Countdown Classics

With or Without You

"Sleight of hand and twist of fate..." With or Without You- U2
"A Vampire or a Victim, It depends on who's around," Stay U2
"You're not the only one/ Staring at the Sun" Staring at the Sun U2

"Because I could not stop for death / He kindly stopped for me" Emily Dickinson

"Father, brother, son," Godric

I was singing a hymn on my way to the bar. "I come to the garden alone, while the dew is still on the roses," I sang the song that came unbidden to my mind as I watched the sun go down over the horizon. I am not a singer and this evening, I heard my voice tremble and crack.

Eric Lover was asleep in the back, and Violet was in the passenger side of the car. She handed me a tissue, from her endless supply of tissues, and I wiped my eyes and put my hand between my legs to fish a cigarette out of the pack nestled there with the lighter. Eric Lover draped her hand over my shoulder and I put the crumpled pack in her hand with the lighter. God Speed, who had driven the earlier part of the trip was in the back with Eric Lover. I thought he was asleep but he just sat there, quiet, looking at the darkening scenery as we bulleted through the deep south.

"Aren't you tired Aslinn, want me to drive?" asked Vi. I shook my head.
"I could drive all night," I said, tears till on my cheeks. I inhaled on the cigarette and blew out a plume of smoke that was caught instantly by the suction from the driver's side window. I looked in the rear view mirror and I could see five other cars with members of the True Blood Anonymous group following us. When I left, my dad asked me where I was going. "To see a man..." I began but I simply turned around and got in the car and took off.

I had called my counselor and he tried to tell me that the Lead Counselor would not want to see us right now, that we should email him and send him our regards but for the first time ever I disagreed with the low soft southern voice. See, we knew them as well as they knew us, we knew them better than they knew each other.

We would not last till Wednesday for the regular meeting, we would not be able to tell him what was in our hearts. Losing the visiting counselor was a blow to us, we didn't know how to feel about it and we had to get to the man who would know. Finally we came to our journey's end.

The bar was dark. It would not open tonight out of deference to not only the man who was gone but the man remaining. I got out of the car in time to see my counselor come out of the shadows.

"Are you disappointed we could not take your advice?" I asked the shadow.
"No, but I do not understand," he said in his soft voice.
"It's not to understand, it is to do, it's what our kind does," I said. "We grieve."

I turned and followed the others the others into the bar, the door held open by a short thin blond woman, dressed in black and brassy looking with a hard edge about her. But even this simple creature felt the pain in the man in the bar.

We sat down at the bar and at the tables and the woman who opened the door for us came around the bar.

"Offer them something to drink Ginger and when they are served, leave us," said the voice in the corner. It was a sad, unusually tired voice. The woman asked to the bar in general what we would like to drink. To make it simple we all had a beer. She began setting up bottles and God Speed and Liberator and anewaphorist went up and got the bottles and passed them around to us.

"Ginger, Aslinn is shivering, get her my jacket out of the office," said the voice. "You should not be here."
"Do not presume, with all respect, to tell any of us who should be here and who should not be here, not after what we have witnessed," I said to the man in the shadows. When Ginger reappeared, I did take the jacket from her hands and slide it around my shoulders. But I felt other hands, settling it over me and reached up and squeezed the cool hand of my counselor, who squeezed my shoulder and sat behind us, several feet away, in the shadows.

Several of us noticed the female counselor settle herself at a booth in the corner.

"So, why are you here?" asked the voice of the lead counselor.
"You said "Trust Me" so now, I guess we want you to trust us," said Sweet and Wild."You need us."
"Need...I don't understand..." he said hesitantly.
"Enough of that," said Eric Lover. "That whole 'Don't use words you don't understand/don't use words I don't understand' crap. You know what Sweet is saying to you. We are grieving too,"
"Why are you grieving?" he asked.
"Come on, we may be junkies, but we understand devotion, love, inspiration," said God Speed. "We understand loss."

"We did not know the visiting counselor for long, but he brought something wonderful to the group," said Roygbiv. "He was magikal, a pure spirit, and now we will miss his goodness and his compassion."

"He wanted peace for himself and his kind," said anewaphorist. "He wanted to sacrifice himself for the sins of his kind."
"Christ," muttered the man in the shadows.
"Perhaps, just like that," said Vi. "But more like a protest."
"Protest?" repeated the lead counselor.
"The monks in Vietnam," I said. "Buddhist monks sacrificed themsleves to try to end the war by an act of self immolation."
"But," said God Speed. "I think he did it to prevent a war."

The shadow on it's throne did not say anything. We sat quietly, expectantly, and still he said nothing. His hands sat motionless, the only bit of him that we could see. I reached out to Violet who gave me several tissues. I got up and walked toward the shadow. I stopped in front of him and extended the tissues to him. He took them and then took my hand. He pulled into the shadow that was himself and I felt his cool lips on the back of my hot hand.

"Thank you," he whispered. "Is there nothing I can do for you in return for your kindness and understanding?"
"Nothing, I am earning a star for my crown," I said.
"Is this a ritual among your kind?" he asked.
"Yes, it is called sitting up with the dead," I said.
"How appropriate," he whispered.

I Come to the Garden Alone

Cold hearted orb that rules the night,
Removes the colours from our sight.
Red is grey and yellow white,
But we decide which is right.
And which is an illusion- Late Lament-Moody Blues

The lovely suburban house in Northern Louisiana was the home of the most powerful man in the state, though no one outside his exclusive circle knew that fact. The man in question, Eric Northman, stood in his moon garden, looking at the dark flowers which would seem so brightly colored in the sun were black to him. He looked at her, barley visible in the sky, just a small silver curve.

They stayed til nearly dawn. These people, these humans, why? Why did they care? And why did he think of them now. They seemed to know exactly what he needed. There were no cliched platitudes, they simply sat there and chatted and even laughed softly and drank beer, switching to coffee as it came time for them to leave. He refused their money but they all put together the equal of their bar tab and gave it to him to give to that feckless Ginger. He had it in his pocket. It would be the biggest tip that little fangbanger had every been given. But even she was good, in her own way, not hovering, not whining or rolling her eyes. Even she had a simple sort of dignity about her. But one at a time, they each made their way to him and shared something they felt from his maker, something only he though was aware of. They were cautious and generous and thoughtful.

Perhaps that is what Godric had been trying to explain to him. He was so willing to fawn over him and be servile to him, the dutiful child to his father, but he did not see what these people saw in the one person Eric loved above himself. Not until they all arrived at the bar.

