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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A 'Question and Answer' Session with Miraculous Beings

Roland studied the humans seated about him. How simple and facile they all were. How bovine. How easy to lead. Their clothes were all of a 'type.' The males sported  regulation dress-down-Friday regalia. The females secure in their variations on a Banana Republic theme. And their expressions.....that was the worst part. How practiced they were. So superficially secure. Males feigned indulgent boredom. The females did appear slightly eager, but in a polite, artificially, non-judgmental way, like they were ready to go 'tsk, tsk, tsk' and roll their eyes behind your back. 


But one face looked different. It belonged to a man seated in the inglenook. That alone advertised his distance from the rest. Perhaps it was the goatee? Well, not quite a goatee. More like a van dyke. He seemed at ease and not in the least bit embarrassed to be there. So Roland picked him first........ You, there - he said, What would you like to know?............... The man took a breath, collected his thoughts and said - Are you happy?.........Roland was surprised. People never ask that. They want blood. They want magic. They want sex........ He answered. He said - In what way, as a child on a swing, or a saint before his death?........... The man reconsidered. He changed his question. He said - Well. maybe 'happy' is the wrong term. Let me put it this way..... are you satisfied?.............. The confines of the warm, dim, salon seemed to retreat and freeze as time forgot to pass...... Roland contemplated the small orange fire dancing in the hearth, but his mind saw other things, torturous things, ancient things, buried things.....and he quietly said - I do not know.


A woman with an artificial tan said - Oh, Jesus Christ! What are you doing? Do you have to get so heavy? What do you want to do, make the pixie cry!? Shut up, already.


Roland thought - 'Pixie' she calls me......... And he leapt up onto the wall, splayed like a leopard, as his body reverberated with a deep, throbbing, guttural growl. The fragile humans pressed back into their seats, prey before the hunter, as his eyes tore through their flesh....... Five heartbeats later it was over. He laughed, blinked, deftly bounded to the floor ( not a knick-knack so much as trembled) , executed a rather theatrical bow and said - Now, I am........


The wealthy ticket holders grinned and clapped. How dramatic. How appropriate. How 'right' for a dashing, well-formed, juvenile vampirino. For that is what Elves truly are, vampires harvested from the living on the cusp of sexual maturation. Raging hormones cause certain bodily appendages to grow, even after 'death,' thus the pointed ears, vulpine features...and other things.


Please, your questions will be addressed- he said. Permit me to introduce a soul mate...... And he gestured toward an exterior wall, as the Lady Marianne sublimated into the room......


Boy, were those tickets ever worth it........


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These are the days of EL RANCHO TEXACO ..... This is the end?

Tachyons produce minute bursts of illumination. It was as if the people stepped through a warm, rich, glowing fog. And from Misses Buster to Mister Buster to Zebulon to India, they all went into the light. At first India wanted Little Davey to go with her. She is his mother, after all. But Bart is a more than devoted pop-pop and he loves the boy to no end. So it was decided that the parents would go first and the children would follow.


After a while, six people remained, Bart, his grandson, Monica, his daughter-in-law, her two children and Zeke, the ranch hand. They sat on the polished concrete floor, deep down in the bunker, listening to the upper levels fall. The acid works quite well. Monica thought she heard the muffled screams of M.I.R. minions out in the street, or maybe from even closer. 


Bart sat whispering to the little boy, telling him of the digital world to come. His other offspring, Monica's two, drew close,  for he was their pop-pop too. But they still had their mother (at least in this world) and Davey did not.


Big Daddy (Bart's father) roused himself from the Web-Without-End. He hopped through the electro-magnetic portal, jumped down onto the black leather ottoman, leaped to the floor and squeezed through the slightly opened door.  Determined holograms apparently can do that. Those in the passageway were  startled by his presence. Bart looked over and simply said - Daddy?.....................Johnny waved his tiny (but strong) arms in the air and yelled - Yeah, 'Daddy,' 'Daddy.' Come on, you dumb, son-of-a-bitch! What the hell you waitin' for? Send 'em in. Send 'em in! (manically pointing upward) Commies is comin! Commies is comin! How the hell can you not know that!?.......... But then he remembered they lacked the obesity of knowledge available to those in the digital universe. How could they know that M.I.R. forces and their Empire of China advisers were only three houses away? Loot the treasures. Tear the women. Burn the men, then burn the women too. Tearing, in itself, was obviously not enough.


