Coagula, whistling, walks in a dangerous neighborhood, his neighborhood,-the Maul. Rain sheets over the roofs and trickled down the house-fronts like a storm of tears. Window panes obscured by drops of moisture become unhealthy blisters on the walls. The houses take mysterious counsel together, lurking and waiting., standing there side by side in the rain like a herd of derelict, dripping animals.
"SHirha, SHtand an' show your pockeSH"- inna shadows the footpad, by defect or drunk, demands - "SHtand and deliver." So.. slowly.. I reach for my munybag- so speedy to leap to his throat. SNARLING yanks it out and he's poppay'd as i stroll on as he's drownin' in his blood stutterin' "ESH ESH ESH Esh esh shhh..s...." "YAZAH!" Ay'm chipper now. That 3rd me, the observer, sees both the vampire me, as a gratuitous killer, ruthless. and sees as ruthless pours into the empty shell of the me you know so well and love; Sees and reels. YARG..YARG.. I growl to the sky. The heavens let a sudden clap of thunder, and the startled town hounds howl. I howl back at them laughing hard. Can the town hear, in my baying, "Rox...Rox..Roxieee!" The howling ecstasy of a creature awakened! I be fully re- formed, mind an' matter, born anew, and wantin' Roxanne!
Coagula enters the elaboratory Gag, his parrot-AWRK? - then tucks his head back under his wing. He rests an arm on the doorframe of the next room. His heart beats violently against his chest, and drops of sweat run down his torso and the small of his back. Then, mastering the hesitation that made his knees shake, he gropes forward, watching her. He leans over her face and studies it carefully. The rosy and luminous blood in her veins trace a bluish network on her temples; a lock of hair caresses her neck; a furtive sensation tugs at her lips, furrows her brow, and wrinkles the the delicate nostrils of her nose. At regular intervals her white breasts rise and fall. Her mouth opens in the darkness like a fruit ripening. He leans forward, the sleeping woman's breath passes over his face. Then goaded by irresistible desire, he brings his lips to hers, as gently as he could, just enough to touch without waking her. He remained there, immobile, eyes closed.
I opened my eyes and Roxanne was looking back at me, startled. I suppressed her surprise by furiously glueing my lips to her mouth. She quivers feebly but dashed her teeth against my mouth, and I plundered her lips for more kisses, long and drawn out. I lower my head to her neck. Do not despise your little shivers. Do not scorn my caress. My fangs extract and spur her neck with a tiniest pierce and I kiss the wound. She gasps and trembles all over; breathless, writhing beneath the wind of my kiss like grass before a thunderstorm. I step back from the bed. Roxanne rises, the parting folds of her nightgown conceals, just barely, her nakedness.
I push her against the wall and she volunteers her neck to me. I pierce her standing. My teeth graze her neck, again. I kiss and lick the scratch. I don't want to bite, I don't want to see the pages of her memories. She curls into me, her cheeks mantled a trace of dew.. My fingers touch the keyboard of her back and she responds to each touch. Like a conductor leading an orchestra our connection is consuming. We are one, simultaneously within each other. We sink to the bed...I gently lap at an oozing, last bit of blood, she swears she will follow me anywhere. Some say evenings are measured by how deeply we sleep, others, how deeply we love, pirates avow 'tis how deeply they drink, but for me 'tis the blood that takes the measure of night, the blood.