#Bus Party Bus Staten Island

[nycpartybusrental1]

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[nynjlimousinetour]

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[reliancegroup]

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[limorentalnyc101]

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[nyclimocarservice]

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[nycultimate77]

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[brookstonalmanac]

Events 12.16 (after 1900)

1905 – In Rugby Union, The "Match of the Century" is played between Wales and New Zealand at Cardiff Arms Park. 1912 – First Balkan War: The Royal Hellenic Navy defeats the Ottoman Navy at the Battle of Elli. 1914 – World War I: Admiral Franz von Hipper commands a raid on Scarborough, Hartlepool and Whitby. 1920 – The Haiyuan earthquake of 8.5Mw , rocks the Gansu province in China, killing an estimated 200,000. 1942 – The Holocaust: Schutzstaffel chief Heinrich Himmler orders that Roma candidates for extermination be deported to Auschwitz. 1944 – World War II: The Battle of the Bulge begins with the surprise offensive of three German armies through the Ardennes forest. 1951 – A Miami Airlines Curtiss C-46 Commando crashes in Elizabeth, New Jersey, killing all 58 aboard including dancer Doris Ruby. 1960 – A United Airlines Douglas DC-8 and a TWA Lockheed Super Constellation collide over Staten Island, New York and crash, killing all 128 people aboard both aircraft and six more on the ground. 1968 – Second Vatican Council: Official revocation of the Edict of Expulsion of Jews from Spain. 1971 – Bangladesh Liberation War and Indo-Pakistani War of 1971: The Surrender of the Pakistan Army brings an end to both conflicts. This is commemorated annually as Victory Day in Bangladesh and India respectively. 1971 – The United Kingdom recognizes Bahrain's independence, which is commemorated annually as Bahrain's National Day. 1973 – Aeroflot Flight 2022 crashes in the Soviet Union's (now Russia) Volokolamsky District, killing all 51 aboard, including 4 Lithuanian doctors. 1986 – Jeltoqsan: Riots erupt in Alma-Ata, Kazakh SSR, in response to Soviet leader Mikhail Gorbachev's dismissal of ethnic Kazakh Dinmukhamed Kunaev, the First Secretary of the Communist Party of Kazakhstan, and his replacement with Gennady Kolbin, an ethnic Russian from the Russian SFSR. 1989 – Romanian Revolution: Protests break out in Timișoara, Romania, in response to an attempt by the government to evict dissident Hungarian pastor László Tőkés. 2011 – Zhanaozen massacre: Violent protests by oil workers take place in Zhanaozen, Kazakhstan, leading to 16 people dead and 100 injured by the security forces. 2013 – A bus falls from an elevated highway in the Philippines capital Manila killing at least 18 people with 20 injured. 2014 – Tehrik-i-Taliban Pakistan militants attack an Army Public School in Peshawar, Pakistan, killing 150 people, 132 of them schoolchildren. 2022 – A landslide occurs at a camp at an organic farm near the town of Batang Kali in Selangor, Malaysia, trapping 92 people and killing 31.

[rosiava]

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[chelsfic]

Make a Wish - Guillermo x Nandor One-shot (Fluff)

WWDITS Masterlist

Summary: Guillermo has the best/weirdest birthday of his life

A/N: Pure fluff and crack, enjoy!

Warnings: Fluff, Crack, Blood drinking, Pining, Vomit lol

---

“Master? There’s a nice virgin waiting for you in the cell and I pulled out those maps of the Carpathians you mentioned last night. Do you think you’ll be alright if I go out for a few hours?”

Guillermo holds up the heavy velvet cape, standing on his tiptoes to reach around his master’s broad shoulders. He comes around to do the clasp at Nandor’s neck and finds the vampire frowning at him in annoyance.

“What is the meaning of this, Guillermo?” Nandor whines, flipping his hair over his shoulder petulantly. “You already had a day off this year for the funeral of your grandsire! I give you one day off, suddenly you think you’re a man of leisure?! This is unacceptable! I was planning on going through my ‘90s wardrobe and making a pile for the homeless persons…”

Guillermo finishes with the clasp and runs his hands down Nandor’s arms, smoothing the fabric and certainly not secretly enjoying the feel of his master’s strong arms. 

“Well, couldn’t you start working on that while I’m out and then--”

“You want me to organize my own clothes!” Nandor blusters with a stomp of his foot. “What am I, some beggar vampire who cannot keep a familiar? Doing the chores for myself, donating my own clothes to homeless...Where are you going, anyway, that’s so important you have to abandon me in my hour of need?”

“‘Hour of need’? Really--?” Guillermo pauses, shutting his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. Remember why you do this. One day Nandor is going to give you eternal life. Eternal life at his side...all the time in the world for him to realize how important you are and how much he must care about you…

Feeling centered, he forces a mild smile and answers, “It’s my birthday, master. My mom is having a party for me at her house. My sisters and cousins will be there… I can’t miss my own birthday party.”

“Birth...day...party?” Nandor draws out the phrase with an exaggerated look of confusion on his handsome face. “What is this, like, your name day?”

“No, it’s--”

“Like your bar mitzvah? You are finally becoming a man, Guillermo?” Nandor’s brows draw up in the middle and a suppressed smile tugs at his lips. 

“What!? No--I am a man, master…” Guillermo clenches his jaw in frustration. 

“Then, what? What is the purpose of this holiday you are making up just to steal another night off from your duties?” Nandor is fully pouting now.

“It’s the day I was born! It’s a celebration for the day I was born!” Guillermo finally shouts, flapping his arms at his sides in irritation.

