FIC: Dethula (Dethklok Ensemble (Nathan/Toki/Skwisgaar), R)
TO: zsomeone
FROM: wikdsushi and lemone
Title: Dethula
Characters/Pairings: Charles; Pickles; Murderface; Nathan/Skwisgaar/Toki; implied everyone/everyone
Rating: R
Warnings: AU, stupid vampire jokes
Timeline: N/A
Notes: For zsomeone. Hope you like it!
"Krigentann" used with permission from wikdsushi.
Enormous thanks to dj_the_writer and acroamatica for beta reading!
With apologies to Bram Stoker.
It was through his employer, an estate solicitor's firm, that one C. F. Ofdensen, Esq., received his late, not-terribly-lamented colleague's orphaned assignment. This colleague, a Mr. Johnathan Twinkletits, had apparently fallen-or perhaps been pushed-from a precipice in the mountains of Transylvania. While most assumed the assassins in question were Gypsies, Mr. Ofdensen knew rather more about the region than most in London, and he suspected, to his keen interest, vampires.
You see, Mr. C. F. Ofdensen was not an estate solicitor by trade. His father had chosen the profession for his son not long before being found with his throat cut, the letters C-H-A traced by his hand upon the bloody floor. C. F. Ofdensen's passions lay in the darker side of the world's nature, including the fantastic: vampires, were-beasts, phantasms, and ethical Members of Parliament.
While some members of his firm cast Ofdensen fearful and suspicious looks regarding his quiet glee at Mr. Twinkletits's death, none had the bravery to confront him. After all, he cavorted with mad doctors and their madder patients, such as the American Dr. Pickles Seward of Carfax Asylum, and the doctor's inmate and dear friend, one Wilhelm Van Moordgezicht, a foul and incomprehensible creature long since fled from Amsterdam. (Though, as Mr. Ofdensen and Dr. Seward knew, Van Moordgezicht was in fact one William M. M. Murderface, formerly of Chicago, Ill., within the United States. Mr. Murderface was given full access to his eccentricities, as well as all the comforts an asylum could provide, courtesy of Dr. Seward's drug-addled sympathies, and occasional grudging support via Mr. Ofdensen's pocketbook.)
"I have been assigned to Transylvania," Ofdensen said late that evening, as he and Dr. Seward shared snifters of brandy adulterated somewhat with Dr. Seward's giddy-making tincture of hemp. "I fear that the nature of the assignment is quite unspeakable, but it involves-"
"Vampires, chap?" Dr. Seward's pupils had widened until his verdant and vivid eyes took on a diminished quality. He took a drink and tipped his head back in his well-worn arm-chair. "Dis is some good stuff, Charles. You should get a little more."
Mr. Ofdensen paused to give his friend a brief but icy look. "I fear I must keep my wits about me-"
"It's not as if you got any to spare."
Ofdensen took the familiar jest in stride. "This assignment centers upon one Count Explozie, who wishes to purchase Carfax Abbey-"
"Hey, dat's just next door! I'll bring him a bottle'a wine!"
"I suspect the count does not drink. Wine."
Dr. Seward lifted his eyebrows. "Brandy?"
"My dear Pickles, I have come across the name of Count Explozie in my arcane readings. I believe he was once known as Prince Nathan of Transylvania. His enemies, the Turks, called his father, King Oskar, 'the Explosion,' for his ruthless battle tactics. Hence, I fear this man is-"
"Dead? 'Cause da Turks died out or something, didn't dey, chap? Wilhelm said it."
"Wilhelm also claims to be an envoy from the future, where horses fly like Pegasus, and strong liquors from all over the world may be purchased for merely a smile."
"Yeah, I liked dat part. Nah, he's a vampire hunter now. Kinda boring."
Ofdensen sat up. "Oh, dear. Then I fear we will have to leave him here-"
"We? I gotta nuthouse to run."
"You don't expect me to step into the vampire's lair unassisted, my good man? Pickles, my friend, you must come with me! I must have a physician, someone who may tell the dead from the undead!"
Seward eyed Ofdensen, his head quite muddled with drink. "Can Wilhelm come? He'll wanna stake somethin'."
"No."
"But he'll-"
"No."
"But-"
"Pickles, so help me God, if that lunatic sets foot upon my ship to the Continent, I'll-"
#
Only Dr. Seward's threat of severing Ofdensen's supply of tincture of hemp stayed Ofdensen's hand as Wilhelm relieved himself over the bow.
"Ahhhhhhh," Wilhelm said. "That hitsch the schpot."
"Are you sure I can't-"
"NO!"
Ofdensen held back a beleaguered sigh, and reminded himself that without Wilhelm's willing complicity, Seward would have no test subject for his various distillations, the safe minority of which found their way into Ofdensen's snifter during their evenings together, while the unsafe majority took welcoming haven within Dr. Seward's veins.
#
To Ofdensen's surprise, Count Explozie himself let their party into the castle. He cut an imposing figure, tall and shrouded in black, with his flowing, black hair draped about his shoulders.
"Huh, yeah, sorry," Explozie said as he closed the great door behind them. "Hard to find, y'know, good help around here. Everyone that'll come here's got shit for taste."
"Ah. Yes." Ofdensen chose not to draw attention to the count's coarse language. He introduced himself and his companions, to which Explozie responded with a grunt and a shrug.
"You guys thirsty?" Explozie said. "Man, I could drain a cow."
In a comfortable but decrepit parlor in his mountaintop castle, Explozie poured the men tiny glasses of vodka, then introduced a haughty-looking blond man in evening dress as Skwisgaar Skwigelf, and a wide-eyed Norwegian in, ah, much more feminine evening dress as Toki Krigentann.
"They're comin' with me to London," he explained.
"And, ah, I take it that the, ah, brides you mentioned in your letters will also be accompanying you to London?"
