Greetings, all! This might technically be classified as a 'late update'. But then again, I never promised any particularly early ones ('tisn't good to make promises you can't keep). 'Truth, WAS busy relocating myself to Glasgow University (I have met a charming polish girl who speaks in Silas' very-same Draculaccents. It's great. Bloody hard to understand, but great :) ). Anyway. Thankyou for being loyal and bearing with the lazy updates, and without further ado...

-

Silas had a strange dream...and in it, witnessed a horrific sight - no, not Amaria's baby photos, but hell.

Hell itself, and all of Silas' darkest fears within it, like a violent Dantean vision. Silas was snatched away by a demon, and saw all things revealed. One room showed victims with their arms chained just out of reach of the TV remote-control…and being forced to watch endless 'Big Brother' episodes. This meant nothing to Silas; but presumably it did to the victims, who kept screaming about being allowed to die, and trying to claw their own eyes out.

The demon showed him three rooms, and told him to choose which one he'd like to spend eternity being horribly tortured in.

The first room was awful - a mighty, three-headed dog chased the hapless torturees, ripping them mercilessly to screaming shreds. Every so often, the torn-up bodies would stick themselves back together again, only to be chased and agonisingly mauled to bits once more. No way, thought Silas. The second room was worse: in it, lustful torturees were whirled about in the air by powerful winds, and smashed against the gigantic walls. And they were in constant torment from their aching arousal, moaning and eyeing each others wibbling flesh up ravenously, yet they could never catch each other or pause to satisfy themselves. Silas shut his eyes - not here, please, no! The third room was much better. The torturees were happily standing around in ordinary clothes, some holding cups of tea or digestive biscuits and chatting to one another in a relaxed fashion. True, they were thigh-deep in dung, but apart from the smell, they appeared quite content. I expect you'd get used to it after a while, thought Silas.

'I'd like to stay here, please,' he told the demon.

'As you wish,' the beast cackled, and cracked a whip at the others, 'Alright, you lot! Coffee break's over! Get back to standing on your heads for another 23 hours!'

'Merde, 'thought Silas, and woke up screaming.

'AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!'

The door was flung open, and in bounced Amaria. She hurtled towards him in a hanky-sized scrap of black lace, flipping on the lights as she went and reaching greedily out to clasp him to her escaping bosom. Silas continued screaming with the kind of manly, looooowscream that suggested he could happily yowl until dawn. Amaria grabbed him by the shoulders.

'Shhhh, Silas! It's ok, its me!'

'I know, that's why I'm screaming!'

Amaria ignored him.

'Shhhhhh, baby,' she said, stroking his forehead,'You were just having a nightmare'.

He gave her a look which read 'WERE?'

Amaria ignored him again. Lacking any sort of empathy whatsoever, she was a bit stumped as to what do after engaging in the mutual, faintly erotic forehead stroking. Her mind had only one track, and the thoughts that travelled on it were faster, louder and more obvious than a Landspeed Record Attempt. Fortunately, Silas solved the problem by cocooning himself modestly in the duvet and growling that he was off to sleep in the garden.

'But I have to be here to comfort you!' she wailed feebly as he walked down the stairs. She stamped helplessly on the spot, beating her skinny fists pathetically,'You can't leave meeee!' she whinged.

'Get stuffed, mademoiselle,' he called back to her, as went out to lie with his head in a lavender bush.

-

Morning.

Silas gazed at the sky a moment, then oozed silkily from his duvet and indoors. Back in his bedroom, he began to get down to pray. It wasn't the most exciting start to the day, but for him, it still beat the hell out of a cheese bagel. He had just begun, shifting his wounded leg painfully into position, when there came a boing! noise from behind him.

'Writhe, I mean, rise, and shine!' Amaria trilled, bounding in rudely without knocking (not that she hadn't been spying through the keyhole for the last 10 minutes to see if he did anything naughty), 'Lazybones!' she sniggered, and blew a raspberry at him. Silas cringed.

'But I'm recovering from a serious gunshot injury that nearly proved fata...'

'Oh, you've always got an EXCUSE, haven't you! Silly sausage! Look, I was up early, and I just popped along to the shops, and I passed by the menswear shop and I just happened to see these and think of you...' she indicated 5 or 6 large bags.

'You...just happened... to see all those?'

'Yeah. I have big eyes'

Silas frowned.

'Mademoiselle, I cannot accept these. I have my robes and that is enough'.

But despite himself, he stuck his nose into one of the bags, feigning disinterest - and before he knew it, he was admiring himself in the mirror in one of Amaria's new outfits. Despite her many flaws, she actually had quite a pleasant sense of coordination, even if some of it was a bit...fruity.

Tight jeans were one thing, thought Silas, but these feel as though they've been invented by the Spanish Inquisition. Not that Silas did plan on having any children, but he was still quite literally attached to his reproductive organs, although that might change if he sat down too quickly.

'Are you sure this wasn't your laundry? These must be woman's clothing!'

'Nope! Although...it could be arranged if you swing that way,' Amaria waggled her drawn-on eyebrows.She flashed him a sexy grin. On someone else, it might've been a turn-on. On her, it looked like a bad orthodontics advertisement.