Nandor rolls his eyes and huffs a disbelieving laugh, “Is that all? You celebrate yourself just for being born? This seems highly pitiful, Guillermo, even for you. Come back to me once you’ve won a few battles. Then we will have a reason for making the celebration.”

Guillermo’s shoulders slump and he looks away from Nandor, suddenly feeling like he might cry. He hasn’t seen his sisters in six months!

“Alright, fine!” Nandor relents, eyeing Guillermo’s glassy eyes with a look of supreme discomfort. “You may have a few hours off from your duties to celebrate this fake holiday. What are you going to do? Is there a reenactment?! With lots of blood and screaming?”

Nandor’s eyes are suddenly lit with interest and Guillermo shudders as he answers, “Of course not, master. It’s...it’s just a party for people who care about you to celebrate that you’re alive and in their lives. And you get presents and cake.”

Nandor looks deflated and he waves his hand in dismissal, “Sounds very tedious. I’m glad you do not require me to attend, Guillermo. I will be much happier with my virgin and my maps. You may go.”

Guillermo narrows his eyes as he tries to parse out if there’s some hidden subtext to Nandor’s words. Then he reminds himself that his master isn’t known for subtlety and he shrugs, muttering a sincere, “Thank you, master” before leaving the crypt.

---

Guillermo is trudging down the dark street towards the bus stop when his master suddenly erupts out of nowhere to stand at his side. He lets out a glass shattering shriek and clutches his hand to his chest.

“Jesus Christ!” he exclaims to a chorus of dramatic sneers and complaints from Nandor.

“Don’t say that, Guillermo!” Nandor commands in outrage. “You know I don’t like that guy!”

“Sorry, master,” Guillermo responds on autopilot. He bunches his hands into fists in his pockets and stamps his feet against the cold. “Was there...something you needed before I go?”

Nandor’s eyes go shifty and he starts walking in the direction of the bus stop. Guillermo falls into step beside him and waits for him to speak. 

“I will attend your birth party,” Nandor announces, holding his chin up and striking a grand pose as if he’s just announced he’s about to invade Anatolia--which he’s done, by the way.

“O-okay…” Guillermo is filled with confusion and a sudden, gripping terror. His master wants to come to his birthday party. At his mom’s house. Where his family will be. His very nosy, very meddling family. “But, why?”

Nandor bares his teeth in something that could be a smile or a grimace, “That virgin you got for me was very bitter! I’ll need you to procure something tastier. I will supervise your festivity until then.”

“Couldn’t you just go hunting--”

“Oh, look, Guillermo! The human motor wagon has arrived! We don’t want to miss it,” Nandor shoves Guillermo up the steps of the bus, hulking behind him and looking like a giant, goth bat as Guillermo pays their fair.

---

“Memocito! My baby, glad to see you made it to your own party. You’re only an hour late!”

Guillermo is immediately engulfed in a rib cracking hug as soon as he steps through the door of his mom’s tiny apartment.

“Hey, mama,” he says softly and not without emotion, returning the hug. He’s suddenly feeling the loneliness and homesickness that he’s trained himself to ignore on Staten Island. He clings to his mom for so long that his sisters and cousins start to laugh behind their hands at him. Whatever. 

“Oh! And you have a guest, Memo?” She pulls back from the hug and eyes the tall, handsome, oddly dressed stranger lurking at the doorway. 

“Uh--yeah, mom, this is my...friend, Nandor. Nandor, this is my mother, Silvia de la Cruz,” Guillermo eyes Nandor meaningfully at the word “friend,” silently willing the glowering vampire to play along. If his mother finds out this is the overbearing boss who’s been keeping her son from family functions and holidays for the last couple years…

“Friend!? Frieeend? You mean, like, boyfriend, hermano?” Gabby, Guillermo’s soon-to-be-murdered little sister, squirms her way between him and his mom, her eyes gleaming with mischief. She checks Nandor out with zero attempt to hide what she’s doing and leans in to stage a whisper in Guillermo’s ear, “He’s big!”

Nandor, choosing this moment to catch on to Guillermo’s subterfuge, nods agreeably, “Boy...friend. Yes! I am Guillermo’s boy-friend. May I come inside?”

Silvia smacks her forehead and waves him inside, “Of course! Come in! Come in! So polite he is, Guillermo! I like him!”

This is, possibly, the most embarrassing moment of Guillermo’s life. And that includes the time he peed on stage at the 4th grade play. This is worse than that. He might as well be the blueberry girl from Willy Wonka. Only instead of violet, his face is turning as red as it’s ever been. Silvia takes Nandor’s arm and draws him inside. For a split second Guillermo feels a shock of panic at the sight of his mother so close to a man who murders on a daily basis, but Guillermo calms himself. Nandor may be unintentionally rude and hurtful, but he would never hurt anyone in Guillermo’s family. 

Nandor is tugged along on Silvia’s arm, an awkward smile plastered to his face as rapidfire introductions are made.

“This little brazen creature is Gabby, Guillermo’s little sister. There’s Angela over there, his older sister. And German, Pablo, Gina and Miguel--Memo’s cousins! Come, come, come what do you want to drink?”

Silvia tugs the reluctant vampire into her cramped kitchen and Guillermo can only watch, helplessly. Nandor suddenly catches sight of a crucifix hanging on the wall and hisses dramatically before being pulled out of sight.

And that’s when the scavengers descend. 

“How did you meet!?”

“Oh my god, Memo, he’s so handsome. I can’t believe you’re dating a DILF!”

“--He’s not--”

“How old is he??”

“Uh…”

“Of course, Guillermo’s boyfriend is a total goth!”

“Shut up! More importantly how is he in the sack? He looks like he’d be kinky…”

“Gabby, oh my god! You’re too young to be talking like that!”