Bill had called and said that Aslinn was coming and the rest of the group. He told Eric he tried to dissuade them, but Aslinn is feisty, rowdy, and has a mixture of both respect and a funny sort of disrespect towards him. Eric Lover had emailed him and told him she was on her way to pick Aslinn and some of the others up and that she would take no refusal. Of course he and she had a little chat in his office before she left. So lovely.

But now he was alone. He thought about the ancient child who had been everything, just as he said he would be: Father, brother, son. Eric tried to hold himself together but he began to cry again. He hated his weakness and was glad to know that the only things that would see him was the little sliver moon winking down at him. He turned his face to it's dim light that turned his night black tears to silver.

Wiping his bloody tears away with the back of his hand, he resolved in his heart that this would be the last time he cried for his Maker. They had a few more adventures to enjoy in the next weeks and he was anticipating them.

Always good to re-live good moments!

Yes it is.

7 nights, 0 hours and 54 minutes

I can see us, at the True Blood Anonymous group. We are all milling around, drinking coffee, smoking cigarettes (all junkies do, I hear) waiting to sit down.

"Okay, I'll start. Hi my name is Aslinn and I am a True Blood-o-holic. My drug of choice is Bill Compton. I guess I started to abuse True Blood sometime in August of last year. At first it was just Sunday nights around nine o'clock pm,"

"Hi Aslinn," says the group.

There is an attractive, pale skinned man sitting in the shadows, beside him is a taller man, standing there leaning against the door. They say nothing, just observing. We can't see their faces, but they are there. Our counselors.

"Pretty soon, though I was chasing the reruns every night and the encores about an hour or so later. Then I started taping it and it was all over for me. If I went more than a couple of hours without hearing__well___him__say "sweetheart", my heart would pound and my palms would sweat and my mouth would be all dry and tickle," I look around and Westexan was nodding her head. "Then I figured out how to use the OnDemand feature of my remote. Oh God, I was so doomed!! Night and day it played, I couldn't get the songs out of my head!!"

"Alligator Stew, I just hear that song and my mouth begins to water. 'Pick up a Pizza, pineapple ham, put it the back of the good times van'" said Violet, licking her lips.

"Oh and 'Don't Fear the Reaper', "says Nordanswede. "That's when he walked into my life and took it over," she whispers miserably.

"Tell us about it," says the tall shadowed man leaning against the door. His voice is low but somehow you are compelled to speak.

"Well, I don't really know how to talk about *gulp* him," she begins. "I saw him in that fourth episode and he's slouched in that throne and he looks so wonderful in those black leather pants and that vest and he has the most beautiful smile," Nordanswede's voice wavers. I pat her hand and Violet hands Westexan a tissue to pass to Nordanswede.

"Could I say something? It's great that you girls feel the way you do and can let it out, but I have to tell you, it isn't just you girls, we guys are in trouble too," said a male voice.

"Tell us about it, then," said Violet.

"Well, hi, my name is God Speed, you can call me GS, um and I've been mainlining Jessica since she made her appearance on the show in episode 10. I can't get enough of her. And I'm frustrated because I can't find enough clear pictures of her on the internet and I can't get my screen caps to work. My DVD's stopped playing and I took them to a friend of mine and he says___" GS stops for a moment and gasps softly. Violet pulls another tissue out of her bag and leans across the small circle and hands it to him. He takes it and dabs his eyes. "He says he has never met anyone before who played a DVD till it was blank." We all commiserate with him. Some of us are having the same problem as well. Especially with episodes six and seven. Amazon is going to make a lot of money this year.

"May I speak?" said another lady. We nod. " Hi, my name is Butter and I have multiple addictions. At first it was just a little Sookie Stackhouse Mysteries thing. You know, they never tell you how dangerous it is when you start doing "B"," we were puzzled.

"'B'?" asked Westexan.

"Books. Oh they say it is so harmless, even little kids are doing it. Some people say that is just healthy escapism. I thought, a little "Dead Until Dark" or the Lilly Bard mysteries would be fine, but no, I have to read them all, all the time. Damn that Charlaine Harris. She got me hooked!" said Butter, defiantly.

The man in the chair sitting in the shadows says, "Butter, remember, the first step to recovery is owning your own addiction," His voice is low and Southern.

"And then I joined this forum and I thought it would help, you know, with the cravings. Nicky and I thought this would help us get through the between season hiatus and help us get ready for the new one, maybe we could handle it better. But it hasn't. Because that damned woman has brought out another Stackhouse novel and it is just chock full of more mysteries!!" she sobbed. We all nod. We know the allure of the forums, regular opium dens of spoilers and sneak peeks and special exclusive interviews.

"Butter, try to use feeling words," prompted a shodowy figure on the opposite side of the room. It is a female voice, just as reasonable as the two men sitting in shadow near and in front of the door. When did she get here?


"I know, I know," I said. "I've been helping out at the forum, logging into the chat box, and I thought I would be, you know, okay. But instead___I practically break out in hives if I can't get into the forum right away, I worry constantly: What is going to happen next, what new adventures will be going on?"

"I feel like a slave to my desires," said Fairy, and brother did she have desires.

"Are you sure you want to be released from your bondage?" says the man standing in the shadows.

We all look around at each other. None of us want to say what we really feel, that we don't really want to walk away from the feeling we get from the Sunday night fix and then the little brain pops we get through the season in the form of episode reruns. We don't want to give up our little bull sessions in the forums where we speculate and conjecture the next episode. Finally, Westexan speaks.

"No, damn it, I don't want to give it up, I want the buzz and the thrill," she said. "And I am not afraid to admit it,"

"Your time is up, we should all plan to meet here tomorrow night," said the man sitting in the shadows, the man with the soft Southern voice.

We all straggle out onto the street. We are all True Blood addicts, looking for that next fix.

"Will I see you in the forum?" I asked Westexan.
"Yeah, I'm going home, put my feet up and watch my DVDs." she admitted.
"Me, too. Will I see you all tomorrow night here?"
"Maybe," she said. "Hopefully."

The tall man reaches over and flips the switch. Eric Northman stretches his long body and looks down at the dark haired Vampire sitting beside him. Bill stands and faces Eric, as Pam joins them.

"Looks like we have some devotees," said Pam.
"Yes in deed we do," says Eric. "How do you feel about that, Bill?"
"I'm delighted," he says, smiling, showing fang. The two Vampires smile back at him, showing fang of their own.

6 nights, 0 hours, 0 minutes.

The above story was the first time I ever wrote about the True Blood Anonymous group. That is the post that started us all on our little adventures every Wednesday night.

Thank heavens you did! I hate to think where we'd be if you hadn't.

Renee

Renee wrote:Thank heavens you did! I hate to think where we'd be if you hadn't.

Renee

I agree Renee... couldn't imagine a world without our group now!