So in a numb and desperate daze, Bart surrendered his grandson to the tiny hologram and Little Davey went in through the door. When it was over, his pop-pop stumbled in to bring him out. He carefully carried the little boy and laid him down between his mother and father, 'safe' in a nearby storage room. Then he covered them all with blankets and said a prayer. The four remaining souls watched as he silently walked passed them and entered the tiny room. 


When it was over, when it was done, Zeke got up to get him. Bart's body belonged with the rest of them. But before the loyal ranch hand  could provide that service, a small, but powerful explosion shattered the reinforced ceiling and a squadron of Red Guards (dressed in what we would call 'haz-mat' suits) rained down on them. Guns were drawn. Some form of 'red hots,' I suppose. Hands went  up and off they went. Yet Zeke is cagey. He thinks fast. And in the last moments, just as they were being pushed and shoved toward a huge bonfire, he spoke up and yelled - No! No! No! We're not Texacos! We're not Texacos! I worked there! I worked there! Here, here, here's my bar-code! Here's my bar-code!.......And he showed them the tattoo-like symbol on the inside of his forearm.  A sargent, or  perhaps a junior officer believed him, so the 'liberated' peon, plus his woman and their pups were led away and made to wait along with a few other trembling souls, standing by the rubble of a rich man's ruined home. They stared, wide eyed, as well-connected 'Trooper' families were clubbed (not quite to unconsciousness) and thrown up into the flames. Some fought. Some scratched. Some screamed. Some begged. Some ran. But it did not help. They were clubbed on the spot, doused in gasoline (what else was it good for these days?) and lit up right where they lay. The air was thick with grease. 


But Monica and her two children survived. Zeke survived too. And when they were led off, the half Tuva-Tuva fetus, secure in her womb went with them.


Mars is a rough place. What can I tell you? But if you've been with us from the beginning, you already know.


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And on the other side, in that digital realm, the family sat on the porch of their beloved Polvarosa, watching the fine-winged horses glide across a clear, blue, sunset sky.


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THEY KEEP FORCING THEIR WAY BACK IN. THE TEXACOS WILL HAVE TO WAIT

The miraculous personages, know as Roland and Marianne request a bit of your time, in order to prepare you for the imminent return of EL MUNDO VAMPIRISMO. The cowboys will be afforded time enough to complete their tale. You need not worry 'bout that. Yet certain, rather less fictional, lanterns of enchantment must speak with  you....... Remember what went before. Some of what we told was true. And some pure fabrication. 


Roland shall go first. His words are quite dear, for he sheds so few. Those of his kind prefer mind-speak. But in consideration for our digital audience, he will graciously communicate in a more mundane manner.


And now...permit me to present the 'Elf' known as ROLAND---


A hush falls over the gilt, plush chamber. No sound, save for the soft, mellow chime of a fine mantle clock. Tiny, fingerlings of flame tickle forth from fragrant kindling arranged in a small, baroque, ceramic hearth. Those in attendance silently drink an old distillation of absinthe from delicate, cut crystal, Bohemian wine glasses. Some one clears their throat. Another guest whispers. The light is low, coming from two or three small, black shaded 'boudoir' lamps. The draperies are closed, sealing all in a warm, dim cocoon, safe from the chill, April night. A petit-palace, tucked away in Philadelphia's venerable Society Hill. And a fitting venue for an Elfin debut. 


A door opens. It must have opened. For he is here. And how else could he enter? A lithe, young man occupies the center of the compact space. His clothes are trim and true to his form. His hair falls in rich, brown curls. The ears have the tell-tale points. And the eyes a haunted, etherial glow. 


Ten thousand dollars a ticket. That's how much they paid. The proceeds go to charity, so they can write it off. A cocktail party. That's what it said. And who would know different? Yet this occasion is quite different. For the gossamer, rock candy glaze between our world and someplace else, is about to shatter....


He speaks...........................................................


My name is Roland. I am here to tell secrets and perhaps fulfill your dreams. You may see me as a vampire. My kind gathers under the same umbrella. But we are not the same. The magic settles differently upon us. Look at my teeth (he smiles..... and they can see the tiny points of sharp, white, canine fangs). I use them to draw blood. But not to take a life. Elf folk rarely do that. Now who would feel my kiss?


