The family room was dark. Night-folk like it that way. The vampirino, known as Tomas sat in one of the big, leather, wing chairs watching a film. He likes films and this is his favorite. A regular Kubrick aficionado he is, ever since Paths Of Glory, or whatever the first one was called. The elferinos and elferinas were there, but now they've left. Peter, the new one, is quite the firebrand. The others think he's Jack-The-Lad. Wants to dig out a hidey-hole down in the tunnels. And maybe an ancillary abode, up in a long forgotten attic atop some grand, old hotel.
Tomas is hurt. Vampires feel pain and disappointment quite keenly. He likes their little establishment. Edith in the kitchen. Billy at the keyboard.... and night-folk everywhere else, not to mention the occasional 'unusual' house guest from 'The Pines.' Baylah might have her cozy piano bar and her little, jewel-box apartment upstairs, but even she , when not there, or with her wealthy mortal boyfriend at the shore, stops by for hot toddies and conversation.
Vampires seek permanence and hardly ever find it. Times change (boy, do they ever see that) and 'enchanted' souls join other communions. Crypt-mates rest their bones in novel tombs and dream with other friends. Tomas had a 'family' before.... more than one. But a certain assemblage back in the time romantics call 'the gilded age' was special. He rarely mentions it. I don't know about it. ( yeah, it's me, Billy). The disembodied spirits, like Mister Never You Mind, or Zebulon , or the others are ignorant too. Them whats passed on don't know everything. I think the reason he likes this movie is the music. He likes the waltzes. I hear him talk about the waltzes. Subscribed to assemblies and cotillions. Knew everybody in town.... all the old, Rite-of-Spain families from the ancient synagogue, which I'm told, back then, wasn't too far from here. How he loved conversing with them in the soft, cultivated accents of Old Castile. They'd been here even longer than him..... Saint Charles families from 1654. Tomas came later, 1682, on The Welcome. Don't know if they knew he was a vampire, but he sailed on that ship. Must have had a 'familiar' among the crew. Had to, or else he couldn't have done it.. He knows Doctor Franklin since 1727, I think it is. Imagine how many people he's lost since then. And now Peter wants him to lose more.
Edith says they'll come back. But even though she's a witchy-woman she's still mortal. She don't know. Witchy-women can do a lot. Still, it's not like she's a born witch. Just knows a few 'gee-gaws' and 'pow-wows.' .... Sarah thinks 'Mister Edith,' her current husband, is the powerful one, only she can't prove it.
So Tomas sits there watching an alternate take on early twenty-first century technology. Maybe he knows what the monolith was?...If not the object in the movie, at least 'things' or intercessions like it. You know, some of them night-folk really do think 'alien forces' played a hand in our evolution. Seem to recollect channeling an 'arc' 'bout that not too long ago.
Funny, Tomas being a 'believer' and all. I asked him about that 'alien intervention' stuff. He said - That doesn't mean God didn't do it. That just shows us 'how' He did it...... Then he goes - Our hands are God's Hands.
Everybody else out walking around doing night-folk stuff. But they'll come back. Just wish them elferinos and elferinas would too....... Got a meeting with his 'New Junto' crew coming up. Tomas, I mean. This is like the third one. Kevin, or Liam, or one of the kids wants to take it on line. Got it set up already. Think it's a hashtag on Twitter.... #StarLight or something like that. You know, from the old rhyme.... Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight, I wish you may. I wish you might, grant the wish I wish tonight..... People go on and make a wish, add the #StarLight hashtag and hope somebody out there's willing to help. But Tomas says there already IS a #StarLight and #StarBright thing that helps kids, so why not start one for young people and adults called #GimmeABreak? And it's not that people can't help. They just don't.... even if it don't cost a thing. In many ways a 'gatekeeper' is also an executioner. Artists aren't always good salesman.
If you like, here's a clip from Tomas' favorite movie down below. God bless You Tube. They grant, or at least facilitate the granting of a lot of wishes. Voice to the voiceless and all that.
