Time: Friday, 20 August
Place: The Fiendish Glow pub
Follows: Getting Back
Chris is real and is used by permission.
Siobhan, Father Andrew, and Al' Jack Kerrigan belong to The Fiendish Glow.
O, Bonnie Lass! was written by Brenda Bell in 1998; it is sung to the Londonderry Air (aka Danny Boy )
The Fiendish Glow pub, Friday August 20th, about 2030 Eastern Daylight Time
Chris slammed the empty glass down on the mahogany bar in the unmistakable manner of someone looking for a refill, bent on getting drunk.
"That's yer third in as maeny hours," Siobhan told him, wary about providing the requested refresher.
The GlowWorm adjunct removed a red and white banknote from his sporran.
"I's no' as if I cudna pay fer it," he said, placing the fifty down on the table.
"You know the rules about sahrving the intoxicated."
"An' ye ken I'm close wi' one o' the managers o' this establishment. Gimme another."
Sighing loudly, the redhead poured out another measure of Glen Livet, neat.
"She's gone an' run off wi' tha' Nunkumpoop again," he muttered. "Somethin' aboot th' plohmin'."
In the corner, Father Andrew and Al' Jack Kerrigan were chatting over drinks and watching the people pass by.
"Wha's wi' him?" Kerrigan asked.
"Thinks his fiancee's run off wi' a vampire," the ex-vampire priest replied.
"Weddin' jitters," Kerrigan nodded. "Tuyme to do soamethin' aboat it." The two men picked up their drinks and walked over to the bar, flanking the groom-to-be, while the evening's lounge lizard sang "Danny Boy" for what seemed like the tenth time that evening, each one more mechanical and less heart-felt than the last.
"Eh, lad, wot's eatin' ye?" Kerrigan asked. "Ye're too healthy-lookin' t' be a droankard, and too yoang t' have the world's sorrows aboat ye."
"He misses his fiancee; she's at a bridal shower," the Siobhan whispered to the centenarian. "So that's it," Kerrigan noted. He turned to the younger man. "Laddie, if ye can't live without 'er noa, what's life going to be like in ten, twenty years from noa when she's roaning all ovuh with the little ones?"
"If she stays still lang eno' tae have bairns," Chris lamented. "An' if they're my bairns, an no' tha' Nunkumpoopies' o' hers."
"Son, do you love her?" Father Andrew asked.
"Aye... a' least, I think I do. A week ago I lo'ed her wi' a' my hairt..."
"An' what's changed that?"
"She lied to me about this Nunkies o' hers," the kilted one said, taking another hit off his Glen Livet.
"What's the matter with her 'Nunkie'?" Father Andrew asked.
"Not 'Nunkie'. 'Nunkies.' Some vampire she an' some other lasses ha' lost their haids ower. They call themsailves 'addicts'... My Heather, an addict..." he trailed off, reaching for the Scotch again.
Father Andrew caught the young man's wrist and stopped him. "Where's your Christian love?" he asked the distraught man. "Remember 'hate the sin, love the sinn--' oh. Right. Forgive me, I'm oat of praectice." He bowed his head and crossed himself. "You're the closest thing Heather has to family up here," he said. "In fact, you air her family up haire. Ye must support her an' help her owercome this addiction of hairs."
"How can I, when she's always there, never here wi' me?"
As the three men grew silent for a moment, the lounge lizard's broken voice came through clearly enough to understand the lyrics.
Oh, bonnie lass, 'tis Nunkies, Nunkies calling
His addicts all to gather at his shrine
At which in drooling meltdown you'll be falling,
And at the Jewelled Peach you'll surely dine.But should you fail to answer to his calling
His wrath is strong, his judgment near divine:
Within his arms, you'll suffer one last mauling
As on your neck, his fangs prepare to dine...Yet should you harken to his siren beckon
And hasten to appear before the Shrine
The glories of his worship you'll soon reckon:
Designer clothes, closets of shoes, and trappings fine.
"How can I compete wi' that?" Chris asked, slamming his again-empty glass on the bar for a refill.
"With what? A two-bit singer plodding out three-bit lyrics?" Kerrigan prodded.
"Wi' that vampyre's marketing machine," Chris replied.
"As long as it's just the vampuyre's glamour, just let her have fun," Father Andrew advised. "It's not as if he's the Lord of the Manor, askin' for his rights."
Chris looked strangely at Father Andrew.
"First night, any night..." another ex-vamp expounded as he bellied up to the bar for another stout.
It was not what the betrothed needed to hear.
"Keep 'em comin' at me," he told Siobhan, placing another fifty by his empty glass.
With a sigh, both priest and centenarian followed suit.
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NEXT STORY: THE GREEN-EYED
MONSTER, TAKE TWO: THE "C" IN "C-DAY" IS FOR "CHRIS"
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