InsaneJournal

Current mood:	amused
Current music:	Queen--Innuendo

through the sorrow, all through our splendor, don't take offense at my innuendo
I'm starting to have crazy vampire dreams thanks to this thing. Thankfully, they're crazy vampire sex dreams, so I haven't been scared off just yet.



Before I go on, though, a brief rant. I didn't mention before, but I'm really perplexed as to how they've only just decided to rejoin the troupe. I mean, what the hell were they doing? Just tooling around the countryside? The hell kind of a way is that to spend eternity? And Darren mentioned that Crepsley always has money for things, so where the hell is he getting it? Did he put aside just enough cash to sustain himself in case he was briefly inconvenienced by the plot? Didn't he have a plan for when he got Madam Octa back? It's so painfully clear that the author knew there was going to be a Point A and a Point B but didn't give a tin shit about how the two were connected. It's like he started writing and realized he had a problem and decided to just keep going instead of starting over or fixing it. It's just...so...STUPID. It's so stupid I can't even make fun of its stupidity, I can just sit back and stare in puzzled rage.

[15:38] Delcat: What the hell were they doing? Just...tooling around?
[15:39] Zeiss: Honeymooning.

Thankfully, Zeiss is always ready to snap me out of it. Thanks for being my cheap Pedobear joke wingman, buddy, you know how to keep it real.

Anyway, they take the night to talk it out. Crepsley will take up his Madam Octa act again, and Darren can do grunt work for his room and blood. Crepsley searches out Mr. Tall's "aura", because vampires are psychic when it's convenient for them, I guess.


He sat down in the middle of the church and closed his eyes. He was quiet for about a minute. Then his
eyelids opened and he stood.

"Got him," he said.

"So soon?" I asked. "I thought it would take longer."

"I have searched for his aura many times," Mr. Crepsley explained. "I know what to look for. Finding
him is as easy as finding a needle in a haystack."

"That's supposed to be hard, isn't it?"

"Not for a vampire," he said.


I really want to think that this is related to the fairly obscure bit of mythology stating that vampires have a kind of supernatural OCD, and thus spilling a bag of rice or speading newspapers around your bed is a good deterrent, since they'll be unable to attack you until they count or read every grain or word, by which point the sun will probably be up anyway. Why? Because the alternative is that the author is literally just typing whatever the fuck is coming into his head now, and I'm not quite ready to accept that yet.

Darren, perhaps wondering what their wedding is going to be like, asks Crepsley a Very Important Question. Crepsley proceeds to make shit up.


I took a deep breath. "Do you believe in God?" I asked.

Mr. Crepsley looked at me oddly, then nodded slowly. "I believe in the gods of the vampires."

I frowned. "There are vampire gods?"

"Of course," he said. "Every culture has gods: Egyptian gods, Indian gods, Chinese gods. Vampires are
no different."

"What about heaven?" I asked.

"We believe in Paradise. It lies beyond the stars. When we die, if we have lived good lives, our spirits
float free of the earth, cross the stars and galaxies, and come at last to a wonderful world at the other
side of the universe — Paradise."

"And if they don't live good lives?"

"They stay here," he said. "They remain bound to earth as ghosts, doomed to wander the face of this
planet forever."


Darren: MR. CREPSLEY MR. CREPSLEY
Crepsley: ugh God what
Darren: DO YOU BELIEVE IN GOD??
Crepsley: Sure. Sure, I believe in God. Vampire God.
Darren: OMFG HOW DOES THAT WORK??
Crepsley: He, uh...takes all the good vampires and turns them into Katamaris and throws them into the sky and they become stars.
Darren: WHAT IF THEY ARE DANGEROUS BAD VAMPIRES??
Crepsley: I don't know they become ghosts or something what have I told you about asking theological questions while my cock is in your ass

Darren asks what constitutes a good life for a vampire, and Crepsley bullshits a few rules about living cleanly, not killing unless necessary, not hurting people, and not "spoiling the world". Yeah, kind of failing on those last two, series. Drinking blood doesn't count as an evil act unless it kills the person you drink from, and it might even be okay then, which blows Darren away.


"Killing someone can be good?" I gasped.

Mr. Crepsley nodded seriously. "People have souls, Darren. When they die, those souls go to heaven or
Paradise. But it is possible to keep a part of them here. When we drink small amounts of blood, we do
not take any of a person's essence. But if we drink lots, we keep part of them alive within us."

"How?" I asked, frowning.

"By draining a person's blood, we absorb some of that person's memories and feelings," he said. "They
become part of us, and we can see the world the way they saw it and remember things which might
otherwise have been forgotten."


Darren: So that's why you told me to always swallow?
Crepsley: Yeah, that's right, memories and feelings and shit. Now get back down there and get to work, I feel a memoir coming on.


