WHAT PASSES FOR WINTER IN THE BAYOU.... part of the LYCANTHRO-SHARK arc..... 9/10/13

It don't snow. Hardly ever get no ice. But it do get cold... damp cold. Steam come up off the water. Sky all gray. Gators sleepin' deep down in the mud, like they got a case a temporary death. Still hear them crickets, though. sing a little slower than they do in summertime. But you still hear 'em.

Don't know how long it take for no human-werewolf babies. Wolfie-gals don't know either. Not like they talk much to Shimmy Kate. One of 'em wanna kill her. Big male know it. He say he rip her head off. He say he bite right through her spine, crunch it all up and crip her real good if she even try. Wolfie-gal make like she wanna snuggle. Make like she wanna go lick-lick-lick all over. He let her do a little bit. Then he push her away. She laugh, like it no big deal. But it is.

Meat stash gettin' low. All dried up too. They like it that way, beef jerky like. 'Cept it not all beef. Some is sheep. Some be possum. Little bit still 'long pig.' Shimmy Kate don't eat much, not for somebody what got two cubs gnawin' on her innards. Wolfie-gal hope she die. But big male get her eggs, turtle eggs mostly. He know where to dig 'em up. She eat them. Get a catfish sometime too. 

Shimmy Kate cry a lot too. Got bad dreams. One got a whole lot a kids on a picnic. They all eatin' egg salad sandwich. Laughin'... smilin'... You can see it 'tween their teeth. She a kid too. But she ain't got no egg salad sandwich. Look like egg salad. Got Kraft Miracle Whip, chopped celery an' all. But her eggs is maggots... fat, yellow, putrid maggots an' they still movin'.  She wanna say - Shit, I eatin' maggots.... But she don't, 'cause law say they kill you for eatin' maggots. Not in Louisiana. In the dream, I mean. Got 'nother dream where she jump off roof somewhere's. Land on a puppy. Land on a gray, little yelpin' puppy. But it don't yelp long. 'cause it die and she cry and cry and cry. 

Shimmy Kate sit real far in, back by the cave wall. Got two old bedspread. Don't know where she got 'em, but she got 'em. Wrap herself up like a lady mummy, or a tamale wit' a woman inside it.

Young one say - Shimmy Kate, you wanna play Yahtzee?

But she just shake her head 'no.'
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WOLF-FOLK go on a MEAT HUNT...... 9/09/13 ... part of the LYCANTHRO-SHARK ARC

Contrary to Hollywood, they do it on nights when there ain't no moon. Less light. Less interference. More stealth. Shimmy Kate can't go, 'cause she human all the way. Can't make time like the rest of them. She slow. She'd twist her ankle and fall. Shit, there ain't no cryin' in werewolf. Old one stay with her. Female name Frizzy Ass on account a her fur. They playin' Yachtzee. But Shimmy make sure Frizzy win all the time, 'cause she is a werewolf after all.

Rest a the pack went 'runnin'. That what they call it, havin' a 'runnin'. Stream out into the dark and find somethin'. Rabbits hide. Bob cats hide. Two big monkeys what got lost from the circus hide. Everythin' hide. 

Pad out to a road house off a little highway.... Jook joint really, full a moonshine drunks and dope fiends. Wait out in the bushes. Bayou got big bushes... real big bushes. Door open. Light shoot out. Fat bastid come out 'cause he gotta fart. It Ok shootin' quiet farts. But this round got special sound effects 'ttached to it, so best done outside...

Canines and them what like related appreciate a good stink. Butt sniffin' a hobby. How they find out who eatin' the good stuff. Fat bastid squat down to take a shit. Got shit hole inside, but it ain't been cleaned or fumigated in like... never. 

Wolf-folk hunker down. Get real still. Get real quiet. Suck in that first wiff. He be eatin' pig. He be eatin' cheese. He be eatin' macaroni. Don't smell like it did goin' in. But never you mind, 'cause to them it smell better. 

Little wolf-bitch-gal lunge in an' bite his ass real hard. He scream and fall over. Start wipin' the blood with his hand. Get scared, 'cause he see a lot a it. Start moanin'. Start shakin'. 'nother one score his ankle bone up real good.  Fat bastid go - Oh, Gawd! Oh Gawd!  Try to run, but he can't 'cause a his pants and all. So he fall in the mud and cry... just like a big, fat-assed Baby Huey.

Ain't no cryin' in werewolf. Already told you that. Cryin' make 'em mad. Somebody rip a nipple. Might a been one a the young ones. Then his pee-pee go missin', long with it's next door neighbors. One a the big females tear the neck, take a cheek off. That like a filet to her. Two heartbeats later they in a frenzy. Them what's inside watchin'. They watchin' everythin'... faces all squashed up 'gainst little glass window. Big eyes. Scared eyes. Open malfs. Nobody say a word. Feel bad 'bout that 'no audible fart' thing, but what can you do? Rules is rules. 

