Disclaimers: 'Forever Knight' and its associated characters are the property of Sony. 'A Prairie Home Companion' is a product of Minnesota Public Radio. Dedications: To Susan G.: 'Cause it's her birthmonth, which should, nay *must* be celebrated with fanficfare To LC: 1,920 years and still the baddest thing around! To Garrison: For infusing my Sunday mornings with music, laughter and just a dollop of wistful melancholia To Nancy: The accordion sketch is for you. Naturally. ================================================================= A Vampire Home Companion Erika Wilson August, 1999 ANNOUNCER: 'A Vampire Home Companion' is brought to you by FPR, Forever Public Radio. This program is being broadcast live from the Raven nightclub and hosted by Mr. Lucien LaCroix. [An accordion wheezes in mournful accompaniment to a young tenor voice] Old Screed was leaving Though I held him tight I could feel the end coming And urged him to fight. He smiled up at me And shook his bald head He knew how the wind blew And coughed as he said: 'Don't take it bad We had a good run A few wicked scrapes And a good bit o' fun.' 'Don't bury me bones, In the hard barren dust, Put me down by the water When I die, for die I must.' Down by the lake shore Away from dry land I buried poor Screed Deep in the sand. I gave him a song And a bottle as well, And swore as I drank That I'd see him in hell. [The accordion gasps out its last breath] (Sporadic applause) LL: "And that was Xavier Vaccarro and his Doleful Accordion." XV: "Thank you. Thank you very much." LL: "You know, I had no idea that an accordion could convey the essence of a funeral dirge. That's really quite . . . amazing." XV: "Oh yes. As a matter of fact, the accordion was originally designed as an instrument of mourning." LL: "Really? I've always thought of it more as an instrument of torture, but maybe that's just me. XV: "What?" LL: "Never mind. But thank you very much for enhancing our knowledge and expanding our horizons. Perhaps expanding them a little farther than we would have liked, but all the same, it was good to have you on the show. It will make us appreciate having you off the show all the more. Let's send him away with a big round of applause, shall we?" (much more enthusiastic applause). XV: "But I have another set to do." LL: "No you don't." XV: "Yes, I do." (flipping of paper) "See, it's right here in the script; 'How I Bleed for Screed' and 'My Screedy Lies Over the Ocean'. And at the end of the show, I'm supposed to accompany you and the boys in the 'B Negative Band' for the closing number." LL: "Let me see that. Oh, well, that's obviously a typo. I'm going to have to have a word with the script editor. (loudly) Miklos! Someone get Miklos out here, okay?" MIK: (puffing) "Yes boss, what is it?" LL: "Just look at this script, Miklos, it's chock full of erroneous musical numbers. How could you be so careless?" MIK: "I'm sorry boss. It won't happen again." LL: "Well see that it doesn't. But since you're here, you can escort Mr. Vaccarro to the exit." XV: "Huh? Can't I at least stay and watch the rest of the show?" LL: "I don't think so. Miklos, if you please?" XV: "Hey, wait, what are you doing?" (Sound of a struggle, punctuated by distressed accordion noises). "You don't have to be so---ow---Ooof! (Punt! Door slams. Door opens and accordion is tossed out with squeaks, wheezes and unfortunate crunchings). LL: "Ladies and gentlemen, Miklos! An adequate script editor, a sympathetic bartender and, when the occasion demands, a most effective bouncer. Take a bow Miklos." (*very* enthusiastic applause). "Thank you Miklos, you can get back to the bar now. I'm sure a number of our audience members have worked up quite a thirst. I know I certainly have. Which reminds me---this portion of our program has been brought to you by the Blood Bank of America, who would just like to say that if you don't feel that you're getting the most out of your precious bodily fluids, there are plenty of other folks out there who will. So stop by your local branch and make a deposit today. Don't make them come and get you, okay?" [A lonely saxaphone wails through the studio] "It's a dark night in a city that knows how to keep its secrets, but in a warehouse on Gateway Street, one man is still trying to find the answers to life's persistent questions - Nick Nuit, Private Eye." [Saxaphone dies away] (The phone rings and the machine picks up right away) 'This is Nick Nuit, I'm either asleep or incommunicado so leave a message, I'll get back to you as soon as I can. Unless I'm utterly and completely immobilized by the weight of my intolerable existence, or wallowing in a morass of unbearable guilt, in which case, I wouldn't want to inflict my pain on you. I mean, why should you have to suffer for my sins? For God's sake, haven't there been enough souls sacrificed to my pathetic weakness as it is? Just go! Leave me to my silence and my darkness! I will only hurt you as I have so many others!' [BEEEEEEP]. "Nick? Are you there? It's Natalie. If you're there, pick up. Dammit, Nick, this is important, pick up! So this is how it's going to be, huh? You feel free to intrude on *my* life at any time of the day or night, well, okay, maybe not during the day so much, but still . . . you're allowed to just waltz in and out like the wind, but how about the