"One of my dearest friends is called Paris Skyle," he said. "He is very old. Many
centuries ago, he was friends with William Shakespeare."

"TheWilliam Shakespeare — the guy who wrote the plays?"

Mr. Crepsley nodded. "Plays and poems. But not all of Shakespeare's poetry was recorded; some of
his most famous verses were lost. When Shakespeare was dying, Paris drank from him — Shakespeare
asked him to — and was able to tap into those lost poems and have them written down. The world
would have been a poorer place without them."


Shakespeare: Ah Skyle, my friend, how kindly thou'st sucked my blood/But o, I fear that now you have the syph.
Skyle: FFFFUUUUUU--

Incredibly clumsy attempts at iambic pentameter behind them, the vampiric duo set off, Darren riding on Crepsley's back as he "flits". This is apparently the vampire version of the Knight Bus, as it consists of running at impossible speeds while mysteriously not being seen by anyone. Unlike the Knight Bus, there's no whimsical spell handy to explain how they manage to detect objects early enough to avoid reducing themselves to a smear of vampiric paste on a 7-11 wall. They pass some campers protesting a new road, which would probably be foreshadowing in any other book, but could go other way here due to the author having the same love of random observations as an ADHD-afflicted two-year-old on a day trip.

Reaching the Cirque, they're greeted by Mr. Tall and invited into his van. No really, I swear to God, they go into his van to talk. I know it's getting hard to tell the pedophile jokes from the actual pedophilia, but you've gotta bear with me--or should I say Pedo-bear with me? Hahahahaha...haaaaa.

...right. Turns out Mr. Tall's first name is Hibernius, because his parents didn't think being physically different from all the other kids would earn him enough beatings at school. Personally, I'll be calling him "Mr. T" from here on out, and I pity the foo' that challenges me on it. They chat a bit, and Crepsley asks if they can join up.


"Of course," Mr. Tall replied immediately. "Delighted to have you back, actually. We're a bit
understaffed at the moment. Alexander Ribs, Sive and Seersa, and Gertha Teeth are off on vacations or
business. Cormac Limbs is on his way to join Us but is late getting here. Larten Crepsley and his amazing
performing spider will be an invaluable addition to the lineup."


Alexander Ribs, Gertha Teeth, Hans Hands, Cormac Limbs, Rhamus Twobellies...by your powers combined, I am Captain Anatomy! Why does this rhyming scheme sound familiar, anyway?



Congratulations, author, you are officially just as good a writer as a five-year-old possibly mentally retarded very special alive stuffed animal otter. You are a special boy, author, you are a special boy.

Mr. T says that they'll be playing in the field in the middle of nowhere that they're currently camped in, which surprises Darren, but he maintains that they always get a large audience. He does admit that it's a slow time of year, especially since "several of our best performers are absent, as are … certain other members of our company." Mr. T and Crepsley exchange a "secretive look" over this statement. Darren feels left out. Del fails to care.

Crepsley asks if the campers are causing any trouble--oh, look, it actually IS relevant, miracle of miracles.


"What's NOP?" I asked.

"Nature's Opposing Protectors," Mr. Tall explained. "They're ecowarriors. They run around the country
trying to stop new roads and bridges from being built. They've been here a couple of months but are due
to move on soon."

"Are they real warriors?" I asked. "Do they have guns and grenades and tanks?"

The two adults almost laughed their heads off.


Mr. T: Oh my God, is he for real? No, no, he has to be a troll!
Crepsley: No, seriously, he's a decent lay but he's dumber than a sack of vampiric hammers. Let's pants him and drag him around the track.
Darren: I don't feel like this is a nurturing environment anymore :<
Crepsley: I'll nurture your environment if you don't get me a sandwich, woman!

After they finish having a hearty laugh at Darren's expense and Crepsley contends that he's not as dumb as he sounds (well played, sir, you may get some yet), Mr. T explains that the warriors are just Green Peace Lite. Darren tries to ask more questions, because he never saw the episode of Wishbone where they chain themselves to that really old tree with the tire swing because a greedy developer wants to bulldoze it down and build an ice cream store where it was why do I remember that, but Crepsley points out that the sun's going to come up and they'd best make like trees and leaf before they make like crispy critters and fry in their own juices. Mr. T inquires as to whether Darren needs his own coffin, and Darren refuses.


Mr. Crepsley smiled. "Put Darren in with one of the other performers," he said. "Somebody his own age,
if possible."

Mr. Tall thought a moment. "How about Evra?"

Mr. Crepsley's smile spread. "Yes. I think putting him in with Evra is a marvelous idea."

"Who's Evra?" I asked nervously.

"You will find out," Mr. Crepsley promised, opening the door to the van. "I will leave you to Mr. Tall.
He will take care of you. I have to be away."