Explozie eyed the two men, then looked back at Ofdensen. He had the grace to look sheepish. Skwigelf burst into laughter. "Ha! He ams calls you a lady, Toki. Dat's funny."
"He ams talking about us both, Skwisgaar! Dat means dat he ams calls you a lady, too." Krigentann stood up and pushed Skwigelf.
"NO I'MS NOT!" Skwigelf pushed back.
The two began trading ‘ams not’s and ‘ams too’s while shoving one another back and forth. The pushing degenerated into a slap-fight, which further degenerated into a full-out, hair-pulling brawl. Skwigelf seemed to take particular joy in strangling Krigentann with his own hair.
Seward jerked a thumb in their general direction as Wilhelm laid tenpence upon Krigentann to win. "Shouldn't you be breakin' them up?"
Explozie waved an indifferent hand at them. "They do that shit all the time. It'll be over quicker-More quick? Whichever. Anyway, it gets done with faster if you just let them do their thing."
Ofdensen watched as Krigentann snatched a book from a nearby shelf and began beating Skwigelf with it, screaming incomprehensibly in what sounded like Norwegian. For a brief moment, he considered letting Explozie know that when a man referred to his "brides," it was understood that the brides in question were female, and that while one was free to do as one willed in a remote castle in Transylvania, it would cause quite a bit of scandal in a heavily populated city like London. But then, he reminded himself, it was hardly any of his business what another man did in his private life. With that in mind, Ofdensen steered the conversation back to the matter at hand.
He opened his satchel and started laying out the relevant paperwork for Explozie to examine. "As I recall, you are interested in purchasing Carfax Abbey..."
Explozie squinted over the words in a way that suggested the man was quite near-sighted, but too proud to wear his spectacles. "Carfax. Yeah. That's in London, right? I want a place that's in London."
"It most certainly is."
Seward piped up. "Yeah, it's a real nice place. Kinda old and crumblin' 'round the foundation, gotta buncha rats, but a great view of da lake 'round back. And dere's a great pub two streets over dat's always a good time. The owner's wife ain't much to look at, but if you flirt with her right she'll sometimes slide ya an extra drink when her husband ain't lookin'."
Ofdensen watched Explozie as Seward prattled happily about the different kinds of drink that could be bought within a ten mile radius of the Asylum, and thus the Abbey. A kind of sorrowful wistfulness came over Explozie. Ofdensen suspected the count had not gone out drinking for a very long time indeed.
"So, both of you live in London?" Explozie said.
Ofdensen nodded in affirmation. Krigentann, having apparently gotten bored of the scuffle as Explozie predicted would happen, released Skwigelf from the headlock he had pulled his fellow "wife" into. He crossed the room, dragged out a handful of coarse drawings from a drawer that looked like they had been made by a fond nephew, and began sharing them with the group. They seemed to depict all of the different things Krigentann would be doing when he arrived in London, which primarily consisted of visiting sweetshops. A few of them showed Skwigelf being crushed underneath the wheels of a carriage in the background. Occasionally, one of them would show Explozie hugging Krigentann whilst the two of them stood on top of a battered-looking Skwigelf.
Skwigelf took an ornate lute from a stand near the blazing hearth, and trotted over. "Dere ams many ladies in London, ja?"
"I don't know," Wilhelm said. "They don't let me out without my hood on."
"Oh. I t'oughts dat ams you hairs."
"Thisch isch my hair, idiot! Uh." Wilhelm could not help a shiver of dread as Skwigelf poked at his coarse, unwashed hair. "Are you looking at my neck?"
Skwigelf stepped back. "Noes!"
"Van Moordgezicht, chap," Seward said. "Don't go dere."
But Wilhelm drew himself tall, thrust a finger at Skwigelf, and stated, as though declaring the man guilty of some terrible genocide, "Vampire!"
Skwigelf blinked. Krigentann and Explozie looked up from their conversation with Ofdensen, Krigentann blank and Explozie scowling in confusion.
"Uhhh, what's that?" Explozie asked. "Is that, like, the guy who tells you when you walk or whatever? In that game?"
"Oh, ja!" Krigentann said. "You tells me we gonna go sees the game when we drinks London dried and goes to Americas!"
"I t'ink dat’s an umpire," Seward said. "Dey get real mad when you're drunk an' start takin' your clothes off on da pitcher's mound. 'Specially when you ain't playin'."
Skwigelf and Krigentann exchanged a look.
"Ja, dis guy ams de Londoning docstor?" Skwigelf said. "I... kinda t'inks we needs to duskiss dis move agains, Nat'ans."
"I said we're movin', and we're movin'! God, seriously, Skwisgaar. I'm the count. You're the wife. We've been over this a million times!"
"I's the wifes, too!" Krigentann said. He picked up the hem of his flowing white gown and curtseyed for Ofdensen, though it might have been more convincing were the man not built like some ancient statue to youthful athleticism. He dropped his hem and insinuated himself into Explozie's oversized grasp.
Count Explozie sighed and gave a dramatic roll of his eyes. Krigentann puckered his lips in a dreadfully exaggerated motion. Explozie muttered something in what may have been Romanian.
"Hva?" Krigentann said.
"I said," Explozie said, his teeth clenched, "not in front of the English."
"M'not English!" Seward said. "Hey, you got any more booze around here? Or we could go to the village down da mountain. Lots’a real nice ladies down dere. Dey all seem to be havin' babies. Little blond kids all over da place."
Explozie cast Skwigelf a dark look, though Skwigelf only played his lute at astonishing speed.
"I wants de kiss!" Krigentann stuck his fists at his sides. "You always gives Skwisgaar the kissings and de cuddlings and de rampages buggersies! Toki wants dem, too!"
"Toki..."
"But I-"
"All right!" Explozie pecked Krigentann on the lips, to Ofdensen's shock and Wilhelm's open disgust. Krigentann grinned, and tackled Explozie to the dusty rug.