A demure, middle-aged maiden (with a rich father) timidly raises her thin, bird-like hand. The Elf nods and gestures toward her. She gets up, goes to him and waits. He studies her, slowly circling her body, sniffing the skin and tasting the salt. Then comes the embrace, Then comes the kiss. The well-heeled voyeurs watch in rapt anticipation. He breaks the skin. He tastes a drop and draws a little more. She sighs. He holds her, whispering in her ear. She giggles. It tickles. He lets go. She stumbles and falls into a chair. Then he addresses the crowd and says - Are there any questions?..........And one heartbeat later thirty hands desperately reach toward the sky.


Do you have any questions? Come back.....We're quite willing to tell you more.............


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O. G. Tomes: Okay, so I couldn't settle on just one...so here a...

O. G. Tomes: Okay, so I couldn't settle on just one...so here a...: EXCERPTS from "See the Light" Book 3 of  "The Sanctuary Saga" Rain & Patrick: The music playing on the old jukebox in the the Tribute B...

Tears of Crimson: Change is Coming!

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These are the days of EL RANCHO TEXACO ..... Passages

This is how things really play out. The kid with the most marbles wins. There ain't no secret techniques. Miracle weapons are hard to come by and even harder to mass produce. Look, if Japan had held fast and continued to resist after Nagasaki, the Americans would have been forced to invade. Two bombs. That was it. We blew the wad. But they did not know that, so we were lucky. The technological necromancers of Barsoom toiled on their pulse weapon. They did test a few of them and they were rather successful. But supplies were short. You need a quarry, if you're gonna throw rocks. 

So the forces of The Empire of China kept coming, chipping away at 'Trooper' culture and forging links with Trooper enemies. The M.I.R. was bought and paid for, while the Tuva-Tuva question was more problematic. For the elusive, rustic, native tribes could go to ground. They knew the land and could breath the air. Recent Earth immigrants (such as the Troopers) could breath it too, as long as they continued to fortify it. Thousands of tanker sized oxygen bombs were detonated in remote areas every year. The press never talked about that. What Earth human would venture out there? To Mars, I mean. Who wants to live in an aquarium? What happens when 'they' unplug the pump? The Tuva-Tuva folk laugh at this genetic shortcoming. They've had at least thirty five thousand years to adapt. The ancient 'handlers' chose them well. And do not ask me who those 'handlers' were. We have yet to identify them, or detect their world.

But the world of the Texacos was finished. The ranch was gone. The beloved Polvarosa was no more..... at least in this place. 

Yet, imagine an internet which is to ours as ours is to an abacus. That's how it is in the middle of the next century. The digital borders span galaxies. And the information contained there grows out and expands on its own. 

Thus the family (plus retainers) is assembled. They sit on the polished concrete floor of that lower level passage, just beyond the door to the tiny sanctuary. Miss Sissie and Miz India said some prayers. The children were quiet, snuggled close to their mothers. Bart offered to go first. But  since he was most familiar with the process, it was decided he'd go near the end. 

Actually, it was very simple. I told you yesterday how it's all voice activated. Bart went in, conjured the six inch tall 'living' (we hope) hologram of his daddy and told him what to do. Big Daddy agreed. He'd wanted this for a while. And the way it worked out, Misses Buster ('wife' to one of the ranch hands) went first. She Kissed her 'husband,' entered the sanctuary and closed the door. Johnny (that's Big Daddy's name) introduced himself, told her she was one mighty handsome woman and asked her to make herself comfortable on the black, leather ottoman. She sat down, faced the plant stand, looked at the little black cube (there was never a plant on it) and waited. Johnny jumped up onto her shoulder, kissed her on the cheek, told her to get ready (she asked if it was gonna hurt. he said- no) and disappeared. 

Then a multitude of sub atomic, slippery, little points of existence, known as tachyons, swirled and tumbled through the volume of the space, kissing and remembering every bit of Misses Buster they encountered. And they encountered it all. Nine heartbeats later she sighed..... and then it was done. 

Bart opened the door. It was troubling to see her apparently 'dead' body laying there. But he was expecting that. Her carcass was no more that an old erased video tape and he told the others to go wait in a nearby storage room as he dragged  her out and put her somewhere else. 

Mister Buster was next..... And things proceeded smoothly enough until it was time for Little Davey. They could smell the acidic solvent permeating through the bunker, poisoning all it touched. The M.I.R. would only throw them on a bon fire. There was no other way out........

Johnny had to be telling the truth.........Most passages are difficult..... but perhaps there really is something better on the other side?

All we can do is hope.........

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