AND NOW IT GETS PERSONAL.......Marianne's Substantive Moment

And the room just stopped. All the furnishings and  souls therein became props in a tableau vivant. For they understood that she had seen things. She was 'there' and she was magic. No one knew what to say. But it was more than that. The very concept of speech seemed to evaporate. The people simply continued to breath and that was all.

Marianne, herself, was no different. The 'young' Elferina - Vampirina just stood there, waiting for new thoughts to wash across her brain. She knew it was coming. She knew they would ask. And in a sense, she was prepared. Play the scene again. Why not? She'd done the role before.

Maybe that was the signal? Creation shifted ever so slightly. A luncheon sized (now they say 'tapas' sized) white, bistro plate smeared with the remnants of an impromptu rigatoni bolognese supper slid from an inattentive knee and went 'thud' onto the fine, old Aubusson carpet. The old lady said - Excuse me....... and bent to pick it up, depriving the matched King Charles Cavalier Spaniels of a flavorful slurp. And they cursed her royally, as only the most aristocratic canines can, before returning to their seats under the costly, tufted, velvet settee.

Another reticent voice said - But how did it happen to you? The 'translation,' I mean. Isn't that what you call it?........... Marianne looked down and quietly answered - Yes.............. Roland cleared his throat to remind her he was there. The gesture gave her strength. 

We were passing through a forest north of Brussels. The trees were tall and dense and dark. The air was cool and moist. Imagine the blackness, down near the ground, far away from prying, starry eyes. And even the moon was sleeping. The dominee conjured a small, yellow flame and fixed it upon some kindling. Quick vampire fingers caught a hare. I had to be fed. The human girl needed meat. And so the food was cooked. How fresh. How flavorful. Rather like duck, in a way. And it was all for me. I had wine from a stolen skin and greens  from the woodland floor. An aged vampirina, or aged at the time of her translation, stayed with me while the others searched for blood. And their tastes were indiscriminate, unlike the Tomas, known as Jonathon, you've heard about. They took no vows. They made no promises. 'Cull the wicked?' ... Please, don't be dense. There were prosperous hamlets scattered about, filled with snug, little cottages and sleeping, farmers' daughters..... plump ones too. So you know the rest. Waste not, want not. Blood from the inner thigh tastes best....... or so I was told. But it happened that agents of  The Grand Inquisitor also hunted there. And they followed my protectors back to our temporary home......

The 'lucky' charm became the weak link and I was borne away........

She knew they wanted more. And she knew that she would tell them. But reliving the past can be taxing. She stopped and asked for help............ Could one of you be of service?.... I promise not to take too much. But my heart grows weak and I need the warmth..... 

A gallant, age defying gentleman said - Allow me to assist you, my dear........ He slowly rose from his seat and walked toward her. She thanked him and took hold of his hand. Then she brought it up to her lips and kissed the palm.....

Some in the room snapped pictures. Cameras were ubiquitous in this age, stowing away deep within the golden circuits of the phones. Did she mind? Not at all. Who would believe them?... especially in a time when everything can be 'photo-shopped.'

And the gallant gentleman knew the rapture only a vampire's kiss can bestow ....... Maybe later, when this was over, she'd steal away to his bed and give him some drops in return. And he would know a few more years of life.......... A recipient of the sweet gift shed by the Elferina - Vampirina known as Marianne.....

Tomorrow night, when next the embers glow, come back. Sit down and we'll tell more.....

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My Four-Legged Best Friend

My Four-Legged Best Friend

LIKE A PRIMITIVE WINE PRESS MEANT FOR HUMANS.... The Elferina - Vampirina goes on...