Little bit later they drag him away. Leave his head, 'cause wolf-folk don't like brain. Think he busted up into two or three parts by then. Not fancy butcherin'. Nothin' fancy. But very effective butcherin' just the same.

An' Shimmy Kate gotta eat some, 'cause she carryin' wolfie babies an' all.

Only she don't know that yet...
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SXSW (2013) Fall and Winter - Documentary Movie HD .... YOU MEAN ALL THE VAMPIRE WONDERLAND NIGHT-FOLK, WITCHY WOMEN AND HOO DOO'S ARE RIGHT???

Say it isn't so. Better yet, stop talking and DO something..... The 'righteous' life-eater (vampire) known as Tomas de Macabea, has learned, or rather relearned things in his wanderings and  wants to speak again...  The VENGENCE .... coming later this fall.....'cull the wicked. save the worthy.'
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HUMAN PUPPY-MAMA... SHIMMY KATE AMONG THE LUPINIERE... a lycanthro-shark tangent..... 9/07/13

She stayed with them throughout the winter. They slept a lot, though never really hibernated. Bayou winters aren't cold, just chill and damp and quiet. Sometime it rains a lot. And for like eight weeks nothing grows. Cop guys did a little bit a pokin' 'round tryin' a find her. After all, she did accidentally on purpose pop a guy's head off. But law's a funny thing down there and they had bigger fish to fry. No, really. Mako was runnin'.... Yellow Fin Tuna too. Think also Wahoo, but I ain't sure. 

So Shimmy Kate spent them months holed up in the caves pickin' ticks out a wolf-folk pelts and showin' 'em how to dance and all. An early form a the Lindy they liked. But wolves ain't agile as cats. Singin' is their thing. Howlin' actually, but they call it singin'.

After a time, her belly start a grow. Big Boss wolfman pester her a little bit, but he ain't pushy, 'specially 'cause he got them prime wolfwomen. Young ones find a dead fox and chew the tail off. Say Shimmy Kate ought a pinch it tween her butt cheeks (don't know what happened to her clothes, only she ain't got 'em no more) an' walk around wit' it to make herself look more normal. But she say 'no' an' rock back and forth huggin' her knees. 

Mostly, in the winter, they eat stupified frogs and half asleep rats. Kill a loner every once in a while, but cut down on that 'cause Shimmy Kate a human bean and so is most a them loners. They grab fish for her. Fish slow in wintertime too. Think they give her few taters and carrots, but I might a dreamed that part. Got a few old ripped up motion picture magazines in there wit' 'em. She look at pictures a Jeanette MacDonald and Nelson Eddy... Bing Crosby too, I think. 

Wolf-woman say she carryin' twins. Shimmy Kate, I mean. She a belly-feeler, so she know. But Shimmy Kate don't talk much 'bout it. Guess she 'fraid a nursin' little, rolly-poly puppy things what got sharp teeth..... Now she little bit crazy. Set there whisper-singin' I Got Joy, joy, Joy, Joy, Down In My Heart.

Them what got fur do the Lindy to it....
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All That And...: GH Preview for Week of September 9: Phantoms of An...

All That And...: GH Preview for Week of September 9: Phantoms of An...: Phantoms of Another Life The Package   D iane’s ruthless, fearless, and inarguably creative coup de gras having liber... Fell asleep on the sofa. No time to let my gargoyles and garboyles strut their scruff so I decided to steal this stellar post by Angela. Join her on Twitter. Click on ~> @Rowaentha ... and say 'hello.' It's got the word 'phantoms' in it so that makes it ok for our purposes, besides General Hospital has more street creds than Vampire Wonderland anyway and Angela's a really good writer too...... but if you WANT to dip your toes in our part a the weird and wonderful gene pool click on this ~>Vampire Wonderland's part a the weird and wonderful gene pool ... and join me on Twitter at ~>THE PLACE WHERE BILLY KRAVITZ IS ... Thank you. I'm so tired, I'm falling off the kitchen chair, right down onto the cold, gray slates...Oh, Angela can do magic too... REAL magic... 

CASTES AMONG THE WOLF FOLK... WEREWOLF HIERARCHIES ... 9/05/13

It was dark in the caves and damp and cool... a perfect retreat from the deep, thick, bayou heat. The lupine troop, obviously quite familiar with the place took their ease amid the flotsam and jetsam of human society. Some lounged on cushions. Not bed cushions... Old sofa cushions. A few played dominoes or backgammon. The young ones fished for crustaceans in a tiny rivulet racing along a back wall. Soft, yellow candles, more like sloppy mounds of wax with sputtering wicks, gave a fitful light. Shimmy Kate demurely sat down near the females. The leader saw and smiled. She noticed, but pretended not to.

