SCRAMBLED PERCEPTIONS

It is night time and within the dark and dismal depths of Castle Duckula evil stirs ... restless and hungry.

As Igor disappeared down the side stairs to the basement Count Duckula's thoughts about Emily turned to her plight. "Von Goosewing!" He quacked in outrage. "It's that wretched von Goosewing again!" He snarled in utter frustration. "Grr-oh! Will I ever be free of him?"

The empty hall was silent in return so he looked at the crashed open door in dismay.
'He's just doing his job, sir.' Igor's voice echoed in his head. 'Now if you would just accept your part in life there would be no problem.'
"Thanks, Igor. Once again: not particularly helpful." Duckula grumbled quietly to himself. "Well, that lunatic's not here right now so that's something I guess ..." Duckula acknowledged. "But you can bet he'll show up again!" He groaned. 'Will I ever be free of him?'

Then reality came back to his thoughts and he remembered he had a guest and guests needed attending to. "I'll go see if Emily is interested for dinner. In dinner. As-at-food. I mean, wants food." The count stared at the stairs in front of him, dismayed at how askew his beak was over this woman. "Hoo, boy, am I ever in trouble?" He took a breath and started up the stairs, trying again. "Are you hungry, Miss-Miss Artisia? I mean of course she's hungry- She's a vam- a v-? A v-!"

His own stomach was rumbling in agreement.

"I'm a vampire too." He said in a tiny shocked voice, looking down at the view from the landing. "I've just been stubbornly refusing to see three inches past my own beak about it." He turned in the direction of the guest rooms, suddenly feeling a lot braver.

He met up with Nanny in the corridor.
"Oh, Master Duckula." She hooked his attention. "I was just coming to tell you."
"What is it, Nanny?"
"What's what?"
Duckula pressed his fingers to his forehead between his eyes to alleviate the tension. "Forget it. What were you coming to tell me, Nanny?"
"Erm, I forgot."
He nodded, having expected this. "Well, just in case you do remember, I'm just going to see Miss Artisia."
"Oh, yes, now I remember. The young Miss has gone in for a lie down. She's got a nasty headache."
Duckula blinked in shock. "A ... a headache?" He repeated and he suddenly felt the keenness of the gloom and dreary silence of his ancestral home.
"Yes."
The feeling closed in on him and his mood fell. "I don't blame her. This miserable rotten no good castle! It'd bring anyone down." He grumbled. "I think I'll turn in early as well." If he couldn't have her company in real life than maybe at least he might dream of Emily Artisia.

Goosewing kept his eyes on the road as he drove the car, listening as Claudette's sobs slowly receded. Despite his reassurances it had taken quite some time for her to go quiet.

"Vould you tell me vhat is zis zhat troubling you is, ja?"
"I must take punishment." She stated hoarsely.
Goosewing frowned at the road. "Because wampire you is beingk?"
"Nein; Guilty I am because helping you have I been." She sighed. "A wampire hunter."
Goosewing pondered over her predicament, not liking the idea of anyone suffering because of him. "Ah! Plan I am having, ja!" He exclaimed excitedly. "If you shtay mit mir, zhen I can help protect you from zhem!"
"Oh ... vell ...yes ... zhat might vork..." Claudette's voice picked up again. "Docktor von Goosevingk, you are ein genius!"

Goosewing felt really good at hearing her say that and grinned at the road in front of him. "Vhy, zhank you, docktor."

The Count woke up in bed, the sound of the car engine fading. It was the middle of the night and he was hungry.

Duckula had spent the whole day looking for a meal and in the end had settled for carrot and celery sticks for lunch. To top it off, with his head swimming with the surround experience of meeting 'Emily Artisia' in person he'd forgotten about dinner that night as well.

Determined to remedy his complaining stomach he headed down to the kitchen and discovered Emily had also gotten hungry at the same time.
"Good evening, Miss Artisia."
"G'evening Count. Um; this is great stuff. It was a bit forward of me but I was so hungry. Thank you for this." She hid her beak with her hand, swallowing, a wine glass of blood in her other hand, the bottle on the red and white checker-clothed table. "Are you hungry too?" She fetched another wine glass from the cupboard and poured him a drink from the bottle.

"You should thank Igor." Duckula eyed the vile tasting cold liquid, "I hope never to be as obsessed with the stuff as he."
Emily held out the second glass to him. "Oh, come on, Ducky. You've drunk it before, you'll drink it again. Or do you just prefer it fresh and still warm? I mean ..." Emily giggled, "Of course you do." She blinked up at him. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."
Duckula quickly turned away, realising he must have a look of tortured horror on his face because that's how he was feeling.
"It's not that bad. So you have sensitive teeth. Don't order anything from the tap and you'll be fine."

"Here, I know a good trick." She put the two glasses down on the table.
Duckula stared at the full glass of blood she'd poured him. 'Sensitive teeth? That's what she thinks my problem is?'
Meanwhile Emily was rummaging through the cupboards. She pulled out a decanter, and then in the kitchen drawers she found a large spoon. From the fridge, she pulled out one of the Count's small bottles of carrot juice glancing up at him before closing the door and returning to the table with all her items.

Emily tipped Duckula's untouched glass into the decanter, emptied the carrot juice into it, and then emptied the entire bottle of blood into the decanter. Duckula took a step back, his head starting to spin with the sight of so much blood. After she stirred it with the spoon Emily filled Duckula's glass with the mixture and topped up her own.
She held out the glass to him and he eyed her warily before he tentatively took the glass.
"The carrot juice makes all the difference. I promise you'll be okay. Oh, go on."
He took a tiny sip for manners sake and had no reaction to it.
"There you see?" Emily's smile was broad. She took a mouthful of her own. "It really zings, doesn't it?"
He nodded and took a bigger sip. "It's very good," he conceded, "even though it is cold."
She beamed at him and curtseyed. "Why thank you, your lordship."
Duckula took another sip of the mixed drink. "What ever gave you the idea to try carrot juice with it?"
"Oh, they have complimentary flavours." She shrugged. "It also works with tomato juice if you like that sort of drink."
"I do." He stared at his glass, imagining what the tomato would do to the flavour. "We just don't have any at the moment."
"Wow."
"Huh?" Duckula looked up at her.
"You like tomato juice. I mean ... you drink juice straight, right?"
"... Yes?" Duckula squeaked nervously.
"That's extreme! Your immune system must be doing jumping jacks at daybreak."
"Uh, no." He admitted. "Not quite. I'm more just hungry in the morning."
"Didn't you have dinner when you woke up?"
Duckula cleared his throat. "Speaking of dinner: how's your headache?"
"Oh, uh, well, I'm-I'm much better. Sorry about that." She grabbed a chair and pulled it back.

"Do you live alone here with Nanny? She's such a kind soul."
"Oh, no, there's Igor too. Igor is ... well, Igor is Igor." Duckula mentally slapped himself.
Emily raised an eyebrow. "What's Igor like?" She prodded. "Oh, you can do better than that, surely. You spend all your time together. What sorts of things does he like?"
"He likes silence for one thing, stale air for another," Duckula sighed with the morbidity "and if you're into torture chambers he's your man."
Emily grabbed the decanter and held out her hand for his empty glass. "I'm sure there's more to him than that. Why don't you tell me a story about him?"
"About Igor?" Duckula took his refilled glass back from her and sipped in thought. "Alright, um ... well this one time we were in the portraits room. He likes to go on about my family's history. He can do it endlessly ..." He took another sip.