#drunkula

Dear Grace,

Stop ruining your Audi S3 or I will take away your keys and will drive by myself!

Igor widened his eyes at the master’s slurred speech and woozy movement, then looked down at him as he fell to the floor. “M’lord, it seems you are not well, well, you are in a more worse state than usual. I smell a hint of ethanol in your breath. Did you try something?” the vulture asked, picking up the duck from the ground, but in a way where he was behind the vampire in case he was ready to regurgitate what he contained inside him. “I would call for Nanny, but I don’t think it would be wise for us paying for another door.”

   The Vamp squirmed in the Butler’s grip, “IIiiii was out withhh Zé annddd I had water! Fire water, Igor! In tiny glasses!!” 

   Then he realized he was... not touching the ground. He gasped!

    “IGOR! Look! I’m.. Flying!” He flapped his arms in vain, thinking it was working. He laughed, “Here!! Let me try something elseeee...” He trailed off as smoke began to circle the count, before a CRACK! of loud static sounded. An Electric shock ran through the vulture's arms as the count disappeared in a poof a smoke!

   Not for long- He reappeared a few feet infront of Igor. He was a few feet off the ground, still flapping his arms. Until he collided with the ground with a loud thud. He gasped again in pain, 

   “OW! Stttupid ground. Gah. Igor!!” He turned to the butler with that stupid grin on his face, “I wonder what ELSE I can do!!” He got to his feet and stumbled off.

The Transylvania Twist is too good for us, so Drac thinks. He thinks that everything from his archaic, blood-spattered, not-actually-related-to-Vlad-III past is better. This is why modernity baffles him and why he is inevitably defeated; he is a desolate, desiccated relic of an early age mankind has long forgotten, and his pitiful struggles to reassert dominance by taking over 1890s England are just the final, wobbly, death-throes of the dance moves that no mortal will ever see performed again. How can I even begin to describe them? Those are mysteries best left to the fast travelling dead. They probably involve doing that one awkward knee thing people did in the 1920s.

We can all agree to drop the endgame with the boxes. Nobody cares about those boxes or those trains or what’s going on with the Czarina Catherine. Nobody. Ásmundsson got it right when he just had people roll up and stab the Count in Carfax rather than chasing him around for god-knows-how-many chapters to stab him someplace else.

In some way though, I really hate to see anything else cut. Even though I acknowledge that Dracula doesn’t really need Mr. Swales or Berserkir or even Quincey in it, I’m very attached to all those guys, and I wish they didn’t get omitted from nearly every rendering of the story. Like… I have a lot of really genuine, intense Mr. Swales feelings. I know there is no reason to put him into anything, but I would legit watch a Mr.-Swales-centric Dracula adaptation spoken entirely in dense, impenetrable Yorkshire dialect and I would be happy.

“Oh! Is it-” Oh. Oh man. That’s Duckula, a very drunk Duckula. With his own hands Fethry gently holds the hands covering his eyes. “Let me guess!” He’s using a voice he normally reserved for telling stories, something cheery, sweet, and animated. “Is it my dear friend Duckula?”

He’s worried. Very worried.

   He GASPED!

   “You guessedddd RIGHT!” He giggled, wrapping his arms around Fethry’s shoulders, hugging and nuzzling. “You’re sooo smart! I knew you could guess!” He was so happy his friend knew him! He was worried he wouldn’t, but he had faith! 

I wrote some crazy stupid detailed revised edition Vampire: The Masquerade Mind’s Eye Theatre house rules for everything what could get vampires intoxicated by back in my dark days as a LARP ST, and I am therefore prone to being a big fan of the notion that they totally get high/drunk/etc… on whatever doped up blood they ingest. As always, I’m a big proponent of “Your vampire setting = your rules,” and I think it could be compelling to have a vampire who is unable to attain the highs of mortal intoxicants (and who therefore angsts that they must rely on the “rush of the kill” or whatev), but seriously… I have too many fond memories of making people role play the effects of incautious feeding scenes to be unbiased here.

wesnoth strange legacy where the elves got a spell that convince you to fight for them, and it's a -20 hp removing beam of light.