Tag Archives: vampires

Going through the Twilight

(To the tune of “Going through the motions” from the musical Buffy the Vampire Slayer episode)

Every single day, I do the same thing:
Get up in the morning, go to school.
Still I always feel I’m only gaming,
Nothing here is right, nothing here is cool.
I am such an ass when I’m in class
Just hoping I can pass
‘Cause I’m just going through the motions
Living in a dream
No one knows I’m not the jerk I seem.

I was always cold and kind of distant
Now these days I’m holding back
Never growing old, the things I’ve missed and
Now I find I lack.

You really need a smack.

At least I’m wearing black.

You seem pretty skilled, and I’m just thrilled
To hear you haven’t killed
But you’ve been going through the motions
Living out a lie.
How much longer are you going to try?

Maybe one day I’ll be vicious
Now I’ve met someone delicious.

See, I knew you’d get ambitious.

I don’t want to be
Going through the motions
How much can I take?
Bella’s special scent
Has me so discontent…

See, this is what I meant. Eat stake.

Originally posted on Making Light

Fangs and Fascination

We got into literary crossovers on Making Light, and someone suggested “Jane Austen’s Interview with the Vampire“. A couple of hours later, I awoke, logomadida, to find the following on my screen:

– o0o –

The family of Pointe du Lac had not long been settled in Louisiana, having emigrated from France some five years previously. Their house was elegant and well-appointed, built with the revenues of their indigo plantations beside the Mississippi River. The father, until his death, encouraged his wife and daughter in all the fashionable pursuits: visiting, and dancing, and playing on the harpsichord. After his passing, they continued much as they had during his life. The elder of the two sons, Louis, succeeded his sire in the management of the estate, which, though of a value to support the family in comfort, required a certain amount attention. Nevertheless, he too found time for the respectable pursuits of a country gentleman.

The fourth member of the reduced household, Louis’s younger brother Paul, was of a more serious bent. Despite his mother’s and sister’s insistence, he preferred to remain in his rooms rather than join them on visits or expeditions of pleasure. His elder brother encouraged him in his pursuits, providing him with an oratory for his use and protecting him from the worst of their demands.

It was therefore a great scandal, and excited much comment in the community, when Paul fell to his death shortly after an argument with his brother. Pointe du Lac refused to give any account of the accident, but his conduct in the days leading up to the funeral was of such a nature as to arouse suspicion in even the most trusting of his neighbors. He was said to have stayed by his brother’s remains for some time, and emerged distraught and troubled. His stiff demeanor during the ceremony was much observed and commented on, but few could agree whether he was paralyzed by an excess of emotion or entirely lacking in it.

Shortly after the tragedy, Pointe du Lac employed a firm of agents to manage the estate and removed with his mother and sister to New Orleans. However, the notoriety surrounding his brother’s death was not so easily dispensed with. The entire family encountered a falling-off of invitations, particularly to the more select gatherings, and those they did attend were filled with the vulgarly curious and the coldly rude. Miss Pointe du Lac, with portion and beauty alike to recommend her, found herself bereft of suitors, while her mother sat alone more mornings than she hosted visitors.

Pointe du Lac, widely seen as the author of his family’s troubles, ceased to pursue the life of a gentleman. He did not attend even those few parties to which he was invited, instead spending his time in the more disreputable establishments of the city. His remaining friends reported finding him in an unfortunate condition with increasing frequency. It was rumored that his debts were soon to outstrip the income from his estates. He was said to have provoked duels and refused to fight them.

It was to no one’s surprise, then, and few people’s disappointment, when his unconscious body was found outside of his door one morning. He was ill in a fashion that the family doctor was unable to diagnose, and was indeed held to be on the verge of death. Mme Pointe du Lac sent for a priest, and she and her daughter prepared to be bereaved for a third time. Their incipient grief was interrupted when Pointe du Lac, with an hysteric’s strength, drove the priest violently from his bedchamber. Whether they preferred the embarrassment of the assault to the dread of his death is not clear, but Mme Pointe du Lac took to her bed after seeing the unfortunate cleric out.

Pointe du Lac heard of his mother’s indisposition, along with his sister’s less disabling—but no less painful—sufferings, when Miss Pointe du Lac attended him in his bedchamber that evening. “How could you treat Father Pierre in that fashion?” she cried. “You know that he will tell all of the neighbors that you meant to kill him, tho’ he but tripped on our stairs.”

“I did mean to kill him,” replied her brother. “He was talking about Paul.”

“Of course he was talking about Paul!” Miss Pointe du Lac wrung her cloth in the bowl of lavender water on the bedside table and bathed her brother’s forehead with it. “There is no one in New Orleans who does not talk of Paul, and you, and what might have happened between the two of you! I vow, I hear nothing but Paul, Paul, Paul, all the day long! But need you make things worse with such behavior?”

“I confess, dear sister, I was not thinking of your social trials when I did it.” She cried out at this, but Pointe du Lac refused to discuss the matter further. In time, as tired by worry as by irritation, she laid her head on the table and dozed beside the bed.

Shortly after she fell asleep, a gentlemen entered the room through the patio doors. He was tall and slightly built, with pale skin and blond hair falling to his shoulders. He saw that Pointe du Lac was awake, and approached the bed.

“I see that there is no one here in a position to introduce me to your acquaintance, so I will have to perform the office myself. I am Lestat de Lioncourt, and we have, after a fashion, already met.”

– o0o –

Originally posted on Making Light

Box of earth, be my home

(To the tune of “Take Me Home, Country Roads” by John Denver)

Almost heaven, Transylvania
East Carpatians,
Cold Prahova river.
I lived long there
Lurking in the trees
Hunting in the mountains
Drifting on the breeze.

Box of earth, be my home
Be the place I belong
Transylvania brought to London,
Box of earth, be my home.

All my powers root themselves there
Superstitious peasants live in terror
Mountain refuge, under moonless sky,
Salty taste of warm blood
Wolf-pack in full cry.

Box of earth, be my home
Be the place I belong
Transylvania brought to London,
Box of earth, be my home.

I hear its voice
‘Cross the salty seas it calls me
Scent of earth reminds me of my castle far away
And flying in the dark I get the feeling
That I should have been home yesterday, yesterday

Box of earth, be my home
Be the place I belong
Transylvania brought to London,
Box of earth, be my home.

Originally posted on Making Light

On whatever current fantasy creature we feel is overdone

Myth, that is intolerant
Of the coolly competent
And that treats with chill disdain
The practical mundane
Worships story and forgives
Everyone by whom it lives
Pardons arrogance and greed,
Calls heroic every deed.
Myth, that will no hero waste,
Pardons vampires and their taste,
And will pardon Happy Feet,
Pardons them, for being neat.

Originally posted on Making Light