"Dey ams gonna be busy for de whiles," Skwigelf said as Ofdensen stared in flushed and impolite horror. "I shows you to de rooms, ja? Den we goes and gets de drink."
Ofdensen couldn't help but notice that Skwigelf touched the side of Dr. Seward's neck as he spoke.
#
Come ten o'clock, all but Explozie and Ofdensen retired for the night. Explozie, who gave no outward indication of his recent sodomy with his young "bride" on the very rug by which Ofdensen sat, insisted on finishing the paperwork to purchase Carfax Abbey. Ofdensen agreed that this was the best course of action, as he had begun to suspect that the less time he spent at Castle Explozie, the safer things would be for all concerned. Therefore, it was very late indeed when Ofdensen was able to retire.
He had barely shut his eyes when there was a soft thump in the darkness. Ofdensen opened them to see Krigentann hovering above him. Ofdensen's hands tensed around the stake he had "borrowed" from Van Moordgezicht during their voyage to Transylvania. Distantly, he reminded himself that staking his client's bride through the heart would be poor business indeed, and might upset Explozie enough to make him tear up the contracts they had so recently and painstakingly finished. Such would be a better fate than being drained dry and tossed off a cliff, of course, but perhaps something of a happy medium could be reached.
"Cans I sucks your blood?" Krigentann asked eagerly.
Ofdensen frowned. "No, you may not."
Krigentann stuck his bottom lip outward in a childish pout. "But I wants to!"
"Well, I, ah, would very much rather that you not. I need my blood to, ah, stay exactly where it is right now."
"What if I sucks your dick firsts?"
Ofdensen felt the calm, businesslike demeanor he had held throughout the exchange begin to fray. He flushed at the indecency of it all. "I do not think that is a very proper offer for a married man to make."
"You sures?"
"Very."
"Fine dens." Krigentann pouted a bit more, seemed to forget the matter entirely, and then lit the lamp on the bedside table. "Tells to me about de sweetshops what ams in London."
Ofdensen knew very little about them, as he really didn't care much for sweets, but nonetheless did as he was asked to the best of his abilities. It was better than the alternatives, after all, and Krigentann seemed happy enough with the assurance that London's sweetshops were numerous and varied, with wide selections, and that the ladies who worked there were very nice and pretty.
After some time, Ofdensen heard a thump just outside the room, and a fit of helpless giggling. Of course. Seward. Sighing, Ofdensen swung his legs over the edge of the bed and made himself presentable enough to escort the man back to his room.
When Ofdensen opened the door, the man he found in a tittering heap was not his friend, but Skwigelf. Ofdensen stared as Skwigelf seemed to discover his hands for the very first time, and became quite fascinated indeed by the movement of his own fingers. Soon, he was waving them about, making happy little "whooshing" noises in between giggling fits.
"What happeneds to Skwisgaar?" asked Krigentann, concern for his fellow bride evident in his voice.
"I'm afraid I haven't the-" Ofdensen noticed two droplets of blood standing in livid contrast to the white of Skwigelf's collar. His blood ran cold. He rushed to Seward's room, cursing himself for leaving his friend alone, terrified of what he might find.
He threw open the doors to Seward's room, to find the man lounging tranquilly on the bed, the heavy stink of the smoke of his latest concoction thick in the air.
"Somethin' da matter dere, chap?"
"I thought perhaps-" Ofdensen stayed himself from saying what he thought had happened, given that Krigentann had followed him. "We found Mr. Skwigelf in something of a state outside my room."
"Oh, yeah. Dat was me. He'll be fine after a couple'a hours. Days. You know, in a while."
Ofdensen sighed in relief. Of course. Another one of Seward's tinctures. If Explozie proved to be as distractible as the company he kept, then perhaps there would be no need to ruin a perfectly good business deal with unnecessary violence.
Seward sat up with a grunt, and Ofdensen noticed a small bandage hidden underneath his collar that Ofdensen was quite sure had not been there when he had retired.
"By the way, chap, if you were still maybe wonderin' if dese guys were vampires-" Seward ran his tongue over his teeth, then grinned, revealing a set of sharpened canines. "Looks like dat's gonna be a yes, dere."
#
The Englishman, whom Nathan called Charles Ofdensen, bolted his bedroom door in Toki's face. Toki pounded on the door. "Wowee, Charles, you ain'ts very polites! Nat'ans was tells me all abouts de Engelsk manners, but you ams de rude kinds of Engelsk!"
"Go away, foul demon! The power of Christ compels you!"
Toki blinked. "I isn't de demons. I ams de vampir."
There came a pause from within. The bolt slid back, and Charles opened the door a crack. He peered out so Toki could only see his narrowed eyes.
"How did you not know that word earlier tonight?"
"Hva?"
"Vampire."
"De guy ats de bus-balls match?"
"You just said the word. You just said you're a vampire!"
"I says I ams de vampir."
"They're the same bloody thing."
"Wowee, Nat'ans never tells me I knows de bus-balls!" Toki grinned. He was about to push his way into the room and hug Charles over his newfound information when Charles slammed the door.
Toki huffed. He considered turning to mist and going under the door, but it was always a pain in the backside to get his dress with hands made of vapor, and he didn't much want to be naked around Mr. Charles Ofdensen.
"Just for dats," he said, making sure his voice would carry through most of the castle, "I gonna go gets naked wit's Nat'ans an' Skwisgaar insteads!"
#
Vampires. They were fuckin' vampires.
Wilhelm had no real proof, but he knew deep within his heart that nothing but blood-sucking, foreign-sounding, man-kissing vampires would live in some creepy castle. As they had driven up the mountain in Count Explozie's coach, Wilhelm had stuck his head out the coach window, and gasped as a bolt of lightning threw the castle into cold relief. It rose like a dragon over the landscape, great head lifted and smoke trickling from its mouth. Pickles and Mr. Ofdensen (who was a dreadful bore) had hauled him back inside before he could run for help-straight down, if necessary.
