Its my fault really, I should have given you more of a clue, and at least most of you all remember Tamerlaine Gentle, which I'm pleased about. I rather liked Tamerlaine, I'd hate to think she was doomed to whatever graveyard lies in wait for used-up OCs.
Ooh, I liked that sentence.
Anyway. Only one person got it right... everybody cheer for the return of Meta-Chi! Who knows what's going on in my mind and should probably be afraid, very afraid. Yes, Lemon Gently is actually the only daughter of Dirk Gently, who runs a certain holistic detective agency and travels back in time and talks to the gods and stuff. Yeah. If you don't know what I'm talking about, go to a bookstore and read any of Douglas Adams you can find. I would not be writing, period, if it weren't for him. I mean it. Anyway I only stuck her in there because she is soon to be the voice of a Hitch Hiker's fic, which I figured I had better work on so when the frenzy mounts for the movie, I can jump on the bandwagon and get lots of reviews... I am evil, aren't I?
But— still, you all knew who Tamerlaine Gentle was, pretty much—
and so I would like to, in my totally Random fashion, dedicate this chapter first to Meta-Chi, who got it right, and then, with a wink and a smile, to the people who guessed— RogueCajunOzsgrl, Carnicirthial, Lady ot Rings, Laiqualaurelote, and Terreis, who thought it was from "The Princess Bride." I love you all dearly.
And the rest of you slackers will have to be content with the hair I kept when Dominic Monaghan shaved his beard. Here ya go. :)
A few replies:
Aradia-hornbeam: Lovely to see you again! Yes, another Gerry fan! They're really coming out of the woodwork these days, aren't they?
Aseawen, Spaztic Arwen, eris: You guys all liked the Hugh Jackman poem! Talk amongst yourselves!
Knnyphph: interesting name... glad you appreciate Lemon, she's going to go away now though.
RogueCajun: Yes, obsessive behavior indeed, but I think there's a valid excuse—
MariAmber: you are welcome to lift pictures off my website if you want some of me for the (ahem) fansite... (starts sniggering and is unable to stop) Sorry, I still can't— quite— grasp the idea.
Nikoru Sanzo: Waiting for the next update, kid! Where is it?
Carnicirthial: nooooo I don't write in my underwear. We're not exactly a private family and I don't have a lock on my door, also I'm what they call insanely modest (which means I don't even wear swimming suits when there's a chance someone might see me) I just stuck that in there for Carl's benefit. And if I offended you at all I am dreadfully sorry... (edges away nervously) I never meant to hurt anyone... honest...its just my cynical nature...
Lady ot Rings: Fronk isn't going anywhere. Van Helsing is far too amused by it, even if nobody else is anymore... :)
Terreis: Aw, were you having a bad day? Sorry, but glad I could help a little... can't think of anything funny to put on my reply to you... grr... (goes off and pounds the snot out of her Muse with Beowulf's club)
Meta-Chi: can you believe what a dolt I was reviewing to your "Erik is Fired!" as though I'd never heard of you... I really must get my brain checked someday...
And now I am going to sing some of Monty Python's Camelot song—
Between our quests we sequin vests
and impersonate Clark Gable!
We dine well here in Camelot,
We eat ham and jam and spam a lot!
(deep voice)
I have to push the pram a lot!
(sigh) See what I do to keep you people amused?
Chapter Eighteen: Losing It
Lemon Gently proved true to her word. Once appropriate dressed, she led them out onto the London streets once more, Van Helsing still swaying slightly from his hangover, Dracula staring at his surroundings with suspicion, and Carl anxiously avoiding the squirrel that seemed to follow them everywhere.
It was a nice day, an unusual thing for England. The sun shone sunnily, small clouds drifted across the sky playfully, the flowers were blooming, and the whole thing was enough to make Dracula highly nervous. Lemon had provided him with an umbrella, a silly-looking thing with ruffles and polka dots and a humourous cow, but this only succeeded in making him irritated.
"Bloody weather," he grumbled.
Lemon laughed. "If you were mortal you'd probably enjoy it. Is it true that vampires only see in black and white?"
"What?" Dracula snapped.
"No, that's dogs, isn't it?" suggested Carl.
"Ah," said Lemon. "My mistake." She shrugged and led them on. Far from engaging one of those demonical vehicles she called 'taxis' as Carl hoped, she made them walk the few blocks to their destination, which proved in time to be a simple, ordinary street-corner.
