— Posted in The Last of Us, Vampire Noir

The Last of Us [I’m single, white, and free, let’s have sex]

“All of this fuss over an overdue book.”

“What did you just say?”

“You heard me the first time.”

Mondo is back to standard Sarah Palin mode. But, her long hair is different, when worn down. And it’s down, now. A decidedly 1960’s hair style with a 1950’s twist. It is no longer long. It stops just above her shoulders, threatening to but never sweeping her shoulders. In the fifties the pageboy generally stopped above the shoulders, just like this. As such, her hair looks like a cross between a Brynhildr and a pageboy, a so-called pagegirl. Her hair looks just as severe as it would if it were yanked back up into a sternka.

The pagegirl is short-lived, though. Because as she talks to her lesbian god Ms. Rohm. Her hair lengthens back into a Brynhildr. And still, her hair looks just as severe as it would if it were yanked back up into a sternka.

Her Madeleine Elster readers are hanging comfortably around her neck from her eyeglass chain, resting upon her ample bosom. The Perl eyeglass chain is Miles Kimball, a favorite brand of Sarah Palin—Palin wears the pearl version.

Elster readers with Miles Kimball eyeglass chain, i.e., elster-miles. Careys. Perls. Koo. Bra—Olivia Bra L6080—and panties—plain flesh-colored rubber panties. Prudz. Non-geriatric yellow blonde hair. Bolshoi that is subtly-applied, beguiling, and most becoming—the no makeup barely-there makeup look—i.e., bolshoi-bare. Holster, phone, and purse are discreetly clipped to the waistband of her skirt.

Of note. Her panties are not bikini panties. They are vintage rubber panty briefs—tummy control briefs featuring a high waist—riding just below the navel—for a smooth fit. Hidden easily by the high waist of her skirt.

This smooth 1950’s era brief, provides firm control to smooth her already-flat tummy and slim hips, and shapes her tight, flat rear. With a second-skin fit, its breathable latex lays flat for a sleeker, smoother silhouette—i.e., even if her clothes weren’t concealed carry, the panty briefs wouldn’t show under her clothes. The panty is cut higher on the leg so she can move freely, and has full rear coverage designed to prevent ride-up as it shapes and smooths.

Of special note. Koos and Kayes have skirts with a high waist, riding just below the navel. In the style made popular in the 1950’s.

This is the most current iteration of her standard Girl Friday mode—i.e., her standard Sarah Palin, version whatever. A tight-assed, sexually-repressed shrew. Expressed as prim and proper. Expressed as the sexpot accountant. Expressed as the librarian provocateur. Expressed as straight-laced, stiff-backed. Haughty and aloof, and seemingly unattainable. A spinster. Eveready to fuck, to be fucked, to be coveted, and to be worshipped.

Ms. Rohm is dressed in her usual frumpy outfit that screams “lesbian librarian”. Sternns, dykish moe, and strictured Kaye, complemented by thick black stockings. Pointed, projectile breasts thanks to a Bosom Envy bra. Perls. Prudz. Cigarette purse clipped to the waistband of her skirt. Victorian Splendor 130 footwear. Still wearing bolshoi-bare. Plain white cotton panties with a high waist that have been starched to within an inch of their life.

“My. My. My. Obviously, last night’s punishment wasn’t enough for you. I’m going to have to righteously discipline you again.”

Mondo sits down at the table of the private reading room. Ms. Rohm sits down across from her.

“Houdini wasn’t your scapegoat. He was a ‘fixer’. You were his handler. He was a Forever Person—i.e., human, but incredibly long lived, almost immortal in lifespan.”

“A fixer for whom, or should I ask what?”

Mondo shrugs her shoulders. “It doesn’t really matter, considering my personal feelings about you. But. Since a book is the common denominator, I would imagine that he was a fixer for The Guild, probably working freelance.”

Ms. Rohm smiles at the girl’s response. She makes a seemingly innocuous gesture with her right index finger.

Mondo notices the gesture and mimics it with her left index finger.

Their “wordless” exchange assures that there is no misunderstanding. Both women are crystal clear on what’s up. Plausible deniability, be damned. Now, the conversation can continue in earnest, no matter who might be eavesdropping. Now, it’s for the record.

“Continue, please.”

“Shall we dish the delatt?”

“Of course.”

“Age before beauty. You first.”