He bolted upright in bed at a terrible scream. The sweat on his palms made it hard to keep hold of his hammer and second-best stake-the first-best having vanished at sea, probably due to a ghost (you could never trust those haunted ships)-even as he strained to understand the voice. It was high-pitched, like a woman, and it mentioned Skwigelf and Count Explozie. Wilhelm dreaded to imagine what they might do to the poor, helpless maiden. She would be grateful for rescue. Very grateful. Maybe even grateful enough to get naked-
Wilhelm was out of bed and running down the hall without even his slippers or dressing gown-and very nearly without his nightshirt, too.
"I'm comin', lady!" he shouted as he tried to button the nightshirt whilst holding onto his hammer, stake, garlic, holy water, and a pistol loaded with silver bullets (just in case). He swore as he realized he had left his bowie knife, crucifix collection, mummy shards, mirror, and teddy bear in his room, but there was no time! A woman needed rescue! And to show her gratitude! Possibly several times.
Two hours later, he made his way up his twenty-seventh twisting flight of stairs. Panting, he dragged himself up the last five steps, then collapsed against the wall with a groan.
"Fuckin'-fuckin' vampiresch." He caught his breath and pushed away from the wall. Faint, womanish whimpers came from a room at the end of the hall. His legs felt like custard as he made his way toward it, ready to stake Explozie and his brides (who were probably only in it for the pussy). "I'm comin', lady!" He kicked open the door. "Your knight in schining armor is here to schave you from-"
The hammer and stake slid from his grasp. He stared. Explozie and his brides stared back. Toki, on his knees, holding Explozie's cock in one hand, opened his mouth a little wider than strictly necessary as he stared in shock. Skwisgaar, wearing a leather corset and stockings and holding a whip, on the bed with one of Explozie's pigtails in his gloved hand, went even paler than he already was. And Explozie, who wore a tiny pleated skirt and two glittering baubles over his nipples, opened his fanged mouth in what Wilhelm hoped was surprise.
"GET THE FUCK OUTTA HERE, VAN MOORDGEZICHT! I'M TRYIN' TO GET FUCKIN' LAID!"
"Ja, sees, I tells you we gots to duskiss dis," Skwisgaar said. "You wants to lives next to de doors of dis?"
"You wants to helps, Wilhelm?" Toki said. "Skwisgaar wants buggering de new peoples all de times!"
Which Wilhelm took as his cue to leave.
#
Pickles was thirsty, and wine just wasn't cuttin' it tonight. 'Course, bein' a vampire probably explained it. He didn't have to be a doctor to figure that much out, though he was sure it helped.
He looked up at a pounding on the door. "DOCTOR PICKLESCH, LET ME IN! THEY'RE ALL VAMPIRESCH, AND THEY TRIED TO TEMPT ME INTO THEIR HORRIBLE SCHECKSCH GAMESCH! Oh, for fuck'sch schake, schtupid gay dick."
Pickles grinned.
"Wilhelm, chap," he called as he got up from his bed, disturbing his shroud of smoke as he did. "Sounds like you need a drink."
#
Vampires, Charles had learned from his readings, fell into a deep sleep that very closely resembled death the very second the first rays of sunlight peeked over the horizon. While in this trance, they could not be roused by any means other than a stake through the heart.
Charles was able to put theory into practice sometime around six in the morning, when the entirety of Castle Explozie, save himself, fell into that very slumber. Van Moordgezicht passed out in the hallway, a stake pointed at his own chest. Charles paused over this. More specifically, he gave it a half-hour's worth of long thought. Really, the man was no more than an ill-trained dog, complete with relieving himself on the rug and howling at the moon. There was no telling what awful sorts of parasites he had given whomever had drained his blood. At any rate, it was certainly doubtful that the man would be any better now that he had been made undead. The thought of Wilhelm Van Moordgezicht pissing on expensive carpets and overcoats a hundred years in the future or more made Charles feel slightly ill in the pit of his stomach.
Yet, he couldn't bring himself to put an end to the man for good. He wasn't sure why. He had tried on three separate occasions to off Van Moordgezicht before now, when Pickles had his back turned, but here and now with the man completely disarmed and a ready-made excuse in, "Poor mad fool, he staked himself"… he just couldn't. Perhaps it was because the man was so defenseless? It did seem to be poor form indeed to murder a man in his sleep, when he couldn't even wake up to defend himself. Not very sporting. (If he were awake, well, that was another matter.)
Mulling these thoughts over, Charles wandered about the halls of Castle Explozie, checking on its undead inhabitants like a worried mother looking in on her tots. Pickles had fallen, half-in and half-out of bed, his chin on the floor and his heels pointed upward. It made Charles smile fondly, despite himself. He'd found Seward like this dozens of times before when he'd dipped perhaps a little too heavily into the asylum's pharmacopoeia. He hefted the man up and laid him on the bed, carefully arranging him on his side. He wasn't terribly sure if the walking dead could asphyxiate on their own vomit, but he wasn't willing to sacrifice his dear friend to find out.
Explozie and his two companions slept together in an oversized coffin that was rather more like a gigantic shipping crate than anything else. Explozie rested in the middle, whilst his brides lay on either side of him, arms curled around one another in contentment. Krigentann slept with his face nestled into Explozie's inky hair, and Skwigelf lay with his head propped on his husband's shoulder.
It was a scandalous marriage, to be sure: three carnal deviants with not a speck of decency or concept of discretion between them. And yet, they seemed happy enough. Krigentann and Skwigelf squabbled almost constantly, but it was not unlike sibling rivalry. There was no real malice in it. Charles found he couldn't begrudge them, so long as they were happy. Others might, when the trio got to London, but given their thirst for blood, Charles rather suspected those people wouldn't be doing any begrudging (or much of anything else) for long.