Like Rip Van Winkle among the fairie folk she was. Or perhaps a Tuscan beauty snatched for the seraglio. 

Now let me pepper the tale with a more contemporary reference. Are any of our best beloveds familiar with The Thunder Cats, nineteen eighties human-feline symbiotic beings and heroes too? Well, these intelligent mammals are similar, only somewhat canine instead of feline. I don't know if they're heroes. Maybe some are. Handsome beasts and quite intriguing, but trapped in the midlands of werewolfdom.... never wholly one or the other like their 'betters,' nor completely ravenous and feral, as are some clans. They cannot hide. What they are is always apparent. And for that they are shunned. True werewolves... true shape-shifters kill them. Some languish in rich men's menageries, between rare specimens of mer-folk and mothmen.

They who came from the stars enjoy the competition. They watch and they study and they learn. Humans make such good toys. 

But the Lupiniere ( our wolfen band) have plans of their own. At least the leader, the alpha male, does. He has a theory. He wants to fix things. Lady blood... human blood will do it, in his mind anyway. And Shimmy Kate is absolutely filled with lady blood. So he slides off his throne (actually a rather ornate belle epoque dentist's chair from the Garden District) and moves in close to tantalize her. 

His females notice. They've done this before. There were other girls at other times stolen from other places. But none of them conceived. Try and try again. What else can he do. So they pin her down. One grabs her arms. One grabs a leg. A beta male moves in to grab the other. The young ones continue trolling for crawfish. Grown-up games mean little to them, though one or two do look over and giggle.

And Shimmy Kate becomes a 'handmaiden' given to another Abraham in the hope of healthy offspring.

She screamed at first. But then she stopped and made another noise...
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A CREATION STORY... WEREWOLF STYLE... LYCANTHRO-SHARK continues... 9/03/13

He built a little fire out of moss, or something that looked like moss. It smelled nice, like ambergris and musk, tinged with an unknown green scent that had a certain narcotic quality. The young ones fell asleep. His females quietly retreated back into the shadows and watched. There were other males in the lodge, but they were obviously betas, furtive beasts, just as imposing as their leader, though of quite different dispositions.... Three males... Two females... Maybe five or six children. All with the same gray pelts.

The human female, the one called Shimmy Kate, studied them, as she sat hunched against the rough, thatch, igloo-like wall. A surreal scene, as might have played out in paleolithic times, save all of the tribesmen were werewolves. 

Their prisoner/guest stared at the tiny fire, seemingly hypnotized by the orange glow. And the 'king' studied her. She was right. He knew it. She was right. All was quiet. One or two of the young ones stirred as they slept, but that was it. And then the 'king' began to speak. He sat where he was and he spoke. 

He said - We have souls. We have hearts. We know pain. Think not that we are monsters. Fear not for your life. Are you scared?...... The one called Shimmy Kate shook her head, for she was not scared. Perhaps it was the slowly burning narcotic herb, or maybe just the quiet peace about her, but she was not. He nodded and went on - They came from a different place and they changed us, taking essence of man and essence of beast. And we are still a new thing, for that was only ten generations past. Frenchman we were and Creoles and Spaniards.... those you call 'Indians' too. The settlement on the river was new then, filled with long, low dwellings and shuttered windows to keep out the heat. Dark skinned captives from a strange, exotic place spoke of 'old gods,' and so we learned the voo-doo. Spirits, rather curious spirits came to watch. They sailed in ghostly orbs... in ships made of light. We asked questions. Occasionally they answered. But we were clay to them, the same as Adam and so they made new things. Don't ask me how they did it. Such alchemy I do not know. They took different things, alien things. They worked miracles. And mothers brought forth wolflings. And she-wolves brought forth men..... One of the females began to moan and keen, obviously remembering an old sadness. He crawled over to comfort her and she kissed him. Shimmy Kate found her voice and said - Please, I want to leave.... Her host said - And how will you elude the bloodhounds? They who have guns lead them and they already come this way....... H-how do you know that? - she asked. The wolfman simply sniffed the air and smiled.

They left with the first light of dawn, silently snaking through the bayou toward another place, deep within a cave, beyond a little hidden waterfall, where trackers could not find them. And Shimmy Kate went with them, a lost, skinny white girl amid a stream of gray.

Breeding stock. That's what she was. Breeding stock. But she didn't know that yet...
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