Replying to reviews:
Lady ot Rings: glad you liked, it was my fav. chapter also. Mostly because I like rhyming things, I guess, even though I'm crap at it.
Moriyina: Hi! Thanks for reviewing. Van Helsing and the Village People got taken off cuz it was script fic... I have it posted on my website, though, which you can get to at my author's bio page or maybe I can figure out how to post it here... um, the usual beginning, then ranfan (slash) bravehost (dot) net . No "www" part, though... probably be easier to get it from my bio page, hee. Anyway you can find it under "DWRH" at the bottom of the page. And also I'm thinking about re-writing it so it conforms to standards and reposting it, if people think that's at all a good idea. Thanks!
Mariamber: Hey, kid how are ya? Haven't seen ya in a while... how's my site going? (Grins and blushes) Still can't believe it... but you have to let me know when its up, and where its up, if it ever indeed gets up... so I can tell everybody to go join...
Spaztic Arwen: Yes, it is, innit?
Eris: have been thinking about new avatar, but wonder if it would just defeat the purpose. Oh well, if nothing else, the squirrel could be inhabited... and that would be kind of appropriate, too...
Luthien Anwamane: thanks! That was my favourite bit too.
RogueCajun: LOL have fun convincing granny to let go of THAT. I know I wouldn't give up the chance to sleep with Gerard Butler every night... :) I know, I know, that was truly predictable in the worst sense of the word.
Terreis: yes I am. Thanks (takes a bow) Didn't mean to frighten Haldir. Skittish little thing, isn't he?
Carnicirthial: they'll be here, don't worry... and I'm having the slightest bit of trouble getting out your story. Don't fret, its our computer, nothing you did. I'll conquer it eventually. (Enlists the legendary Beowulf to come and beat the crap out of Dad's computer with his club.)
Chapter Fifteen: A-Karaoke We Go
"What shall we do?" said Carl. "Bury her?"
Van Helsing looked thoughtful for a moment. "Nah," he said at length. "Lets just leave her in the gutter. According to her, she's just an avatar anyway— whatever that is— so she should kind of— disappear, right?"
The three of them stood and stared at the body of the Writer.
"She does not appear," said Carl, "to be disappearing."
Van Helsing shrugged.
"Perhaps ve should just leave her here," suggested Dracula. "I believe wandering city streets with a corpse in tow leads to a certain amount of unwanted attention."
Van Helsing and Carl stared at him.
"Not that you would know, or anything," said Van Helsing sarcastically.
"Of course I know!" said Dracula. "I've had the personal experience."
There was, not very far away, the wail of a siren.
"Run," suggested Carl, and for once they all agreed on something. They ran up the street, down another street, up an alley, down another alley, turned right, turned right, turned right again, turned right again, turned right again, then Carl said—
"This looks a bit familiar."
"Who's been navigating?" panted Dracula, who wasn't used to running.
"Not me, I thought you were!" said Van Helsing, panting as well. He was used to running but panting showed off his chest.
"You thought I was?" said Dracula, panting harder. "Why?"
"I don't know, I just assumed!" said Van Helsing, trying to keep up with him in the panting department. Determined to outdo each other, their eyes locked in a hateful gaze as their chests rose and fell with ever-more-intense regularity. After about five minutes, Van Helsing passed out. Dracula, who didn't even need to breathe in the first place, laughed.
"Gets him every time," he said gleefully.
"Look," said Carl, "we're just here to get your brides back, so can we get on with it? I suppose," he added, looking at the figure lying prone on the ground, "we should wait for Van Helsing to wake up first."
"Vhy vait?" said Dracula, and kicked him.
Van Helsing groaned.
"Sorry," Dracula apologized, "I vas aiming for your ribs, but I guess I missed. In the, er, vrong direction."
"That's going to leave a mark," opined Carl.
"Not a readily visible one, though," said the Count, "so vhat does it matter?"
"It'll be readily visible to his girlfriend," said Carl.
"But he does not haff one, so vhat, I repeat, does it matter? Come, ve must find my brides. It is a matter of utmost importance."