The attack ceases as Nandor reappears from the kitchen, slinking up to Guillermo’s side and wordlessly handing him a Solo cup filled with fizzing soda. Guillermo knows it’s Nandor’s way of getting rid of the offensive human beverage, but everyone else in the room makes heart eyes at the pair of them, assuming Nandor is being gallant. 

The guests all settle into seats in the living room and Guillermo finds himself on the couch sandwiched between Nandor and his cousin, German, who keeps innocently bumping into Guillermo and pushing him closer and closer to the confused vampire. Guillermo ends up pressed against his master’s side, an encroachment on the vampire’s personal space that would normally result in a sharp word and a hiss of distaste. But, this time, he allows it, much to Guillermo’s intense relief. Nandor is busy fidgeting, tugging at his cape, clutching the hems and drawing it around him like a security blanket as he nervously eyes Silvia’s collection of Jesus statues.

“So,” Silvia’s eyes sparkle and Guillermo sucks in a breath awaiting the next stage of his mortification. “How did you two meet?”

Nandor opens his mouth, his eyes shifting around the room as he prepares to make up what will surely be some ridiculous story. Guillermo pipes up before he can answer, “At work! We--uh--work together.”

It’s best to stick as close to the truth as possible. Get the questioning over with. Blow out the candles. Eat some cake. And then get Nandor the hell away from his family and pray that everyone forgets this night ever happened. 

Silvia frowns in distaste and Guillermo’s stomach plummets before she even opens her mouth, “Ugh! You work for that slave driver, too? What is wrong with this boss of yours, he can’t let you have a day off for Thanksgiving and Christmas? It’s not right! I keep telling you I can get you a job in the school department…”

“Mama!” Guillermo interrupts, casting a nervous glance to Nandor whose face is clouding over with outrage. “You know I love my job, come on!”

Guillermo can feel Nandor’s gaze on him and he turns to catch his eye, smiling apologetically at his master. Nandor’s eyes are wide and fathomless, he’s staring at Guillermo with an unreadable expression but at least he doesn’t look angry. 

Thankfully, the conversation turns to more general topics and Nandor leans in to whisper into his ear, “Why does your mother keep calling you this name, Meh-mo?”

Guillermo is hyper aware of his sisters’ and cousins’ furtive glances. Why does his family have to be so damn nosy? Still, he can’t help the visible shiver that goes through him when Nandor’s lips brush against his earlobe. His cheeks burn when he notices Angela elbowing Gabby and nodding in his direction with an arch look.

He turns to face Nandor, trying to block out his obnoxious sisters and focus on the question, “It’s short for Guillermo. Like a pet name, kind of.”

“Pet...name? Guillermo! You are not a pet!” 

Nandor’s vehement reaction catches the familiar off guard and he answers without considering his words, “It’s just an expression, master.”

He cringes, realizing his mistake at once. German stiffens beside him and slowly turns with a knowing smirk on his lips. He leans in and whispers, “Gabby was right! You’re kinky as fuck with your Count Chocula boyfriend! Oh my god, cuz!”

“It’s not--uh…” Guillermo stutters, grabbing the Solo cup off the coffee table and taking a giant swallow of soda rather than confronting his cousin’s mistaken idea. The soda goes down the wrong pipe and Guillermo sputters and wheezes, dragging ragged breaths into his lungs against the burning sensation of Coke flowing down his trachea. 

“Guillermo!” Nandor yells, fluttering his hands helplessly around his familiar’s convulsing form. “What is the meaning of this? Are you having a joke? Stop at once, it’s not funny!”

Guillermo waves his master’s words away, coughing into his elbow and frantically trying to regain control of his body. This night seriously couldn’t get any more embarrassing.

German laughs, slamming a fist into Guillermo’s back as he explains, “He’ll be fine. His drink just went down the wrong way…”

Nandor glares at the man’s fist as he punches Guillermo’s back a few more times, but the method seems to work. Guillermo’s face relaxes and he starts breathing easier. 

“I did not realize this celebration would be so dangerous, Guillermo!” Nandor hisses, grabbing the offending Solo cup from the table and shoving it away from his familiar’s reach. “It is a good thing I have come with you.”

Guillermo doesn’t know how to reply, so he stays silent, appreciating the ability to bring air into his lungs. Silvia finally stands and sends a little smile his way before announcing, “Time for cake!”

Guillermo grins, he’s been looking forward to his mom’s famous chocolate cake for weeks. But Nandor scowls and looks apprehensive. 

“Guillermo!” he whispers, “I can’t eat the cake!”

Guillermo’s smile wavers and he stares at Nandor with a look of dawning horror. He’s thinking back to every time they visited relatives when he was younger and his mom would smack him upside the head for refusing a dish with tomatoes. In his mom’s world refusing food from your host was simply not done. You’re lactose intolerant? Not today, buddy. Don’t eat meat? Too bad. Human food turns you into a scene straight out of The Exorcist? Oh well...

“You have to!” Guillermo croaks, grabbing Nandor’s hand without thinking. “Please! She’ll be so hurt if you don’t eat it…”

Nandor frowns down at their joined hands but doesn’t move to rip away from his familiar’s touch as he normally would. Guillermo is grateful, even if he knows it’s just for the benefit of his family’s watchful eyes.

“But--” 

Nandor is interrupted by the lights suddenly flicking off. Silvia appears in the kitchen doorway holding a massive cake pan studded with lit birthday candles. The sisters and cousins take up a warbly, off-key version of “Cumpleaños Feliz.” Nandor claps and mouths incorrect lyrics with a dazed expression as Silvia brings the flames alarmingly close to his familiar’s face.

