What We Do In the Shadows: "Jen..."

What We Do in The Shadows: "Jen..." Part LXXII...

What We Do In The Shadows: "Jen..."

Summary: There are unexpected consequences when Laszlo seeks a new human familiar...

Part LXXII...

"It was indeed very kind of you to offer to force my brains out of my skull through intensive sex, Miss Erika..." Nandor, kindly to a somewhat crestfallen Erika, blouse partially open.

"However, I feel it would be inappropriate, given you are Laszlo's minion and to be honest, I am somewhat old-fashioned..." warm smile. "I'm married, times thirty-seven, and even if it is unlikely I will encounter my dear wives again..." shrug.

"That is so very sweet, Master Nandor." Erika, sighing. "You are a wonderful husband."

"Well, I was a bit on the brutal and neglectful side in my younger days, perhaps a bit more mellow now. Frankly..." he leans for confidential whisper from his seat at table in his crypt where Erika can see he has been writing. "...Don't ever tell Laszlo Cravensworth, he should lord it over me, but I do admire his steadfastness over time to Nadja, despite his proclivities and her constantly being a bitch to him, though a loving wife indeed as well. I should like to prove myself his equal in steadfastness...The vanity of an 800 or so year old man, you know." Grin.

"Erika! Do not fuck Nandor's brains out!" Laszlo's cry from down the hall. "That is my direct order, dear!"

"Oh...Hi." Colin had stuck his head into the room, peering about and then straight at Erika's partially uncovered bosom. "Heard some commotion in the hall and thought I'd grab a quick snack. You two hard at it in some sort of illicit orgy?"

"No, Colin Robinson." "Nein, Herr Robinson."

"Ok, too bad. I'd've enjoyed draining Laszlo all upset that the minion he can't have sex with is screwing Nandor."

"Go away, Colin Robinson." Nandor frowns.

"Sure...Say are you writing on parchment? Is that a quill?" Colin eyes table.

"I am doing both." Nod.

"Tres formale...Something important?"

"It's the way I write." Frown.

"Oh...Nice. You know the quills used in writing often came from turkeys, geese, and pheasants?"

"Yes, I did, Colin Robinson. I often plucked them myself from my prized pheasants before a battle to write my Sultan." Nandor, sternly. "Thank you for your unnecessary information."

"Glad to help. I've got to pack. Not much but I love to drag it out. Hey, Erika, nice choice of brasserie. Bet it got a lot of clients to sign on the dotted line." Smile.

"Go. Colin Robinson." Nandor, firmly.

"Right. See you at the big move..." wave.

"He has a great malevolence about him...That unman." Erika notes.

"Really? I find him merely boring and tiresome." Nandor shrugs. "Perhaps it's the long time I've spent with him."

"Please don't be offended by my actions, Master Nandor..." Erika begins, sheepishly, brushing hair back, buttoning. "I must have misunderstood mein Master's order..."

"Not at all..." kindly wave... "It is very flattering to have a beautiful human woman wishing to make the massive whoopie with one not her direct blood master. Thank you, my dear."

"You are so very kind, sir..."

Laszlo at door, Nadja just behind...

"Ah, good. You haven't fucked any brains out yet. I countermand that order, my mistake, sorry."