Tomas likes this part.... Go see..... and if you want to read more #VampireWonderland stuff click on THIS .... If you want to join me on TWITTER click on THE OTHER THIS ...Now, like we always say --- Cue the music.
I do not wipe my name about your world like a dirty rag. My existence is unknown to you, just as the ant knows little of the boy who sets it afire. And the night-folk who live among you in your Philadelphia are lesser incarnations of what I am. My 'meals' are legion. My capacities unlimited. 'Fiends' comb dark places gathering morsels for my table. Who are these 'fiends'? They are my 'familiars,' mortals bewitched by hot, rich, rivulets of my blood, or rather the blood that washes through my body. Your Jonathon in his 'Biblical' rantings calls me 'noxious.' But I call him and all like him weak. How they cower o're the truth..... pathetic deniers. Does the lion spare the gazelle?
Look for me in violent places. Death throws are my dancing and screams, or even tiny, little pleading moans, the music. I walk the streets of Kiev, Homs and Aleppo. Traveling is a passion. And if I am not where you are now, how lucky you are..
They drag the near dead to my pit. And it does not take long to dig one. 'Fiends' are not free-agents in my world. They are slaves. And they do as I say or they die. I whisper 'dig.' They dig. Forty 'fiends' with forty shovels make quite a deep, dark whole. Then while they are still in it, I leap down.... tantalizing some with kisses and caresses ... while others go 'into the pot.' Like a terrier let lose among the rats I am. I tear. I crush. I bite. I taste. They scream and plead and cry. And the strong climb up upon the weak, shattering skulls, breaking necks, gouging eyes and dislocating mandibles. At times I let them go, clambering up over the brink, hastily pulling on rags and coverings, as they fall out into the alleys and run away. Where do they go?... Anywhere.
I need no wealth. I have no cache. I 'eat' therefore I am. My halls are draped with entrails and skulls my blood filled cups. Bones, bones, I love the bones. Perhaps they are my 'gold?' There are subterranean caverns filled with vertebrae. Like nature's 'legos' they are. I play with them and count them, though I never reach the end. And the blood dries on my skin. It crusts up in my hair, 'liming' back my locks like some old Celtic warrior.
Time is such a different thing to me. Once I slept for centuries beneath an Olmec temple, never once stirring to gnaw on 'the leftovers.' Though my essence did soar free to hunt with jaguars and 'dine' with army ants.
Call me what you will. I'll kill you in the end. It matters not to me.
Disguises are such fun. I peel my lips off, top and bottom, the better to show the teeth, eyelids too, if I feel like it. I like the sound of ripping flesh. It grows back. At least mine does. Occasionally the nose goes too. Sometimes I start at the nostrils and pull up, or use a straight edge razor.
I've been known to sublimate into houses, quietly creep up to the sleeping chambers and stand there by the bedside watching the 'meat pies' breathe. Such cunning things, you humans are. Like big, toy dolls, just ready for a bad boy, like me to break. Careful, your 'Barbie' heads don't wind up 'neath the couch.
I like the sound your heads make when I pull them off.... Like rubber snapping, if tires had bones. ...Wheeeee!
Maybe one night I'll see you in the pit?
Oh, what am I talking about? Eventually I'll see every one in the pit
'Noxious' indeed..... I am the genuine article...... You don't want to dream about me.
Shhhh, (whispers) I'll touch you while you sleep
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MARIANNE and PETER SIT ON AN ELEPHANT
He stared out at the sea. You know how it can be real flat and calm in the wintertime? Well, that's how it was. A little bit of moonlight sparkled on the surface. Peter said - Why did you bring me here?..... Marianne said - I like this place. I come here all the time. I was here when 'she' was new.... Peter said - You know I've never seen a live elephant. Only saw woodcuts once or twice. Are they all this big?..... Marianne laughed - No, this is a building. This is fifty five feet high. I mean where we're standing is fifty five feet. Real elephants are maybe twelve feet tall, perhaps a little more...... Peter said - And I'm guessing they don't have a window where their ass is?.... That, they do not - she said. {if you want to see where they are and missed our last post, scroll down and see the video}...