“Make a wish, mijo!” 

Guillermo grins warmly up at his mom, his face lit by the golden glow of the birthday candles. He can feel Nandor staring at him again and he spares him a glance from the corner of his eye. Nandor’s lips are parted and his eyes are wide. There’s a look of wonder on his face that Guillermo doesn’t understand. He turns back to the cake, taking a deep breath, shutting his eyes and wishing with all his might. 

“Wow! Guillermo!” Nandor exclaims, clapping along with the others as his familiar blows out the candles. “Very good job with the blowing! You’re always so good about that at home.”

There’s a long beat of pointed silence during which Guillermo’s head comes dangerously close to exploding and every other occupant of the room attempts, with varying degrees of success, to hold in their laughter. 

“Yeah, great job, Memo!” Gabby says brightly, walking over to stand by Nandor. She puts her arm around his shoulders and leans down with a wicked smirk, “Tell me more about how well my brother blows things, Nandor…”

“Gabriella!” Silvia’s voice comes out in a low warning and the teen’s face falls into a scowl but she backs off. 

“Sorry, mami. I’ll be good,” she mutters, kneeling down by the coffee table and looking back up at Nandor. “You guys are seriously so cute, though.”

“Thanks?” Nandor answers, smiling uncomfortably and baring his rather obvious canine teeth. Gabby raises her eyebrows but doesn’t remark on them. Guillermo thinks about the possibility of a spontaneous sinkhole swallowing him up in the middle of his mother’s living room.

His mom retreats into the kitchen, dragging Gabby and Angela along with her. In a few moments the girls come back out and start distributing giant pieces of cake to the guests. Guillermo watches Nandor accept the plate with a false smile. He holds it at arm's length as if the food might jump off the plate and into his mouth if he isn’t careful. Guillermo sighs, it’s not really fair of him to expect his master to make himself sick just to save his mom’s feelings.

He leans into Nandor’s shoulder and whispers under his breath, “It’s fine, master. You don’t have to--”

Silvia sits down with her own slice and looks over at them, happily, “It’s your favorite, Memo! Nandor, I hope you like chocolate! I’m sure you already know how much Guillermo loves it!”

“Actually, mama--”

“It’s...delicious!” 

Guillermo whips his head around to find his master determinedly chewing a giant bite of chocolate cake with agony written all over his face. A single bloody tear drop squeezes out of the corner of his eye and Guillermo quickly wipes it away with the edge of his sleeve. 

“Oh...master, you didn’t have to do this…” Guillermo whispers. There’s pity in his voice but he can’t help the irresistible smile from spreading over his lips. Nandor ate human food for him. The string of embarrassments leading up to this moment is suddenly worth it. His master really does care. 

Nandor is even paler than usual and he’s staring off into space with an abstracted look like a toddler who’s about to shit his pants.

“If you’ll...excuse me,” he pants, gritting his teeth to get the words out. “Where is...your human bathing room?”

“I’ll show you!” Guillermo cries, shooting up and grabbing Nandor by the arm, “It’s this way!”

His cousins and sisters give each other knowing looks, but Guillermo doesn’t care. He’s too worried about getting his master to the bathroom before he starts projectile vomiting all over his mom’s porcelain Jesus sculptures. Once they’re inside the tiny room, Nandor makes a beeline for the toilet, slamming the lid up and emptying a noxious spray of vomit into the bowl. Guillermo winces in disgust but dutifully moves to Nandor’s side, pulling his hair back and gently patting his shoulders as he pukes his guts out. 

“There, there, master,” he says quietly, true affection coloring his voice.

Nandor’s back convulses dramatically for another minute and Guillermo’s heart aches with sympathetic pain. Finally, he staggers back, collapsing down onto the rim of the tub and moaning pitifully. Guillermo flushes the toilet, kneeling down in front of Nandor and putting his hand to his forehead like a parent checking a child’s temperature. He doesn’t know what he expected--Nandor can’t get a fever. But the gesture somehow feels right and Nandor leans into the touch. 

“Guillermo,” the vampire whines. “My tummy hurts.”

“I know, master. I’m sorry. Thank you, though! That was...really nice of you.”

Nandor’s eyes fly open and he meets Guillermo’s gaze with a look of panicked distaste. Guillermo, holding onto hope like only he can, maintains eye contact, trying to push his gratitude and affection through his eyes. Nandor still looks nauseated. He hisses, “Nice… Nandor the Relentless is not nice, Guillermo! I just had a sudden urge to know what chocolate tastes like. And now I know. It’s disgusting!”

“Of course, master,” Guillermo agrees, dropping it for the moment. He sighs and goes to stand up when Nandor suddenly grabs his wrist and brings it up to his face, pressing his nose to Guillermo’s tender skin and inhaling deeply. Guillermo’s breath escapes him in one sharp gasp and he collapses back to his knees on the fuzzy bath mat. “M-master?”

“Can I just take a little sip, Guillermo?” Nandor asks, baring his fangs and letting them drag against the inside of his familiar’s wrist. “To settle my stomach?”

“Here!?” Guillermo’s voice comes out as an incredulous squeak. His master has fed from him only once in the two years he’s served him, and that was a drug-blood-related emergency. The idea of him piercing his fangs into his flesh and drinking...in the middle of his childhood home? It’s wrong and...suddenly all Guillermo can think about.

“Please, Guillermo! I ate chocolate cake for you!” Nandor gripes. 

Guillermo’s smile is as bright as the sun. His master admitted it! He does care! He knew it!

“Alright, master,” Guillermo agrees, pressing his wrist up to Nandor’s cold lips. “Just a quick sip. My mom is right outside!”

