Full Moons, sun and vampyres.

There was a full moon this weekend... and nothing insane happened. And it was Midsummer's Eve last week, and faeries were noticeable only in their absence. The Solstice involved plenty of fire and drinking to honour the mighty pagan Gods, but there was a shortage of bloodletting and naked fire dancing.

The world is slightly dull right now (actually, my personal life is quite fun right now, but that's my business, 'tis the world that I'm on about). Blame the Tories. Bring back The Whigs, says I, low taxes and less laws, and we can all wear top hats, drink sherry and ride penny-farthings. Maybe.

'Tis the middle of summer and far too hot. A time for poets to avoid the sun, lye around with their ladys and drink plenty of Ale.

Planning to write more of 'Vampyre: Hunting The Moon' today, but its too dashed hot to think straight (hence the ranting in this post). Am half way through writing it now. There's lots of love and violence, and there's probably going to be some more death soon, so its all frightfully jolly.

Here is a sample from the first chapter;

"Lloyd woke at midnight.

            He washed, shaved, paid particular attention to brushing his teeth, dressed in a grey three piece suit, tied back his long dark hair and set off to the Black Boar.

            He whistled to himself as he walked down the street, pausing only to look at the sky. The stars were bright and the moon was full.

            There will be madness tonight, he thought.

            Then he took a long, slim cigar from a silver case and lit it. He took a long drag from it, inhaling deeply, taking a little pleasure in the thought that ever drag brought him a little closer to death.

By half past twelve he had reached the pub. It was packed full of people and the band played Def Metal loudly. Lloyd would have preferred to listen to Wagner.

            “Good evening Harvey,” Lloyd greeted his friend. “Glass of tomato juice if you please.”

            Moments after ordering his drink, he was drawn to a girl who stood alone at the end of the bar. Other men might have stared at her long legs or her impressive cleavage, but Lloyd was interested only in her neck, which was long and slender.

            “Good evening lady,” he greeted her.

            “Evening,” she replied.

            “How are you on this fine night?”

            “Not bad. The band is a bit loud.”

            “Quite. May I say what a wonderful necklace you have on, it compliments your eyes wonderfully.”

            “Thanks.”

            Before he could continue, Lloyd was interrupted by a sharp pat on the back. He turned to see a large biker facing him. The big man was furious, his eyes narrow and his lips snarling under his beard.

            “That’s my woman,” the biker growled.

            “Really, what a terrible waste.”

            “Right, you fucking dickhead- outside!”

            “If you insist… see you soon lady, this shall not take long.”

            They set off towards the door, but John barred the way.

            “Can’t let you do that, sir,” John said.

            “Why the fuck not?” the biker grunted.

            “I can’t let you fight. If you go out there my friend will kill you.”

            The biker looked at Lloyd, who was several inches shorter than him as well as being very thin and pale. He looked at the barman, who seemed entirely serious.

            “Fuck off,” he grunted.

            “You are being very stupid, go back to your table whilst you still can.”

            “Its true,” Lloyd said with a dry smile. “If we go out there I shall beat you to the ground, rip apart your throat and drink your blood. Then you will die.”

            The biker clenched both fists, then looked again at the two men who faced him.

            “Fuck this… Come on luv, we’re going home,” he shouted to the girl.

            Looking irate, she downed her drink and the two of them left.

            “See you later lady,” Lloyd said as she passed.

            “See you tomorrow night, John,” she called to him as she left.

            “Good night Molly. Take care.”

            “Take care.”

            She stepped out into the ally and lit a cigarette.

            Molly did not go home. She walked through the dark streets to the other end of town. The street lights only obscured her vision; in the darkness everything could be seen, clear as crystal, in a thousand shades of grey.   She walked to Dave’s house.

            She reached a magnificent building, which had once been an Abbey and was now separated into many small flats.

           

            A few moments later, the door was opened by a short, squat man with a shaved head.

            “Evening Molly,” he said, clearly pleased to see her.

             “Alright Dave,” she replied.