They stood that way for a while. The street, down below was quiet.... Maybe a car a minute went by. That's all. The sound of the tires blended with the surf. Peter studied the water and said - It gets real cold down there. At first I screamed. When they sealed me in, I mean. It was that, or the block. No, really. There was a headsman and everything. Two others like me were already so dispatched..... He picked up the last head and shoved it in my face and I know the eyes still saw me. Blood from the shredded neck splashed down on my knees. They had me all trussed up. I couldn't move. You know vampire hunters have that special rope with threads of lead mixed in. We can't pass through lead..... How well I know - whispered Marianne. {for her story google MARIANNE IN BRITCHES by Billy Kravitz and scroll around} ... I cried. I didn't answer. Not fast enough anyway. They beat me with lead truncheons. Cracked some ribs. I coughed up blood. That made them berserk. They groaned. They screamed - Whose is it?! Whose is it?! ..... And I didn't kill anybody. You know that. None of us did. Elferinos and Elferinas hardly ever do. Then they said they'd burn me. Had a spit set up and everything... A regular Inquisitional fun-fair. Not that they were part of that. I don't know who they were. People did those things for entertainment. Wouldn't mess with full vampirinos. Vampirinas too, for that matter. But younger ones, like us were fair game. Crown wouldn't let 'em bother no heretics and Jews were rare 'round where I come from. Even so, crown didn't want them burned up either, 'cinders can't pay no taxes.... I didn't say anything. I couldn't. And I wasn't new. Been night-folk since (counts on his fingers)... well, Leonardo was dead already. So was Michaelangelo. But I kept to the woods. Discrete and safe. Tried to hook up with lesser nobility. Big ones draw too much attention. Nice little manor house... snug stables.... dark root cellar.... perfect. Grant a few wishes. Mostly blood gifts to heal disease. Add some cachet to the dining hall. People traveled far to see me. Rich folk don't care. You know that. But some of the 'others' can be so self-limiting. And then when the peasants come with pitch-forks and torches even the rich folks make like they don't know us. 'Cause pitch-forks stab through their guts too and they know it....
I'll tell you my story too some night. Not much different from yours. I was in the real belly of the beast, though - she said.... Peter didn't press. Night-folk, even those without much telepathy 'feel' such things. Besides, Peter still had his own tales to tell. That's why she brought him here... quiet... private. And there's something about the water, even if you were once buried in it.
He looked around at the nice, houses, shops, restaurants and said - I would like to see what it's like inside. I saw but one room at the retired teacher's house and that was very, very nice. They use it just for clothes? They use it just for a laundry?..... Yes - she said. Just for that. Maybe they store some things, but mostly just for that...... He shook his head - And I thought those manor houses were something. Then he went on - I screamed when they threw me in the box. Hardly had time to curl up and collect myself. When they welded it shut I felt the heat. Tried to squeeze down as much as I could. Prayed and prayed and prayed. Don't ask me what. I guess I learned them in the Veneto (northeast corner of Italy around Venice) . Felt them hoist the leaden chest up into a cart. If what they did to me was what they did to the others, they must have driven out onto the sand flats off Mount San Michel. Do you know how it gets there when the tide goes out?..... Marianne nodded. She did know.... He went on - And then later, when the tide came in, some fisherman pulled me up into a boat and took me out. I screamed. I pleaded for them to free me. But they never responded to anything I said. They take vows, you know, not to talk to us, not to address us. We sailed for a while. Then they dropped me in. I was so scared. It felt so final..... She knew.... I think my heart burst. I really do. Children can suffer such things. Vampire children too. We just pull through. But hitting the bottom of the sea was like .... (he couldn't talk)..... She put her arms around him and waited, just like a good, big sister. Though he didn't say anything else, not that night.