“Quick, quick,” Nandor hums, his eyes already glowing with bloodlust. He cradles Guillermo’s wrist, holding him gently with both hands and descending onto the thin skin covering his beating pulse with a shudder of hunger. 

Guillermo hisses, his face twisting with the pain even as his foolish vampire fanboy brain goes into overdrive. Nandor’s lips move against his skin and he laps the blood that flows from the wound. Guillermo can’t help the thready moan that falls from his lips at the touch of his master’s tongue on his skin. 

“Oh, master,” he breathes, his eyes falling shut as he succumbs to the sensation. “That feels good.”

Nandor pulls back with a strangled groan, his familiar’s blood dripping from his lips and into his beard, “Well, of course it feels good, Guillermo! You think I want my familiar writhing around in pain while I’m feeding from him? Very annoying.”

Nandor was true to his word and he only takes a sip, laving his tongue along the open wound one last time before releasing Guillermo’s wrist. The familiar mews in disappointment before remembering where he is and how long he and his so-called boyfriend have been in the bathroom already. He grabs a couple bandaids from the medicine cabinet and slaps them over his wrist, tugging his sleeve down to cover the evidence. Then he turns to find Nandor ineffectually blotting his face with toilet paper. 

“Guillermo?” his eyes are big and helpless, it’s really no wonder Guillermo is head over heels for him. “Can you help me with this?”

Guillermo reaches into his pocket and takes out the old-fashioned handkerchief he always carries for just such occasions. He holds it under the faucet for a couple seconds before going to work cleaning up his master’s bloodied mouth. Nandor watches his face with a gimlet stare as Guillermo cleans him.

“Are you having a nice birthday celebration, Guillermo?” he asks and Guillermo notes that he’s toying with his rings as he always does when he’s unsure of himself. 

“Yes, master, I am,” Guillermo answers truthfully. It may be the oddest birthday he’s ever had, but it’s also shaping up to be one of the best.

The rest of the party goes by blessedly without incident. Gabby and Angela keep trying to throw Guillermo coy, knowing looks but he just evil-eyes them right back. He opens his presents and learns that Nandor is adorably interested in the whole process. He finally hands one of the gifts to Nandor to open because he’s so enamored by the glittery wrapping paper. It turns out to be a book on the history of vampires in cinema which causes Guillermo to blush for the thousandth time and Nandor to gush.

“Is there a chapter on Twilight!?” he exclaims, flipping through the pages. “There is! This is an excellent gift, Gabby.”

Guillermo’s pretty sure he’s not getting the book back, but it’s kind of worth it. 

When the time comes to leave everyone lines up for hugs and Guillermo is mortified to find that his family fully expects Nandor to join in. But he’s once again surprised by his master this evening. The vampire who cringes away from Guillermo’s merest touch returns his mother’s embrace warmly. 

Nandor bends his head down to Silvia’s level and says, “You’ve made me a very good boy, thank you.”

“You’re...welcome?” she catches Guillermo’s eye and laughs before pulling him into the hug, too. Guillermo thrills as his master’s arm opens to admit him into the embrace. “Don’t be such a stranger, mijo. Tell your boss you need more time to come see your poor mama, okay?”

Nandor stiffens slightly. The look he gives his familiar is almost guilty. Guillermo’s eyes tear up a little and he squeezes his mother tighter, “I will, mom. Te quiero.”

---

Nandor is quiet on their way out of the apartment building. He waits until they’re out in the open air of the night before finally speaking. 

“What were those words you were saying to each other before we left, Guillermo? Taky arrow?” he questions.

Guillermo laughs, feeling lighter than he has in weeks. “Te quiero,” he corrects. “It means ‘I love you.’”

Nandor falls quiet again and Guillermo looks up to see that he’s mouthing the strange syllables with a look of intense concentration on his face. 

“Te quiero,” Guillermo repeats more slowly, attempting to assist his master’s efforts. 

“That’s...nice, Guillermo. Thank you,” Nandor responds haltingly, looking uncomfortable and refusing to meet his eyes.

“What!? No, I--”

“Is that why you insisted on allowing your family to believe we are lovers?” Nandor asks and he injects a tone of disapproval into his voice.

“I didn’t! That was you--”

“Highly impertinent, Guillermo. Really!” Nandor scolds and Guillermo feels the light bubble in his chest start to deflate.

He lets out an annoyed huff of air and struggles momentarily to shift the oversized bag of gifts in his arms before Nandor rolls his eyes and takes it from him, managing to carry it with ease. There’s that annoying hope again. How can Nandor say such things and then turn around and do things like hold his bag for him and poison himself with human food just to protect his mother’s feelings?

“Why did you really come tonight, master?” Guillermo asks, his voice quiet and fragile. “Please tell me the truth. For my birthday.”

“I--” Nandor stops, hissing and rolling his eyes as he struggles with the words. “You said that birthday celebrations are for people who care about you to celebrate that you are alive...and I’m very glad that you’re alive, Guillermo.”

Tears sting at Guillermo’s eyes and he can’t help the blinding smile that lights up his face at his master’s admission. It may not be a declaration of love, but for Nandor the Relentless it was pretty damn close. They walk another block toward the bus stop before Nandor breaks the silence once more.

“Do you want to have your final birthday present, Guillermo?” His voice is shy, hesitant.

Guillermo’s eyebrows lift in surprise, “Yes, master!”

“Alright, assume the position,” Nandor moves until he’s standing at Guillermo’s back. The human let’s out a surprised gasp when his master’s arms wrap around him, pulling him tightly against his chest. “Hold on tight, Guillermo!”