Sighing, he set off about the castle, until he found what he was looking for: the library. The scent of dust thick in the air told Charles that it had not seen use in quite some time. Explozie had no doubt read all of the books into complete memorization in the centuries he'd had them, and his brides seemed to lack the language skills to enjoy them. Charles peered at the faded names on the spines in the candlelight until he found the book that had made him seek out Count Explozie's library. Feeling confident that Explozie would not miss it, he took it from its shelf and retired to his room, bolting the door behind him, just to be safe.
Charles made himself comfortable atop the attractively red, if somewhat threadbare, coverlet of the bed that Explozie had been kind enough to offer him, and read the history of the Explozie clan. To his relief, it was written in Latin, and he thanked his dear, departed father, the condescending bastard, for insisting his son have a proper education. There was rather a lot of blood in the history, of which Charles approved. (He had found his own taste for the substance back at school, when an upperclassman made a particularly morbid mistake involving a fencing bout, an insult, and a turned back.) There was also a great deal of begetting: Oskar begat Nathan, Attila begat Oskar, and so on. Given Explozie's particular marriage, Charles doubted there would be much more begetting for the line, but it seemed fairly pointless to beget and beget when immortality made for a perfectly rational alternative.
Between the book and two bottles of the very good wine that Explozie had thoughtfully stocked in Charles's room, Charles grew sleepy before he was halfway through King Oskar's crusade against Turkish invaders bent on colonizing Transylvania as though it were some Indian kingdom under British threat. Charles found himself quite sympathetic to the Turks-their methods of execution were fascinating, and Ofdensen had no particular religious prejudice-and he spent a long afternoon and evening dreaming that he was a bloodthirsty Turkish invader storming the castle, only to face Prince Nathan sword to sword. He had just got the man on his knees, and was salivating for blood when he realized there was a great weight on his chest.
More importantly, he was being watched.
He woke to find the book pressing upon his breast, and half a dozen empty wine bottles littering the small table next to his bed. Dr. Seward lounged in a shabby but ornate chair, draining another bottle, though he looked a bit more peaked than he usually did. Ofdensen supposed wine was less than healthful, given his new dietary requirements. Skwigelf and Explozie stood, each gripping one of Wilhelm's arms. Krigentann sat on the foot of Ofdensen's bed, kicking both feet like a schoolgirl.
"You get your forty winks, dere, chap?" Seward said. He drained his bottle and set it on the table. "I could rilly use a drink after all dat."
"So, uh." Count Explozie cleared his throat. "You, like, gonna be a team player or some shit like that?"
"It'sch not scho bad, onsche you get usched to it. Schee?" Wilhelm melted into a pile of cockroaches. Ofdensen recoiled upon the bed, and was grateful to see the others do the same, aside from Skwigelf, who set to stomping the insects until Van Moordgezicht coalesced into his disagreeable self.
"Schkwischgaar, you dick! You schtepped on my ballsch!"
"Oh, ja, dat ams de traskegies. Amn't nobody wants not'ing to does wit' yous balls anskyway, Van Moordgezicht."
"Is that, ah, how you got in here?" Ofdensen said, eyeing the bolted door, then the wet spot where Skwigelf had crushed a piece of Wilhelm.
"I turns into the mist! Sees?"
And Krigentann's flowy dress fell to Ofdensen's bed while the man rolled across the floor as a greenish cloud. He popped back into existence, as naked as if he were fresh from the womb. "Sees? I real goods at it!"
"I, ah, see." Ofdensen covered his eyes. "Could you, ah, put your clothes back on? Please? Now?"
Krigentann sulked, but crept to the bed, grabbed his dress, and pulled it over his head.
"It ain't so bads," he said, fighting to get his arm into his sleeve. Count Explozie grabbed the dress and yanked it into place. "T'anks you, Nat'ans."
"Hrn. Just keep your fuckin' clothes on around these guys. EYES BACK IN YOUR HEAD, VAN MOORDGEZICHT!"
"I waschn't doin' nothin'! GOD! Why don't I just go and schtake myschelf?"
"I'm not gonna stop you." Explozie turned to Charles. "C'mon. Don't be a dick. Be a dude."
"Dood." Dr. Seward seemed to consider the word. "I kinda like dat. Mind if I use it?"
Explozie shrugged. "I'unno, go ahead, I don't care."
"Dood, t'anks!"
"If you'll excuse me, I'd prefer to, ah, retain my body's, uh, sanctity." After all, some of Charles's hobbies could lead to things like life imprisonment, and he didn't much fancy the thought of said sentence stretching forever. "Could you all please leave? Now? So I can, ah, depart?"
"C'mon, Charles." Seward came to sit on the edge of the bed, effectively trapping Ofdensen between vampire and wall. "Look, you remember dose savings accounts you got set up all over da place?"
Ofdensen narrowed his eyes. "I swore you to secrecy about those."
"Ya only said not ta tell yer employer where his money was goin'. We're one big happy family, here!"
"No, Pickles. No, we are not. If you could all leave-"
"Charlie." Seward leaned closer. "Remember when you was talkin' about what dose savings accounts could do a hunnerd years from now? And how you wished you could be dere ta see it?"
Ofdensen fell still. He pondered the idea. Pickles nodded, grinning, his long canines glinting in the lamp-light.
"You could be a... what's dat t'ing after a millionaire?"
"A billionaire." Charles could scarcely breathe. He swallowed. Money. Blood-all the blood he could drink! Wine, women, song. Mostly money. (And Wilhelm, but there had to be a downside to any situation. Besides, who could say whether a man really slipped and fell on his stake or not?)