I loved rereading all of the classic countdowns! Oh we'd be so lost with out you Aslinn!

Well, these are just the most exciting little things I have, I have gads more, of course, and I will dig around and resubmit them.

Writing the countdown and have the meetings were just a way to keep us going between epis, wet our appetites and then carry us through the hiatus. It is fun and challenging to do and gives a chance to enjoy the characters we all love. I am glad you all enjoy them.

Memory Lane
The Viking was at his rest in his comfortable home in Northern Louisiana. Aslinn had sparked something in his imagination and now his mind was running on it. He lay there in his ornately carved bed,his body prone, head resting on a pillow. His eyes were closed, still behind their lids.

He had, of course, thought about the place that had been home so many centuries ago when Godric was with them. He missed home from time to time and it startled him when Aslinn asked him if he ever got home sick. Since he had been made, he had tried his best not to think about the small village he was born to. Of course, to modern standards, his village and his home and the grand mead hall where his father held court and feasted and told stories, would seem dismal, primitive but at that time, he thought it was the finest village he had seen.

The mead hall was his father’s domain. It smelled of fur and leather and mead and warrior. He remembered now the first time he was brought to the mead house after his first hunt when he was 12. He had brought down an elk and he and his best friend had field dressed it and brought the heart and liver to his father as tribute. His father had blooded him and kissed him roughly on the face and when they came into the village, he brought his son into the hall and poured him a cup of his best honey mead and his mother brought him food and smiled proudly at him.

Norse people built lodges, similar to the ships they built, long and well supported by heavy logs and mud and wattle and covered in stacked stone on the outside and reindeer hide on the walls on the inside. His wife had made separate sleeping compartments of large mattresses of grass and clover and herbs and covered them in thick furs. The compartments were closed off by heavy hand dyed fabrics in muted greens and rusty reds. He remembered the stone floor he’d laid himself for her that she covered in reindeer hides. There was a fire pit with a spit for roasting meat and she had heavy earthen ware bowls and platters that she cooked vegetables and greens in, supplementing their diet.

In the summers, they would pull away the hides in front of the windows and his wife and the women who were servants in his house would carry out the furs and bedding and rugs and wall coverings and beat them, taking out the filler and burning it and gathering dried grass and refilling them. They would sweep out the lodges and air out the lodge and make things ready for the summer. They would plant their crops and plan hunting parties and fishing parties and war parties. The women worked as hard as the men. She was bright, attractive, full bodied from child bearing but all together pleasing and intelligent and knew what was expected of a future chieftain’s wife.

He remembered how he would come to her bed and she opened her arms to him and he made love with her while the snows and winds and rains of the winter howled all around him. He remembered how ferociously he loved her before a battle or a hunting journey, hoping that he had left a part of himself to grow inside her so should something happen to him, he would be immortalized in his sons. He remembered how she had been taken to the women's house to birth his first son and he lay in the bed they had shared, waiting for the news that his wife and child were safe in the world and the midwives came to him and said, “You have a son,” and laid the fat red boy in his arms and he lay there on his side and cradled the child in the crook of his arm, unwrapping him to look at his child, his large hands seeming to big for the task at hand.

His son had been born in the winter, and he loved the winter. In winter, his wife would cut branches of fir and cedar to sweeten the air and brighten the drab lodge with holly and its red and white berries. They would gather at the mead hall and celebrate Yule, the time of winter when the spirits of their gods walked the earth and celebrated with them and blessed them during the bleaker, shorter days of cold. They would make stews and soups and roast meat and drink mead and tell stories and dance. How long had it been since he had danced to some lovely Norse song. He wondered if these new friends of theirs liked to dance.

Why does she do this, little Aslinn, why does she evoke such things in his mind? He had not thought of the boy or his mother or his village in a long time. He was not sure he liked it, but he was curious about his feelings now. They all made him think of his past, when he was not as he is now. He asked her counselor if he was disturbed when Aslinn did this, and the dark haired man simply looked at him. Of course, he was not that far from his past, he would have clearer memories and he had a closer relationship to his feelings, though this too was difficult for the southern gentleman.

With this thought, Eric Northman finally went into his deeper rest.

The Vampire slipped out of the shower and padded quietly across the floor of his bathroom in his pre-war house. Pre Civil War that is. He runs his fingers through his wet hair and slicks it back from his face. Usually that face is very pale but the hot water has made him pink. He sniffs, an oddly human gesture since he has no reason to breathe. But he likes to smell things and right now he smells the scent of the shampoo with it's traces of bergamot and jasmine. Of course the Vampire doesn't know that bergamot and jasmine are two ingredients that witches mix together for a love potion.

He runs his wonderfully articulate hands over the steamy mirror and he looks at his reflection. The Vampire leans in and looks at his face. It is so pink from the steam he catches a glimpse of himself the way he looked before he was Vampire. He grabs a towel and rubs it over his wet hair, fluffing the shiny dark hair half way dry , lays the towel by the sink and rakes his fingers through it. He smiles and there is a light snick as his fangs extend themselves. He looks at them in the mirror. He doesn't care for that vision of himself so he wrinkles his upper lip a bit and his fangs retract.

He picks the towel back up and rubs his still moist body with it, his skin becoming just a little pinker with the friction, but he can already feel the warmth on his skin fading. Soon he will be the normal temperature for one of his kind. Cool, rarely above tepid.

But things are different now. He loves Sookie but these new people, these new women are so interesting. They like him for all the things he is and a few things he is not. He doesn't always make great decisions.

He walked naked from the bathroom to his bedroom and sorted through drawers. He chose a grey henley and jeans and underwear. He smiled at the white cotton shorts that men had been wearing for some time and thought about the underthings he wore when he was not as he is now. He began to dress. He went to the bureau and put on a little Grey Flannel, another dose of bergamot, and ran his fingers through his now dry hair. His head suddenly jerked upwards, he could hear a car coming up the drive. He was glad that God Speed had come to pick up Jessica just before he got in the shower. She was delighted to take his hand and follow him out to the electric blue Mustang God Speed drives.

The Vampire made his way down the stairs and went into his parlor and lit a few candles. There was a timid knock at the door. He smiled and walked toward the door.

There is Nothing Like Riding in a High Powered Car

Especially one driven by a person who can really drive, who knows the road like he knows the intimate curves of a woman's body. He is a big man but knows how to elegantly fold his large frame into the driver's seat of his blood red Corvette. Watching him slide into the driver's side was like watching sex, he fit so carefully into the seat, his hips relaxing as he slouched back and he put his hands on the ignition and the steering wheel. Once the motor purrs to life, he takes off.