Roland was still there hovering in the background and he went back into the kitchen to see what he could find. The skinny, raw boned housekeeper, perched on a stool at a huge granite island, that resembled nothing so much as an old, Elizabethan crypt cover, put down her pilfered copy of Coastal Living Magazine, looked up and said - You that magic, vampire bastid, ain't you?......... And the juvenile, elf lord quickly executed a half bow, struck a pose, disarmed her with his beauty and grinned. She almost feel off the stool. But then she laughed - Oh, you are one cute son-of-a-bitch, you are. But what'ch you want in here? You don't eat nothin'....... No, I seek not refreshment for myself - said Roland. And please don't mess with the collar of your blouse on my account. I am not going to taste you. I promise........... She looked almost disappointed. Roland opened the double door, stainless steel, tomb  for over-priced food and took inventory. Things were quieting down back in the salon. Marianne had regained her composure. Heartbeats were slowing. But the crowd still had a certain edge and nothing sedates humans like food. He saw a big, rather vintage, Pyrex bowl filled with a huge mound of  leftover Rigatoni Bolognese . At most, it could have been two days old. It was still good. He took it out and put in on the counter....... What d'you want me  to do with that? - said the housekeeper....... You, my tobacco breathed beauty need not do a thing. Just tell me where the salad plates are. How many do you have?........... We got a whole lot a white ones. She uses them for garden parties. Why?...........Get 'em. Get 'em. Get 'em. I'm gonna serve something. You'll see. This will do the trick............So she bent down, grunted and laboriously wrestled out two stacks of classic, white, bistro plates....... I could a told you......... What did you expect?..............Roland quickly proceeded to deposit hefty dollops of savory, meat sauce covered pasta onto each. Refrigeration dried up all the runny stuff. That was good. Luncheon forks weren't hard to find. You know how many sets rich folks have. Seven minutes later he had a late night supper for twenty all ready to go....... I'm not gonna serve that. Don't look at me - said Miss Raw-Boney-Moroni. But he did much more than that. He stared into her eyes. She swallowed. He took her in his arms. She went limp. And then he kissed her. He more than kissed her. He nibbled her garlicky, generic cigarette scented neck.... A forty seven year old kitchen drudge held in the tight embrace of a well formed (and rather large for  his 'age') 'fourteen' year old elferino - vampirino. After a few moments of pleasure, she went right to work.  And within two hundred and ten heartbeats the twenty or so always hungry humans in the salon were happily slurping up the leftover bolognese. 


Roland edged over to Marianne and whispered in her ear - You want to continue?........... She gave him a look, sighed and said - I suppose............ After all, they did pay thousands for the experience. Charitable donations are easy to get, if they buy a bit of social cache. And this group needed all the cache they could buy................ So a few minutes later Roland stepped into the center of the space, clapped his hands, struck yet another theatrical pose (he was quite good at that) and said - Dear sirs, dear ladies, if we creatures have offended, permit us now to make amends. Attende vous, s'il vous plait. (excuse his French, for it is not really French, but a Frankish dialect of Walloonish Vahmpeerigo <vampire speak>) The Lady Marianne will continue........ He gestured toward her, gracefully levitated up over their heads and sailed back into the kitchen. Had to give them a good show, after all. Most broke into applause.


Marianne assumed a rather noble posture, acknowledged the crowd and began....... Have you ever seen a 'pressing'? And I speak not of olives or grapes but of bodies, living bodies. You can't even begin to imagine how much 'juice' they contain. I have not seen the like in over three hundred and forty years, but I remember. The Inquisition drew close and I remember. The Low Countries formed part of the Hapsburg patrimony then. Their fires were hungry and human kindling was everywhere. But occasionally they'd change it up a bit. Freshen up the material, so to speak. And one night, they had a 'pressing.'  I saw it all, perched upon the shoulders of the 'dominee.' No one noticed him. Please, do you think he was the only vampire present? Come on now. There were others of our band, not to mention unrelated life-eaters scattered about the crowd. But most of them were wayfarers, so we did not care. And me? Well, I was still human.


It was midnight. The town was dark. They brought him in, riding on the back of a flea-bitten ass. He was old. Was he a Jew? Was he a Protestant? I don't know. The crowd cackled and jeered so. Who could hear? Now I understand many of you go traveling and not always to islands in the West Indies, of that I am sure. Some have no doubt been to towns like this... cobbled square... stepped-roof, what you might call 'dutch' style buildings... a cathedral...a guild hall... quite picturesque now, but no more than the Levittown of its day. And he fought back tears. The condemned one, I mean. Men-at-arms (you know, breast plates, crested helmets) took up positions, lit torches, brought in the 'bed' and waited. A parchment was produced. Some supercilious official came forth to read it and the old soul, dressed in a lose, coarse knee-length tunic was man handled onto the stone. It did look rather like a bed. They bound his arms to his sides with ropes and did the same to his ankles. Then they ripped off the tunic and exposed his withered form to the shameful cat-calls of the crowd. Someone piled pillows under his head, for it hung, unsupported over the edge of the cold, hard stone. A functionary signaled. Ten brawny men, stripped to the waist and obviously part of the show, heaved a huge slab, equal in size  to the 'bed,' over to the quietly praying victim and set it down upon him. I could hear his ribs begin to crack. He gagged. He gurgled. He screamed, but nothing came out. Old ones died so soon. The audience wanted more. One of the men-at-arms held a torch to the grandfather's dry, cracked feet. He shrieked. He screamed (almost like a song). The people cheered. They danced and capered about, happy, greasy faces bathed in hellish firelight. Even the children clapped. And when they slammed down the second stone the blood began to flow. It dripped  onto the cobbles, quickly lapped up by hungry cats.. It welled up into his eyes, til they ruptured and sank back into his skull. Was he dead? I suppose. His tongue lolled about a bit. But that could have been the work of a demon puppet master. They threw  down a third stone (BOOM). After all, it was quarried. Why waste it? Then an old crone, known as 'the gray lady,' hobbled over, grabbed the martyr by his hair and lifted his head right up from the bloody pillows, for it was pinched off at the neck. And the multitude went delirious. Those who had them, fired off pistols (picture pirate guns). The rest made do with crude fireworks. The noise was deafening...... Reverent, humanity at play. Then they shuffled off to choke the pubs with their disgusting, unwashed presence......