rest of us? Oh nooooo, we have to wait until Mr. Nick Nuit feels up to dealing with the world. Well let me tell you something, buster. As far as I'm concerned, you can take this 'cure' and shove it right up your--" [CLICK]. (Phone rings again, same message) [BEEEEEEP]. "Nicolah, it is Janette, are you there? Now cheri, there is no reason to be avoiding me, I understand your situation perfectly. Not that it's ever happened to *me*, of course, but I've heard that it happens to all male vampires at one time or another. You needn't be uncomfortable or embarrassed. Anxiety will only make worse. I'm sure all it will take is a little time, but in case the situation doesn't improve, I have the number of a very good morticia--ah, 'practitioner', who has had great luck in the past with problems such as yours. In fact, why don't I call him right now and give him your number? That way I can explain everything and save you the trouble. A bientot, cheri." [CLICK]. (phone rings again, same message) [BEEEEEEP]. "Nick, it's Tracy. Look, something has come up and we really have to talk. It's about your file. Okay, so I know I shouldn't have been snooping, but, well, *you* never volunteer information about yourself and I was really curious. I mean, we're partners, after all. We *should* know things about each other. So I called in some favors---actually I called my father---and got your file. Nick, you keep blood in your refrigerator? I think we need to have another talk about that sunlight allergy of yours. Is that really all there is to it, or have you been laughing at me behind my back? All this time you've let me think---God, I can't believe I actually fell for it! I'm coming over there Nick and you'd better be ready with some answers or so help me--" [CLICK]. "It's a dark night in a city that knows how to keep its secrets, but in a warehouse on Gateway Street, one man is still trying to find the answers to life's persistent questions as well as the earliest flight out of town - Nick Nuit, Private Eye." [A lonely saxaphone fades into a pensive silence] LL: "Well, it's been a quiet week in Herculaneum, my home town . . . (applause). Spring has come early this year and the sides of the neighborhood volcano are absolutely covered with bright, beautiful flowers and burgeoning grape vines. No one knows why everything seems to grow so much better on the volcano, but like good Romans, we just count our blessings and leave it at that. As Pastorus Incubus, our temple priest always says, 'If the Lord Zeus had wanted us to know the answers to everything, he would have written them down somewhere'. And that's good enough for me. "On one particularly fine day last week, the boys from Herculaneum High's wrestling team were invited to attend a picnic near the summit of the volcano. The picnic was hosted by the local chapter of the VVV, which stands for the Vesuvian Vestal Virgins, and it was reported that a good time was had by all. Such a good time, in fact, that a petition has been going around with a proposal to change the designation of the Vesuvian Vestal Virgins to something a bit more accurate. "After signing the petition myself, with a write-in vote of 'Vesuvius' Vivacious Vixens', I hitched up the old chariot and headed out to visit some friends in the nearby city of Pompeii. Like most cities of its size, Pompeii has a large number of seedy gambling dens, poorly-lit wineshops and of course, high-end brothels. Needless to say, I try to get down there as often as possible. But sometimes weeks will pass before I can free myself from my position as Heculaneum's Head Harlot Inspector--(laughter)--What? Do you think it's *easy* being a harlot inspector? Do you think just *anybody* can be an officially sanctioned harlot? It takes skill, talent and an abiding dedication to personal hygiene. Why, some girls spend *years* learning the tricks of the trade, so to speak. I'll have you know that in our town, harlotry is considered a very honorable profession. One of the oldest government-appointed positions, I believe. So I take my job very seriously indeed. And when there are more wanna-be-harlots than there are positions to be filled, I'm the one who has to make the tough choices. I'm the one who gets to deal with the heart-wrending sobs of the teary-eyed girls and the heart-felt threats of their basilisk-eyed mothers. So don't think my occupation is just a big bowl of olives, no sir, it's not. "So after a very long week, I finally cleared the last of the applicants off my desk and headed for Pompeii for a few days of well-earned rest and relaxation. "I'll tell you, they can say what they like about Londinium, Carthage and even Rome herself, but as far as I'm concerned, no city is as beautiful as Pompeii in the springtime. The orchards and plantations around the city were in full verdure, bursting with fresh new life after the barren months of winter. And oh, the roses! The surrounding hills were covered with their sprawling scarlet masses, filling the air with a perfume that is . . . truly ambrosial. Children and young women were scattered among the briars, stripping the petals for elixers, sweetmeats, garlands . . . just everything you can think of that a rose could be used for and a few things that even you wouldn't have thought of. The harvesters behaved like a flock of birds; descending