'I mean, fetishe...'

Feeling queasy, Silas pointedly pressed his sharp nose against the window and changed the subject,' Oh wow, is that a blackbird? It's black, it' a bird...but I can never tell. Hoo yeah. Mmm. Could be a crow'

Amaria raised her eyebrows, but her memory would have shamed a goldfish, and after 10 seconds of silence, she had forgotten why they were raised in the first place. She lowered them and peered into the bags.

'Hmm, I guess I must've bought one size too small'

'ONE size?' Silas echoed in disbelief, staring at himself in the mirror. The thin white T-shirt would be fine, so long as the temperature didn't suddenly drop, in which case it was going to rip in at least two locations and the accompanying shivering would probably be constricting enough to give him a seizure.

'Well, the skinny fit is in everywhere at the moment'

'I can see that,' Silas whimpered, misunderstanding,'this skinny fit is definitely right in EVERYWHERE at the moment'. He angled his neck to see his mirrored back, like a very flat swan, and...well, 'admired' was too strong a word, but 'regarded' what appeared to be the movie poster for James and the Denim Peach.

It was strange, but he'd always assumed Vanity would feel as revolting and wicked as the sin it was. And if the end result of said Vanity looked anything like the fleshy weirdy-fest that was Amaria, it also probably wasn't worth sinning anyway. However...he couldn't shake off the feeling that nothing that looked that good could possibly be bad. The word 'spankable' kept slithering in the corners of his mind like a snake. He shooed it out, but it was quickly replaced by another idea:

These take about half an hour to put on and take off, and at least fifteen minutes to even get undone, he reminded himself. Amaria hasn' got that much patience. As a monk, it is my holy duty to preserve my purity by wearing impossibly tight jeans! Although I possibly shouldn't phrase it quite like that when explaining it to Opus Dei. They just won't get it.

If I actually go back there.

'So we're all agreed, then? You'll accompany me to go and return most of these, except for a few things a size larger?' Amaria trilled, beside herself with excitement, at the prospect of a shopping trip with her new would-be lovebunny. Silas shrugged helplessly, went to kneel down to pray, realised he couldn't bend in the jeans and decided to leave it.

'One morning won't matter,' he said to himself, feeling quite relieved, 'Beautiful morning. No sense in being so preoccupied with thanking God for it that I neglect to enjoy it, now, is there?'

-

Amaria herself was wearing a nice conservative red-fishnets-and-PVC combination. It was definitely sexy - if your idea of sexy involved The Rocky Horror Show. Silas eyed her up disinterestedly as they walked down the street a short while later.

'All the young women wear this now, do they?'

'Oh, no! If they did, I wouldn't be wearing it,' she mewled, 'I'm so very original. So very special and unique. I'm...' and off she went, onto her favourite subject: Herself.

They had gone quite a way into town before Silas began to get nervous, looking over his shoulder and shying away from the staring eyes of the passers-by.

Yep. You guessed it. It was time for the 'Silas Gets Stared At' scene:

-

'Why do they stare at me?' Silas wondered aloud as he made his way down the street.

His shoulders were hunched, his feet were leaden with misery and his nose was knackered. A single tear slipped out, and rolled poignantly down one chiselled cheek, caressing the skin as it went. It was a very lucky teardrop.

Silas wept a little more to himself, noting how everyone turned to stare at him, heads flicking round in amazement, and cries of wonder following him wherever he went.

Especially the women.

They hate me most of all, Silas told himself.

Look at them staring, and pointing, and…fainting. And chasing after me.

He frowned. It was quite odd the way they did that. He'd always thought they'd find him so hideous they'd run AWAY from him, but for some mysterious reason, women always ran TOWARDS him?

At last, he rounded on Amaria, trotting obliviously beside him and adjusting her eyeliner.

He cried out in despair:

'Why do these women chase me! Why do these people stare at me! Why do they cry out! Am I that much of a FREAK? Is it my hair? My skin? My eyes?'

Amaria closed her power compact distastefully.

'No, Silas. It's probably the fact you're naked'

Silas looked down.

And he was.

'Hey, why didn't you TELL me?'

'Well, I thought you'd have noticed!'

'Look, you KNOW I have a nakedness problem! How can I be expected to get through the day without tearing all my clothes off and thrusting my Michaelangelo-esque, hung-like-a-dinosaur body in the direction of some unsuspecting female? It's not my fault! I can't break it, ok? It's like an unwritten law is causing me to get naked every five minutes!'

'Really?' twittered Amaria, who didn't really give a damn about him as long as she got laid at some point. Given a little more privacy, she'd have pounced (malformed hyaena-cub that she was...!), but even she wasn't about to try it on in the middle of the steet. 'Have you tried chewing gum? Or nicotine patches? Anyway, my eyeliner looks ok, doesn't it?'

'What?' Silas frowned, yelping as three young ladies, foaming at the mouth, caught up with him and started pinching his pasty backside furiously.

