vampire wonderland

vampire wonderland


NEVER TRUST A VAMPIRE WHO KNOWS HOW TO USE CHOPSTICKS

Posted: 13 Aug 2012 10:46 PM PDT

Someone foiled the oligarch's plans. Grigori Usipov never got his wish. The bacillus he so carefully introduced into the throbbing body of a Hamptons house guest did manage to leap frog (via various mucus membranes and a sundry assortment of orifices) into perhaps two or three dozen addle brained humans, but that was it.

An unknown creature, obviously some specimen of vampire, stepped in to save the day (in a manner of speaking). Small drafts of restorative blood trickled through the lips of those effected, facilitating a cure. The dastardly disease disappeared, while they who were healed unexpectedly acquired preternaturally smooth and youthful complexions. 

It's easy for one 'undead' to accomplish such a thing. Sublimating through bedroom doors isn't so hard. And if they wake up and start screaming, you can kill them. That's the vampire trump card. No need to be exposed, embarrassed or inconvenienced. Look, we all know even the most well meant altruistic gesture has its consequences. But like I said..... When they start screaming, kill the bastards. Nothing's gonna change. Humanity will endure. And if you feel like it, you can always be altruistic some other night. Sometimes souffles just fall. Get over it. 

But this vampire was successful. He, or she, clearly knew just what to do. A sharp, little bite to the lip. Wait for the first red droplets. Then a warm, soft kiss upon a sleeping mouth, carefully transfering  the ruby elixir from the life-eater in question to the clueless, human recipient. The gift of life never tasted so good..... hot, rich and salty.

Grigori, our Russian, vampire, oligarch, feared the presence of another nocturnal creature at the party that night. But the sensation was weak and nebulous. Either the other one was good. 'Powerful' would be a better word. Or he was simply paranoid. Centuries spent drifting among Muscovite sybarites can do that to a 'person.' 

But Madam Shang would not be pleased. And the epistle from her impregnable Himalayan redout arrived in a most timely fashion. It happened during a warm, steamy bath with his most favorite 'Natasha.' How he savored the soft, electric tingles of her expert effleurage. Yet just before that rarified moment of exquisite rapture he saw something. He saw fine tiny scratches welling up on his paramour's shapely flanks, forming the artistic calligraphy of classic, Mandarin script. And although he was no longer fluent in that language, the gist was clear and strong. So he rose from the bath (two other Natashas silently entered to pat him dry), called for his valet and hurriedly made plans to depart. His 'familiars' were used to these sudden comings and goings. They went down stairs and eighteen minutes later a sleek limousine purred curbside, as he left the hotel and sped away into the night.

How he hated these 'command performances.' But 'Madam' must not be denied. And he stopped off at the apartment of a certain dealer in carriage trade antiquities to acquire the appropriate gift. She liked chopsticks and these were made from dragon's bone...

~^_^~^_^~^_^~^_^~^_^~^_^~^_^~^_^~^_^~^_^~^_^~

please pass the story on to others in the Celestial Kingdom via the SHARE BAR. COMMENTS are most graciously accepted. thanks you very much.