            He hugged her, then led her up the stairs to his flat. He lived in what had once been a large room, but had been divided into three small rooms; a living room, and bedroom and a tiny bathroom. The small, shabby rooms clashed with their high ceilings and tall, arched windows.

            “How are you doing?” Dave asked her.

            “Tired and thirsty,” she replied. “How are you?”

            “Glad to see you,” he replied, his hard face turned puppy soft. “How was work?”

            “Mental. The band nearly broke my ears and John and that psycho Lloyd nearly got in a fight… Can we please get on with it? I’m tired. We can talk on Sunday morning.”

            Dave nodded.

            She took a pin out of her purse and stabbed him twice in the neck. Two little punctures, away from any arteries, but enough to make him bleed.

            She began drinking his blood, first sucking at the punctures to make it flow, then lapping it up like a cat. All the while he sat still like one in a trance; lost in an act of utter submission, aware of nothing but the heat of her body beside him and the touch of her mouth at his neck.

            Ten minutes later she had finished feeding and the punctures had healed.

            “Good night, Dave,” she said as she put her coat back on.

            “Good night Molly,” he replied dreamily.

            She walked home.

            He sat back on his sofa, drained yet filled with the quiet bliss of hopeless love. He lit a joint which he had left half smoked when Molly had arrived. The cannabis worked its way through his system, easing the small pain in his neck, banishing the awkward doubts in his mind and sending him to sleep.

           

It was four o’clock in the morning when John had finished the black pudding and eggs which were his lunch and his door bell rang. Being, by nature, paranoid, he checked that his knife was in his pocket and that nothing incriminating was visible before answering his door.

            He pulled the door open a few inches and looked out to see Lloyd standing in his porch.

            “Yes?” he greeted his friend.

            “Good evening, old chap,” Lloyd replied.

            “It’s four in the morning.”

            “Yes, but it is always evening.”

            “Indeed it is, Lloyd, come in.”

            “Thank you,” said Lloyd as he stepped over the threshold. “How do you do?”

             “Not that happy, my friend. You nearly killed someone in my pub, I don’t like that… Please take a seat.”

            “Thank you… really though, I didn’t touch the rotter.”

            “No, but you would have done. You would have killed him right there in the ally, I know it.”

            “He insulted me.”

            “And you insult me, nearly spilling blood on my land… Would you like a drink?”

            “Do you have any tomato juice? Cranberry juice?”

            “No, sorry, would you like some tea?”

            “That would, at least, be hot. Thank you.”

            John made a cup of tea and poured himself a glass of red wine, then returned to the lounge and sat beside Lloyd.

            “This is sad state of affairs, Harvey,” Lloyd said dryly. “You sit here drinking something red, I drink something hot. We ought to be out there drinking the blood of our enemies, seducing their women, and drinking their blood too…. And you are unhappy because I almost got in a fight.”

             John thought about this for a few moments.

            “Lloyd,” he said. “You are the most terrible arsehole… I do not know why we are still friends.”

            “You know exactly why we are still friends,” Lloyd replied coldly.

            “Because we are vampyres,” John repeated a conversation which had happened dozens of times before. “And vampyres ought to stick together.”

            “And?”

            “And because we have been friends for a very long time.”

            “Quite. Listen, old boy, this is why I’m here. I’m off on holiday next week and I wondered if you would care to join me.”

            “What would this holiday entail?”

            “Off to France to drink some girls.”

            “Not in the mood, at all.”

            “Come on, when was the last time you had a proper drink?”

            “I don’t remember.”

            “Blood Hell, Harvey, if you carry on like this you shall end up old and weak.”

            “Maybe, but if I carried on like you I would end up being scared of crosses and burnt by silver.”

            Lloyd downed the last of his tea and stood up.

            “You are cruel, Harvey. Damn you, you are cruel. I wish you a good night.”

            “Good night, Lloyd.”

            “It is our nature to be cruel- I shall see myself out.”

If anyone of you fine folk like it, i may post some more.

Have also added a sample of a rather grim novel set in the years leading to the Russian Revolution, to be found at the bit which says Novel II.

I tire of this now...