"So, uh, are we doin' this thing or not?" Explozie said. "Skwisgaar and I were, like, talkin' about going down the mountain for some beers. One hundred beers. Exactly one hundred beers. I haven't had a beer in, like, forever. We gotta get movin' if we're gonna change you and all that crap. C'MON, WE GOTTA STAY AWAKE LONG ENOUGH TO DRINK SOME BEER!"
"Toki can does it!" Krigentann pounced Charles before Charles could so much as put up his hands. He grabbed Charles's arm and brought his fangs to the pallid skin of his wrist-
"DAMN IT, TOKI! Maybe someone else wants to-"
"I'm good," Pickles said.
"Schame here."
"Ja, I fulls from de dinners meal."
"Urgh. And I still think I'm gonna puke. Damn it, Van Moordgezicht, no more fuckin' roaches!"
"Fuck you, Exschploschie! At leascht I didn't turn into a schtupid bat!"
Ofdensen looked at them all. If he went through with this, these men would become his family until the end of time. (Or until they got on the wrong end of a stake. It never hurt to have an egress.) Despite his better judgment, he couldn't find much ire at the notion. With a sigh, he held out his wrist to Krigentann, who grinned and leaned in to whisper:
"You want me to sucks you dicks next?"
To which Ofdensen could only pinch the bridge of his nose and sigh.
#
Charles soon learned that waking up from having your blood drained, and then replaced, by a vampire-thus becoming one of the unholy monsters-was rather like waking up the morning after beating a man to death in the boxing ring. Tired, very sore, a mild headache forming behind the eyes, and famished. Terribly, terribly famished.
He experimentally stretched and twisted the wrist from which Krigentann had drained him (and kissed a couple of times in the process, if Charles was not mistaken). It felt oddly numb in comparison to the rest of his body. It was hard to believe, considering how bruised, chewed, and generally awful the area looked. Perhaps there was something in a vampire's saliva that acted as a painkilling agent? Pickles would probably figure it out soon enough, then use his newfound knowledge in all sorts of recreational ways.
Charles hoisted himself to his feet, then clung to the bedpost as his head swam. Christ, but he was hungry. So hungry. The castle was empty, so he would have to go down into the village if he wanted a drink. But how? There was no horse to take him there, and he had no idea how to work Explozie's specter-driven coach.
Charles stood at the window, thinking. He had seen Krigentann turn into mist, and knew that Explozie could turn into a bat. How wonderful that must be, to turn into a bat and fly through some unsuspecting prey's window, then hold them down as he drank their delicious, coppery blood.
So hungry.
Maybe he could do something like that, now that he too was a vampire? The wind stirred the curtains around him as he realized that yes, he could. He could feel his other form, swirling and shapeless, in the back of his mind. All he had to do was call out to it and he'd be in the village, drinking his fill before he knew it. All the blood he could drink. Delicious, warm, life-giving blood.
Drawing in a deep breath of anticipation, Charles F. Ofdensen stepped off the window's edge into the night, his bones and sinews shifting into his alternate form.
#
Even if he didn't travel down the mountain very often, Nathan really liked the owner of the village pub. The two of them had an understanding: the owner would supply him and his brides with a limitless supply of free booze, and he wouldn't drain him or his family dry, turn them into vampires, and then chain them outdoors to barbeque in the sun.
Real team player, that guy.
Nathan had just gotten to his 46th beer when the door to the pub burst open-literally burst, splinters flying everywhere. Toki squawked and fell off Nathan's lap. Pickles spilled his wine. Nathan growled, picked up the nearest empty wine bottle, and smashed it against the edge of the table to make a serviceable weapon. Stupid dick-breathed vampire hunters, ruinin' a perfectly good evening with their stakes and bullshit-
"Heeeeey everybody, it's me! Your old pal, Faaaaaacebones!"
Nathan dropped his smashed bottle. "Pickles."
Seward peeked out from underneath the table. "Yeah, dood?"
Nathan pointed at the floating, horned skull, which gleefully head-butted the fleeing pub owner to the ground and latched onto his throat.
"Is this the pill you gave me earlier talkin', or is that an actual floating, talking skull I'm seeing?"
Pickles contemplated as the apparition detached from the now-drained owner, gore dribbling down its chin. "I see it, too, dere. Pretty sure it's real. Well, I mean fairly sure."
The skull sighed in contentment. "Wooo, that's better!" The gory, meaty eyes inside its bony sockets lit up in recognition as it (he?) saw them again.
"Well hey, guys, it's me! Facebones! Fangs? Nah, I like bones better. HOW YA DOIN'?"
Not waiting for an answer, the skull calling itself Facebones began a bouncing, ambling tour of the pub, peering under tables and into bottles and tankards.
"So... Um. What's it doin' here?"
Seward watched as Facebones found the pub owner's daughter cowering behind the bar. It introduced itself yet again before telling her it was going to talk to her about drinking. "It... it kinda sounds like Charles."
"Oh, hey, yeah, it does." Nathan yelled across the bar, "HEY, ARE YOU CHARLES?"
"And booze is extra helpful if you're at a bar and you wanna have sex with people-"
"HEY!"
"-'Cause if you drink enough, you won't notice how ugly most of them are, and you won't wanna puke all over yourself at the thought of touchin' 'em!"
"ARE YOU LISTENIN'?"
"You might still wanna puke, but that's aaaaaalllll part of the process! Now-"
Nathan stomped over to the bar and waved his hand in front of Facebones's face, finally getting its attention.
"Hiiiiii, Nathan! How's it goin', buuuuuuuddy?"
"Are you Charles?"
Facebones answered in a childish singsong, twirling slowly in place. "Nope! Charlie isn't heeeee~re right now!"
Pickles made a soft "ooohhh" of realization. "Oh, yeah, I've seen Charlie do dis kinda t'ing before. I mean, wit'out da literal flyin' skull drinkin' people's blood and scarin' pretty girls. He ain't so straight-laced once you got, I dunno, a few bottles o' brandy and some experiments in him." He raised his voice, calling across the pub, "Hey, Facebones!"