The pale faced blond is illuminated by the dash board lights, a sort of blue light dancing over his features, enhancing the color of his eyes as they traced the road in an unconscious way drivers do. His hand is relaxed on the steering wheel. He likes to go fast, but he slowly builds up his speed so you don't realize you are going so fast until you see the lights of houses becoming strange otherworldly streaks. But you don't mind. You are with him and he knows this road very well.

You are sitting very close to him and you try not to stare, but you do. You can feel the butterfly light passage of air as he moves to shift gears (of course he would drive a standard clutch, no automatic for him) and the air feels like static electricity. You don't want to look at the speedometer, you don't want to know how fast you are going because with this man you decide you are either perfectly safe or you aren't, whether you are in his fast car or ___somewhere else.

And so you keep going, the road in front of you winding like a coal black snake into the darkness, the beautiful blond is driving very fast and it is the ride of a lifetime and you decide to relax. Whatever happens tonight simply happens. There is no turning back and there is no time for regret. It is too late to stop now. He probably wouldn't anyway. You decide to surrender.

There really is nothing like riding in a high powered car.

Night Blooming Flowers

Moon Glories, maybe not be the official name of the strange otherworldly flower that grows and produces huge supper plate blossoms that bloom only when the sun goes down, opening up and releasing their intoxicating scent. Sweet and musky they envelop every other smell in the garden, they open your mind to darker thoughts and fancies.

Will it be tonight, when you stand before me in your peculiar beauty, transfixed by the blessing and curse that is you. Will you smile your disarming and perhaps feral smile as I walk without any control into your arms. Will you be surprised by the way my pulse is quickened by you and for you and for you alone. Do you mind if I am a little afraid? Because you are dangerous to love and hold and want. Will you mind that I am willing to be or do whatever you have in mind for me? And will you do me the honor of acquiessing to my simple needs? Would that excite you? Can we make prisoners of one another for just a little while?

My dark lover, my night angel, it will not be the same as the hunt and chase but there are things just as delightful. Would you like for me to run, as fast as I can, so you can chase me? Would you like to hear my heart pounding as I push aside branches and will you laugh a little anxious laugh with my gasp of surprise when you finally catch me? I know you did not have run fast and you know that I did not run that fast because I want you to catch me, pull me to you, and pull me down and claim me tonight, under the moon, under stars, under the dark sky that has been your day, your morning, your eternal twilight.

Will you kiss me with your cool lips, and touch me with your cool hands and pin me with your body and smile again at the heaving of my chest as I pant, not just from the chase but for what will surely come next? If I kiss you, what will I taste? Will I taste your wildness and your passions? When I smell you will I smell the scent of the pasts you have wandered through to get my now, this very moment? Will you taste my desire? Will you smell passion and pleasure and a little fear coming from my body? Will that delight you a little? Because it is a little scary to surrender and I would like to think that when I do it, you surrender a part of yourself to me. Will that bond us together if not for your forever, at least for my forever so the memories of you will linger til that other dark angel comes to claim my last breath.

My darling, my lover, enfold me in your arms, kiss me and claim me and sate me and sate your own needs with me. Tell me I am yours, and you are mine, even if it is impossible for you to promise entirely. Call me precious and perfect. Let us be as Pagans and savages and know that the gods are in love and sex and desire and passions. Let us worship each other in the lunar light and the moon glories are blooming, baptising us in their exotic perfume.

Hurry, before dawn...

The Dreamer must Awake

An hour before sun down and the dreamer lay still as a statue on the bed, the room dark except for the soft reddish glow of the small bronze lamps with their red crystal shades on the plain, darkly stained dresser, flanking the large mirror. The room is in the center of the North Louisiana suburban home so there are no windows to bother covering with black paint and heavy lined velvet curtains as he had in a previous home he once owned.

The chest of drawers on the right side of the room stood against the wall, near the walk in closet and a low leather couch, big enough for two people, was positioned on the left side of the room. A highly polished square table sat before it with an ornate chess board, pieces moved around as though the dreamer had been in the middle of a game when he simply went to the bed and lay down and closed his eyes and sleep took him with the beginning of dawn.

The bed itself was right out of a fantasy. Made of oak cut from the forests of Sweden in the middle of the first millennium, the dreamer had carefully stored it in first a monastery and then with various royal families until he made his way to the New World. It had as long and varied a past as he. Kings were conceived, plans plotted, and orders commanded in this bed.

Oak was sacred to many people's and tribes and his was no exception. The bed itself was heavily carved, on the headboard the goddess Frigg, reclined and looked down on the dreamer. She was the wife of Odin and looked to in matters of love and sex and the dreamer, though he had no religion, liked knowing that as he went into his rest, the goddess stared down at him. Other animals in phantasmagorical knots and tangles decorated the heavy bed and patient, thoughtful viewers could find plants, animals, even lovers, like a Norse Kama Sutra in lovely detailed tangles in the vines and leaves and fruit.

Upon the bed laid a large heavily worked patchwork quilt of Burmese silk pieces, thinly pounded leathers and heavy hand brushed velvets, all in a festival of jeweled colors. The sheets were a pale faded saffron color in expensive Egyptian flax, six hundred thread count per square inch and looked like rubbed satin.

The dreamer lay with the sheets and quilt folded at the waist, his chest bare and still. His right arm lay parallel to his body, his hand flat on the mattress. His other hand rested on his belly somewhere between his navel and...the rest of him. How many nights and how many woman had allowed her hand to smooth over the pattern of hair there and gently twine her finger tips in the pale gold of the curls around his last vestige of humanity, the place where he and his mother, a woman he did not remember, were physically joined. The belly was naked to the viewer and a light sprinkling of blond curls made a gentle diamond shape around his navel and had he been nude, would have trailed down to "Adam's Thicket". But as it was, he was discretely covered.

Still there was something wildly indecent about what was visible to the viewer. His belly was slightly concave, lying prone as he was. His rib cage was just visible under his slightly pink ivory skin. Even at rest, the muscles of his chest looked what they are, hard and heavy with preternatural strength earned first in his mortal life and preserved in perfection in his other existence.

His clavicles stood out strongly, but not in a starved way but as a further detail of his sculpted form. His head was slightly turned to the left, his face clean and clear, his lips slightly parted as if to breathe though he did not. They were just a shade darker than the rest of him and delicate. If he were a prince, albeit a dark one, the princess sent to wake him from his daytime rest would be pleased to kiss him. Above his lips sat his nose, not delicately made but strong, straight, a good feature to pull the rest of his features. His eyes were well set, not too deep yet not too shallow.