After a time they softly jumped down, wandered through a street or two (he wanted to see the houses). Then they flew back to Atlantic City and crept down under the Boardwalk, where they preserved the lives of three or four tubercular homeless people.
Before returning to the retired teacher's house on Long Beach Island, they stopped at an all night gourmet bakery (yeah, Atlantic City hotel/casinos have them too) and got a white glossy box of assorted cookies tied up with string for the limousine driver. Half way back, while flying over some woods, Peter dropped them. String was cutting into his finger. You know how it is.
But the squirrels and wood sprites down below had a feast.
And we picked The Sherelles Song tonight, because vampires seem to like it, Fifty some years isn't long to night-folk, but in that time it's become like a standard with them.... "Will you still love me tomorrow... When the night meets the morning sun?'...........
Make sure you catch the credits at the end and subscribe, because this site's got good audio.
OK, cue the music.
They flew south to Atlantic City, maybe like eighteen miles away. I don't know how fast elferinos and elferinas go. I'm told, at times they can snake through a crowd of mortals so fast no one sees them. Not on foot though. Their feet have to be off the ground. They have to be flying. That's how they feed. The very young (pre-pubescent) 'elfin' ones zip along taking quick, sharp drinks from a multitude of throats. People go 'OW!" and blame mosquitos, or gnats, or bed bugs or tiny, little blocked arteries, or something like that. Few realize others around them have also been bitten.
That's what they did. Marianne and 'Peter' landed near the Borgata, a big, plush, mega-Vegas style place by the Marina. What with their stolen, heavyweight sweat shirts and coordinating scarves and wool ski caps they looked pretty good. Flying didn't mess them up none. If anything it just ruddied their cheeks and tousled their hair. A professional photographer's stylist couldn't have done any better. She says - Lets go get some hot tea.... He says - Please, 'sister,' I am so hungry. When can I feed?..... Then he looked around and added - Who lives here, a mighty magician, a wizard, a necromancer? ...... She said - No one lives here. It's a hotel. It's a casino. They gamble here. They drink here. They laugh at people mocking others and telling ribald stories. They lose their money and sell the children to Gypsies. .... 'Peter' stared wide eyed and said - Really?..... But the elferino, Marianne just shrugged and went - I don't know. I don't know what they do with their children. I just guessed that part.... Then she walked him through the immense carpeted lobby. He thought it was some sort of chapel. They entered a coffee shop, which in any other locale would have been a very commodious restaurant, but in casino-hotels merely a place for twelve dollar corned beef sandwiches and four dollar cups of tea. Peter didn't say a word. She told him not to, but he studied every single thing. What must our time look like to a boy from the third quarter of the eighteenth century? He did whisper one thing. He said - The wenches, why are they in their bits and pieces? Are they whores?.... No - she said. They just play like they are..... They don't charge any money? - he asked... No - she said. They do it all for free, or like for thick beef steaks, jewelry and gambling money. Well, a few might be whore..... Who? Which ones? - he asked..... Marianne looked around and said - Well, the old ladies aren't. And with the others I can't tell. (whispered) Don't stare. Those aren't her real breasts. She paid some low sort of chap huge sums of money to cut open her skin and make her that way. They do anything for money these days. You'll see..... How does he do it? The low chap, I mean. - he asked.... With pillows. With magic, little pillows that look like jelly fish. - she said.
An impossibly well groomed, smiling waiter came over, who may or may not have been gay. Marianne placed the order, an expensive ( $6.50) herbal tea for herself and a green tea and honey ($5.00) for 'Peter.' Also got a basket of biscotti. 'Peter asked - Why?.... She said - Just crumble up one and move it around the plate. It looks like we ate and they're less suspicious that way.... Do they all know about night-folk? - he asked..... No - she said. But we're a twelve and fourteen year old out by ourselves after dark and that, in itself, might draw attention.... So he did. They each got a little, steaming pot of tea. Enough for two cups. Peter said it was good. He even licked a piece of biscotti, but all he did was lick it. Then he said - Is he a castrato?..... What are you talking about? - she said..... The boy. The one who brought the tea. Has he 'had the operation?' Has he been 'fixed?' Tell me.............................
