Chapter 11: Balance of Power Politics and the Working Man

Any further involvement on the part of Roquefort or Voluptua was postponed until the next night, since the sun had come up. Lucretius, since evil never sleeps, found himself stuck with job of guarding Fr. Stephen, who did go to sleep. Tarin was stuck in charge of Katie.
“This is a vampire slayer’s lair?” Katie asked, looking around Tarin’s aparetment. “I thought you lived in Gothic mansions. I expected fewer Bon Jovi posters.”
“Vampires live in mansions. And I haven’t slept in two days, so I suggest you find a way to get comfy on my futon, otherwise you’ll pretty bored for the next few hours.”
Tarin, optimistically, had intended to get ready for bed and then go to bed. Katie seemed oblivious to this plan.
“Isn’t Voluptua pretty?” she gushed, watching Tarin brush her teeth. “And don’t you think Roquefort is just sex on toast?”
“Fnnrfl.” Tarin spat out toothpaste. “Remember that bit where I’m a vampire slayer? Does that not indicate to you my general feelings towards the species at large?”
“Well, I suppose, but they seem rather fun. Why don’t we play MASH with them?”
“With Roquefort and Voluptua? What are you talking about? I want to mash them into pieces. It’s my sworn duty to kill Roquefort, that’s what we were consulting the bloody prophets about, so we can see who’s got the Wooden Stake of Latvia, Lithuania and Estonia. And sometimes Y. That’s why they kidnapped Stephen, because he understands the wretched people, and that’s what they were on their way to do when you summoned Lucretius and got a side of vampire and Catholic.”
“Oh.” Katie seemed a little put out, but she wasn’t to be put off. “Lucretius seemed keen on you.
“That’s another kettle of fish entirely.”

Diplomatic relations between the undead, alive, demonic, and hopeful hangers on broke down temporarily next evening. Fr. Stephen refused to tell Lucretius and Roquefort anything concerning the prophecy. Voluptua demanded to know the prophecy and threatened to kidnap Fr. Stephen from his kidnappers and torture it out of him. Tarin demanded Stephen’s immediate release and threatened to kill Katie, but Roquefort called her bluff and she really hadn’t the heart. Lucretius, with rather more likelihood of following through, threatened to kill Stephen if Tarin didn’t order him to reveal the prophecy and then had an extensive argument with Roquefort. (“Waste of blood!” “But free weapons.”)
It was finally arranged that they would all meet together, Fr. Stephen would reveal the prophecy and that in return Voluptua would not bother him again.
“And we,” Lucretius said magnanimously, “will release you back into your natural habitat. I will stop attempting to kill you for as long as a week in return for your translating services.”
They ended up meeting in Roquefort’s gaudy and velvet draped mansion and sitting around a large mahogany table in dining room with a pleasant skull and roses motif.
“Right ho! Let’s have it then!” said Roquefort, rubbing his hands together. “I propose that after Fr. Whosy tells us what he knows, we all disband and have fair-minded, honest race to find and kill this stake-bearer, except of course if you, Tarin, you can do what you like.”
“Since I can’t find a way to stop you, I agree,” said Tarin. “Stephen?”
“Um,” said Stephen. “He will be gruff, but with a heart of gold.”
“Obviously!” said Lucretius in a stage whisper.
“He will be good with his hands. He will wear flannel shirts or no shirts at all. He will be practical and always come through for you in a pinch. He takes pride in keeping his word. He is nobody’s master but his own. He opens doors for women and likes dogs. He makes his own rules.”
“Oh, he sounds rather attractive,” said Tarin.
“Well, not as attractive as I am,” said Lucretius jealously, “but sounds a decent sort. Shame about having to kill him.”
There was a pause in which everyone else realized that Voluptua and Roquefort were staring at each other with expressions of abject horror.
“Falalalala, lalala fuck,” Roquefort said, not a man to stay coherent under pressure. “By the fresh scent of inappropriately shaped jello, this is worse than I thought.”
“What? Who? Why do you and Voluptua know things I don’t?” Lucretius whined.
“Are you experiencing an attack of conscience? You must admit, he sounds all right,” said Stephen.
“No,” said Voluptua, “what we are dealing with here is the worst sort of opponent. We are going to have to deal with, and possibly be in the same room as, a Gritty Everyman.”
“He probably try to ‘tell it like it is,’ and have a monosyllabic name,” said Roquefort.
“And inspire respect and loyalty in his employees, crew, minions, slaves, what ever he has. They always have fawning hangers on,” snapped Voluptua.
“Oh, you had me worried,” said Lucretius. Lucretius had not been born; he came into being as an evil spirit somewhere around 1 AD and viewed people as either more or less likely to be of use to him. Voluptua and Roquefort, however, worked within human constructs, and as such, cultivated the ability to look down on anyone. They had played pleasant childhood games such as “Throw Rocks at Poor People” and “Terrorize the Peasant” and “Make Jokes in Languages That Inferior Classes Don’t Know, Like Sanskrit.” They enjoyed spending money, lying outrageously and generally reassuring each other that there was nothing gritty or everyman about them.
But Tarin and Fr. Stephen exchanged a knowing look. For they already where to find their specimen, Buck “Testosterone” Steelham.