His eyes were closed and his eyelids had a slight sheen to them. His eye lashes would seem scant to the observer but closer observation yielded a truth that his eye lashes were lush, lying without a flutter. His eyes were unmoving behind them. No REM sleep for him, but he did dream. Though what this man was dreaming no one could tell, and certainly not your humble observer. When he wakened, he would look at the dimly lit room with light colored eyes, depending on the light, seemed either blue or green, and perhaps from time to time, winter sky grey.

His high brow was uncreased and his strong but pale eyebrows hung relaxed over his eyes. His hair was swept away from his face, showing his even hair line. His short hair was tousled in a casual way and was softly blond, cut carefully around his ears, his side burns sharply following the contours of his gently oval face.

He lay there, silently as the grave that never yawned before him, until the sun went down finally over the North Louisiana landscape. When it finally disappeared, the dreamer must awake.

The Kiss

This is for me...I need a date with my favorite Vampire, but please, insert yourself and your favorite Vampire here.

Have you ever wanted to be kissed by a beautiful stranger? Perhaps you are walking on rain swept sidewalk one night and they are walking toward you and your eyes lock and they slide their arm around your waist and stop you and lean in and you first feel the pressure of their mouth on yours and then your heads turn ever so so slightly and you open your mouth for the full effect and you feel their tongue playing clever little games with yours? Would you push them away a little? Startled at first then excited?

Everything that you are would be consumed in enjoying this kiss. What would you do if they held you just a little closer? Pulling you against them and you feel everything about them, the structures of their bodies through their clothes, their hand against your back, or lower, pressing you closer, the gentle sway of your body against theirs. Your legs slide against theirs and they press you just a little closer with one hand and their other begins to move over you, searching the map of your body, learning the curves and rises of your form.

They break their kiss and nuzzle your neck, their lips pursing against your skin and maybe, you feel the slight upwards tilt of their smile because they can feel the way your pulse is pounding against their lips. They like it, it is intense and they like it they are doing this to you, making you feel this and they don't stop you as you begin your own exploration of their shoulders, back, chest, wherever your hand wanders and they perhaps guide your hands to more interesting places to explore. Curves and muscles and peaks and valleys that is their terra firma.

Are you surprised that though you are on a city street you are being very intimate with this stranger who found you alluring enough to break with taboo and pull you into their embrace and kiss you, like they have resumed doing. Don't close your eyes, take in every second. Breathe and experience their scent, clean and different, a little wild, other worldly. Taste love and sex and desire and danger incarnate on their mouth. No one is watching you as you consume and are being consumed by this being, this creature, who has enchanted you who is seducing you where you stand.

You know you are playing with fire. But it is a dangerous lovely fire that only comes once in a lifetime if ever at all. Don't ask yourself who this being is or what will happen next because it is too late. Whatever you were going to do, whatever your destination had been is unimportant as you feel the stranger's lips on yours their tongue in your mouth, their hands on your body and their body in your hands. Because it will all be over in a second.

Let the moment take you and spin you and intoxicate you as they put their hands up to your face and begin to end the encounter. You want desperately to hold them to you but it is futile. It was never meant to last more than a moment. Don't speak and break the moment that they look into your eyes and you theirs. They kiss you gently one more time and caress your face once more and seem to disappear.

But it will be a moment you will savor. And then smile.

Good Evening. ;D

Human?

I am not human but I look like you. My heart does not beat but it can break. You cry your saline tears but when I cry, my tears are carmine with the stuff of life itself. I can feel love, but I may have to dig deep to find it. I am immortal, but I can end, by my own hand or another. I can feel profound pain and anguish. I can have desires as well.

I walk the corridors of time and watch the world change around me. I watch your savageries but I too am savage. Stories have been told of my kind, of our lusts and powers and frailties. But I reflect everything you ever were afraid of, and everything you ever desired. I have seen kingdoms rise and fall but I am always the same, day after day, year after year, century after century. Do you want to see history make itself right in front of you?

You hunger for meat and drink and so do I. You have desires of the flesh and I am desire in the flesh. You look for angels and demons in your dreams and here I am, standing here before you. Both and neither. What are you waiting for? An invitation? Walk into the lion's den that is my world. Will you consume or be consumed? My skin is pale, but my soul is dark, dark as the night that I walk and I am pulling you into that forever night.

Don't struggle. There is no turning back. All of your bravery and confidence is nothing in the face of what you have found in me. I am cool to the touch but I have the fire of my kind, a cold flame, and I want you to burn for me. You dream in colors of green and gold and blue but my world is black and silver and blood, blood red.

Do you want to dance with the devil? I am no Satan but I am wicked. I know nothing of god or the devil. That was a quarrel I have never had a part in. But I know who you are. I know what you want. The lover who will never die, the dark gift of my deeper kiss. Would you walk with me as my companion, my lover, my mate? Will you leave all you know and love to be one of my kind, other, hated and feared by "good" people?

You will see the world with new eyes and your veins will be filled with my blood and you will feel me moving around in your body, even when we are apart and I will always be a part of you and I will always hear your voice in my head. All you have to do is surrender, everything, and I will be everything to you from now on and this life will replace the life you have always known. I will always give you a choice, there will be no mephistophelian deals between us, but our bargain will be a bloody one.

The moon will be your sun and the nighttime world your playground. No more noonday devils for you to fear because you will become the thing that prowls the night. We will hunt and play and be the masters of the witching hour. Would you like to learn to fly? Run faster than the human eye can follow? Control the mind of another?

So make up your mind, decide now. Be all that I am, and be with me forever or stand up now and walk away. This is your last chance. If I take you in my arms I will not let you go.

Tell me what you want...say it.

Marriage Counseling

See, sometimes it happens in a relationship and there has to be an intervention. And that is what brought the God Speed's, Mr and Mrs, into the counseling offices. They had a little problem.


"So, what seems to be your problem?" said the pretty and plump partridge of a woman sitting behind her desk in the tastefully decorated counseling suite.
"Well," began the Mr. "We are helplessly, hopelessly love with each other, but we have serious, serious very serious attractions to other people."
"Well, how serious is it? Do you argue about them? Are you not..what is the phrase..."hooking up" as they say?" asked the counselor.
Well, hell yeah we're hooking up!" exclaimed the Mrs.
"A gentleman never tells," says the Mr. You could tell he was not amused.
"So, what seems to be the problem?" asked the counselor.
"Well, it's just that, it seems like..." said the Mrs. hesitantly.
"Yes?" she probed.
"I think about him all the time..." said Mrs. God Speed.
"And I think about her all the time," confessed Mr. God Speed.
"Have you ever had contact with these people? Are you actively seeing these other people?" asked the counselor.
"We see them every Sunday night, sometimes together, sometimes apart," said Mrs. God Speed. "It depends on when I work."
"And I have even seen her while I was sitting alone with the kids, my two oldest are of course in bed and I have the baby right there with me," said the Mr. weakly.
"So are these people like neighbors?" asked the counselor.
"Well, we made the mistake of inviting them into our home, they can't come in without an invitation," said the Mrs.