Marianne whispered - No, they haven't chopped them off. They don't do that anymore, not for singers anyway. He's gay, loves others of his gender. That's all. Or he may just be very, very, very, very fussy. How would I know?..... She took a sip. When she looked up, he was gone. At least to mortal eyes he was gone. But she saw him streak through the booths and tables taking discrete, little bites from perhaps eighteen or twenty people. Some scratched their necks. Some didn't notice. Elfereino puncture wounds are really quite small and no more than a tiny, watery bit of plasma escapes. ....When he sat down and flickered into view, she said - Why did you do that? Couldn't you wait? I went through the same thing and I waited. Took me four nights and I waited. Was so scared. Didn't know where I was. But I waited. I learned...... He just gave her a sly smile. Marianne knew this one was going to be different. So she put down a tip, paid the bill and they left. The cashier thought they were brother and sister, two nice kids. She even said - Why don't you take some of those little, wrapped mints? They're good...... 'Peter' said - Thank you... and palmed a big handful. Then he zipped through a packed house laughing at Kathy Griffin's Kardashian jokes and 'kissed' maybe a dozen more.
They passed through the large, mall-like arcade of rather carriage trade shops. She said - Have enough?........ He said - For now... as he deftly snatched a beautifully wrapped box of impossibly expensive chocolates and passed it to a happy toddler in a yuppie-perfect stroller. The parents never saw a blessed thing.
Fifteen minutes later, after another starry flight, they stood atop the howdah of Lucy The Elephant, a beloved, beachfront landmark in a nice, little seashore town to the south. It was cold. No one was about. The shops, open earlier, were shuttered now and few cars passed on the street. Marianne gazed out upon a calm, moonlit, winter sea. The newly freed elferino beside her...
And then he began to speak...
( oh, one more thing. the video up above, courtesy of the great @weirdnj <yes, you can click on it> tells all about Lucy and her colorful history... a nice taste of summer, seashore whimsy on a cold, dark, winter night)
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That evening, when the sun went down, the strange night-folk boy from the leaden box woke first. He straightened up all the towels, but could not wash them, as the technology of our age confounded him. Faucets and spigots were unknown in his time. Water came from wells. Though he did conjure a bit of magic to fold the cot and stow away any other things the teacher's wife gave them. Then he peeled off the silver duct tape, took down the carefully folded, black ,plastic trash bags and peered through the window. Since it was set high, near the ceiling, he hovered up off the floor, the better to see out.
When the elferina, Marianne awoke, she saw him up there, illuminated by a few weak rays coming in from the streetlight on the corner. How his eyes glowed and his back was straighter now....... What is this? - he said..... And he flew off to the switch flicking it on and off three or four times in quick succession...... That's the light. - she said..... Her answer puzzled him. He thought for a moment and asked - Where is the fire?..... She laughed. Marianne knew what he meant, for her life too began in another place and another time long before our own...... She said - Parle vous Anglais? ..... The newly freed elferino said - Is that what this is? I found the sounds in your soul and used them...... My, you are a powerful night-boy. - Marianne added.... But he just settled down on top of the matching, front loading washer and dryer and thought.
Where am I? - asked the elferino. Who sits on the throne of France? Why do I not smell horses?..... Marianne told him. She said - You are in a town by the shore of the Atlantic Sea in the Grand Republic of The United States of America. The magic you see all around you is called 'electricity,' based on the alchemy of the American Patriot, Doctor Benjamin Franklin. The retired teacher, the man upstairs, whose house this is, is a Jew. And the woman, his wife, is a Jew too....... Nooo!? - said the young elferino. For in his time The Revolution, the storming of le Bastille had not yet come and Juifs were scared, quiet, silent beings in dark, narrow streets and ghettos..... What year is it? - asked the elferino..... Twenty fourteen. - said the elferina..... Her new companion gasped, made some mental calculations and said - Two hundred and thirty nine years? I was sealed in that horrid cube for two hundred and thirty nine years?..... She nodded and he began to laugh as one insane...... Are you hungry? - said Marianne....What do you think? - asked the more than four hundred year old being. His body was the body of a twelve year old, for that was his age when the 'burden' fell upon him.