Many have asked me...... did I mind surrendering my humanity?....... No, I did not mind. For when the same Inquisition came to martyr me, I viewed it as a deliverance........


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Ask Alexios: Paul Ryan Wipes His Nose With a Sandwich and Other Bad Behavior

Ask Alexios: Paul Ryan Wipes His Nose With a Sandwich and Other Bad Behavior

A Babe Among the Life-Eaters....more of Marianne's tale...

Every band of vampires is unique. Each keeps to their own ways. And my 'daddies and mommies' were no different. We traveled like Gypsies and slept in caves...deep caves...winding caves. No mortals ventured in. Human children were talisman...good luck charms, if you will. The 'hair of the dog,' so to speak. Did they believe in God? Was there a Higher authority? I suppose. The 'dominee' (for, oddly, that is what they truly called him) occasionally led services of a sort. They'd gather by moonlight in deep, forest glades, strip naked, join hands and dance. 'Fairy Circles,' the peasants called them. At  first, I was known by my mortal name. They called me Tilda. But then, a certain female clanswoman, possessed of an old, battered, leather Christian holy book, decided I was 'Marianne,' after the mother and Grandmother of the Son-God, Jesus. And do not hold me to specifics. I have never been trained in any faith. If my terms are not your terms, so be it. 


A self-satisfied bastard seated 'neath an extremely rare  Pizarro lithograph snorted. Marianne saw that and it angered her. Rapidly pulsating, blue-white tendrils of electricity vibrated all over her body. Smoke rose from her scalp. Her eyes burned red, boring into the self-satisfied bastard's gut. And two heartbeats later, he belched and spit up a gooey mass of wriggling maggots, dripping down from his chin, onto his chest. Women covered their eyes. Men clenched their jaws. She snapped her fingers. Well, maybe she did not snap them, but there was some sort of rapid hand gesture there and quick as a fleeting thought, the maggots disappeared. Marianne said - Judge me not, lowly cretin. Do you understand? ............ And the lowly cretin just nodded. One heartbeat later, his not quite so cretin wife passed him some Tic-Tacs for which he was sincerely grateful.


The Elferina - Vampirina continued, regaling those assembled with tales of  Breton  fire pits filled with shrieking, naked witches. Oh, the authorities were strict in those days. Fines? Please, don't make me laugh. All they knew was fire. Light 'em up and watch the fun. Can you even begin to imagine the hellish torment wrought by orange flames upon every part of a pitch soaked body? And I'm talking about scrotums and labia and nipples and all the rest. Did they die fast? Not always. Seven minutes was average. A few of the 'winners' made it to fifteen. And this little girl saw it all. You see, vampires can hide. They can blend in. Nosferatu? That's just a name, but they don't look that way, especially in the dark.


Oh, do not think that Marianne was already 'burdened' then. She was not. The 'change' did not come till her fifteenth year.....two months after her fourteenth birthday, to be exact. No one planned it. The dominee actually cried at the thought. But the Inquisitional noose was beginning to tighten....and they did it to save her 'life.'


Join us twenty four hours hence. The wee hours are so inviting. Have you ever witnessed a human 'pressing?' ........"I'll break every bone in your body!"....... You've heard that expression, have you not?........Well, at one time, it was real.


Good night..... Cover your head....Say a prayer.....Be safe.


A chill wind whips the streets tonight and spirits rattle doors.


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Marianne, the Elfin Demon-Saint of Philadelphia Loses It.......

And then she just lost it. She looked into their empty, grasping, insincere eyes and she screamed. The people froze. No one made a sound. And two pampered King Charles Cavalier Spaniels, cocooned beneath a fine, tufted, velvet settee peed on the museum quality Aubusson carpet........Eight heartbeats passed. Someone took a shot from a pale, orange, plastic rescue inhaler. A thin, stylish couple of indeterminate gender giggled. Ice settled in a glass, as the exotic creature continued............ Please excuse that thoughtless act of youthful self indulgence. But you must understand that although I possess more than three hundred and fifty years, I inhabit the form of an adolescent female - she said. So... do you forgive me?............ Some of the humans reflexively nodded. She found the gesture quite amusing and smiled....... And then, she went on....


