Carry On Dancing

Dear Louis,

Blondes are dumb as evidenced by Felix following me into the Theatre of the Vampires after Armand's temper tantrum of 1780. You do not want to be like Felix and follow in Lestat's footsteps similarly do you? Oh wait. You did.

Do not continue repeat the mistakes of the past, Louis or you will surely succeed in in effecting your own self-fulfilling prophecy. You shall become dumb, blond AND depressed/ing. That is forbidden. You must be brunette to deepen your melancholia thereby enhancing your gift so that you can finally reach death perfection.

I will sit with you beneath Lafayette Cemetary for as long as it takes for you to become what you became.

Love always,

Eleni

I am so bored tonight! Mon Louis is depressed and David is at summer camp. I've been sitting her counting the flaxen hairs on my arm (2,432 so far, babes) and wondering if I need to exfoliate. Then I remembered that I'm like perfection and stuff and no exfoliating can buff this Frenchie any more!!1 :-D

But anyway. Why is Louis blond? It's not rad. And I think one of my things is bigger than the other. And maman is totally smokin' in this World Men Suck Day leaflet she sent through, but it wasn't enough for me to get truly worked up.

Screw it all. The only thing that will make the esteemed M. de Lioncourt happy tonight is a mirro--

Why, hello.

This has gone on long enough. Louis, you are not a natural blond, you are fooling precisely no one, and in fact, nobody cares. Except maybe Lestat, who keeps crying to me about it, so do us all a favour and lose the bleach. While you're at it, find your balls.

Lestat is not the only one who can write books, childrenbiscuits. I do not need anyone to interview me, either! If he can have another book about him, then so can I. It shall open as follows:

It was a dark and stormy night.
In a coffin in the ground there lived a vampire.
It was a bright and cold evening in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen.
Last night I dreamed of New Orleans...
I was born, I grew up.
If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you'll probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like ... and all that David Copperfield kind of stuff.

In the winter of my twenty-first year, I went out alone on horseback to kill myself.

This was on my plantation in New Orleans in Louisiana, and these were the last decades before the nineteenth century.

It was the worst winter that I could remember, and the slaves were stealing the sheep from my plantation and even running at night through the streets of the village.

These were bitter years for me. My brother was crazy, and I was the first son and the only one who had lived to manhood. I think I had a wife and child maybe also, but I cannot remember. Babette had beautiful breasts, though. They depressed me.

My plantation, the estate and the town nearby were my entire universe. And I'd been born depressed--the dreamer, the angry one, the manic-depressive. I wouldn't sit by the fire and talk of the old land and the price of tea. Life had no meaning for me.

In this dim and old-fashioned world, I had become the hunted. Early on a very cold morning in January, I became prey.

To be continued...

Beat that, Lestat.

Dear All,

It has been such a long time since I have posted here. It took me half an hour to remember how to switch the blasted thing on... so much for Marius and his theory that we never really forget anything. The man is so smug about his mastery of computers. And he didn't have to laugh so much when he pointed out that it wasn't plugged in!

I have been spending my time in deep contemplation. I spent three months continuously in the Lotus position. I wandered in the less populated parts of the great world. (I had to hide from Gabrielle a few times.) And I have come to one inescapable conclusion.

I am lonely. I miss the women who have given meaning to my life when (heresy though this will seem) even Nature herself did not suffice.

After much prayer and the casting of the runes, I have decided that I must deal with this loneliness in the manner of others in this modern age. To that end, I will be joining an internet dating agency.

But, though it pains me to realise it, I am not a natural seducer. I have no gift for wooing. So I must ask a very special favour to one among us who is a woman of letters.

Eleni, will you help me to compose a letter to post on my profile? One which will express my inner soul in the modern digital form?

My dear friends! I am back in jolly old Blighty after an eventful few months in that savage Captain Kurtz-esque colony, namely, Portugal.