Facebones zipped across the room, stopping mere inches from Pickles's face. "Hey, Pickles!"
"We got us some business and paperwork and some blah-blah-blah borin' humbug to take care of, do you t'ink maybe you can get Charles for us, so we don't have to do dis ourselves? 'Cause it's borin'."
Facebones considered this for a moment. "Don't see why not! I know I don't wanna be around for all that humbug! Boooor~ing!"
Jet black sulfuric smoke began to pour from Facebones's neck. "Seeee you guys around! Buh-byyyeeeeeee~!"
Charles Ofdensen slammed into the floor face-first, naked as a plucked hen, directly below the spot where Facebones had just hovered.
Everyone stared down at him for a moment.
"He ams gots de nice ass," remarked Toki idly.
"Yeah, the little birthmark on his hip really adds character to it," agreed Nathan.
"Umm, I ams beginnkings to t'inks I ams not wanting dis mans to, umm, knows what ams de places it is dat I ams sleepings."
"Naaaah, he's fine," said Pickles, waving a dismissive hand. He sat back down, reached for the nearest bottle of wine that had not been spilled, and began to drink directly from it. Everyone went back to what they had been doing before the interruption.
Apart from the pub's owner, that is.
#
There was a draft.
"Hey, dood." Seward shook Charles. "Dood, you wanna beer or somethin'? How ya feel?"
Charles groaned. He felt like he did every time Pickles shook him from a bad experience with some tincture or other. Like he'd lost himself entirely, then found his own remains at the bottom of a dust heap. He wasn't hungry anymore, but he wasn't sure if he ever wanted to be hungry again.
"What happened?" he asked. The draft increased, and he realized his suit was back at the castle.
With a whimper, Charles covered his tackle with both hands. Pickles turned him over, and Krigentann said, "Ohhh, the front ams nice too, Nat'ans!"
"Hunh. Yeah. HEY, CHARLES! WANNA GO BACK TO THE CASTLE WITH US? YOU CAN WEAR SKWISGAAR'S CORSET!"
"Moves you hands!"
"Pfft," Skwigelf said, and set to playing his lute at lightning speed.
"Dood, you never told me Facebones looked dat fucked up." Pickles clapped Charles on the shoulder. "An' here I t'ought you were boring!"
"What?" Charles forsook enough modesty to grip his head with one hand. He heard maniacal, high-pitched giggling from somewhere in the depths of his brain. Pickles grabbed his other wrist-the bruised one-and shoved a bottle of port into his hand. Krigentann bounced on Explozie's lap and clapped his hands.
"Oh, wowee! Nat'ans, look!"
"Hrn?" Explozie turned on his barstool, flagon of beer in hand. "Oh. Yeah. Hmm. Guess he's a grower."
"I ams hoppink soes," Skwigelf said. Playing his lute, he tipped his head back long enough for Wilhelm to pour some vodka into his mouth, then nodded his thanks.
Wilhelm slapped Skwigelf on the back so hard Skwigelf spat out his vodka. "Don't menschion it, bro!"
"Here, dood." Pickles took off his overcoat and helped Charles into it. It was a bit short, and a hair too large otherwise, but certainly better than being naked. Or a giant, floating-
"What does, uh, Facebones look like?"
"Huge floatin' skull wit' horns, dood. I dunno if that's the scariest part, or if it was when ya started giggling while you ate da barman."
Charles hesitated, but wiped his mouth with the side of his hand. It came back bloody. Very bloody. He looked down the neck of Pickles's coat to see his chest hair matted with gore all the way down to his-
"Yeah, you might wanna take a bath when we get back, dood. Although..."
Pickles paused, his eyes narrowed in thought. "Don't take nothin' by this, Charles, dood. It's just, ya know, healthy 'sperimentation."
"Ah-"
But Pickles pulled open Charles's coat and licked him from navel to jaw.
"Wowee," Krigentann breathed. He moved to hop down from Explozie's lap, but Explozie got an arm around his waist. "Nat'ans! I wants to helpings them!"
"Look, we'll dip Skwisgaar in the blood of virgins later. Right now, I got fifty... fifty-four beers to go." Explozie drained his flagon. "I got fifty-three beers to go, and I haven't been out drinkin' since that time the whole village stormed the castle with torches."
"Oh, ja! Dat was a fun party!"
To Charles's horror, nothing and nobody was holding Wilhelm back. Eyes glazed and fangs at full attention, he got down from his seat by Skwigelf and settled on his knees next to Charles.
"Knock yerself out, dood," Pickles said before Charles could get a word in edgewise.
"Wilhelm, I'd, ah, I'd really rather you didn't..."
Charles trailed off and cringed as Wilhelm stuck out his fetid, coated, dog-like tongue. It came closer, accompanied by Wilhelm's general stench and the knowledge that the man turned into a nest of roaches. Charles did the only thing he could in defense, and let Facebones out to play-
#
Toki whimpered as the castle went up in flames. His teddy bear was in there, along with their best whips and chains and their extra-large coffin, designed to sleep two comfortably or three extremely comfortably. Nathan hugged him and Skwisgaar, though he paused now and then to glare at Charles.
"My paperwork," Charles said.
"Yeah, well, maybe you should'a thought of that before you tried to eat the mayor," Nathan said.
"My suit!"
"It's okay, dood." Pickles clapped Charles on the shoulder. "You can keep da coat for now. Oh, hey, wow, yer spectacles were up dere, weren't dey?"
"Asch Nathan schaid, you schould have thought of that before you tried to eat the mayor." Wilhelm sniffed and folded his arms. Under his breath, he said, "Prisschy old bore. Thisch isch why you never get laid, Charlesch! You won't even let schomeone lick the blood off you!"