"So who are these people?" asked the counselor.
"Well, the one I am attracted to is a big blond, sort of a Viking type, 6'4" about 180 pounds, deep voice, lovely toothy grin, big hands.. " Mrs God Speed's voice got that dreamy, far away sound to it.
"And the woman you are attracted to?" asked the counselor.
"She's young, lives with her...what should I call him?" God Speed looked at his wife.
"Well, he calls her his ward, so you could call him her guardian," said Mrs. God Speed. "That's it, her guardian."
"She lives with her guardian and she is pretty, a lot like my wife, porcelain skin, big blue eyes, long red hair," said God Speed.
"She lives with her guardian, how old is she?" asked the counselor.
She is 17, but I don't think that matters anymore?" said God Speed.
"Why not?" asked the counselor.
"Because she ...it just doesn't..." said God Speed.

"Are Sunday nights the only times you see them?" asked the counselor.
"Oh no, we see them all the time, all through the week, sometimes four times in one night, sometimes we just call them up, sometimes they are just a part of our schedule, our routine," said the Mrs.
"And you are intimate?" asked the counselor.
"Well, yeah," said Mrs. GS.
"Again, a gentleman never tells," said GS emphatically.
"Are they married?" asked the counselor.
"Mine was, a very, very, very long time ago," said Mrs. GS. "But she died."
"And mine was never married, in fact she never kissed a boy before Hoyt," said Mr. GS.
"So she has a boyfriend?" asked the counselor.
"Yeah," said Mr. GS
"And does your person have a girlfriend?" asked the counselor.
"No, not really. He likes someone though, she's with another man, but he likes her a lot," said Mrs. GS
"And this does not bother you?" asked the counselor.
The two of them looked at each other. "No, not really," they said together.
"Well, I hope you don't think I'm being nosy, but why are you here? I get the sense that neither of you really mind that the other is involved with someone else who are in turn involved with other people. Why come to me?" asked the counselor.

"Well, I belong to a 12 step group," said Mr. GS. "And my lead counselor suggested that we come and see you and just make sure that we were okay in our relationship and if this was normal."
"Well, normal is a relative term, what may be normal for me may not be normal for you and vice versa. But as long as you both seem comfortable with situation, why worry?" suggested the counselor.
"Well, that's all we wanted to hear," said Mrs. GS.
"Yeah, that's pretty much all we needed to know," said GS.

After the couple left, the counselor picked up the phone and dialed a number with the Shreveport area code. "Yes Ginger, is the sheriff around?" after a few minutes she looked down, "Yes Mr. Northman, they came for their appointment, I told them not worry that everything was perfectly normal." Listened for a moment. "Yes, and no, thank you very much for the business. I'll see you soon."

I added to the classic countdown...took a little walk down memory lane

Ahhhh the memories.

Veteran's Day
In a Warrior

In Flander's Fields
The poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row- Lt. Col. John McCrae

"The Patriot's Dream"- Gordon Lightfoot

The songs of the wars are as old as the hills
They cling like the rust on the cold steel that kills
They tell of the boys who went down to the tracks
In a patriotic manner with the cold steel on their backs

The patriot's dream is as old as the sky
It lives in the lust of a cold callous lie
Let's drink to the men who got caught by the chill
Of the patriotic fever and the cold steel that kills

The train pulled away on that glorious night
The drummer got drunk and the bugler got tight
While the boys in the back sang a song of good cheer
While riding off to glory in the spring of their years

The patriot's dream still lives on today
It makes mothers weep and it makes lovers pray
Let's drink to the men who got caught by the chill
Of the patriotic fever and the cold steel that kills

Well there was a sad, sad lady
Weeping all night long
She received a sad, sad message
From a voice on the telephone
Her children were all sleeping
As she waited out the dawn
How could she tell those children
That their father was shot down
So she took them to her side that day
And she told them one by one
Your father was a good man ten thousand miles from home
He tried to do his duty and it took him straight to hell
He might be in some prison, I hope he's treated well

Well there was a young girl watching in the early afternoon
When she heard the name of someone who said he'd be home soon
And she wondered how they got him, but the papers did not tell
There would be no sweet reunion, there would be no wedding bells
So she took herself into her room and she turned the bed sheets down
And she cried into the silken folds of her new wedding gown
He tried to do his duty and it took him straight to hell
He might be in some prison, I hope he's treated well

Well there was an old man sitting in his mansion on the hill
And he thought of his good fortune and the time he'd yet o kill
Well he called to his wife one day, "Come sit with me awhile"
Then turning toward the sunset, he smiled a wicked smile
"Well I'd like to say I'm sorry for the sinful deeds I've done
But let me first remind you, I'm a patriotic son"
They tried to do their duty and it took 'em straight to hell
They might be in some prison, I hope they're treated well

The songs of the wars are as old as the hills
They cling like the rust on the cold steel that kills
They tell of the boys who went down to the tracks
In a patriotic manner with the cold steel on their backs

The train pulled away on that glorious night
The drummer got drunk and the bugler got tight
While the boys in the back sang a song of good cheer
While riding off to glory in the spring of their years

The patriot's dream still lives on today
It makes mothers weep and it makes lovers pray
Let's drink to the men who got caught by the chill
Of the patriotic fever and the cold steel that kills

The sun was going down now, over the West Virginia Capital Building. The old joke is the capital building with it's neo-classical design, reminiscent of the US capital, was the best little whore house in West Virginia. I walked between the old oaks and took my place where I told the counselors we would meet.

I had never been a real patriot, not that flag waving type of patriotism, that Lee Greenwood "I'm Proud to be an American" sort of patriot. I never had much use for that Fourth of July, Veteran's Day sort of patriotism that some folks trot out with Old Glory a couple of times a year. No, my sort of patriotism was more in the social activist type. I had worked for many years, many of them my teen years, in the roll of agent for change. I worked for some years as a veteran's advocate, fighting for benefits in the intricate red tape world of the VA system, often for troubled men, often for dying men. That is how I had met my late husband. He was a client and then my first lover and I was his til the day he died almost 12 years ago. Then I went to work for the Veteran's Memorial Foundation and was involved in the building of the archives and the memorial itself, the edifice in front of which I was standing, awaiting two of the most unusual veterans I had ever met.