upon a bush whose canes drooped under the weight of its blooms; chattering, singing and swearing at the sharpness of the thorns, until the canes rose into the air, naked except for a immodest covering of translucent green leaves. And then the flock of children would rise up together, stained with rose juice, dusted with pollen, smelling like the expensive undergarments of a high-end courtesan, and carry their ruby-filled baskets into the city. "Such is Pompeii in the Spring. And this is how I entered the city, driving over a carpet of spilled rose-petals, breathing deeply of the scent released from beneath the wheels of my chariot. It was such a heady elixer, I was already drunk before I had even stopped at the first poorly-lit wineshop. Undeterred, I stopped by several anyway and by the time I decided to find my friend's house, the world was looking very rosy indeed. "When I arrived at Selene's villa, there appeared to be a large party in progress. There were dozens of chariots clogging the street and the front lawn was littered with empty wine jars and inebriated Romans. Picking my way carefully past these obstacles, I made it to the entryway and stepped inside. And oh, what a sight met my eyes! This wasn't just a party, this was a full-blown Roman orgy! And trust me, I know an orgy when I see one. You would too. It's one of those distinctive events that's pretty hard to mistake for anything else. As I stood there on the threshhold, drinking it all in, for a moment, just a moment, mind you, I considered lowering myself into that steaming pool of writhing humanity, completely immersing myself in the pleasures of the flesh until my every care, every concern and every scrap of clothing miraculously disappeared. "But I didn't. Nice boys from Herculaneum just don't get involved in big-city orgies. Oh, sure, there are always stories told in Livy's wine shop or down at Brutus' chariot-repair about so-and-so's brother who went to visit his Aunt Agrippina in Naples, and suddenly, inexplicably, found himself surrounded by an orgy. Sometimes these things just happen, you know. And then what are you supposed to do? It would be rude to just up and leave. The common consensus in all these discussions was that, when confronted with an unavoidable orgy, one should attempt to locate the host and follow their lead. Everyone agreed that it's hard to go wrong that way. "But these were just stories. No one in Herculaneum actually *knew* anyone who'd been in an orgy. The closest any of us ever came was the annual Spring picnic on the flanks of Vesuvius. But that was different. It was a cherished tradition and as such, it carried with it an aura of innocence and predictibility that orgies just don't have. "The scene in front of me struck me as neither innocent nor predictable and so, as a properly brought up Heculaneumean, I circled the room warily, hugging the wall until I located the hostess and caught her eye with a polite smile. She waved back and indicated with a gesture that I was to make myself at home. I nodded, picked up an unopened jar of wine and headed back towards the gardens. "To my relief, the party hadn't spilled out this far and I sat down on the edge of the fountain with a sigh. I opened the wine and took a long pull. When I opened my eyes, a young girl was standing in front of me, regarding me somberly. "'Divia!' I exclaimed with pleasure and opened my arms. She accepted my embrace without attempting to return it and the expression on her face did not change. 'Why Divia, aren't you glad to see me?' "She tipped her head in a non-committal fashion, but picked up my hand and tugged me to my feet. Unresisting, I allowed her to lead me towards a clear space in the garden. "And there such a sight met my eyes that rendered me speechless. The ground had been molded and contoured into hills and valleys, while twigs and small plants had been added to represent forest and brush. Upon this landscape, a miniature battle had been erected with exacting precision. Roman soldiers hewed at fur-clad barbarians with unmistakable violence. Casualties lay strewn about the field and I saw that each wound had been painstakingly rendered, even to the addition of actual blood and entrails. "I kneeled down and shook my head in disbelief. 'Oh Divia,' I choked with difficulty. 'It's absolutely perfect. Down to every detail.' I turned to her and finally saw her smile, a tight little expression that barely touched her eyes. 'You are truly the daughter of my heart.'" 'Thank you, Father.' She replied and turned to gaze at the battleground thoughtfully. 'Now that I've finished the battle, do you think you could help me with the maimings and the executions? I've forgotten how many captives were beheaded and how many only had their hands cut off.' "'Of course, my dear. I'd be happy to.' And we set to work, side by side in perfect understanding. "This may be a rare thing, but I think I knew, even at the time, that day was destined to be one of the happiest days of all my long years. And so it was. "And that's the news from Herculaneum, where all the nouns are declined, all the verbs are regular, and all the children are non-gender specific." (applause) END ============================================================= Comments, rhubarb pies, buttermilk biscuits and Norwegian bachelor farmers to: Erika