And then they’re flying! Guillermo’s hands clutch Nandor’s forearms in a vice grip as they float higher and higher. He watches his mom’s streat shrink until it’s a slim ribbon of light crisscrossed with others and forming a glittering net over the firmament far below. A wild laugh bubbles up from Guillermo’s throat and he squeezes his eyes shut in exultation as he cries, “Master! We’re really flying!”

“Really, really, Guillermo!” He can hear the smile in his master’s voice and it lifts his heart even higher. The air is cold and bracing around him, but the dizzying spectacle of flying more than makes up for the shivers that slowly creep over Guillermo’s vulnerable human body.

“This is amazing!” Guillermo cranes his neck to look up at Nandor. His hair is whipping in the wind behind him and his sharp fangs are bared in a wide, happy smile. 

His eyes flick down to meet Guillermo’s and he leans closer, his beard caressing Guillermo’s smooth cheek as he asks, “Is this what you wished for on your cake candles?”

The happy sound that erupts from Guillermo’s throat is part laughter and part hysterical sob. All of a sudden he knows he’s about to do something that he can never take back. He turns, squirming carefully in Nandor’s grip until they’re facing each other. He fastens his arms tightly around the vampire’s broad shoulders and answers, “Not exactly…”

And then he leans in and kisses his master square on the lips. For a split second they dip dangerously in the air and Guillermo feels his stomach swoop within him. And then Nandor’s arms tighten into an almost painful grip and he’s returning the kiss, pressing his lips to Guillermo’s with bruising force as they fly through the night sky. Guillermo strokes his impossibly warm tongue over Nandor’s cool, plump lower lip. Nandor growls and opens his mouth, allowing Guillermo inside, allowing his human to conquer and pillage his mouth. His little fierce, soft warrior. Their tongues stroke and pulse against one another. Nandor nibbles and suckles Guillermo’s sweet, pouty lips. Guillermo wishes with all his heart that he could reach up and sink his fingers into Nandor’s hair, but he dares not let go of his grip on the vampire’s shoulders. He shifts his focus, moving his mouth to Nandor’s cheek and kissing the rough, lovely edge of his bearded jaw with reverence that borders on worship. He ventures down beneath his jaw and teases the tiniest little nip on Nandor’s skin.

The breath goes from Nandor’s lungs and he whispers something. The words are almost drowned out by the fierce wind around them, but Guillermo hears.

“Tay kee arrow, Guillermo.”

The bag of gifts plummets to the earth a little while later. Nandor is wrapped in his familiar’s embrace, his hands seeking and discovering Guillermo’s plump, delicious body. 

The vampire curses and grumbles, “We’re not going back for that!

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[texastheband]

Texas V Wu-Tang Clan

Interview by Steven Daly Photography by Peter Robathan Taken from The Face - December 1997

It’s the pop story of ’97, the most unlikely end to a weird year: TEXAS collaborating with the WU-TANG CLAN. First, a Scottish rock band on the verge of slip-sliding away into a tasteful obscurity was reborn via a slew of hit singles and a glut of stylish imagery. Now, in New York, their Brit-cool meets hip hop in a mutually beneficial deal. For everyone concerned, it’s all they need to get on…

Sharleen Spiteri took the call in her front hall. "Yo, Peach," growled a strange voice over transatlantic wires. The gentleman caller was none other than Ol’ Dirty Bastard, court jester of New York hip hop dynasty the Wu-Tang Clan. Apparently Mr Bastard fancied working with Spiteri and her band, Texas. It all started in August, with one of Texas’ managers discussing Land Rovers with someone called Power in New York, who turned out to be the manager of the Clan. A video of Texas’ "Say What You Want" was dispatched, and prodigiously gifted Wu-Tang chieftain RZA signed on to do a re-recording of the single for a prospective single project. Original rapper OI’ Dirty Bastard was replaced by Method Man, the next Clan member with a solo album scheduled.

The hook-up with the Wu-Tang Clan is the perfect climax to a year that’s seen Texas rise from a tumbleweed-strewn grave to grab the pole position in British Pop. A year in which Glasgow’s Sharleen Spiteri has stared out, defiantly remade and remodelled, from every magazine cover and TV show. From a media point-of-view, Texas’ – Spiteri’s – reconfiguring of music and fashion has been the year’s dream ticket. Ever since Bryan Ferry took the innovative step of getting Anthony Proce in to design Roxy Music’s wardrobe in the early seventies, successive phases of pop’s history have thrown up performers who use the fashion photographers, stylists and designers du jour to present The Package. It is these performers who most often capture the youthful mood of their time: that’s why you can see the vulgar glamour of the Seventies in the cut of Ferry’s sleazy lounge-lizard jib; the naive aspiration of the early Eighties in the box-suited and pixie-booted "style" of Spandau Ballet; and the onset of the late-Eighties mixing and matching of different cultures in Neneh Cherry’s Buffalo Stance. When we look back at 1997 we will see in Texas’ sound and vision a new mix, all to do with living the high life but keeping it real. Catwalk and street, the designer and the understated, Prada and Nike; the slick and the cred. Ten years’ gone Scottish guitar outfit and this season’s bright young labels (in both senses). The setting too, has helped. Fashion, again, is big cultural business. Clever pop stars (Goldie! Liam!) want to be seen by the runway and hanging out at fashion parties; young designers yearn to be visible on the stage or the podium (viz. Antonio Berardi’s autumn London show at Brixton Academy). Factor in a paucity of self-motivating, button-pressing, songwriting, photogenic women in British music, and you have a ready-made media phenomenon.