As the sun was behind the black West Virginia mountains, I saw the head lights of a red corvette splash over the road and the sidewalk, illuminating me in their glare. I put my hand out, shielding my eyes. I looked back at the monument that my family and I had overseen being built. I remember....but I digress. I walked down the gentle slope of the lawn. My counselor came and took my hands and leaned forward and kissed my cheek briefly, his lips light and cool. The lead counselor did the same, he stooping from his considerable height to kiss my cheek with a touch as light as a butterfly.

"I'm so glad you came," I said.
"Tell us about this place, dearest," said the lead counselor.
"It is our memorial to the over ten thousand who died in the wars of the last century from our state. Per capita, our state has more veterans than any state in the nation," I said, leading both men slowly to the large black marble blocks which precede the monument itself. I had my counselor by the hand. I could feel the hand of the lead counselor at the small of my back and he shortened his stride to match mine. I pointed to the names of my parents on the black marble. "These are my parents, my dad was the executive director and my mom was the head archivist."
"Where is your name sweetheart?" asked my counselor.
"Oh, I was just the office help, but I am proud of my parent's work, that is what I want you to see," I said, pulling his hand gently up the walk to the monument.

The monument itself looked something like stone henge. Four large monoliths in curved oval shape, surrounded by a reflecting pool lined in black Italian Terazzo marble, separated by four bridges. The center was illuminated by huge light with a magnifying lens cut by Bausch and Lomb created a pillar of light that went twenty stories into the dark sky.

"Earth, fire, water," said the lead counselor. The heavy wind from the river blew, blowing his silvery blond hair back away from his Viking's face added the final element. "Air." he said finally.
"Rather pagan, wouldn't you say?" I said, smiling at the Big Pagan himself. The large beacon light went out as we stepped into the Sanctuary proper. As it did, the little foot lights came on, illuminating the over 10,000 names carved into the curved black walls there. My counselor reached up and hesitated. I put my warm hands on his finger tips and gently pressed them onto the cold marble where you could feel the names of the men and women who died in the wars of the last century. He stroked the smooth stone and I saw his eyes widen. I didn't know what to say to this. You would think after his long history the representation of so much loss would not effect him, but there was a sad, shocked look on his face. The lead counselor was standing in front of the monolith dedicated to World War II.

"Ah, these are my boys," I said. "I spent an entire summer compiling the histories of these boys, writing to the records people in Washington, DC, getting their files." I pointed to a name I knew well. "This fellow was on the ship the Paul B. Hamilton. He and eleven other West Virginia sailors were bombed into the other world by the Japanese off the coast of Africa."
"Do you know them all Aslinn?" asked the lead counselor.
"No, not all, but enough to tell you that I loved them all," I said. I walked back to my counselor, who was looking at the plaque for the Congressional Medal of Honor Winners.
"I knew about this boy, he was from my hometown. He was pinned down when the Vietnamese started throwing hand grenades at his position. He saw a hand grenade fall on the ground near a group of his men and with a rebel yell, he threw himself on the grenade and shielded his friends from the blast," I said.
"A rebel yell?" he asked.
"Uh huh," I said. "We wanted to put out a special plaque to remember those who died of disease and mental illness after the wars but we were told that would be too controversial. But just as many died of those things as there were battlefield dead." I shrugged.
"Did you know anyone like that Aslinn?" asked the lead counselor, his tall shadow walking slowly over to me.
"Yeah, I knew a lot of them: Frank and Vernon and Homer and Norman and my husband, Jimmy, they died of mental illness, or suicide or cancer...war changed a whole lot from the times you served or fought in wars," I said. "I wonder, did war make more sense to you during your time?" I asked the lead counselor.
"War was more intimate, about simpler things, mostly about food or hunting grounds, I suppose it does make more sense than the war of isms your people of your time seem to fight about. Now I see war as a waste, in a different context of course, but you shouldn't be troubled about that," said the lead counselor.
"Well, you obviously know something about my war," said my counselor, "And as you well know, it was about isms as well, though we ordinary soldiers did not understand the details, it was just the cause."

"It is a beautiful monument, Aslinn," said the lead counselor. "Thank you for sharing it with us."
"Thank you for sharing it with me," I said. "I hope we don't have to build anymore like it."
"For your sake, I hope you get your wish sweet heart," said my counselor.

Happy Veterans Day to all who have served, who are serving or paid the ultimate price for freedom. Brightest Blessings Be.

Happy Veterans' Day indeed, and thanks to all who serve.

La Famiglia (The Family)


Red Headed Harlot and I were setting up the treats, silent, wondering about our Westexan and the Kaiser. God Speed was laying out treats, little bagel pizzas and mini CB's and Linzy made us some Hard Lemonade. Mel and Liz came in, Mel laden with cinnamon rolls as large as a Viking Vampire's gracious plenty. Dude and Sal came in with Butter and Fairy.

"Have any of you heard anything about Westexan?" asked Sal.
"Nothing yet," said God Speed. Lina came in and sat down her coat and purse and came over and got into the cabinets and pulled out cups and plates and plastic silverware (I love using my favorite oxymoron) along with napkins.

"Has everyone seen the new promo yet?" asked Lina.
"The back in production promo?" asked Dude.
"That would be the one," she answered.
"Only on the net, I haven't seen it on the TV yet," said Dude. That was where I had seen it. I was excited now more than ever. It was just enough to get our blood going, especially with the revelation that there would be a fourth summer of adventures. Had it really been almost two years that we had become addicted? Of course there were some who had been strung out on B long before the adventures began, but junkies are junkies and this drug was so deliciously addictive. Delicious, like a tea cup human to the Sheriff of Area Five. That made me think again of our Westexan.

Violet and Minnie Mouse came in and sat their things in their chairs, carefully preserving the place our Westexan sat. We could feel her absence, as though one of our nest mates had gone missing. Maybe that is how we really felt about each other on the forum, "virtual" nest mates, all cozy in our internet lair from where we watched the world with our counselors at our backs, shadowed figures that we trusted without knowing why. I shook my head from such thoughts. Surely this was a sign of just how deeply addicted we were, not just to B or TB, but to one another's shared addictions, only we really understood each other. Renee, Violet, Bella and I understood our love and admiration for Bill. Linzy, Lina, Burke and Fairy had their allegiances to Eric. Sal, Dude and God Speed were under the spell of Jessica and we all loved the rest in between. Even the villains were wonderful and we loved them too, even if what we really loved was to hate them.

We began to settle finally, Mikeylikesit rounding out the circle and it was not much longer til the lights went out except for the ambient lighting of the four little track lights that now shined down our little circle. The lead counselor, tall and mysterious in his shadow, where I liked him the most, was standing leaned against the door. My counselor, the one I shared with Renee, Violet, and Bella was sitting in his chair, his arms relaxed on the arms of the chair and his legs crossed. I could hear the young counselor whispering sotto voce to the lady counselor, asked her where Westexan was.

