Josh,” I said from my seat. “Cut him up into little bits and burn them, Edwart!”
“What?
Why would I do that? Why would I ever
ever
do that?” he pondered and then gave me a sharp look. “No! I am not pondering that, Belle! I am hysterically yelling right now. I am experiencing the greatest fear I have ever felt in my life.”
Edwart was visibly shaking—I think that happens when vegetarian vampires haven’t eaten a bear in a while or something.
“Edwart, we don’t have time to have another DTR talk right now. There’s
another
vampire now, and I don’t think he’s familiar with Peter Singer’s
The Ethics of What We Eat.”
“Another
vampire?” he looked behind his shoulder. “Where’s the first?” he quavered, most likely from hunger. He gave me another sharp look. “NO! Stop that! I am not quavering from hunger! That doesn’t even make sense.”
“Come on, Edwart,” I cajoled. “He’s a vampire, you’re a vampire: get to work!”
“Stop, Belle! This is serious—this is not a good time to role-play.”
“Role-play?”
“Yeah, role-play. Like that time we role-played that I could lift Tom Newt’s car, or when we role-played that I could reach speeds of up to a hundred mph. Or the one where I had to wear vampire teeth and tell you how much I wanted to drain out all your blood when I first laid eyes on you.” He froze. “Whoa. Some of this stuff is starting to come together.”
I turned to Joshua, signaling that we needed some time to work this out.
“You know what?” Joshua said. “Even though I am a real vampire, which means by nature I am aloof and hot-tempered, I will give you guys some time. Don’t mind me—I’ll stand right here, silently seething and flashing my eyes.”
“So all this time you thought I was a
vampire?”
Edwart whispered furiously, pulling me a few inches to the left.
“Sure,” I said, “you know, the lion falls for the lamb …”
“What?”
“Sorry. It’s easier for me if I explain things in animal terms.”
“So you thought I was a … lamb?”
“No, a lion. Or, you know, you’re the shark and I’m the seal.”
He stared at me blankly.
“Okay,” I tried again. “You’re the giraffe and I’m the leaf.”
“Are you breaking up with me?” he asked quietly.
“Of course not,” I said tenderly. “Only if you’re not a vampire.”
“But I’m not a vampire.”
“But … you are kind of a control freak. In a vampire way.”
“You
made
me boss you around! And while we’re being honest, you’re my first girlfriend, and before I met you I was doubtful that I had the requisite mouth muscles to speak aloud.”
I felt my entire monster-hierarchy, with Edwart Vampires at the top, realigning dramatically. “But what about the time that we were talking about different kinds of blood and you kept talking about how each one has its own unique merits, just like different types of wine you said, and then you went on like a fifteen-minute rant about blood homogenization, and then you went into that elaborate mnemonic about the various steps to take while drinking blood? You know, the five S’s: suck, sip, swirl … swirl again … and then…”
“Simmer.”
“Yeah, simmer.”
“Wasn’t there another one?”
“I think so—I have it written down on some little cards at home.”
“So then how are you not a vampire?” I asked, purposefully not inflecting my voice at the end of my question for a lawyer effect.
“Belle, I’m … I’m sorry. I’m not a vampire. I’m only a
moderate
blood drinker. I like my hamburgers
medium-rare.”
“Okay, we all set?” asked Josh, tossing another shriveled mole onto a pile.
How civilized
, I thought, to have a designated place for appetizer-refuse, just like a good host providing a bowl to put shrimp tails in.
“I guess so,” I said. “Get him, Edwart!”
“No Belle—I can’t fight a monster! I will never live up to your abnormal and perverse fantasies!”
That hurt.
“What?
Why would I do that? Why would I ever
ever
do that?” he pondered and then gave me a sharp look. “No! I am not pondering that, Belle! I am hysterically yelling right now. I am experiencing the greatest fear I have ever felt in my life.”
Edwart was visibly shaking—I think that happens when vegetarian vampires haven’t eaten a bear in a while or something.
“Edwart, we don’t have time to have another DTR talk right now. There’s
another
vampire now, and I don’t think he’s familiar with Peter Singer’s
The Ethics of What We Eat.”
“Another
vampire?” he looked behind his shoulder. “Where’s the first?” he quavered, most likely from hunger. He gave me another sharp look. “NO! Stop that! I am not quavering from hunger! That doesn’t even make sense.”
“Come on, Edwart,” I cajoled. “He’s a vampire, you’re a vampire: get to work!”
“Stop, Belle! This is serious—this is not a good time to role-play.”
“Role-play?”
“Yeah, role-play. Like that time we role-played that I could lift Tom Newt’s car, or when we role-played that I could reach speeds of up to a hundred mph. Or the one where I had to wear vampire teeth and tell you how much I wanted to drain out all your blood when I first laid eyes on you.” He froze. “Whoa. Some of this stuff is starting to come together.”
I turned to Joshua, signaling that we needed some time to work this out.
“You know what?” Joshua said. “Even though I am a real vampire, which means by nature I am aloof and hot-tempered, I will give you guys some time. Don’t mind me—I’ll stand right here, silently seething and flashing my eyes.”
“So all this time you thought I was a
vampire?”
Edwart whispered furiously, pulling me a few inches to the left.
“Sure,” I said, “you know, the lion falls for the lamb …”
“What?”
“Sorry. It’s easier for me if I explain things in animal terms.”
“So you thought I was a … lamb?”
“No, a lion. Or, you know, you’re the shark and I’m the seal.”
He stared at me blankly.
“Okay,” I tried again. “You’re the giraffe and I’m the leaf.”
“Are you breaking up with me?” he asked quietly.
“Of course not,” I said tenderly. “Only if you’re not a vampire.”
“But I’m not a vampire.”
“But … you are kind of a control freak. In a vampire way.”
“You
made
me boss you around! And while we’re being honest, you’re my first girlfriend, and before I met you I was doubtful that I had the requisite mouth muscles to speak aloud.”
I felt my entire monster-hierarchy, with Edwart Vampires at the top, realigning dramatically. “But what about the time that we were talking about different kinds of blood and you kept talking about how each one has its own unique merits, just like different types of wine you said, and then you went on like a fifteen-minute rant about blood homogenization, and then you went into that elaborate mnemonic about the various steps to take while drinking blood? You know, the five S’s: suck, sip, swirl … swirl again … and then…”
“Simmer.”
“Yeah, simmer.”
“Wasn’t there another one?”
“I think so—I have it written down on some little cards at home.”
“So then how are you not a vampire?” I asked, purposefully not inflecting my voice at the end of my question for a lawyer effect.
“Belle, I’m … I’m sorry. I’m not a vampire. I’m only a
moderate
blood drinker. I like my hamburgers
medium-rare.”
“Okay, we all set?” asked Josh, tossing another shriveled mole onto a pile.
How civilized
, I thought, to have a designated place for appetizer-refuse, just like a good host providing a bowl to put shrimp tails in.
“I guess so,” I said. “Get him, Edwart!”
“No Belle—I can’t fight a monster! I will never live up to your abnormal and perverse fantasies!”
That hurt.
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