Sharleen Spiteri is holding court at a New York restaurant with a gang of Calvin Klein employees who’ve just accompanied her to the VH-1 Fashion Awards. The annual ceremony is a mutually convenient arrangement, a TV cluster-fuck where the music and fashion industries exchange credibility and cachet. Texas are contemplating just such an exchange themselves, having recently been given the OK by CK. (Tommy Hilfiger has also made overtures.) Spiteri is to have an audience with Klein himself; she’s already been bribed with a trunkful of CK merch, including the streaked black dress – "inspired by [the artist] Brice Marden" – she’s wearing tonight.

Someone suggests that Texas would be perfect for Fashionably Loud, an MTV special where models strut on stage as the hot bands of the moment rock out. "Forget it," quips Spiteri. "there’s only room for one star up where we play." If Spiteri were to join Kate Moss and Christy Turlington on the Calvin Klein payroll it would not, as she sees it, detract from Texas’ music. "Fashion and music have always been connected, and now more than ever," says the singer. "You couldn’t have one without the other. If there’s shit music at a runway show it just doesn’t work."

Meanwhile, there’s the songs. With "White On Blonde", Texas’ fourth album, the music takes care of itself. Radio-friendly unit-shifters abound, helped on their way by producers Mike hedges (manic Street Preachers) and Manchester’s Grand Central. The singles have been, in sequence, nu-soul fresh ("Say What You Want"), springy pop ("Halo"), Motown-sunny ("Black Eyed Boy") and winter warming ("Put Your Arms Around Me"). The B-side remixers have covered all bases in these dance-savvy late Nineties, ranging from of-the-moment talents like the Ballistic Brothers and Trailerman to old stand-bys like Andy Weatherall and 808 State. Texas, patently, lost their dancefloor cherry by cherry-picking the brightest and the best.

Of course, while the singles have all enjoyed heavy airplay and gone top ten, and while "White on Blonde" has sold two million copies (more than its two predecessors put together), the remixes haven’t necessarily helped those sales. As the go-faster stripes of credibility on the solid saloon car, though, they’ve still been essential to The Package; all part of the thoroughly modern mix.

So now, the Wu-Tang Clan. To many, though, this latest development could smack of opportunism. One group are renegade roughnecks who mythologise themselves in epic hip hop anthems; the others are fastidiously tasteful Scots with an eye for perfectly modern consensus-pop. The Wu-Tang Clan are certainly among the aesthetically correct names that Texas always drop in interviews, but can there possibly be a legitimate connection between the two? "A lot of the Wu-Tang backing tracks have the feel of soundtracks, and we’ve always gone for a cinematic sound," says Johnny McElhone, Spiteri’s genial songwriting partner and bass player. "And I’ve always liked Al Green, and they use a lot of Willie Mitchell, Al Green, that whole Hi Records sound, and make it modern. And Marvin Gaye: Method Man, in that duet with Mary J. Blige, used ‘You’re All I Need To Get By."

Having dominated the charts in Europe this year, Texas are now, logically, turning their attention to America: the country that has always inspired them, whether it’s the dusty, pseudo-roots sound of their first three albums, or the iconic-soul and post-soul sounds of Memphis and Staten Island that they give props to now; the place where success has always eluded them. Yet given the commercial momentum of "White on Blonde", their approach to the Wu-Tang Clan is surely not driven by desperation. They are, then, viewing the collaboration with a combination of fan-like wonder and disbelief.

"Method Man is just a wicked, wicked rapper," enthuses Spiteri. "I can’t wait to hear the combination of my vocals and his – I‘m really excited about it. I have a kind of sweet, virginal thing going on, and he’s got this dirty sex vibe. It could be the perfect marriage."

It’s a Saturday night in Manhattan, and ten storeys above Times Square, Sharleen Spiteri sits on the floor of a recording studio, tinkering with her latest high-tech gadget, a Philips computer about the size of a TV remote. Across the street, three ten-foot high electronic ticker-tapes provide testimony to Monday’s stockmarket crash. No matter how much Spiteri plays with her new toy, there’s still that nagging worry: what if the Wu-Tang Clan won’t show? They’re supposed to be on a tour bus returning from a gig in Washington, DC today, but these, after all, are the original masters of disaster. The crew whose normal modus operandi seems to be chaos. The band that recently quit a national tour because only five of the nine members could be relied upon to turn up.

The studio has been booked since six, so Spiteri and McElhone breathe signs of relief when RZA and his posse finally roll in around ten. Among the dozen-strong throng, they’re surprised to see Wu-Tang member Reakwon, a stout fellow with a Mercedes cap and a Fort Knox of gold dental work. Several cigars are hollowed out, their contents replaced with weed; bottles of Cristal champagne and Hennessy are passed around as the air grows thick with smoke.

Half an hour later, method Man makes his entrance. Stooped over, he looks deceptively short – maybe only six-four in his Hilfiger fleece hoodie. "I’m John-John," he tells Sharleen, referring to his alias, Johnny Blaze. Pulling out the big blunt from behind his ear, Method Man considers the job at hand. "She got a nice voice," drawls the laconic giant. "This band not exactly my type of listening material, but they going in the right direction, if you ask me, by fucking with us. I’m waiting for RZA to put down a beat, hear how the vocals sound melded with the track before I come with ideas. I’m one of those guys."

As his friends get on with the serious business of partying, RZA goes to work, feeding a succession of sample-laden discs into a sampler. He has a diffident, genius-at-work charisma about him as he sits with his back to the room, keyboard at side. With a flick of his prodigiously ringed hand he reaches out and conjures up a brutal bassline. The speakers pulse violently. RZA takes a sip of Hennessy. "Record this, right here!" he tells the bewildered-looking engineer.