"Yes, has anyone heard from Westexan? Has she safely delivered her child?" asked the lead counselor.
"We don't know yet," said GS. "Aslinn has not heard from her yet."
"Even a safe delivery would be taxing on her," mentioned the southern counselor in his soft voice. "But, when you hear from her, please pass on our best wishes, won't you sweetheart?"
"I will, I am sure she will let us know soon," I said.

"What shall we talk about tonight?" asked the lady counselor.
I slid down into the comfortable chair and sipped my lemonade and bit into my bagel bite. Red Headed Harlot spoke first.
"Do you think we will find out about Sookie's other family?" she asked. "This summer, I mean, though it is so early."
"The first season was about love, finding love. Sookie is looking for it, Bill found it though he might not have been looking for it. Maudette was looking for love in all the wrong places," said GS. He was interrupted by Dude crooning "Looking for Love in All the Wrong Places" We all laughed.

"Well, Jason too and Sam and Tara, and Amy....Sometimes, love hurts...." said Liz. I opened my mouth and Liz gave me a look. "I know, I know, don't start Aslinn." I stuck my tongue out at her.

"And then, last season was about being held against one's will, and everyone was at one time or another trapped," continued God Speed. "Bill, Eric, Sam, Tara, Eggs, Sookie, the entire town of Bon Temps."
"Godric," I mentioned. We were silent for a moment, remembering the beautiful and savage Godric who's reborn humanity was too painful for him to live with. "So, this season is all about Family, finding family, defining family, loving and hating family.....This is going to be so tough."
"How so Aslinn?" asked the lead counselor. I saw Violet readying her box of kleenex. I didn't know if I was about to cry, but I leaned forward and made a come on motion to Vi for a handful.
"Family...is the most complicated social group you could belong to," I began. "You can love them, marry them or make some meaningful relationship with someone, have children." Again our minds went to our absent Westexan. "You can be a sibling or a parent and adult child, lovers and best friends, but there are a subtleties in the family. Like little things you say out loud and things you keep to yourself. Emotions you hold in check because they are so fierce that if they escaped, they would burn you up. Even the good emotions, all the love and passion."
"Like in making love?" asked the young counselor.
"Like in making love, sure, but even platonic relationships. You can love someone fiercely and it not have anything to do with sex, it transcends physical love. That is what sometimes makes it hard to be in family," I said. "Look at Tara and her mother. That is the most intense love/hate relationship I have ever seen, and we have all had them." Everyone nodded in agreement.

"And everyone is going to be reunited with someone who is family, even Bill," said Sal.
"So, what would you do if you found out you were not the person you always thought you were, like Sookie," asked the southern counselor.
"Well, she doesn't have anyone to confront. The only person she could have gotten the answers from was her gran' and now she is dead," said Lina. "Poor Eric, though, he doesn't have a family. His family died a long time ago and now Godric...." I handed her half my wad of tissues as she choked up a little over her Big Viking.
"That doesn't mean he can't explore something of his own self. Some people go all their lives without benefit of family and they find comfort or self by exploring the world. Perhaps exploring his lost humanity will be like a homecoming for Eric," said Dude thoughtfully. "Maybe Sookie will help him do that."

"But family means betrayal sometimes," said the lead counselor. The southern counselor looked up at him but the lead counselor did not acknowledge him.
"Sure, I mean, again, look at Tara and Lettie Mae," said Mel.
"And Bill and Sookie," I said. "That is what we are thinking right? That Bill betrays the seed of a family he trying to make with Sookie by asking her to marry him and goes back however briefly with his maker...at least in the Connection's world...in the Source's world, it may not be be quite like that."
"And then Sookie betrays Bill," said Bella.
"Not really," said Red Headed Harlot."I think that Sookie turns to Eric out of pain and desire...lots of desire, sure, why wouldn't she? But part of it is pain, and if the Source makes Eric as he was in the Connection's world, then she finds something sweet and gentle in him. Of course he is still a Vampire and lethal and all that, but there is something sweet about him that might in someways remind her of Bill. There is a lot of healing that goes on between people who are alone. And just then, there weren't two lonelier people in the world than Eric and Sookie. She even said it herself, that Eric had gained something that night, he had gained her, and in a way, she had gained her feeling of being loved."

"And then he forgets," said God Speed.
"But then....he remembers, he remembers everything, and he remembers most of all that he was happy," said Linzy, finally.
"Family." I said it aloud, unbeknown to me til I realized everyone was waiting for me to finish. "It doesn't matter how much you kick and scratch and gouge and spit and fight among family, you still are, at the end of the day, family. And family, sometimes, is the safest place to be."

We broke up the meeting not long after that and went our own way. The last one out was the lead counselor. He stopped for a moment at Westexan's chair and put his hand on it. His went up and pulled the Thor's Hammer out of his shirt and fingered it. He looked up at the ceiling and saw past the ceiling to the black sky. He stood there silently for a moment and closed his eyes. Was the lead counselor praying? Could he remember how? Even so, the light from the small lamp shown on his fair features, making his hair shine like spun gold. Whether the Viking remembered his prayers or not, I could not say, but after a moment, he opened his eyes and left the empty meeting room, turning off the last of the lights as he shut the door.

Cooper
I had just returned from the meeting and fired up my computer and I saw the message notice on my yahoo bar and I clicked it. There was a note from Westexan telling me the little Kaiser was here and they were both healthy. I thanked the Lord and picked up my phone and called my counselor.

"He's here," I said, excitedly.
"Aslinn?" he said.
"Westexan gave birth to a baby boy, Cooper, they are both fine," I said
"Call the lead counselor sweetheart, he will be pleased," he said.

I rang off and dialed the lead counselor.

"Hello?" said a deep voice.
"I thought you might like to know, Westexan bore her son, they are fine," I said.
"All the gods of Valhalla...." he prayed softly. "What does she call her son? Certainly not the Kaiser."
"No, his name is Cooper," I said.
"Happy Birthday Cooper..." he breathed.
"Good night, " I said.
"Good night dearest, thank you for calling me," he said. We rang off and the lead counselor, the most powerful man in Northern Louisiana sat in his lavish home. He felt wetness on his cheek and put his hand up to investigate. There were the sanguine tears of his kind. He smiled a bit, then laughed softly and laid his head back and closed his eyes, still chuckling to himself that he would be so full of concern for those who were not like them. Perhaps they were right, he was remembering his humanity after all.

WHat a sweet way to mark his birth...