A very funny read. Took awhile for me to grasp what was going on for the first
part of this scene. I have been THAT cold though, and know what it's like to
live through a power outage. This peice, is rather confusing though, for most
readers, because it switches from one subject to another, without wrning.
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: ava...@aol.com
Sent: Fri, 15 Jul 2011 21:10:23 -0400 (EDT)
To: thedarkgift@yahoogroups.com
Subject: [TheDarkGift] The Cold. Warm. Parody!
Hope you don't mind the commenting, dear. It's in fun and I wouldn't do
it if I didn't like the spec. =)
I used to do this w/ FoL but since he's not here anymore... *sniffle, sob*...
sorry, got nostalgic there for a bit. =)
>I tried posting this once, but for some reason it isn't up there. *sigh* Oh,
>well. Here it is again, and if it's already up, then blame the computers, not
>me. I already get my paws slapped enough as it is. :) KC
*pulls out a ruler and slaps*
I get such pleasure out of that! *eg*
>Disclaimers: I don't own them, Anne Rice does. Just a parody here, and I make
>no money from this.
None at all. We know how these "spec writer's" live.
>Please don't sue a true fan and a walking advertisement for you!!!
soon she'll make us wear those funny cardboard body signs.
>And I didn't write the song, Simon and Garfunkel did.
>
>Spoilers: Yes. Read the Chronicles. You'll like them.
>
well... most of them...
>Warnings: If you are one of those people who periodically announce religious
>revivals when the world is
about to end, please don't take offense.
And so you see, brothers and sisters, that the spec writers are indeed evil and
should be cast out as
members of Satan's army! Can I get an Amen?
--------------------------------------------------
Cold. Warm
_I Am A Rock_
_Written and sung by Simon and Garfunkel_
Cold.
Frosty
Frigid
Frozen
Without Heat
To be less than comfortably warm.
For weeks upon weeks this last winter had been deathly cold.
even for vampires
> 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 those bridge dwellers have the warmest spots you know. The trolls give them
goat-skin blankets.
and the luckier were nestled in mountains of down comforters. Still, they were
cold.
The great cold king under the mountain?
No one used electric blankets.
imagine anyone using those things! How last season!
Power had been cut off to certain parts of the city when frozen trees dropped
their icy loads
first the birds, now the trees! No one is safe!
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.
You describe this very well, dear. I'm cold and it's summer here in Ga!
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.
hehehe... that's funny. ;)
_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.
soon he would be a beautiful butterfly!
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."_
and far more attractive, I'm sure. *g*
An hour ago, Lestat had asked it haltingly,
in his best Captain Kirk impersonation
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--
The silence, the silence, the deafening silence! Weighing them down in the dark
until they both went mad and began chasing down rabid squirrels for hats!
"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?
This is so Louis and Lestat. Beautiful here! =)
_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.
Louis needs aromatheraphy or something. Tebetian warming techniques.
_And what do I need relief from?_
heartburn? Indegestion? Mensteral cramps?
well... maybe not the last one... ;)
Compared to others, his life was relatively simple. He had his books, a soft
bed, clothes, his own room in a beautiful house...
2.5 kids and a white picket fence...
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._
Pretty, pretty writing! I'm drooling on this one.
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.
*cheers from the bat fan*
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,"
and those of you SK's Stand fans knew that already. *wide smile*
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."
clack? *g*
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!
temper, temper, Louis! hehehehehe....
I guess it's a good thing he didn't burn the house down, or Lestat for that
matter, to keep warm. *g*
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?"
awwwww!!!!
The elder looked up and smiled softly. "Yes, chere?"
May I join you?"
"No, I have had my masturbational pleasures for the evening, merci."
"Of course."
Lestat rearranged himself slightly to accomodate his fledgling, who quietly lay
beside him.
Lestat: Mind the Playboy's, chere.
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
That was cool. (no pun intended! Really!) I hope you write some more soon, ok?
You keep churnin' em out and I'll keep readin'! *g*
*hugs*
Kabuki
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