RZA has decided to dispense with the original master tapes, shipped over from Britain. He wants a completely new version, recorded rough-and-ready without the standard safety net of a time-code. This convention-trashing, wildstyle approach to recording elicits some consternation from the studio’s engineer, a central-casting white guy who warns RZA: "You won’t be able to synch to this, you know." RZA waves him away and turns to Johnny McElhone. "This riff is in E," McElhone tells RZA. "Maybe we should try it in the original key, D." "What are you saying? I understand no keys," says RZA. "You want me to sing the whole song straight through?" asks Spiteri, trying to divine RZA’s intentions. He orders the lights turned down, and offers Sharleen some herbal inspiration. She politely declines and walks to the vocal booth. "What’s her name? Sheree?" asks RZA as Spiteri warms up. The engineer wants to know if he should maybe start recording. "Always record everything!" exclaims RZA. "Ready, get set, go! Play and record, play and record!" Spiteri rattles of a perfect new version of ‘Say What You Want’, grooving along by herself and passionately acting out every word, even the ones borrowed from Marvin Gaye’s ‘Sexual Healing". Now it’s time for Method Man, who at this point is so herbally inspired that he can hardly open his eyes. He jumps up and lopes around the main room, running off his newly written rhymes and clutching a bottle of Crystal. Method walks up to the mic and opens his mouth, and that treacly baritone sets a typically morbid scene: "Fifteen men on a dead man’s chest…" The Texas duo just look at each other, shaking their heads in awe.

The hours and the rhymes pass. Around 6am, things are starting to get a little weird. As Method Man snoozes on the sofa, RZA bounces off the walls, dancing like a dervish. "These are the new rhythms," he yells. "These are the new dances from Africa. I learned them when I was there last week!" McElhone and Spiteri crack up. The engineer probably wishes he were in Africa right now; he further draws RZA’s ire by making a mistake as he runs off some rough cassettes. As everyone says goodbye, RZA decides that he’s taking the studio’s sampler – he already has two of the $3,500 items, but at this point it’s all about the wind-up. The engineer, though, having last seen the end of his tether a good few hours ago, has had enough. By the commencement of office hours that morning, the rest of the session will have been cancelled and the band and Clan banned from this studio.

After a few frantic phone calls later that morning, a studio is found that is prepared to let the Wu-Tang Clan through the door. With one precondition: only two of them are allowed in the studio. Now it’s midnight, and four-fifths of Texas watch a trio of RZA-hired session men go through their paces. They shift effortlessly through a handful of soul and funk styles, and the Scots mutter approval. These are the kind of players that are so good they can get away with wearing questionable knitwear.

Soon, another couple of Wus pop in. Then another couple. In the control room RZA orders up a bottle of Hennessy and talks about hearing "Say What You Want" for the first time. "I didn’t fully understand the sound of it," admits the soft-spoken maestro. "It was obviously a popular song, a radio song, and my sound is the total opposite. But I thought that the artist had something, so I thought: "Let’s take her and rock her to my beat."

"Sweet soul, that’s what her stuff sounded like to me. Smooth. It reminded me of the Seventies: in those days, they did songs that would fit anywhere. If you went to a club getting high it would fit; if you was cleaning up your house it would fit. That’s when you’ve got a real great song right there." Whether or not "Say What You Want" is a great song, it’s not quite coming together tonight. Despite the best offers of the studio management, a full complement of Wu posse members ended up in the house. As the night drags on the trio of musicians don’t get with the track, and by eight the following morning there is little in the way of usable material. But everyone stays upbeat. Texas will work on the track in Glasgow, and send it back to RZA to finish, along with a new song based around one of his samples. After vowing to stay in touch, everyone stumbles out into the Manhattan morning light together, the Scots with an American name, and the Clan without a tartan.

From a distance the collaboration will continue. But it’s only a different kind of distance. Culturally, creatively, the gap between the Wu-Tang Clan and the old twang clan is considerable. Yet so it goes, this cross-cultural exchange programme. Whether it’s The Stones copping blues movies, Bowie digging the Philadelphia Sound, Lisa Stansfield getting soulful with Barry White, Sting getting doleful with Puff Daddy… Whether it’s Todd Terry reviving Everything But The Girl or Armand Van Helden making Sneaker Pimps the unwitting jumpstarters of speed garage, naked opportunism and risk-taking innovation have always been confused. Now, with genres blurred and tricknology proceeding apace, anything is possible and everything is permitted. Perhaps it is this, the sheer unlikeliness, that makes the Texas-Wu experiment the most illuminating collaboration of the year. Whether it works or not.

"If you play her stuff in a club, everybody be dancing, but it’s a clear room and you can see everybody’s face," RZA reflects on the departing Sharleen Spiteri. "But if you play mine, the room is smoky." And perhaps it is here, among the clouds and the clarity, between the smoke and the mirrors, where a new sound and vision lies.

Text originally posted on texasindemand.com

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[starstuffandalotofcoffee]

this was actually remarkably good; in summary:

-if the eventual nominee is someone you dislike (or to be honest even if they’re someone you like), focus your energies on your local and state elections. Taking back the senate and maintaining the house majority are crucial, and electing democrats in state-level elections can make huge differences in voter rights, healthcare access, environmental policies, rent stabilization, and more. Also anecdotally I’d like to add that watching Staten Island’s house seat go from red to blue and the IDC die a miserable death in New York in 2018, and knowing my donations, phone banking, and state senate vote in an IDC district had perhaps played a tiny role felt amazing.

-not voting/writing someone else in/voting third party will not help the people most hurt by Trump; to paraphrase a fairly good tweet, voting is like a bus - take the one that gets you closest, even if there’s still a ways to go after that. Vote for the democratic candidate. At least as of today the five candidates who have at least one delegate are going to be far better than any Republican.