“That was so very White of you. Coco brags about how you’re such a smart girl, and rightfully so I see, so smart in fact that you know when it’s prudent to be dumb.” Ms. Rohm pauses, briefly. Licks her lips in a lurid fashion. Then, she continues. “Being a freelancer and Forever People to boot, Houdini was always a risk, a bomb waiting to go off. But. He had such a talent for bag jobs. Nevertheless, it’s always better if such matters are kept in-house and in Race, so to speak.”

“But. Being freelance and food, meant Houdini would be easy to dispose of when he outlived his usefulness and became a liability. Which is what happened?”


“But. That’s not what happened.”

“I confessed, yet you have failed to turn me in. Instead you have allowed me to use you for your and my own pleasure.”

“Your confession is bullshit. You didn’t kill Houdini.”

“And you would know this how?”

Mondo deftly sidesteps the question.

“You no more killed Houdini than I or my proxy Mrs. Peel did.”

“My. My. My. You are feeling your wild oats, today. Reveling in disobedience. I’m not accustomed to be called a liar to my face by a subordinate.”

Punishment implied—Ms. Rohm inflicted upon Miss Kane, later.

“I placed your missing book in the lost-n-found—no need to thank me—unread, still wrapped in brown parchment tied with twine. It should be discovered during the routine evening survey and be returned to its rightful place in the library no later than tomorrow morning.

Ms. Rohm makes another seemingly innocuous gesture, this time with her left index finger.

“You’ll be returning to Coco, I imagine, then.”

“You imagine correctly. But. If you’re ever in need of my services from time-to-time and you need to borrow me, I’m sure that Coco will acquiesce to your demands graciously.”

Again … Punishment implied—Ms. Rohm inflicted upon Miss Kane, later.

“That’s very White of you. Sounds like a plan.”

“Do you need for me to dispose of Mr. Houdini?” Miss Kane’s question is rhetorical, of course.

“He’s yet to outlive his usefulness. And. He remains a valuable resource.”

Both severe women sit stiff-backed in the stiff-backed wooden chairs the entire length of the conversation. Periodically and luridly licking their lips in anticipation of the carnality and corporal punishment that will follow later on.

“Referring to Mr. Houdini in the present tense. Looks like I was right, and you were lying. He is alive, you’ve admitted as much.”

Ms. Rohm reaches across the table slaps the girl hard across the face. The girl cums in response to her dyke boss’ vicious slap.

“Murder number one? Carole ‘Penny’ Marshall?”

“She’s the one who checked out the book in the first place, and never returned it because she carelessly lost it on one of her Martian binges? The murder that really wasn’t a murder, per say?”

Again. Ms. Rohm reaches across the table slaps the girl hard across the face. Again. The girl cums in response to her dyke boss’ vicious slap.

“I’m going to really enjoy beating you to death, later on this evening.”

“Houdini shadowed her on her benders, hoping that he could sniff out a clue as to the book’s whereabouts. Bad news: All he ended up doing was watching her self-destruct. Good news: At least someone who was so easily compromised was no longer part of the Ladies Council.”

“Murder number two? The Roosevelts?”

“Somehow the book fell into their hands. Somehow you found out that they had it. And. Unfortunately … for them. They proved to be too unscrupulous and untrustworthy for their own well-being. They were going to sell it to the highest bidder. You sent Houdini to get it from them before they could make the sale, and neutralize them—i.e., more house cleaning, so to speak. Getting into their apartment was easy. It used to be his. Getting into the Dakota was even easier. Bad news: they had already sold the book. Good news: under torture they revealed who had bought the book from them.”

“And. He had bribed someone in security to destroy any evidence of him being there, including editing him out of any CCTV footage?”

“Exactly. Do you want to know who?”

“I already know who it was. And. They have been dealt with professionally. Considering who likes to take her summer residence there, we can’t afford to have anyone in security who is so easily compromised … Now … onto … Murder number three? Bernadette ‘Bernie’ Caulfield?”

“Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.”

“She proved an unfortunate inconvenience once Debra Gill became Pope. Debra dealt with the situation badly, falling completely apart when her former lover was found dead.”

“And that was the intent of Bernie’s suicide. Bernie knew what Debra’s reaction would be, and it wouldn’t be the reaction you’ll wanted to see from the horse that you were backing to the hilt. You and your cronies have invested too much in her to kick her to the curb, but you no longer see her as a long-term solution and are actively looking for another suitable female candidate who is human.”


“Yes. Suicide.”

“Ummm … Never saw that one coming. We won’t be paying Houdini for that one. She’s the one who bought the book. Houdini never found it. Do you want to know what the book is?”

“It’s a honeypot. A way for you to ferret out and eliminate chinks in your armor. As such, any book will do.”

“A very smart girl indeed.”