From the producers of 'A&A&A Boarding School'
and 'Van Helsing: the Musical' (not yet published)……
inspired by the fifth and the sixth best movies in the world
(neither of which we own)
we give you…
Transylvania!
Authoresses' Note: This is the second cooperation fic between the Mendiant sisters – again typed out by Lydia. Boy, she wonders why – Chicago! with the Van Helsing characters. Oh yes, that bit up there was a venting of ego. We have a lot of it.
We understand that the very idea of Van Helsing dancing gives certain people nightmares – and if that's the case for you, please keep your imagination in check during the musical numbers. People have been known to have heart attacks from over-graphics.
We also understand this is a pretty crazy idea – but anything is worth seeing the Van Helsing cast perform our all-time favourite – the Cell Block Tango. (Here's to you, squishenya, says Lydia.) Yes, that's the highlight of the whole thing. Just you wait and see.
Seeing as we have nought else to say…we present to you…
1. All That Jazz
The Carpathian mountains. Tall and forbidding, with the Romanian night draped across their snowy peaks like a ghostly black shawl. Upon the bitterly whistling wind that tore through the dark needles of the forest trees, came a sound. The lonely keening melody of a single flute, calling, beckoning the listener, drawing them across the Carpathian range, inviting them…
…… to Transylvania……
"Five, six, seven, eight!"
And the whole orchestra started up in a boisterous tune. The music echoed cheerily off the walls of the brightly lit Vaseria Club, which was, as always, filled with laughing patrons, eagerly awaiting the nightly shows. The jazzy beats swarmed out through the welcoming double doors and sounded in the snow-covered streets of Vaseria Village. Outside, it was freezing, snowflakes bouncing lightly off the thatched roofs and the cobblestones. The streets were mostly empty – everyone with Transylvanian common sense was safely indoors. The night hung overhead, with the mountains and the eerily dark forests silhouetted against a full moon. Bats flitted amidst the silent trees; wolves howled in the distance; an occasional vampire lurked in the shadows, hoping to surprise a careless villager.
Yup, everything in night-time Transylvania was as it always was.
The manager of the Vaseria Club stomped into the backstage, which was packed with the usual performers in their outlandish costumes. He was chewing his cigar and, despite the unusually large number of patrons, looking displeased. But naturally – his main attraction was late.
He yanked the cigar out of his mouth to yell: "Has anyone seen the Van Helsing brothers?" To no avail – no one bothered to reply. The manager let out a sigh of frustration. "You," he pointed at one of the sock-puppeteers, "you're up in five." The man nodded blearily, and went back to sleep. The manager hurled the cigar out of an open window and tramped upstairs to see if the absent pair were there.
Outside, a coach drew up at the mouth of an alleyway which culminated in the back door to the club. A tall black boot emerged and landed heavily in the once pristine snow, followed by its partner. "Keep the change," muttered a gruff voice.
As the coach drove off, the pair of black boots marched swiftly down the alleyway, leaving heavy footprints on the snow. A couple of rats scampered in alarm out of their way. As the cloaked figure passed a few posters advertising the double act of the Van Helsing brothers, a black gloved hand shot out and irately ripped part of a poster off, hurling it angrily into the fresh snow. Meltwater seeped into the torn piece, soaking and darkening the single word in huge letters: "ABRAHAM".
As the figure flung the back door open and strode into the club, the manager caught sight of him and rushed over, waving a new cigar crossly. "Where the hell have you been? And where's Abraham?"
"He isn't himself tonight."
"But they came to see your double act!"
"Don't sweat, I can do it alone." The boots clunked hurriedly up the stairs and entered a dressing room. After locking the door, the figure flung open a suitcase, which contained costumes – mostly Gothic black. After frantically rummaging through them, the gloved hands finally found what they were looking for: a pair of bloodied Tojo blades. These were lobbed into a drawer, a black cloak draped over them, and the drawer locked. Then the figure tore the gloves off, revealing bloodstained hands.
"Vai. Osândi!" He shoved them under a tap, rubbing frenziedly until the blood had been washed off. The water in the sink ran red for a second, and then the blood drained away with the rest of the water. Drying his hands on his cloak, he looked at himself in the mirror. Then he put his gloves back on, took a black leather hat out of a drawer, and jammed it on his head. After a few adjustments, he decided he was satisfied with the effect and left the dressing room.
