The Vampire as Metaphor...from The (Semi-) Complete Works of William Soames Walthrop...
PG 13
Summary: A lost work of one William Soames Walthrop (...aka Spike) as it was delivered at one of Cicely Addams' house parties, shortly before Will's demise. See the reference to it in "Drusilla"...
Disclaimer: All BTVS characters remain the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and all other owner/creators of the Buffy the Vampire Slayer series...
Contributions to the recovery of the lost works of England's third worst poet are always welcomed...
Part XXXVI...
"Heinrich…" Kitty eyed him as their carriage rolled along, Clarissa sitting quietly beside her, reading from a book of poetry she'd noted Gregor had shown considerable interest in…
"John Keats?" Nast eyed the book with kindly smile. "Tres romantic, my dear. Is Gregor truly a fan of the fellow?"
"He likes the poems, Stepfather…" she nodded.
"I wouldn't have taken him for…" Nast paused, briefly staring at space.
"Heinrich?" Kitty repeated, a bit nervous at his fixed stare.
"Avant!" he cried. "Leave me be! I've no miserable soul to listen to your pleas! I am Nast, the Napoleon of all things Vampiral! Go! Leave me!" he waved hands frantically.
"Mama? Is Stepfather ill?" Clarissa turned to Kitty.
"Quiet, girl! Heinrich?!" Kitty called to him. He shaking himself and then smiling at the two…
"My apologies, ladies. A little spasm…It's nothing."
"The voices again?" Kitty asked.
"It's nothing…Go on with your reading, dear Claire. I appreciate your concern, both of you, dear girls, but I am well. What were you asking, Kitty?" Nast eyed her.
"Just if you were all right…"
"No, before…" he waved impatiently at her. "You had a question."
"Oh…Well…"
"Why did I just enroll our dear Claire in a school at San Francisco? When the Hellmouth is in Los Angeles?"
She stared at him. Clarissa continuing to read…
"I've been waiting for you to ask all evening." He smiled. "The answer is simple. The Potters will not find me in Los Angeles. The Slayer will find the Hellmouth secure, for the moment…And then, thanks to certain leads I have left, she'll come here, to me. On ground of my choosing we will do our negotiation and, perhaps, battle."
"What if she don't? What if she stays in Los Angeles?" Kitty asked. "It's the Hellmouth, she's to protect, right?"
"Slayers are drawn to the greater threats to Humanity like moths to a flame. She'll convince herself to come, that my defeat and destruction is as important as the Hellmouth's protection. That her mission is incomplete without it. And by the time she comes, I will know where the Hellmouth is, thanks to her surveillance, and then…She will open it for me."
"But she's gotta be human, right? To open it?" Kitty, anxiously. "If she's human…?"
"She will be. And as vulnerable as any human…In love." He smiled. "Isn't it ironic? I did think I might have to try some mix of force and subtle control…Perhaps over months…But she has made it all too easy for us by falling in love with the man whom she meant only to use. Pitiful, really."
"It's sad…Stepfather." Clarissa interjected, gently.
"Who asked you to put your oar in, you silly thing?!" Kitty, annoyed.
"Kitten. Clarissa is quite right. It is sad." Nast nodded benignly. "The poor girl risked her heart and will pay dearly for it. And sadder will be the moment when Mrs. Potter no longer even cares for the one she destroyed herself for."
"I don't like the idea of her coming here…Why can't we deal with her in Los Angeles? We got a business here."
"A business…Respectable or no…That will welcome her as the jewel of our establishment. Our vampiral Slayer…Courtesan. Oh, it will be delightful to see her lure men to their destruction. And soon enough…We will have two…A matched set...A white Queen and a black." He beamed, quick glance at Clarissa. "And we will deal with her here, dear Kitty…Because I find it favorable to do so." His voice hardening… "And what I choose you are happy to comply with, aren't you?" grim stare. "Dear."
"Of course, Heinrich…" nervous look. "You know best."
The carriage slowing…
"Ah, we must be at the Emporium." Nast nodded. "Clarissa? Feel free to get whatever you like as to clothes. I want you to take your rightful place at school not merely as a classmate worthy of your colleagues, but as a proper Queen of Society."
"Yes, Stepfather…Thank you." Clarissa nodded.
"A blackie Queen…" Kitty, slight scoffing tone which faded immediately at Heinrich's grim stare.
"My dear." Gentle sigh. "This is 1869. There's no place for such attitudes in this emancipated world."
…
The Chicago Union Stockyards, pride of the metropolis and a place, Detective Harris had urged, not to be missed...
The large steer before the little group, locked in its stocks, bellowed mournfully at them.
"A fine fellow…" Vladimir noted, observing the beast from several angles. "So…If I understand it right, the animal moves from here down that fenced path…"
"Onto the slaughterhouse floor, that's it." The wizened old man in apron and cap, his coat hastily donned to cover the detritus of his trade, a foreman of the great Chicago yards and friend to Detective Harris, guiding the party at Harris' request, nodded.
"We're waitin' on the rest of the herd but once we get going…About two million animals go through a year now through the Union Yards alone."
"Two million?" Vladimir stared, Potter looking across the fencing to where the steer had now calmed, eating at a bale tossed to him.
"The Armour plant's right next door…Just opened a couple of years ago." The foreman noted proudly. "They can cut up a fellow like him in minutes on their new line. Organized all scientific-like."
"How amazingly efficient…" Vladimir noted. Elisabeth frowning.
"I think we best not take the tour with little miss here." She noted, indicating Miss Reynolds in her frock. Who in fact seemed rather interested in the process and not at all unduly disturbed by the clearly implied fate of the large animal before them.