The retired teacher hurried down the steps and came up to the other side of the laundry room door and knocked..... Excuse me. Is it alright if I open this? - he asked.... Yes - said the elferina.... He did and said - Can I put on the light?.... Then he held out a pair of sunglasses - These are for the boy.... The light coming in through the window, feeble as it was, allowed them to see a little bit. The boy took the sunglasses and examined them. The man said - Spectacles. A type of spectacle. Smoked glass, or something like glass. They soften the light. Put them on. you'll see....... The elferino did. Then the man switched on the light. The elferino looked over the frames, raised them up, looked over the frames again, raised them up again and laughed. Marianne laughed too.... You look like the boy in Risky Business, but thinner. - she said...... What is 'Risky Business?' - he asked.......... Oh, do you have a lot to learn. - she sighed...... Then they said 'bon nuit' to the retired teacher, opened the back door with the small, high window and ran out into the semi-deserted, dark, winter, shore town night. The man wanted to yell. He wanted to say 'Wait! Wait! Take a scarf. Take a hat, some sweat shirts, some gloves!' But he could not. Some houses had people in them and he did not want to attract any attention.
So the two supernatural beings raced down the two thirds empty street, passed neat coastal houses shuttered for the winter, though some were not so shuttered and had fragrant smoke rising from their chimneys.
After a quick sublimation through the exterior wall of a closed for the evening sportswear shop, they exited wrapped in warm fleece, wool caps and everything else necessary to beat back the chill. Marianne wrote down the address. Her 'familiar' would send them more than enough cash.
The boy told her his name, Peter, or Robin, or Pan, or some such thing like that and of his nativity in sixteenth century Brittany. Then they took to the air (elferinos and elferinas can achieve true flight, you know) and headed south, toward the bright lights of Atlantic City just over the horizon.
I'm sure he'll find a nice dinner there...
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The saints have smiled upon us and the planets have aligned! We are able to post what was channeled below the music! You who are of the #vampirewonderland for any length of time know the difficulties we have had which such things. Gadgetry of your age vexes us so. And if it is important for you to know who speaks, know this, it is I Marianne, most vociferous of the elferinos and elferinas. I tell you of the coming of Gustave, also know as Robin, or Robin Goodfellow, or Puck, or Pan. Some call him 'Peter,' but they are Anglais and I hate the Anglais. Odd that I live among their bastard children.
When were we last together, two, three nights ago? I take you back to that time. Return with me to the laundry room beneath the coastal cottage on Long Beach Island, New Jersey. The first Isle of Jersey was French, you know? But, as with most night-folk, I babble and digress. My face is fourteen. My soul so much more.
I slept on that little cot by the matching, front loading washer and dryer. Gustave lay curled upon the furry, throw rug, all covered in thick, warm towels. It was snug in there. The furnace radiated warmth. We slept like kittens. But the boy had been sleeping for centuries. Vampire-folk do that when buried 'alive.' I knew he was night-folk, because during a passing wakefulness I looked. I went over an gently pulled back his lip. The fangs were there. I saw them. He blinked a few times, but did not stir, though I could see the dull, black film dissolving from his eyes. Perhaps it wasn't mold. Maybe it was only dust? Then I slept some more.
Sometime later I smelled coffee. The retired school teacher's wife was up. She bustled about the kitchen. I heard an occasional car, or truck in the street. It must have been morning, but the black plastic bags taped over the windows (which were small to begin with) saved us. And my roommate was 'up' too. I couldn't see him. It was too dim for that. Some night-folk see well in the dark, but elferinos and elferinas tend toward the 'human' in that regard. Oh, probably better than most mortals, though not as well as the vampirinos and vamperinas. Our world is extremely complicated. Please don't think what they show you on television is anything but lies.