"Move it!" exclaimed the manager, ushering him towards the ascension platform. "Move it! Hurry up!"
As the figure leapt onto the steadily rising platform, the Bandleader caught the manager's signals and leaned forward to speak into the mike. "Ladies and gentlemen! The Vaseria Club is proud to present to you the hottest show in Transylvania – two Goth guys moving as one. Abraham and Gabriel Van Helsing!"
The music immediately changed, to a slower, more steady beat. The ascension platform joined the rest of the stage, as the cloaked-and-hatted figure stood motionless amidst an artistically arranged group of backup dancers. A couple of bars played on. The Bandleader glanced at the performers, and suddenly it hit him that there seemed to be only one Van Helsing brother.
Gabriel Van Helsing did not show it, but his mind was currently in turmoil. He had been so used to relying on his brother in their double act that he had no idea what to do solo. What now? What now?
Go on with the show, of course.
He pushed up his hat brim with his fingertip, so his face was visible – several girls in the audience gave small gasps – and began.
"Come on, babe
Why don't we paint the town?
And all that jazz
I'm gonna get my hat
And fold my high boots down
And all that jazz
Start the coach
I know a whoopee spot
Where the absinthe's cold
But the piano's hot
It's just a noisy hall
Where there's a nightly brawl
And all
That
Jazz."
Good, he was getting into it. Perhaps this might just turn out fine.
Around him the backup dancers began to move – into other artistic arrangements – and he too followed. Leaning back over the piano, he took a cigarette from the pianist and drew from it. As the dancers whispered around him, he blew a cloud of smoke over their heads. Several jazzer-wannabes immediately memorized that particularly cool move and stored it happily in their minds for further reference.
The tendrils of smoke crept through the crowd and curled faintly around a dark ringlet of hair. The owner of the hair was hanging onto a pillar, dark waves of hair cascading over her black-clad shoulders and framing her pale, slightly pointed, face, her intense eyes staring transfixed by Van Helsing's every move. Strange that the other brother wasn't here tonight – but she had always preferred Gabriel Van Helsing more. She considered him cooler, handsomer, and the better singer. He was her idol.
You see, Anna Valerious (she preferred her maiden name) badly wanted to be on stage.
She watched, entranced as the performance began to pick up pace.
"Slick your hair
And wear your leather shoes
And all that jazz
I heard the vampires
Are gonna blow the blues
And all that jazz…"
Van Helsing tossed the cigarette casually offstage, where a group of girls instantly began a squabble over who should keep it. Ignoring them, he linked arms with a couple of dancers, who began to edge forward (artistically).
"Hold on, hon
We're gonna bunny hug
I bought some aspirin
Down at United Drug."
Gosh, thought Anna, he's so cool.
"In case you shake apart
And want a brand new start…"
Oh, if it was me on that stage…
"To do…"
Oh yes, me…wouldn't I love that…
"…that…"
Me…
And suddenly it was her, in full black costume, on stage in front of an enraptured audience. Flinging her arms out ecstastically, she screamed, "Jaaazzzzz…"
"Anna!"
She jerked out of her dream, back to the reality of the cold pillar and the hand on her shoulder. Turning to look at the hand's owner, her heart sank.
"Anna!" There was a tinge of unhappiness in her husband's voice. "Didn't I tell you to stay in the manor? I ordered you to stop going jazzing in the nightclubs!"
Angrily she shook his hand off. "Just 'cos you're my husband doesn't mean you can order me around."
"Oh yes I can." He grabbed her arm in a vise-like grip. "You're coming home." Ignoring her struggles, he dragged her towards the club exit. As she fought in vain against him, she cast a wistful glance back at the stage – and Van Helsing.
"Find a flask
We're playing fast and loose
And all that jazz
Right up here
Is where I store the juice
And all that jazz…"
The audience was enjoying themselves tremendously as the music picked up pace. Several were already beginning to clap along.
"C'mon babe
We're gonna brush the sky
I betcha Isten Szek
Never flew so high!"
Outside, two figures could be seen, black against the snow, one dragging the other towards the manor at the end of the village.
"'Cos in the stratosphere
How could he lend an ear
To all
That
Jazz."