One has had a spiffing adventure there that has turned into (one is quite abashed to say) a splended whodunnit. It was the old English chap, but as one now somewhat resembles one of those unruly Mediterranean types, one was allowed to trade in one's hire car and flee the country before becoming an arguido.

Bring back hanging, I say!

So, as my foppish friend Lestat might say, 'What are the haps, dudes?'

Damned Frenchmen.

I sent an electronic mail letter well over four weeks ago and you've yet to reply. I really have to know what to do about you-know-who's problem.

All my love,

Eleni

Two nights ago I dreamt that Papa Lestat gave me a doll with ginger hair, a striped shirt, maniacal eyes, and a cracked face. Oh and it was short as well. I've no idea what to do with it. Throwing him round the room seemed to have no effect. Cutting his hair didn't work. He watched the video I made during the day over and over last night. He even enjoyed the Walk the plank or I shall shove this knife into you pirates game. (Take note, Jesse)

I'm at a loss because I think that I am actually feeling maternal towards this new doll for today I dreamt that I named him Armanda and Daniel told me that he was the Monkey's Uncle.

What does it all mean?

Now, I know better than any of the selfish, feckless members of this coven how important conservation is. Mother Earth has seen fit to fill our world with creatures of great beauty and variety. So normally, I would be more pleased than any of you (with your massive carbon footprints) could possibly imagine at the birth of a member of an endangered species.

But why, oh why, oh WHY did these mortals see fit to name a baby giraffe after that woman? It brings back the most horrible memories, and now I have guilt again over the matter of sacrificing Sybelle to... her... all over again.

Can no-one distract me from this lack-of-closure-related torment?

hey guyZ!!!! gobbsy wants 2 do sumthin with m3 that's niiiiiiiiiiiice, he sed. LOLZOMGZZZZZZ!!!!111 i have no idea whut 2 wear, tbh i mean itz gunna be with an ANCIENT VaMpZ!!11123 KEWL! How bout skinny jeeeeeeeens, Gobbsy? Y/N?

Stop that, fool or I'll tell everyone that you got the wrong head stuck in the drain last night. Besides she doesn't care what you wear.

OMGWTF r u talkin 'bout, Gobbsy?!?!?!?! u sed it wud enhance teh experience but u so lied 2 m3. LIAR!!!!1112 ... A she-male? LULZ! W8. WHUT?

We're going to meet up with the one who's been around for almost 2000 years and likes to be very, very, very, VERY friendly with everyone who walks and some who crawl.

Pr0N!!!!!!!! um, Gobbsy? Liek Marius is a d00d (i think) not a d00dette and i wud be embarrassed 2 b nekkid with him. Also he h8Z me. :(

Just keep walking, brother who never should have been born.

Ur so funneh!----->LMAO!!! Y r we goin 2 see teh QuEnN?! ??

Not that friendly one, idiot, the one who would rip your heart out if so much as look at her wrong. Hmm.

ARMAND!?!?!?!?!?!?! OMGZ i caaaaaaaaant go thru that again. NO WAI!!! NEVAR.

*Sigh* That was our 'hand' and she's probably ripped his heart out by now.

O RLY? Akasha's back?!? KEWLIES!!!! i missed it teh 1st time. w/e :-D

No you raving lunatic it's.... Why Pandora. Hello.

I didn't know you'd been modelling. It's such a perfect likeness too!



Now what are these instructions?

Press the button on her back and her arm will move with an amazing "shushing action!"

Does this happen when Mael pushes your buttons hmm?

Someone has been plastering pictures on every known Vampire website on the internet with captions like this:

( It's so embarrassing that I have to hide them in here. >: )

EVEN MY ICON'S BEEN CHANGED! Mon dieu! Which one of you did it and what have *we* ever done to you?

So, like, i'm walking around .... cuz that's what i do, man, i walk .... and there's all these small blood bags wearing huge glasses and carrying sticks. At first, like, i think they're going to stake me and be all: i'm Buffy!, but then i hear them talking about hogs and warts and slithers and stuff.