"Oh, alright," sighed Carl. Bending, he grabbed Van Helsing's arm and started hauling on it, attempting to get the much larger man up on his feet again. Van Helsing, who was awake now, stubbornly refused to help him. Carl pulled hard, leaning all his weight against that of Van Helsing, and when the monster hunter twisted his arm out of Carl's grasp, he fell to the ground heavily.
"That is going to leave a mark as well," said Van Helsing, watching him with eyes narrowed with satisfaction.
Carl groaned.
"Agin," sighed Dracula, "not one that is readily visible."
"Suppose he gets a girlfriend—"
"The monk?" said Dracula in surprise. Carl got rather angry.
"FRONK!" he bellowed.
There was a moment of silence, and then Van Helsing began to laugh.
"Fronk?" he repeated. "Fronk?"
"Friar, I mean," muttered Carl, embarrassed. "I did mean friar, I just got— a bit— mixed up—"
"Hello, I'm Van Helsing," said Van Helsing, still laughing, and pretending to introduce himself to thin air, "and this is my friend Carl, the Comic Relief Fron— fro—" He laughed so hard he couldn't complete the word. "Fron— fron— fr—"
"Oh, shut up, Van Helsing," snapped Carl, clambering to his feet and rubbing at his posterior, which hurt. "Must you be so childish?"
"Fr— fron—" wheezed Van Helsing.
Dracula folded his arms and looked annoyed.
"Are you coming? Ve must go find my brides now."
"Fr— fr—"
Carl stomped his foot. "Get up, Van Helsing! This is not funny! It is merely annoying!"
"Fron—"
"Now!"
"Fronk!" bellowed Van Helsing, finally managing to control his laughter enough to get the word out in its entirety. Carl sighed deeply, watching as Van Helsing stumbled to his feet and leaned against a wall, doubled over with uncontrollable laughter.
"Perhaps we could skip searching for the brides tonight," he suggested, "and take the rest of the day off. I mean, we've already killed one innocent bystander—"
"I vouldn't call the Vriter an innocent bystander," grumbled Dracula.
"Oh, yes, I forgot about her. I was thinking about Jenny. Alright, make that two innocent bystanders— or, at least, one innocent bystander, and one Writer. Really I think we ought to leave off for a few hours, pick up the trail in the morning."
"Fronk!" gasped Van Helsing.
Carl eyed him. "Besides which, I really think he needs to rest."
"Fronk!"
"And I need a beer," said Carl decidedly.
They knew they set out to find a beer. What they didn't know was the complex sequence of events that led to them drunk in a karaoke bar, with Carl on a table singing "MacArthur Park."
"I don't think that I can TAKE it, 'cuz it took so long to BAKE it— and I'll NEVER have the RECipe— agaaaaaain— ooooOOOOO NOOOOOOOO—"
Meanwhile, at a nearby table, Dracula was calmly explaining his life story to two or three very interested fangirls.
"So then I was cursed to live for all eternity in this very cold, damp castle, with no view at all and it snowed all the time, so the Devil gave me wings—"
"Oooh," said the fangirls appreciatively.
From across the room came Van Helsing's insane giggle and the occasional outcry of "Fronk!" He'd managed to invent a drinking game based on the word, and there were six or seven Londonians participating with a will.
All seemed to be going splendidly. Carl found a friend, a youngish woman who climbed up on the table next to him and sang "Man of Constant Sorrow," as a duet.
"Perhaps he'll die-IE upon the TRAIN!"
When suddenly a cold wind blew through the room, bringing with it the echo of cackling, evil laughter. Dracula's ears perked up a bit, but everyone else seemed to be able to ignore it without much trouble.
Dracula allowed his ears to subside again.
Let them have their fun for tonight, he reasoned.
Tomorrow, they'd get on the trail again.
Carl decided at that moment to have a go at actually singing a Willy Nelson song, which is more than Willy himself has ever done.
"On the ROAD again— I just can't wait to get on the ROAD again—"
Which reminded his new friend of a different, totally other song, which she belted out at the top of her lungs without a thought—
"Back in the saddle again— out where a friend is a friend—"
It is perhaps testimony to how pleasantly out of it everyone in the room was that nobody seemed to notice, and only one very angry man threw a rotten tomato at the figures on the table.