...I...you know what? I'm not even gonna bother. This only page 23 of the second book, I need to reserve some pedo jokes or I'm gonna run out.


"Hello?" I whispered. "Are you Evra? I'm Darren Shan. I'm your new —"

I stopped. The slithering noise had reached my feet. As I stood rooted to the spot, something fleshy and
slimy wrapped itself around my legs. I instantly knew what it was but didn't dare look down until it had
climbed more than halfway up my body. Finally, as its coils curled around my chest, I worked up the
courage to look down and stare into the eyes of a long, thick, hissing …


See? I'm really having to pick my battles here, guys. If it keeps up at this rate, I'm gonna need a spreadsheet and day planner to make sure I pace myself properly.

You'd think that Darren would be used to long, thick, fleshy, slimy things by this point, but he ends up standing stock-still for a full hour because he doesn't want to disturb the snake. I would say that he's a pansy and that he should know that snakes of that size are constrictors, not venomous, and the worst thing you can do is let it keep wrapping around you, but given the series' biology record, it probably spits acid directly from his eyes and he did the right thing. Eventually, the snake boy wakes up and enjoys a hearty laugh at Darren's expense.


He swung down out of the hammock, crossed the tent, took hold of the snake's head, and began
unwrapping it. "You're okay," he assured me. "In fact, you were never in danger. The snake's been
asleep the whole time. You could have tugged her off and she wouldn't have stirred. She's a deep
sleeper."


Evra: Incidentally, you can tug me off in my sleep anytime.
Darren: Hey, that's Crepsley's schtick!


"She's asleep?" I squeaked. "But … how come she wrapped herself around me?"

He smiled. "She sleepcrawls."




The snake boy's just the same as he was the last time Darren saw him--still thin, still scaly, and still wearing nothing but a little pair of shorts. I want to make a smart remark about losing body heat, but I'm not sure how it'd translate and it'd probably just end up with Grimbles facepalming at me. He introduces himself as Evra Von ("Von what?" "Just plain Von.") and invites Darren out to eat. I would make a joke about Crepsley getting jealous, but he's clearly into that scene. They join a couple of other freaks at a campfire, and they immediately make a fuss over meeting the Darren Shan. Who knew freaks liked soccer?


Hans laughed pleasantly. "Half-vampires are nothing new. If I had a silver dollar for every half-vampire
I'd seen, I'd have …" He scrunched up his face and thought. "Twenty-nine silver dollars. But young
half-vampires are a different story. I never saw or heard of a guy your age living it up among the ranks of
the walking dead. Tell me: Have the Vampire Generals been around to inspect you yet?"


aaaahahahaha cough sorry sorry still trying to get used to that

Before Darren can ask about the pffft Vampire Generals hahahaha, a washerwoman reprimands Hans for talking about them. Presumably it's taboo to mention their names because it's hard to work when you're giggling uncontrollably. Instead, he asks if Darren would like some sausages or if he's a vegetarian, then laughs at the idea of a vegetarian vampire, because one of the few things this series has going for it is that it's still better than Twilight. Darren happily accepts the sausage, blowing on it to cool it and...no, dangit, no! Not going there! Must resist!

After Evra has introduced Darren around, Mr. T stops by to take stock of his potential value to the troupe. Conclusion: Jack shit. He gives up and tells him to help Evra with his chores until he learns some life skills other than whining and breaking the shins of small children.


"Very well. It's settled. Evra will be in charge of you until further notice. Do what he says. When your
colleague-in-blood arises," — he meant Mr. Crepsley — "you're free to spend the night with him if he so
desires. We'll see how you do, then make a decision on how best to utilize your talents."


Grrrgh...no, no, keep it together, Del, you can do this, you can hold back...you don't need to go there, you can find something else to snark it, you can take the high road...


"What do we do first?" I asked.

"What we'll be doing first every morning," Evra said. "Milking the poison from the fangs of my snake."


...n-no...no, I can do this, I can avoid the milking joke, I can avoid the trouser snake joke...


"Oh," I said. "Is it dangerous?"

"Only if she bites before we finish," Evra said, then laughed at my expression and pushed me ahead of
him to the tent.


It's okay that happens to a lot of guNO NO NO I CAN DO THIS I CAN HOLD OUT


Evra did the milking himself — to my great relief — then we brought the snake outside and laid her on
the grass. We grabbed buckets of water and scrubbed her down with really soft sponges.


...

...

...COOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOCKS COCK COCK COCKERY COCK COCK COOOOOOOCKSslajfljjfa;kk;';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';'


Next time: Del returns from a nice, long, police-assisted lie-down, no longer overwhelmed by sex joke overflow. Will the endless innuendo drive her over the edge again?