The year of my birth was cursed. Plague was everywhere. You've seen the woodcuts..... so-called 'doctors' roamed the streets in long, leather cassocks and crow-faced helmets. They waved censors of incense and charged exorbitant fees for blood-letting, cupping and other masochistic semi-tortures. But the rats were everywhere and so were the fleas. Every feather bed infested. Every garment harbored death. People scratched till they bled and laughed til they choked. Circles of Death Dancers frolicked in the streets. Ring around the Rosy. Pocket full of Posey. Ashes, ashes. We all fall down..... You've heard that song. Mother Goose? Hardly, but the crazed ramblings of doomed children. A burlesque of the rash. A prayer for salvation. Play-acting the roles of worse-than-lepers collapsing onto the greasy, black cobbles...... Such fun......Such insanity. 


A man came to our house one night. He was tall and spare, resembling a dominee (preacher) of the Dutch Reformed Church. And perhaps he was, once. Yet now he was something different. The  sickness had already touched us. My mother lay pinched in a narrow lead box. The two girls thrashed among sweat-soaked sheets. And even the boy (they were protecting him) showed signs of impending, respiratory distress. A grandmother sat whispering to he who was my father. The tall dominee just listened. And then it was settled and I was sold. The churchman who was not a churchman told them to bathe me and they did. He produced the necessary  garments (thankfully clean) and I was dressed. Then he wrapped me in his cloak, placed the treasure on the table and left, bearing me off into a world of  twisted magic and dark conceit, among the alchemists and necromancers of the low country...... 


And what was that treasure? How high my price? Five vials...five small, glass vials, filled with the rich, red fluid of a vampire's blood.....You know the healing, protective powers that has?... I know you do. You've been well versed. So they took it and drank it.... The plague left them whole. They did not die. And my human line was preserved.


For fourteen years I was their pet, dancing by moonlight and tickled by ghosts. We talked to the roosters and slept with the bears. 'Where the Wild Things Are'? Ask me that.For I know.


But, please, please, finish your drinks. Have some more. Eat a cookie. The marzipan look nice. I need but a moment. So let me think twice. There's more that I'll tell you. It floats in the air. And hides in the vapors surrounding my hair.


So that's what the people did. They munched and they drank and they whispered and stared, as the 'young' elfin princess collected her dreams. And arranged them like stitches in mourning-wear seams.


After fifteen score heartbeats she started to speak. But come back tomorrow. I must take a leak. For I channel this story. The words are not mine. And the ice-tea runs through me like homemade, spring wine....


                 enscribed by - Billy Kravitz


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The Elverina - Vampirina, MARIANNE wishes to Make Herself Heard

Things happened very quickly. She sublimated through the exterior wall and into the well decorated salon with a SNAP. Some say it's related to a sonic boom. I do not know, but occasionally, when life-eaters suddenly combust into a restricted volume of space that occurs. 


A few of the wealthy, self described dilettantes seated about the room gasped. One or two brushed sparks from their clothing. That sometimes happens too. Most responded with wide eyed stares of amazement. For here in their midst was what looked like a fourteen year old girl (waif would be a better term) with delicately pointed ears and a decidedly Gallic fashion sense. She smiled, acknowledged the crowd, then gracefully brushed back her tawny hair......... Roland, her 'best friend,' broke the silence. He said - Ladies and Gentlemen, allow me to present the Lady Marianne......... Some people actually applauded, but that was completely inappropriate and totally unnecessary........ Uniformed 'servers,' bearing small silver trays laden with cunning, little cordial glasses quickly circulated through the crowd, assuring each 'guest' the proper fortification. 


The man with the well trimmed van dyke went first, as always - Let me welcome the beautiful, young lady. We are truly grateful you decided to come........... A woman said - Tell me, darling, what are you?.......... Others whispered for a few heartbeats, as the fine boned invitee took their measure. And then it happened. There,in a cozy salon, cossetted from the world, deep within the privileged warrens of Philadelphia's old, pre-Revolutionary, Society Hill district, the mythological being answered.


I am many things. (her accent, vaguely Flemish, or perhaps Walloon) Some call me demon, others nosferatu. But I am not defined by my enemies. Such is not my way. Please call me Marianne. My mortal father held a Barony, but we will dispense with formalities and forego the 'lady.' Am I a life-eater, what you would call a blood drinker? Yes..... but that is just the beginning. Real life, especially one as long and varied as my own, has many layers. Perhaps, if the ether is right, we'll be able to peel some away........


A well fed, bejeweled glossy skinned she-cat of a certain age said - How old are you....if you don't mind my asking?...


Marianne shifted her position, leaned in toward the woman and said - I believe I am more than three hundred and fifty years old. For the  iron cask they sealed me in washed up before the Quakers........And I do not count the twenty, or so years spent drifting along the bottom of the sea...... Yet even that tortuous passage would have been longer, had not the sea-prince found me.........


The dim, fire-lit chamber grew silent. Some people shifted in their seats. A few discreetly adjusted articles of clothing. This was starting to be good...


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