Toki looked up. He still kind of wanted to lick the blood off Charles, though the man looked more interested in staking himself out in the sun. Toki worked his way from Nathan's grasp and went to cuddle Charles.
"It ams okay," he said, stroking Charles's hair. Charles whimpered, but made no move to resist. "We gots de hiding places ins the caves. It ams for parties, but we gots de dresses dere, and de silkeny slippers, and de whips ands chains. Den we goes to England and we eats people dere!"
Charles keened and broke into quiet tears. Toki rocked him back and forth, singing a lullaby in Norwegian.
"Doods, I t'ink maybe we should skip England for a while." Pickles put his hands behind his back and set to pacing. "I mean, dey're still kinda worked up over dat Jack da Ripper humbug from a few years ago. America loves da serial killers, dough! We could be famous!"
"I don't really wanna be famous," Nathan said. "I kinda just wanna, y'know, drink the blood of hot virgins and fuck my brides."
"You can do dat, too! An' we can rebuild da castle! You had insurance on it, right?"
Charles looked up at mention of insurance. Toki wiped his eyes with a thumb, then kissed him on the nose.
Nathan shrugged. "I'unno, yeah."
"It am pays to has de in-score-ants whens you gots de ankry village peoples downs de hill," Skwisgaar said.
"It ams for de twenty millions pounds," Toki said. "From some guy calls Lloyd."
Charles lifted his head. "You mean that cesspit was insured for twenty million through Lloyd's of London, and you didn't burn it to the ground years ago?"
"I liked that cesspit!" Nathan glowered, and Charles shrank against Toki. "It was home, y'know?"
"Then we'll rebuild the damn thing in America! It might take a hundred years, but... Hell, just invest your insurance money! We'll find a little place in the country for now, and in a hundred years, we'll be a world power!"
Nathan mumbled something.
"What?" Charles said.
"I said, fine! We'll go to America or some shit, and we'll become, like, a world power! What are we gonna do until then, though?"
Skwisgaar drew a finger up Nathan's chest. "I gots de idea."
"We can't just fuck, Skwisgaar! There's gotta be something else to life."
"We cans drink de bloods of Virginians," Toki said.
"We cans alwaysks starts de muskical group and drinks de bloods of de womens who t'rows us deir bloomskers." Skwisgaar fingered his lute. "Just puttin's dat outs dere."
"That's the most ridiculous idea I've ever heard," Charles said. "I can't carry a tune in a bucket."
"Den do da financial humbug!" Pickles said. "You love doin' dat!"
"I'll, uh, have to give my, ah, resignation. To the firm."
"Fuck that shit, dude, we'll just drink your boss," Nathan said.
Charles paused, narrowing his eyes in thought. "Can we claim their assets?"
"Sure, fine, whatever."
"Then yes. Yes, we'll drink my employers. Cheap fucking bastards."
"And den we has de orgy," Toki said.
"What?"
"Not'ings."
#
120 years hence
A newscaster in a slightly askew toupee put his index and middle finger to his earpiece, more for show than anything else. The cameraman pointed at him, letting him know they were live.
"I'm here on the front lawn of Mordhaus, opulent home of the legendary metal band Dethklok, where frontman Nathan Explosion has called together a massive press conference to impart information that is, to quote the press release, 'Super fucking important.' Speculation about the nature of this information has been rampant. Perhaps a release date for the much-anticipated upcoming album? Tour dates? Some sort of comment on the Planet Piss cereal controversy?" The newscaster paused as Nathan stepped onto the spiked black podium that had been dragged to the front lawn (killing six in the process) for the occasion. The band's manager, the somewhat shadowy Charles Ofdensen, followed close behind, which indicated that the announcement was important indeed.
Nathan hunched over the podium, gripping its sides, his hair falling in his face. He looked like some crazed warlord come to put his enemies to death.
"I am here. To announce some very important information. For you dildos. Media vulture dildos." Nathan lifted an eyebrow in thought, pulled his tape recorder from his back pocket, and pressed the 'record' button. "Idea for a song: Vulture dildos. Dildos that fly around eatin' rotted meat. Maybe roadkill."
Nathan put away the tape recorder, then continued. "Anyway, I just called you dildos out here to announce that we are not vampires. Or having sex with each other. Or Charles, either."
Nathan stared out at said crowd of dildos, who in turn stared back.
"Uhhhh. So, to review. We are not vampires, and we aren't having sex with each other or Charles. That's all. That's all I hadda say." Nathan turned his back, stomping off the stage towards the spiked golf cart that would carry him back to the castle. In silence, Charles followed, though he bit the inside of his lower lip, as though trying not to grin.
Nathan stopped, then called over his shoulder: "By the way, you probably got about five minutes 'til the guards open fire. So, you know. Run." With that, the two of them climbed into the golf cart and sped away.
The newscaster turned back towards the cameraman. "There you have it. Nathan Explosion speaking out to assure the public that he is not a member of the undead, nor having sexual relations with his band mates or manager. It's an interesting declaration to make, given that there were no rumors to this effect. Nevertheless, it's good to-"
The newscaster was interrupted by one of the yard wolves taking a flying leap at him, tearing his head off of his shoulders. His body staggered in a circle for a moment before falling over, as the rest of the pack fell upon the crowd, ripping them to shreds.
In the castle above, Toki and Skwisgaar stood side by side, watching the spectacle unfold as they waited for their husband.
"Look, Skwisgaar, de wol-veh-zes eats dem."
"I knows, Toki. I knows. And whats beautifuls musics dey makes when dey do's."
"Is de beautiful musics ams supposed to makes Toki hungry?"
"Ja, I guess it ams."
Toki punched Skwisgaar in the arm, for no reason other than he was there, then cuddled against him. Maybe this time, the yard wolves would leave survivors.
Six sounded about right.
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