I could hear him singing. No, more like humming, up in a corner where the ceiling met the wall Though he did repeat a few phrases over and over.... A French song... a country song. I know French and Flemish, some German and of course, living here I know Anglais. We speak English night to night. That's what we use...mostly. But I do recall the country French.. He said - The perfume of the trees... the perfume of the trees... the blossoms and the moonlight and the breeze... And he sang it over and over and over... Droned it actually. I wanted to switch on the light. I remembered where it was from before. But I was afraid. He must have been scared. Relieved, yes, to be out of that horrible chest. But still terrified. Even the very surface of the wall was strange to him. 'Dry wall,' what would he know of that? Or the electric circuitry? Or the washer? All of it. The noise of the furnace going on and off. Your magic rivals much that we do and it grows stranger every day.
I whispered. I said - Boy, what is your name? He told me, but you already know that. I said - May we have light? ... He said - Yes.... I said - The light of this time will seem harsh to you. Please hold your hands over your eyes and peek through your fingers..... He clambered down from his perch. Don't ask me to explain how elferinas and elferinos climb like that, or how we stay up there. Albion did it, that time in the fine townhouse near our own, when I told my story. People saw and were amazed. If you like, google MARIANNE IN BRITCHES by Billy Kravitz. I hope they make a movie of it. I want others to know me. Am I vain? Of course. I am night-folk.
Then I felt along the wall and found the switch. But before I turned it on I said - Find one of the towels and put in over your head...... He asked - Were those things, those coverlets towels?... I said - Yes..... He found one and did as I asked. I flicked the switch and he tensed. He gasped. I saw him crouched between the matching, front loading, washer and dryer. He trembled. I said - Are you alright? Why don't you lie back down?..... He said - I can't. I cannot straighten up. I can't move my neck. I can't move my back....... The retired teacher's wife heard us and ran down the steps. He moaned. She gently knocked on the door and said - Excuse me. Would you like some hot tea? I made some hot tea. Can the boy drink some tea? I know you can drink that...... Who is that? - he whispered. What does she say?..... She is a mortal woman. This is her house. Her husband helps us. She made tea. - I said. Do you want some?...... But he just hugged his knees, rocked side to side and moaned some more.
I went to the door and said - Please, madam, not now. Give us more time..... Then I heard the husband say something. The wife said - Okay, okay.... She didn't want to say it, but he made her. She went - He didn't do anything to the washer, dryer, or the cabinets, did he? You know they're brand new...... I said - No, he did not harm those things..... We traded a few more words. The retired teacher told me the limousine driver went out for pancakes and sausage. Breakfast places are big at the shore, even in winter. I thanked her for telling me. They ran back upstairs. A small bit of light from one of the windows in the next room began to leak under the door. But I stopped it with a towel and we were alright.
He tried to lay back down on the rug, the towel still over his head, but couldn't stretch out. His back still quite immobile. I helped him onto the cot and covered him with my blanket. Then I turned off the light lay down on the furry throw rug and covered myself with his towels.
Two hundred years under the sea in a cold, water tight leaden box. My ordeal was but twenty years. But two hundred years. What must that have been like?
I laid there in the darkness, as he quietly began to sing again...
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listen to the music. it's authentic
and quite good.
If you know it the universe of Wes Anderson, you know it that he like pixilated circumstances very very much.. so tickle it you funny bone with this til after my sleep time ends tomorrow. And, as always, squeeze into more Vampire Wonderland via dis clickable link ~>WE DO SO WANT TO SEE YOU and gossip with us on TWITTER by clicking it you finger on ~>WHERE IT IS BILLY ON TWITTER . Much thanking we are doing to you. Leave it with us the COMMENT?
Now kindly avail you-self of it and watch it the film...
THE GRAND BUDAPEST HOTEL
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