"I'd like to see it…" she peered through the fencing. "Do they whack 'em dead, first?"
"That's how it's done, missie." The foreman nodded.
"Nice…" Harris peered over the fence as Ana frowned. "Bout how long to do a fine feller like him?" he pointed at the steer.
"Eh, crack the skull, then the line can cut 'em up in ten minutes."
"What perchance do they do with the…Byproducts?" Vladimir asked. "The blood, for example?" glancing over to a large stained area in the dirt near the steer. "It must get rather messy, especially in the plant there." He indicated the meat-packing plant further down the way.
"They drain it out through sluices in the floors…Wash out the floors with hoses…Runs out into a sewer to the river."
"Amazing. Though pitiful for the poor beasts." Vladimir, kindly. And really, rather a waste...Despite myself not having a great taste for cows' blood.
"Really, Harris?" Ana hissed.
"They wanted a looksee at the yards…Floyd owed me one or two." Harris shrugged, whispering back.
"Doesn't that befoul the river?" Potter asked.
"It gets bad sometimes, but it generally washes out fine." Floyd nodded.
"Generally…" Potter, dryly. Vladimir offering a faint smile.
"I think I done seen enough…" Elisabeth noted. "As have you, Millie. Lets go. Thanks for the tour."
"Yeah, Floyd…Much thanks." Harris nodded to the old man.
"Anytime, folks. Oh, you might care to take a gander at that newfangled train car over on the first track there." Floyd pointed. "It's the latest refrigerated car for shippin' meat frozen. Really somethin'."
"Remarkable." Vladimir agreed. "So one could ship carcasses anywhere the railroad reaches?"
"Long as the ice holds out." Floyd nodded.
Hmmn…I wonder if something could be done on a smaller scale in Romania. It would facilitate the shipment of blood or bodies.
"Can't we see where they do the bulls in?" Millie asked.
"Not today…It's getting' late." Elisabeth noted. "We'd best get you to some dinner then back to the train."
"I don't think I could eat after this…" Ana groaned. "Or drink the water."
"You'd best not. The water here's pretty bad. I hear some say it was the cause of the cholera here abouts." Floyd nodded thoughtfully. "Could be the blood or some of the other stuff slips into the lake through the river and the marsh."
"Other 'stuff'?" Potter asked.
"Piss, shit, pus and some other gore and such…Pardon me French, ladies." Floyd, apologetically.
"Makes one want to stay on a strict diet of wine." Vladimir smiled.
…
Seriously? Elisabeth eyed Potter as he dug into the large steak set before him. The group now having moved on to dinner at a rather pleasant restaurant recommended to Harris as having the best combination of fine ribs and steaks and the nice frills for ladies…
"When in Rome, dear. And I actually have seen worse in London and Dublin as to where meat comes from." Potter noted, with smile.
"Try my paprika chicken, Mrs. Potter. The chef knows what he's doing, I must say." Vladimir offered her a piece from his plate. "He must have Romanian blood."
I may go and find out, later…Though I'll be careful not to destroy such a fine local master of culinary art.
"That's not bad…" she agreed. "Wanna try my fish, Count?"
"With pleasure…" he beamed, take a small forkful from the side of her plate.
"Indeed, very good." He nodded.
"Ana? Some of my ribs? They're in the best town, Floyd says." Harris offered.
"Nah…" she shook head, gulping. "I think I'll stick with the bread, thanks."
"How's your steak tartare, little one?" Vladimir smiled at Millie who was hungrily eating.
"Good, sir. Thanks." She nodded.
"Perhaps you'd like the chicken, Miss Jenkins?" Vladimir suggested to Ana. "Very good for the blood, the spices."
"I'm good, thanks, Count." She shook head.
"I hope our tour didn't disturb you unduly." He sighed. "But, after all, we all eat and are eaten, in the end."
Well, you mortals are…I retain higher hopes.
"I suppose…" Ana shrugged. "But I'm fine, very kind of you, I'm sure."
"Not at all. I'm only sorry you're not fully enjoying yourself."
"Oh, I had a fine time…Till the stockyards…"
"You oughta know where that stuff the Germania serves comes from, Ana." Harris smiled.
"Yeah…Thanks, Alex." She glared.
"A truly delightful sojourn after such dark days…Ah, waiter!" Vladimir signaled to a passing waiter. "Champagne here for the table…And a sarsaparilla for the young lady. We should have a toast to those of us who in effect have resurrected from their illnesses like the proverbial Lazarus."
"Here, here…" Potter agreed.
The waiter swiftly returning bearing the requested bottle, glasses, and the drink for Millie.
"It's real swell of you to treat us, Count…" Elisabeth nodded. "Thanks." She raised her glass.
"It's only money…Nothing compared to the treasure of friendship, my dear." He returned, raising his.
And it's not even my money, courtesy of the good fellow he'd waylaid en route to fetch Miss Jenkins' conveniently "lost" glove just after their stockyard tour.
After all, while I can't put too much on poor Olive and her purse, the Dracule have a reputation for hospitality to maintain.
"To friendship and good travels heretofore and beyond…" he beamed at the group, all raising glasses including Millie her sasparilla.
Yes, indeed. Truly the pleasantest time I'd passed with humans in a few decades. While I may yet hope to turn things to my advantage and perhaps even conceive of a way to spare you, my dear friends...He eyed the Potters...If Nast does succeed and turns you both, it wouldn't be the worst thing to have such delightful company about me forever.
Win-win, as they say here.