"Let me go, Fred!" yelled Anna as her husband flung open the doors to the manor and dragged her in.
"Oh, you're gonna see your sheba shimmy shake
And all that jazz."
Her husband at last released her, but stood between her and the door. "You're not going back there again."
"Oh, she's gonna shimmy till her garters break
And all that jazz."
"Why can't I?"
"Show her where to park her girdle
Oh, her mother's blood would curdle…"
"You're my wife, for heaven's sakes. Will you quit hanging out in those lowdown nightclubs and act like a respectable woman for once?"
"If she'd hear
Her baby's queer
For all
That
Jazz!"
Anna spat at him. "I hate you. I wish I'd never married you."
"Too bad," he leered. "It was the only way your beloved father could have cancelled his debt with my family."
Anna turned her back on him, anger churning inside her. She, a daughter of the Valerious clan, of royal gypsy blood – reduced to this! She couldn't stand it. She wouldn't stand it anymore.
"Come on, babe
Why don't we paint the town?
And all that jazz…"
"I'm leaving," she said quietly
"What?"
"I'm gonna get my hat
And fold my high boots down
And all that jazz…"
She headed for the stairs. She'd just pack a few clothes and go. Anywhere, anything, just to get out of her horrible married life.
"Start the coach
I know a whoopee spot…"
"You can't do this." He marched after her indignantly. "You haven't got any money! Where'll you go?"
"Where the absinthe's cold
But the piano's hot!"
"I'm going to get on stage. I'll audition and I'll get an act. And when I'm famous throughout the whole of Transylvania you'll regret how you treated me."
"It's just a noisy hall
Where there's a nightly brawl…"
"Face it, Anna, you're never going to have an act. Now come back here and behave sensibly."
Anna spun. Her face was filled with anger, and set with determination. "Shut up, Fred. You're not my husband anymore."
His face twisted with rage. In a few strides he crossed the hall to where she was standing.
"And all…"
He raised his hand. Anna's undaunted eyes followed it as it rose above her head.
"That…"
He brought it down. The resounding slap echoed throughout the manor. The force of the blow sent Anna hurtling backwards, whereupon she crashed into the wall. Her head was ringing; her cheek burned like the fires of Hell. Nearly blinded by tears of shame and hate, she felt for something to pull her up. Her fingers closed around something. She looked up.
The manor was filled with old artefacts that had once belonged to the Valerious family, that Anna had insisted stay here. She was clinging onto the silver sheath of the Valerious Sword, a weapon passed down through generations, that was reputed to have the spirit of the Valerious line in it. Feeling the cool touch of the silver, a new emotion rushed into Anna. She was a daughter of the Valerious line. She would not fall so easily.
"Jazz!"
Back in the club, Van Helsing saw some familiar uniforms moving through the audience. The Transylvanian police. So they had already found out. The Chief looked up and locked eyes with him. His heart pounding, he turned back to the stage. Grimly, he shoved them out of his mind. He had a show to finish.
The show must go on.
"Now I ain't got a wife
But how I love my life!"
And all…"
Anna leapt up. Her fingers closed around the hilt of the sword. With a long screech of metal on metal, the sword slid out of its sheath. Anna held it in front of her, balancing its weight carefully. All her training in her youth as a Valerious rushed back to her.
"That…"
Something new rushed into her husband's eyes. Fear. Anna laughed. He was afraid, and it gave her a grim satisfaction.
"Not so cocky now, are you, Fred?"
He took a step backwards. "Anna, please. You don't know what you're doing.
Her eyes gleamed. "I think I do."
"Jaaaazzzzz…"
She swept the sword forward, metal slicing the air, and charged.
On stage, Van Helsing and the other dancers froze in an (artistically arranged) ending position. The lights went out.
And that was the moment the sword drove home.
"That jazz!"
Anna Valerious (she preferred her maiden name, having been lately widowed) yanked the sword of her ancestors out of the bloody hole in her husband's chest. His eyes were wide open – an expression of eternal shock frozen in them. She was panting hard, not from physical exertion, but from the venting of her emotions.
"Fiul unui căţea." She carefully sidestepped the spreading pool of red lifeblood. "You had it coming, dear."
Bloody sword in hand, she headed towards the kitchen to clean it.
End of ChapterNext chapter coming…Funny Honey