen. But a plane approached, innocently tracing a path through the cold, dark sky. It was small, probably a four seater, nothing more. Bound for a private runway at the country house of some peer or oligarch living hereabouts. Yet modern day vampires are wary. Night vision cameras... telescopic lenses and all that, don't you know. So they froze. Even 'King' Rafe stopped hovering about like some grotesque balloon in the Macy's Parade and came in for a landing.
Now the witches patrolling out on the grounds are well versed in obfuscation, but who knows if they obfuscated the heights as well? You know how they are when they get a hold of that mead. So everybody waited, still as corpses, until the plane went passed. A couple of mortal attendees from the European Union farted. Somebody laughed. Vampires relish a good fart, they do. Mortal physicality intrigues them, just like little girlies playing with dolls that wet. But it broke the tension and the battle resumed.
The crowd yelled---- Rip his balls off!!! Bite off half his ass!!!.... Not always clarifying which combatant they were referring to. Tomas managed to land a few closed fist blows, cracking Sir Richard's right clavicle. A ragged shard of ivory bone sliced right through his skin and the flabby baronet groaned, as he fell upon the stone paved rooftop.
Now the usual thing in outcomes like this, is to rip out the backbone and whip it around in a life-eater victory dance. Feral vampires have done the like for thousands of years. Papa's quite familiar with that scene. And some in the crowd expected it.
But Tomas, also known as Jonathon, was never a pagan, and he wasn't the only one. So he brought his foot down hard, breaking the neck. Then he grabbed the head with both hands (by this time, his feline attributes were beginning to recede) and twisted it 'round, till it came off. For approximately five heartbeats he stared into the still conscious and quite startled face of his victim. Then he set it down near the twitching body just as the first tiny fingers of flame began to tickle their way across the flesh. And seconds later, the post-mortal remains of Sylvia's destroyer ignited with a clean blue flame, til only the grease, plus a few charred bacon-like scraps were left.
Someone moved to call the tongueless functionaries, so that they might clean it up. But 'King' Rafe said - No, leave it for the birds. And as the witnesses filed back inside and descended from that place, the ravens came back, in the company of friends, and stripped off all corruption.
They still met for dancing later that night. Some attended discussions with learned folk from both sides of the sundown. Others drank cordials in the library. A few tasted mortal food and then threw up.
But Tomas and Sarah retired to their quarters, where she carefully bathed him in the huge, old tub. Then she tended his wounds with soft blood kisses, before joining him in the vast and ancient bed where they slept.
In the eyes of THE REVELERS he'd done a great thing. Not so much for avenging Sylvia, but for providing great sport. Even some of the humans agreed.
Though Tomas and the little group from Philadelphia thought differently......
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Thank you for your time. Please nominate me for a SHORTY AWARD. Just tweet this on TWITTER ~~ I nominate @wilkravitz for a SHORTY AWARD in #BLOGGER because his stories and narratives are positively mesmerizing... And as always, your COMMENTS are very welcome...
And the crowd roared as Tomas took off an ear. Sir Ralph thrust toward his opponent's pee-pee, or what he formerly used (partly) for that purpose during mortal days. But Tomas was quick, snapping back through the ether, as if pulled by rubber bands. Two old vampirinos standing very near the action bore the brunt. And if none were behind them, they'd have gone over the battlements and down on the rocks below.
Sarah tried to send him strength. Baylah did too. Edith mumbled Piney Prayers and Annie just watched, with the wide-eyed wonder of a child.
Tomas recovered, delivering a sharp head-butt to Sir Richard's belly and black bile erupted from the baronet's lips bathing him and everyone else around him. Then he grabbed Tomas' shoulders and bit into his neck, but the maneuver was reckless and unmeasured. So he pulled away with a bit of flesh, but the arteries remained intact. You know, sudden blood loss can cripple a vampire. In that state a 'kill' would be easy. Gouge the eyes. Amputate the nether regions. Vampire teeth are well suited to that. But the strong 'young' vampirino cantered back, feigning pain he did not feel. Sir Richard moved in, all set to twist the neck and send the head flying. But Tomas sprang forward and grasped his arm, just above the wrist. Then he snapped back the hand, til knuckles met forearm. And the plump 'aristocrat' screamed, as his useless appendage flapped around like an errant glove.
Some thought it funny and tittered with laughter. Vampires can be a childish bunch. Others loudly voiced approval. Though the wily scoundrel soon found himself, lashing out with his good hand, tipped with leonine claws. And he ripped open the flesh o're Tomas' abdomen, sending blood gushing out, down upon his legs.
Sarah gasped. Even Annie pressed back against her. And her little friend, Larry, was nowhere to be seen. But a plane approached, innocently tracing a path through the cold, dark sky. It was small, probably a four seater, nothing more. Bound for a private runway at the country house of some peer or oligarch living hereabouts. Yet modern day vampires are wary. Night vision cameras... telescopic lenses and all that, don't you know. So they froze. Even 'King' Rafe stopped hovering about like some grotesque balloon in the Macy's Parade and came in for a landing.
Now the witches patrolling out on the grounds are well versed in obfuscation, but who knows if they obfuscated the heights as well? You know how they are when they get a hold of that mead. So everybody waited, still as corpses, until the plane went passed. A couple of mortal attendees from the European Union farted. Somebody laughed. Vampires relish a good fart, they do. Mortal physicality intrigues them, just like little girlies playing with dolls that wet. But it broke the tension and the battle resumed.
The crowd yelled---- Rip his balls off!!! Bite off half his ass!!!.... Not always clarifying which combatant they were referring to. Tomas managed to land a few closed fist blows, cracking Sir Richard's right clavicle. A ragged shard of ivory bone sliced right through his skin and the flabby baronet groaned, as he fell upon the stone paved rooftop.
Now the usual thing in outcomes like this, is to rip out the backbone and whip it around in a life-eater victory dance. Feral vampires have done the like for thousands of years. Papa's quite familiar with that scene. And some in the crowd expected it.
But Tomas, also known as Jonathon, was never a pagan, and he wasn't the only one. So he brought his foot down hard, breaking the neck. Then he grabbed the head with both hands (by this time, his feline attributes were beginning to recede) and twisted it 'round, till it came off. For approximately five heartbeats he stared into the still conscious and quite startled face of his victim. Then he set it down near the twitching body just as the first tiny fingers of flame began to tickle their way across the flesh. And seconds later, the post-mortal remains of Sylvia's destroyer ignited with a clean blue flame, til only the grease, plus a few charred bacon-like scraps were left.
Someone moved to call the tongueless functionaries, so that they might clean it up. But 'King' Rafe said - No, leave it for the birds. And as the witnesses filed back inside and descended from that place, the ravens came back, in the company of friends, and stripped off all corruption.
They still met for dancing later that night. Some attended discussions with learned folk from both sides of the sundown. Others drank cordials in the library. A few tasted mortal food and then threw up.
But Tomas and Sarah retired to their quarters, where she carefully bathed him in the huge, old tub. Then she tended his wounds with soft blood kisses, before joining him in the vast and ancient bed where they slept.
In the eyes of THE REVELERS he'd done a great thing. Not so much for avenging Sylvia, but for providing great sport. Even some of the humans agreed.
Though Tomas and the little group from Philadelphia thought differently......
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Thank you for your time. Please nominate me for a SHORTY AWARD. Just tweet this on TWITTER ~~ I nominate @wilkravitz for a SHORTY AWARD in #BLOGGER because his stories and narratives are positively mesmerizing... And as always, your COMMENTS are very welcome...
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