With one small difference.
The group of teenagers gathered there were enough to scare the pants off Gerard Butler, and fervently several fangirls wished he had been there at the time. Dracula perked up immediately when he saw them.
"Vampires!" he cried. "My own kind! My kin!"
"No," said Lemon. "Goths."
"Goths?"
"Goths."
Dracula frowned. "I don't understand. What's the difference?"
"Goths don't suck your blood— just your sanity."
"Oh?" Dracula still sounded intrigued.
Lemon motioned to one of them, a tall, thin boy with a sullen face and three pounds of eyeshadow. He came towards them, a knife in one hand which he picked his teeth with.
"Guys, meet Marvin the Goth. Marvin the Goth, meet Dracula, Van Helsing, and Carl, respectively."
"Oh, alright," said Marvin the Goth agreeably, extending his knife-less hand for them to shake. "I saw that movie."
"What?" said Carl, Van Helsing, and Dracula.
"Never mind that," said Lemon. "They seem to be a bit touchy if you suggest that they're fictional characters."
"Oh, alright," said Marvin again. He shook their hands.
"Marvin, can you help us? We're looking for three vampires, brides, to be exact, who answer to the description of—" She turned expectantly to Dracula.
"Beautiful. Immortal. Deadly," said Dracula, closing his eyes.
Lemon turned back to Marvin. "Yeah, that. Beautiful, immortal, deadly."
"No," said Dracula peevishly. "Beautiful. Immortal. Deadly. The vords must be correctly spaced out, you see—"
"Ah ha," said Lemon to him, turned back to Marvin and rolled her eyes. "So, got a thought?"
Marvin appeared to think about this seriously for a few moments. "I don't know," he said at last. "What's a thought?"
Lemon sighed. "I mean about the missing brides."
"Oh! Oh, that! Um, yeah, hold on a second." He backed away from them and conferred with his fellow Goths for a few minutes before returning. "Jerry says maybe looking at the Night Club."
"Which nightclub?"
"The Night Club."
Lemon Gently frowned at him. "There's a nightclub called The Night Club?"
"Yeah. On Forty-Second Street."
"Not very imaginative, is it," whispered Carl.
"That's what I was thinking," agreed Dracula.
"Fronk," said Van Helsing, sniggering to himself quietly.
"Forty-second street, huh," repeated Lemon. "Thanks, Marv."
"Anytime, Lemon. Hey, didn't you say you were writing a poem for us?"
"Um— yeah—" She smiled shyly. "Do you want to hear it?"
"Ooh!" said Carl, jumping up and down a bit. "Do the one about Van Helsing again!"
Lemon cleared her throat and spoke. "Night is falling/ memories fade/ life no longer lingers/ my brain is melting/ I have experimented with the playthings of the gods/ and I shall reap the consequences/ for the rest of my living life/ that'll teach me to sniff glue."
About twenty fanfiction dot net administrators roared down on her at that moment and hauled her away, citing violation of the PG rating with this heinous mention of drug use. Lemon turned her head and bawled over her shoulder, "Van Heimlich! I looooooooooove you!"
"Actually, its Van Helsing—" the monster hunter called after half-heartedly.
They watched as she disappeared. This left the three of them standing disconsolately on the sidewalk.
Carl threw his hands in the air. "This is ridiculous!" he snapped. "People keep trying to help us, and either we kill them or they get hauled away by fanfiction administrators!"
"What," said Van Helsing keenly, "is an administrator?"
Carl stared at him. "Van Helsing, you are the reason I sometimes think the entire human species should be done away with."
"What," said Van Helsing keenly, "is a species?"
Carl hit him, but Dracula only laughed and said, "Come, ve must go to this Forty-Second Street and locate my brides."
"What makes you think they'll actually be there?" demanded Carl peevishly.
Dracula smiled. "I have the vord of a Goth. No one dressed entirely in black can be untrustvorthy."
"Hmm," said Carl thoughtfully.
Van Helsing started giggling. Slowly the other two turned to stare at him. He continued giggling, harder and harder, till he was laughing aloud, his shoulders shaking.
"Van Helsing, what—" Carl started.
"FRONK!" howled Van Helsing, and collapsed, not for the first time.
Carl and Dracula stared at each other, then heaved identical sighs of resignation, bent, and picked Van Helsing up by the feet and shoulders. Patiently they began to carry him in the general direction of Forty-Second Street, dropping him heavily several times along the way.
