— Posted in Always into Darkness, Nosferatu, Vampire Noir

Nosferatu, Chapter 11

The Pale Lady, and her Kiss and Tell

 

In Atomic Blonde, Oscar-winner Charlize Theron stars as elite MI6’s most lethal assassin and the crown jewel of her Majesty’s secret intelligence service, Lorraine Broughton. When she’s sent on a covert mission into Cold War Berlin, she must use all of the spycraft, sensuality, and savagery she has to stay alive in the ticking time bomb of a city simmering with revolution and double-crossing hives of traitors. Broughton must navigate her way through a deadly game of spies to recover a priceless dossier while fighting ferocious killers along the way in this breakneck action-thriller from director David Leitch (John Wick).

 

A posh house. In the upscale part of town. The centerpiece of an exclusive, gated community. It is a mortuary. When used in the service of Nosferatu, it is formally known as a mortuus. In other words, a House of the living Dead.

And. This is more than just a ceremony of being reborn better. It is pure theatre, made manifest. In this instance, it involves the “kiss and tell of a very pale lady”.

Lucy is instructed to remove her blindfold. She does as she is commanded. In the mingling crowd, one of the mortuary officers catches her eye. The attraction turns out to be mutual.

The dishy necromancer moves so gracefully, it’s as if she’s gliding effortlessly across the hardwood floor toward Lucy. Straight, jet-black hair. A hard, pretty face. A big, ugly mouth. Cruel, blue eyes. And a flawless porcelain-white complexion. Leggy. Buxom. Curvy. DD-delicious. With a flat-as-a-pancake ass.

“Have you been taken, yet, Miss?”

The smooth sultry voice belongs to an Aryan Nosferatu who looks just Bettie Mae Page, right down to fetish pin-up’s signature China-Doll bangs, bangs cut straight across the forehead.

This Bettie look-a-like is decked out in black. She’s wearing a cut-out dress, that’s silk, of course, and patent-leather pumps with 6-inch spiked heels and pointed toes. And, long kid gloves. Her glue-on (skintight dress) is by Ozbeck. The same cleavage-baring dress favored by reigning TV ghoul girl Elvira. A pearl necklace and a stitched leather Coach handbag round out her ensemble.

“No. I have not.”

“You are, now. By-the-by. My name is Elizabeth, Doctor Elizabeth Katherine Wagner. I’m safe, white, and forty-something.”

Lucy nods and gestures arcanely, and by doing so, gives her explicit consent. They shake hands to consummate their unspoken contract.

“My name is Lucy Hart. I hope my maudlin manner and dress don’t offend. I didn’t mean to intentionally displease.”

My. My. My. Good-looking. Well-mannered. Old ways trained. And exceedingly polite. What a catch. Girl, oh girl, I need to get to know you Miss Hart, Biblically speaking, that is.

The undead woman and the living girl choose to finish their business at hand in one of the plush boudoirs off the fancy main room.

Only after the door to the private bedroom is closed and locked by one of the mortuus attendants, do they undress. A naked Babs is standing by the bed.

By providing Babs with expert assistance through intermediary means such as these. Mildred and The Master are aiding and abetting Babs in her transformation of a living Greta Lucille Hart into an undead [i.e., living Dead] Marta Lucille Kristen [the interim name that Babs has chosen for her made].

Greta is being named after Marta Kristen, a Norwegian-born American actress. Kristen is best known for her role as Judy Robinson, one of Professor John and Maureen Robinson’s daughters, in the television series Lost in Space (1965–1968). Marta played the part of the space family’s eldest child, a mature “20-something woman” near the age group of the space pilot, played by Mark Goddard. Her mature role allowed adult hairstyles and form-fitting fashions, as shown in publicity photos of the TV series.

Also, a naked Mildred and The Master are standing in a far corner intently watching the proceedings. Likewise, a naked Andre Vadrevu [Lucy’s best friend, whose penname is André René Roussimoff] stands in a near corner. Expectedly, he was chosen by Lucy as the legally-required mortal witness [i.e., her second], who will swear under oath in a court of law that Lucy consented to be turned.

The mansion’s elaborate CCTV system records the proceedings, for later use in the inevitable court case. The gated community’s CCTV system recordings of the girl’s comings and goings this night will also be used in that same case.

Whether Lucy survives being turned or not, turning someone is still classified by the law as a criminal act.

Whether Lucy survives being turned or not, all criminal charges will be dropped against all of the participants in the subsequent legal proceedings, as long as the person who was turned consented to be turned.

“Now …,” Babs pauses, melodramatically. “Time for the kiss that precedes the endless night.”

The single petal of a very Darque rose. Unlike The Master, who only have to use the long kiss goodbye, Bohemians and Aryans must use kiss-and-tell—i.e., the long kiss goodbye, plus the whispers.

Personal virtuosity, aside. An experienced, board-certified, highly-recommended necromancer on hand, notwithstanding. The latter two-part procedure is inherently much more dangerous and trickier, indeed.

If Babs feeds too deep, the kiss will kill. If she feeds too shallow, the whispers will kill. And, as is always the case in such matters, you wouldn’t want to live on the razor-thin difference.

Bottomline. The result of failure means the girl will just be dead meat instead of undead.

