A vampire abroad
Yes, I know dear readers - I have been away for some time. As is the whim of we immortals, I have been travelling. I went to France and England; brought back cheese, wine and and samples of hand-crafted lace for mounting my Cameos as chokers.
I first went La Rochelle, wandered among the people enjoying a fete of some kind. In France, you can always find some fete or other; on any given weekend. To me, they where like Christmas in the summer. People loved to dance and drink, eating could be a four hour event and dinners where held as a matter of (6) course(s). The meal was always followed by a DJ or band
If you wanted to show grace to guests, you fed them well and they returned the favour. Fund raising was done by way of dinners such as these. Fees were happily paid for an evening held in the local Maire. (town hall - if you like) Everyone attended, as in some more remote areas these dances where the only highlight.
Like everyone else, I paid my entrance. watched, wandered - took the "little drink" from lovers who ventured to let me toy with them. I greeted people correctly, with a simple kiss to each cheek. My confession is that, the wall was my friend that night. It was more my pleasure to observe the dance of mortality than to follow it's steps. At events like these, the interesting people are the shrinking dark violets. Those that find the corners and take root; clinging desperately to the notion of escape.
It was one such flower that caught my eye,. She looked to be around 17 years old. Blonde, with large fearful blue eyes - painted with strong Egyptian notes. The way she dressed was unlike anyone else. Tight spandex leg wear, heeled boots, band tee shirt and a short denim jacket; decorated with band patches. All this, I noticed first - before the fact that she was confined to a wheelchair.
As an immortal, crowds are a soup of noise and smells. The sensations are as beautiful as they can be terrifying. Remember too, I am 6 feet tall and predisposed to arrogant posturing, simply because I loathe humans. I walk always on stilts, unaffected by peoples view of me.
This girl had no such luxuries. Her world was a-wash with backs, legs and ill-placed handbags to the face. She was lost, out of place and utterly miserable. Even language was painful for her to hear. Her "cracked egg" of a mind, told me she was talker. A wildly intelligent communicator effectively rendered deaf and dumb by her inability to speak French. There she sat, staring at the door...waiting, just waiting for somebody to open up to her.
To be continued...
I first went La Rochelle, wandered among the people enjoying a fete of some kind. In France, you can always find some fete or other; on any given weekend. To me, they where like Christmas in the summer. People loved to dance and drink, eating could be a four hour event and dinners where held as a matter of (6) course(s). The meal was always followed by a DJ or band
If you wanted to show grace to guests, you fed them well and they returned the favour. Fund raising was done by way of dinners such as these. Fees were happily paid for an evening held in the local Maire. (town hall - if you like) Everyone attended, as in some more remote areas these dances where the only highlight.
Like everyone else, I paid my entrance. watched, wandered - took the "little drink" from lovers who ventured to let me toy with them. I greeted people correctly, with a simple kiss to each cheek. My confession is that, the wall was my friend that night. It was more my pleasure to observe the dance of mortality than to follow it's steps. At events like these, the interesting people are the shrinking dark violets. Those that find the corners and take root; clinging desperately to the notion of escape.
It was one such flower that caught my eye,. She looked to be around 17 years old. Blonde, with large fearful blue eyes - painted with strong Egyptian notes. The way she dressed was unlike anyone else. Tight spandex leg wear, heeled boots, band tee shirt and a short denim jacket; decorated with band patches. All this, I noticed first - before the fact that she was confined to a wheelchair.
As an immortal, crowds are a soup of noise and smells. The sensations are as beautiful as they can be terrifying. Remember too, I am 6 feet tall and predisposed to arrogant posturing, simply because I loathe humans. I walk always on stilts, unaffected by peoples view of me.
This girl had no such luxuries. Her world was a-wash with backs, legs and ill-placed handbags to the face. She was lost, out of place and utterly miserable. Even language was painful for her to hear. Her "cracked egg" of a mind, told me she was talker. A wildly intelligent communicator effectively rendered deaf and dumb by her inability to speak French. There she sat, staring at the door...waiting, just waiting for somebody to open up to her.
To be continued...
posted by Petronia | 3:01 AM
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