Better written than the first post, but still a bit confusing. Gloria
Right Fang Girl "Judith Collins: Turn off that gramophone, it's driving me mad. Quentin Collins: Perhaps that's why I play it." -----Original Message----- From: [email protected] Sent: Fri, 15 Jul 2011 21:09:19 -0400 (EDT) To: [email protected] Subject: [TheDarkGift] Cold. Warm. Cold. Warm. Disclaimers: Don't own these vampires, Anne Rice does. I make no money off of this. Spoilers: Queen of the Damned Warnings: Adult situations, slash I Am A Rock Written and sung by Simon and Garfunkel Cold. For weeks upon weeks this last winter had been deathly cold. Every night mortal reports shivered under fur-lined coats and read off the latest tally of homeless bodies with nameless faces. Anyone who didn't live under a bridge was huddled beneath woolen blankets, and the luckier were nestled in mountains of down comforters. Still, they were cold. No one used electric blankets. Power had been cut off to certain parts of the city when frozen trees dropped their icy loads onto the wires stretched across New Orleans. Like a body losing blood to vital organs, the entire metropolis had fallen silent. Even the dropping snow was louder than the human populace. The flakes were so large that one could actually hear them hit the ground with a soft *piff*. One. Then two. Then two thousand. Before the televisions had died, the weathermen had reported that it was fallen at three inches an hour. Ridiculous. This is New Orleans. But it's cold. Men and women wearing crucifixes and carrying placards shouted that the end of the world was nigh, that mankind was about to receive God's wrath for its multitude of sins. Meteorologists just said it was the jet stream and ocean currents in the South Pacific. Prepare for a dry summer next year. Then the radios had gone out as the station antennas lost power. Choose your own explanation. No one was out on the streets. The men and women wearing crucifixes and carrying placards were hiding from God's wrath under blankets sipping tepid cocoa and playing Scrabble. It's too cold for a religious revival. _ It's too cold for Milton, _ Louis sighed, looking up from the lines. He'd thought reading about Hell, with the fiery pit of black molten flames, would warm him up. It only made his fingers cold as they poked out from his blankets to hold the book. He put the book down and withdrew further into his cocoon. You could have all the money in the world, but you can't buy heat if there is no electricity. _ "Chere, would you like to come to my bed tonight? It would be warmer." _ An hour ago, Lestat had asked it haltingly, afraid to offend somehow. Louis should have taken his offer, he knew it. He'd known it the moment his maker had asked. Lestat's body would be warm and soft, and he'd have held his favorite fledgling close in his arms, with the covers around them as they lay alone in the silence-- _ "No, thank you, Lestat. I will be fine." _ Lestat was saddened, there was no doubt of that, even though he showed no outward sign of pain. He'd looked as if he was about to say something, then just nodded in acquiesance and retreated in defeat to his own room. Still, the door to his room was left open, hopefully. Louis knew without seeing, and he merely shook his head. He knew he would not enter this night. _ But why not? _ he asked himself. _It's not evil. You want to. He wants you to. Why don't you want to sleep by him?_ __ Louis leaned back in his nest, thinking. The entire room was dark. He had exhausted his candle supply nights ago. Only a pale crescent of waning light was reflected from the moon, which dissolved behind the thick storm clouds. Not one star to be seen. The street lights were all asleep, save for one flickering holdout at the very end of the block. Yet somehow he could still see the saucer snowflakes. There were crystals on the windowpane, and daggers hanging like icicles from the rain gutter. Even sound seemed frozen, except for the endless *piff* on the snow outside. Would they have to shovel the door out again? _ No, I don't want to go outside again, _ he groaned. His boots had chilled with the first step this evening. Bad enough his victim's blood had nearly frozen in his veins, but then the bath was broken, too. At first it had just refused to give hot water, yielding only tepid puddles. Then the pipes had iced solid. That was three days ago. For someone who had once gone weeks between baths, he now despaired going so long, if only for the therapeutic effects. _ And what do I need relief from? _ Compared to others, his life was relatively simple. He had his books, a soft bed, clothes, his own room in a beautiful house...companionship? Ah, there's the rub. _But why? He isn't cruel to me. He treats me kindly. He brings me whatever I need or desire. He talks with me when I want to. He lets me alone when I want my privacy. So why do I withdraw from him?