He attempted to shake them off, but alas, every attempt to move only resulted in a flexing of his taut, chalky muscles, and subsequent swooning. Amaria, as usual, only knew how to react if you gave her a cue, and couldn't deal with any deviations from the pre-arranged plot. Her list of cues ran something like this:

Silas is crying: feed him, stroke his forehead, and smile coyly every time he stares at you (he likes you and wants your babies! Giggle!)

Silas is crying harder: Ask him why he's crying (yawn! As if you care!)

Silas develops a faintly humorous man-problem and gets embarrassed: Pretend not to notice. DO NOT: a) pounce on him, b) point and laugh c) make comments like 'Ha-ha! Boner!' or d) do all three.

Silas stares at you: Pretend not to stare back. This allows for a good seventy-three paragraphs of Silas mentally giving himself twelve million reasons why no-one could possibly fancy him.

Silas literally beats himself up: Cry pitifully until he stops, then stroke his forehead.

Silas nearly dies: This one's easy. Wrap him in bandages and change the dressing every thirty seconds. Even if he's got leprosy.

Silas actually dies: Do not pass 'Go', do not collect 200 Pounds.

Silas commits suicide through your talking garbage and not leaving him alone: Whoopsie!

Silas prays: Blink a lot, lay your hand on his shoulder, and spout any bit you can remember from 'The Passion of the Christ'.

Silas gets angry: Duck. And stroke his forehead later.

So far, these stock responses were proving highly effective.

Amaria sighed. She did this because she had run out of things to do. She reached the first shop and went in to set about the business of returning the unwanted items whilst Silas found some pointy sticks, pepper spray and hopefully undercrackers as well, to prevent any more fangirl chasage.

Suddenly, Amaria stopped.

She stared.

Her jaw dropped in amazement at the sheer beauty.

Two silvery, sexy beings made their way towards the glass shop-door in front of her.

They were dressed all in a very cyberish ivory-silver, with a bizarre, shaved-high hairline, and Silas-coloured albino dreadlocks fanning elegantly down their broad shoulders.

There were matching sunglasses. There were strangely appealing ivory winklepickers. There were white silk ties. There was a loud and painful 'crunch!' noise as one of them walked into the door.

He crumpled humorously into an undignified cyber-heap. The first twin turned to him furiously.

'HOW many times? We walk in sync UNTIL we reach a door, then ONE goes through first! You just ruined our cool!'

'Sorry,' Two mumbled, 'it's just...why do you always get to go through first...?'

'I'm ONE, that's why - Twin One, Twin Two, it's in order'

'...and anyway, I didn't see the door. I thought we had sonar? Does the Matrix give us sonar?'

'No, Twin Two, we do NOT have sonar'

'Well... can we upgrade to it, then?'

'Oh, you're always wanting upgrades!' the second one bitched, waving his cyber-arms about, ' it's upgrade this, ungrade that, nyer-nyer-nyer 'Can we have blue hair, One?' 'Can we have built-in magnets that attract hot cyberchicks, One?' 'Can we have can-openers for hands, One, I can't get the lids off our lunchtime ravioli...? '

'Hey-hey, the can openers wereYOUR idea, and...!'

Amaria cleared her throat.

'Um, guys? I think you're in the wrong movie'

'This isn't the Matrix?'

'It might be...but we've got our own little story going on here. Athough,' she said, eyeing up their gorgeous pixels, 'Would you mind if I just asked you guys a few questions? How...moral...are you?'

'Moral?' squinted One, 'Isn't that the orange stuff that grows on reefs?'

'Oh, WOW,' Amaria fanned herself, swallowing, 'So...you don't have a religion that means you're essentially two really beautiful albino-types whose Holy Teachings utterly forbid you to pair up with anyone and make really beautiful albino-type babies with them, even though it's hideously unfair to all those who very much want to bear your really beautiful albino-type babies?'

'Religion?' smiled One, straightening his tie.

'What's a Religion?', smiled Two, straightening his.

Amaria grinned like a shark.

-

When Silas returned, having managed to shake off his pursuers, there was a faraway look in Amaria's eyes. She hurriedly stuffed a piece of paper with what looked like phone numbers on into her bra, and they walked on...

-

Thanks to my reviewers: Malaysian Gal, Kelly Tolkein, BelleEve, Countess Verona Dracula (Brownies? Fun fact; didn't know that. But, my dear, I thought you also ATE brownies in America? Doesn't it traumatise the children?), Elaine, Shy FX ( :-) strangling the postman sounds very reasonable to me, well done! And as to worship, I'll won't deny it'd be useful on those days where y'wake up and find the size of your self-confidence has reduced from 'airship' to 'lychee' overnight... ), adeline7g, sweetgirl99 (Goth bless you, my dear, the father, son and holy spiggot or any equivalent. There's nothing so delicious as a proper long review to sink my little sharp teeth into. ;) I am so glad you're as happy as a clam...why a clam would be happy, I don't know, but I'm still glad.)

And anyone notice the ooooooospooky thing just after I posted the last chapter? 166 fics in the section, 6 chapters and 66 reviews. ''sings'' 6-6-6, the number of the beast!