Paranoia!
By Luna Celestia
Spoilers to most VampChron.
I don't own Mater, her husband, the vamps, the dog, the Olympian gods, leeches, ravens, hay fever, trees, a shack of any sort in New Orleans, Goldilocks, Dixie, or anything else that may appear in this little piece of insanity.
Enjoy!
Note: This was found in the ransacked and abandoned home of an *innocent* young girl, who was said to have written blood sugar. It is the only remaining piece of her writings.
Scene: Interior of an old, abandoned shack in New Orleans. The only source of light comes from a laptop computer, where Lestat sits writing. Louis enters through the front door.
Lo: Lestat, what are you doing? I've been looking for you everywhere.
Le: (whispering loudly) Get down! They'll see you!
(Le pulls Lo down to floor)
Lo: See me?
Le: Through the window. Lower your voice! They're everywhere. They're going to find us out!
Lo: What are you talking about, Lestat?
Le: Don't call me that! From now on, you're Raven and I am Zeus, King of the Gods.
Lo: Well, then, Zeus--
Le: --King of the Gods!
Lo: OK, OK. Zeus, *King of the Gods*, have you completely lost your mind! Tell me what's going on right now, or I'm going to tell your mother!
Le: My mother? Come on, Lou--I mean--Raven. You can do better than that. Gabby--I mean--Goldilocks, doesn't scare me. Not in the conventional sense, anyway. . .
Lo: Then I'll kick your ass! Whatever! Just *tell* me NOW!!!
Le: Shh! Don't be so loud, Raven. It's them! Those blood-sucking leeches!
Lo: Armand and Daniel are in town?
Le: No, *her* blood-sucking leeches. Her *lawyers*!
Lo: "Her" who?
Le: I can't say her name. She'll sue me!
Lo: Oh, you mean Anne!
Le: Shhhhhh!!! Don't say that name! She'll sue us!!
Lo: Have you been writing fan fiction about Marius and David again? I would have sued you, too, that last time, but damn that joint bank account. . .
Le: Raven! Use code words! I write "blood sugar". . .Wait a minute, you would sue me?
Lo: Of course. It was completely tasteless and offensive. But, like I said, to sue you would be to sue myself. And, besides, you already had *so* many people after you, and they closed down your little "blood sugar" site. I just couldn't do it to you. So, what *are* you doing?
Le: Blood sugar, beautiful one--I mean--highly attractive individual. I have to do it now! It's a matter of principle. Listen to yesterday's phone message:
(Le begins reading Anne's phone message)
The MACHINE might cut me off. If it does, you can still leave a message.
I have asked repeatedly that this plague, this awful, awful PLAGUE known as FAN FICTION be brought to an end. Since you terrible, *terrible* people known as FAN FICTION WRITERS refuse to give up this practice called FAN FICTION, I must send out my angels, the dear, wondrous people who work for me, to pull your hair, scratch out your eyes, imprison your friends, families, and goats, torch your homes, and generally inflict agonizing pain upon your corporal forms. Also, I have some new rules. Do not discuss my books or myself on *any* Internet forum. In fact, do not profane the names of my beloved characters or myself by uttering them from your common, inadequate lips or typing them with your filthy, disgusting fingers. And, for those walking about with the *audacity* to claim to be one of my beautiful characters, especially my beloved paramour Lestat or his *completely* platonic friend Louis, you will be shot repeatedly in the public square at high noon while locked in the stocks and whistling Dixie. This, of course, is because these characters are completely FICTIONAL; I created them all by myself witching the confines of my own imagination.
It's a beautiful day here in New Orleans. The beautiful, fragrant flowers are in full bloom, setting off my HAY FEVER into convulsive fits of pleasurable sneezing. Ah, the flowers, like so many sheep running across the sands of Egypt at daybreak, while singing PRAISES to the ALMIGHTY in a loud and joyous cacophony. And the moss, the lovely, lovely moss, hangs daintily from the ancient oaks like so many gossamer wings of angels sitting on white, fluffy clouds high in the celestial sphere.
And, speaking of the celestial sphere, Stan, my beautiful Stan, the love of my life, father of my children, yes, the poet *and* painter Stan Rice has just completed a lovely, lovely, wondrous painting. It is called "Hitler Walking Hand-In-Hand With a Man Holding a Python and Eating Purple Watermelon at Midnight in the Garden With Two Poodles." You can buy 5 X 10 prints of it on my website for only $105.95.
But, as I was saying, this practice known as FAN FICTION is really, truly evil. FAN FICTION WRITERS are the DEVIL'S TOOLS. The Vampire Lestat does not approve of this practice known as FAN FICTION. The Vampire Lestat is my lover, my paramour, my beautiful, beautiful child, my son, and he DETESTS this practice known as FAN FICTION. The Vampire Lestat loves me. The Vampire Lestat will give me the DARK GIFT during the next EQUINOX.
Well, I should go now. Leave a message after the beep, unless, of course, the MACHINE has already cut me off. And remember to vote Howard Allen "Anne" O'Brian Rice for PRESIDENT on ELECTION DAY! What, Stan? Oh, ELECTION DAY is over? Right.
Leave a message!
Le: Do you see, Louis? She's finally lost her mind completely! She thinks she really created us. Or maybe she's just a really good liar. . .
Lo: Raven.
Le: What?
Lo: You called me Lou--
Le: Don't say it!!!
Lo: I think you're overreacting, *Zeus*.
Le: No, I'm not. She took Mojo.
Lo: What?
Le: I believe her exact works were, "What kind of sick bastard would steal a poor, defenseless, best-selling author's dog for his elaborate, depraved role-playing games!"
Lo: Aw, my poor Lestie. Do you want me to burn down her house for you?
(Lestat, his bottom lip jutting into a pout, nods.)
Lo: It's OK. Just come over here and let Raven make it all bett--
This is where it stops. That last "t" had quite a long tail, as if the unfortunate writer had been brutally torn form her paper. Her chair was turned over, further evidence of some sort of struggle. Two very attractive men, one with blond hair and one with black, were seen standing outside of the girl's home in full mourning attire the evening after this work was discovered.