Therefore, even for an ancient one such as her, with expert assistance upon immediate demand, it’s a very tricky procedure, fraught with many difficulties. The gravest of risks, well-known to Lucy. Ergo, Lucy’s consent is likewise well-informed.

“I, a living mortal, Miss Greta Lucille Hart, of my own feel will, without any duress or coercion applied either implicitly or explicitly, willfully and willingly consent to be made by, a living Dead immortal, Ms. Barbara Elizabeth Covett. I was born living and mortal. I wish to be reborn as one of the living Dead and become immortal.”

“Do you acknowledge the risks, in the presence of your maker, me?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Please do so, publicly. In the way of the living to the living Dead.”

“I, your made, acknowledge the risk of mortem aeternam [i.e., death eternal, in Latin].”

“So do we all,” voices Mildred, The Master, and Andre, in unison. Then they repeat their unison voicing, three times, in Latin, as a chant. “Sic faciunt omnes nos. Sic faciunt omnes nos. Sic faciunt omnes nos.”

The “Bard of Avon”, William Shakespeare, would be envious of their soliloquy, if he were present.

Lucy lies down on the bed.

Babs smacks the ruby-reds of her large, cruel mouth. Then, she unsheathes her fangs and sinks them into Lucy’s neck. Feeding from the jugular, she proceeds to drain the girl—drinking Lucy almost dry. Although the girl appears to be dead. Babs’ female intuition says otherwise. She can feel it: success!

Excellent. The kiss has taken. Another one of those rare bull’s-eyes. Must savor the moment. If my feeling about her is correct, there should be more than just a sexual windfall reaped from embracing her.

The necromancer Doctor Elizabeth checks Lucy carefully, and confirms success. She records and notarizes the time and place of the 1st event in the room’s Continuum [i.e., Book of the Dead].

“Now, listen unworthy half-ling, my soon-to-be-git, to these whispered faerie tales,” Babs proclaims while flashing a broad smile.

As per ROE, for the whispers, Babs uses a straight razor to slice her forearm open lengthwise, purposefully nicking the main artery buried deep within. She presses the bright-red geyser up to the girl’s lips.

Once a mortal has been prepped by being kissed, faerie blood becomes so much more than just blood. It becomes ichoric, the so-called, nectar of the gods. In other words, it’s the liquid stuff that damnations are made of.

In modern parlance, post kiss, it becomes, in effect, a morphogenic concoction, teeming with inhuman DNA, gene splice, and the Nosferatu B retro-virus. Rewriting the mortal’s DNA, using inhuman DNA as the template, and then subsequently supplementing the human’s genes using inhuman genes as the splice-stock.

“Biologically speaking, I’m taking you beyond the realm of mortal life into that Faustian never-never land of our immortality, our un-death.” Another well-timed pause. “It’s only through blood, that we truly seal-the-deal.”

Lucy drinks Babs’ so-sweet. As night follows day, the living gives way to the undead. A living Lucy becomes an undead Marta. And, so, the girl’s re-creation begins in earnest.

Already the Nosferatu asserts itself as Marta’s face assumes its default: aloof, disdainful, and schoolmarmish. That under-expressive gaunt look. That faint, delicately haggard hollowness below the cheekbones that the fashion-conscious mortal girls all try for.

There is the required exchange of bodily fluids to consummate the transformation. As such. Marta uses the same straight razor Babs used and slices her forearm open lengthwise, purposefully nicking the main artery buried deep within. She then presses the bright-red geyser up to the lips of her maker, Babs. As Marta drank from Babs. Babs drinks from Marta. Tit for tat.

Again. The necromancer Liz checks Lucy carefully, and confirms success. She records and notarizes the time and place of the 2nd event in the room’s Continuum.

It’s official. The girl is no longer human, nor is she alive, in the human sense of the word. She is undead, and will be for the remainder of her immortal existence.

As a side note. Liz is the youngest daughter of Richard Wagner. Wilhelm Richard Wagner is a German composer, theatre director, polemicist, and conductor who is primarily known for his operas. Unlike most opera composers, Wagner writes both the libretto and the music for each of his stage works. He was the favorite composer of Adolf Hitler.

Decades ago. Sporting a very different face and body. Liz was Maila Elizabeth Syrjäniemi, known professionally as Maila Nurmi. Liz starred in “Plan Nine from Outer Space” that 1950s Ed Woods classic. She was billed simply as “the zombie chick”. Horror movie buffs to this day remember her as the zombie chick in that god-awful movie. A piece of low-budget schlock, it earned the dubious distinction upon its release of being widely heralded as the worst movie ever made. An honor it still holds to this day.

Back then, she billed herself as “Vampira, the B-movie ghoul girl and supersex siren of the post-war [WWII] era”. As you can ascertain from that primo example of bombastic self-promotion, modesty has never been one of Liz’s strong suits. Woods’ cheesy horror flick squashed her fledgling show biz career. Once more she turned to pursuing more serious endeavors, resumed her current Bettie Page visage and façade, and became Dr. Elizabeth Wagner again, a something infinitely more awful than a bad B-movie.

She looks forty-ish, but with infernal you can’t tell how old they really are by looks alone. One thing’s for sure, though. Being zealot, Dr. Wagner fervently believes that, although humans do have their many uses, they’re best as fluffy (for fucking and food). For obvious reasons, most humans consider it a decidedly vulgar colloquialism. Such a cute little word, to mean so deadly much.

 

The End

 

 


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