Um, is something wrong with the little blood bags? Will i get some disease, like what happened to all of Paris, if i eat them?

i'm rilly hungry.

like, rilly.

shoes.

Hmm, I've checked all through the latest Harry Potter book but the chapter I wrote isn't in it. How can this be?

What's this? A letter?

Dear Ms de Romanus

Thank you for the suggested chapter for the latest Harry Potter novel, in which Harry is given "an education of a different kind" by an "incredibly beautiful" vampire named Pandora.

Firstly, this novel is intended for children and let's face it, your prose was enough to make even the most hardened Mills and Boon reader blush. Harry certainly wouldn't do *that* with his wand either! Secondly, do you not think that this Pandora character is just far too old to be up to this kind of caper? After all, she's nearly old enough to be his grandmother!

Thank you for the generous cheque. I have donated all the money to my favourite charities.

Yours

Etc etc

Old? Old? OLD!!!! And how many Prada bags could I have bought with that cheque. It is too much. Firstly, I'm going to lie down in a darkened room. And then I'm going to have lunch with a certain author.

Does this mean that the entire city of Paris is all Herpe-fied? Does herpes get on vampire bits and jigglies? Can i steer clear of bad herpes blood? Does anyone else care that Paris having herpes is the top news story and it seems there's no clean-up effort?

The Seine will never be the same. That's just sad.

Aunty Mar thinks I've been busy cataloging but I've actually been writing my life story instead. I'm sure she won't mind. I've already written a couple of chapters about the Dewey Decimal System, which I'm sure everyone will find interesting.

Here's the first draft of Lestat's concert:

"Talamasca!" Sneered a very short, spotty, ginger teenager.

"Taramasalata, actually." I replied loftily, with a toss of my long auburn curls. "And what's with the sailors caps and the sunglasses?"

"She's got a point, boss...ouch!"

I made my way through the crowds to the front of the hall. I pretended not to notice Mael, who was dressed "inconspicuously" like an old cowboy in rawhide. Obviously Aunty Mar was trying to keep tabs on me again.

At last I reached the front of the stage. The lights dimmed and then Lestat appeared on stage.

"Check out this ass, babycakes!" He roared.

I had to investigate further. After all, as a member of the Taramasalata, it was my duty.

"Oh, God, real!" I whispered. "You're really wearing sequined hotpants!"

"Shyeah sweet cheeks. I'm way hotter than Simon le Bon."

"Well you're way sweatier, that's for sure!"

Afterwards, I made my way out. Things were just a blur. Was Daniel really having to lift Armand up so that he could see the stage? And was Mael really leading the line dancing at the back of the hall?

I had no time to think any further because some rude vampire came up to me and tried to bite my neck.

::Talamasca::

"No, Taramasalata. I do wish you'd get it right!" And then for some reason he threw me at the wall. And where was Mael, huh? Probably still wowing the crowds with his dancing moves, or drooling over Gabrielle or Aunty Mar! I'm not bitter though!

What do you make of Lestat finding that closeness with Eleni that *you* never had, Louis? She's more meddlesome than Grandmere. (Just an expression, Grandmother)

I'll go see what this is all about in my usual manner.

Stop that, Lestat. It's forbidden.

I am Mael. I have a stupid password. I don't return telephone calls because I am too busy pining for Jesse and wishing I had balls big enough to win her back. (Maharet keeps mine in a jar.)

My browser history is predictable. 10 hits per day to the Rainforest Site, and then I go and write in my Diaryland diary that I think no one knows about. "Lo, my sorrow today is of quite a different nature to that of yesterday..."

I am a terrible friend to Gabrielle and I apologise publicly for not worthily appreciating her goddessness .

How can I heal thee today, coven? Because, do not forget, I am so much better than all of you and know everything.

iz everyone ded?

Garwain would like permission to slap the clown and I don't mean in a good way.

u can't, ur ded. ;p