_ _ Because he hurt me. A long time ago. But he still hurt me. _ Louis closed his eyes. He just wanted an easy life. _How much easier can it get?_ All right, he wanted an easy relationship._ Relationships aren't meant to be easy. Even I know that, and I'm just a vegetable._ Where had he heard that? Oh, yes, Lestat's weeklong infatuation with Batman, the Animated Adventures. A surprisingly good show. For a cartoon. He smiled and adjusted his position. A radio fell from the nightstand, turning out. The end of a song started to play. Louis looked at it curiously, then nodded. He had tuned to a Florida station before the power went out. The batteries must be going now. "That was 'Don't Fear the Reaper' by Blue Oyster Cult," the disc jockey hummed. The volume was rather low. "Now for our daily Simon and Garfunkel dose, it's 'I am a Rock', only on your most music station, KLAQ." Louis listened absent-mindedly, looking back toward the window. He could fall asleep now, if he tried. _ A winter's day, in a deep and dark December, I am alone. Gazing from my window to the streets below on a freshly fallen silent shroud of snow. I am a rock. I am an island. _ Louis frowned at the radio. Such a quiet song. How soft, like feathers stabbing your brain. How many times had he heard this song before? His legs were sore from walking yesterday in the frost. _ I build walls, a fortress deep and mighty, that none may penetrate. I have no need of friendship. Friendship causes pain. It's laughter and it's loving I disdain. I am a rock. I am an island. _ He shook his head with a nervous chuckle, just an odd coincidence. He adjusted his position again, trying to stop his legs from hurting. Still cold. _ Don't talk of love. Well, I've heard the word before. It's sleeping in my memory. I won't disturb the slumber of feelings that have died. If I'd never loved I never would have cried. I am a rock. I am an island. _ No use. His body was in pain. He shouldn't have walked so far, Lestat had warned him it was too cold. But Louis could take care of himself, couldn't he? Damn, his muscles were sore. His joints hurt. His back hurt. His heart hurt somehow. _ I have my books and my poetry to protect me. I am shielded in my armor, hiding in my room, safe within my womb. I touch no one and no one touches me. I am a rock. I am an island. And a rock feels no pain. And an island never cries. _ Such an annoying song. It wasn't even three minutes long. Just a short vignette of nothing, that's what. No substance. Just a complaining whine set to music. It has no meaning. None! The batteries were dying. He could tell. The volume was disappating until there was nothing left, and the room was silent once more. Well, that was certainly pointless. He pulled the blankets closer around himself. No, he was still cold. It was impossible to get warm. Louis lowered his head in defeat, and tightened his hold on the thickest down comforter. With a muffled whimper he sat up, then put his feet on the floor. Cold, even through the carpet. He made his way over to the hallway and kept going until he reached the open door. Lestat was in bed, unmoving as if he had turned into an ice sculpture. His eyes barely flickered, betraying the life inside the shell. Too cold to move. "Lestat?" The elder looked up and smiled softly. "Yes, chere?" "May I join you?" "Of course." Lestat rearranged himself slightly to accommodate his fledgling, who quietly lay beside him. Lestat hugged him against his body, never complaining of his cooler body. Blankets rustled over their bodies. Lestat's gentle breathing broke the silence. Louis smiled. Warm. The End ____________________________________________________________ Send your photos by email in seconds... TRY FREE IM TOOLPACK at http://www.imtoolpack.com/default.aspx?rc=if3 Works in all emails, instant messengers, blogs, forums and social networks. ------------------------------------ Come one come all Mortals who are willing to stick their neck out for a vampire to feed upon. We will be willing to share our Dark Gift to you mortals if you pass our test.Yahoo! Groups Links <*> To visit your group on the web, go to: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/TheDarkGift/ <*> Your email settings: Individual Email | Traditional <*> To change settings online go to: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/TheDarkGift/join (Yahoo! ID required) <*> To change settings via email: [email protected] [email protected] <*> To unsubscribe from this group, send an email to: [email protected] <*> Your use of Yahoo! Groups is subject to: http://docs.yahoo.com/info/terms/
