Interlude

Professor von Carpworth, the big cheese, Bill Tunaman, his assistant, and Malicia Craven, the secretary, each had their mouth gaped open at the sight before them. It wasn’t actually very exciting to a normal person, but the trio was happy. The building they were staring at was 1 Ultramauve Drive, the location was somewhere deep in the deep of Southern California, and the building was ‘Von Carpworth and Associates’. The building had been in progress for months. A Vampire depression had almost completely stopped the construction, but the Professor (with a little help from Bill) was able to save the day (metaphorically speaking, after all, how can you save the day… that would be like trying to hurt the night).

The Professor sighed, “It’s good to be out of that stifling University. It was keeping me from my full potential.”

Bill muttered under his breath, “I don’t think you have full potential.”

“What Bill?”

Bill looked up at the Professor, “Nothing… my allergies are acting up.”

The Professor stepped to the door and pulled on the door. It was stuck. The Professor knocked on the door.

A large, brutish man shoved the door from the inside, and if the Professor had not instinctively sidestepped, the Professor would have been crushed. The giant of a man glanced at the Professor, “Sorry about the door Professor… I was jus’ checking up on things inside… would you like me to pick the door up and put it back on the door frame?”

The Professor smiled, “Nah, that’s fine Otis… I’ll… get Bill to clean it up later.”

Bill hung his head. He hated it when the Professor “volunteered” him for things.

The three stepped over the broken door and entered into the Lobby… or, what was supposed to be the Lobby.

Bill laughed and then ran to the next room. He could be heard running all across the three floored building (the offices were on the first floor, Bill’s housing on the second, and the Professor’s on the third). He came bursting back into the room.

“The rooms are in the wrong order!” he shouted.

“What?” the Professor was confused.

“Isn’t it obvious, Professor? This room is your office. Next door is mine, and at the far end of the hall is the Lobby.”

The Professor looked up angrily at the man who had barged into the room.

“Ugh! Can’t you knock! I’m in the middle of a very serious discussion with a patient.”

The man jumped back, “Sorry Professor, I was looking for the lobby and well, the door was open…”

“The door is always open! It was knocked off of its hinges!”

The man bowed his head, “S-Sorry Professor… um… Where’s the Lobby?”

The Professor rolled his eyes, “It’s at the end of the hall.”

“Isn’t that a bad layout for a…”

The Professor’s anger took the best of him, “Yes! Yes! I’ve been told that 133,264 times now!”

The man walked out and the Professor turned back to his current patient.

“Well, as I was saying Professor… I get these nightmares sometimes with these little men dancing around and chanting. Then, all of a sudden, lightning strikes and the little men spit at me and taunt me and call me names like

’Sissy Boy’ and ‘Little Purple Pansy Eater’…”

“What color?”

The patient frowned, “I beg your pardon?”

The Professor banged his head upon the Orange Juice table (the bungling cheap Vampire contractors had mixed up the “Orange Juice Colored Rug” and “Coffee table”). “WHAT COLOR? What color where these little men? Green, Red, Maroon, Amsterdam Green, Aquamarine, Turquoise, or Orange Naval?”

“Er… Maroon, I think… or it might have been more of Death Robe Purple… Why does it matter?”

The Professor smiled, “Because that explains everything. Was your father in anything… er… Masonic?”

“Yes… as a matter of fact, he partook in some sort of unknown meetings at nights… why?”

The Professor walked to a shelf and pulled off a dirty, dusty hardcover book bound in a horrendous shade of purple. The title read: ‘What to do when spit on: The finer points of the Fraternity’. The Professor handed the book to his patient.

“You see, your blood line is one of the ones in ‘The Fraternity of the Sissy Boys and Little Purple Pansy Eaters’, AKA SBALPP… the club didn’t do anything, had no religion, but did have a darn fine benefits plan that were multi-generational. You can have the book… I’ve already read it cover to cover… and you may want to make use of their free dental plan… your teeth need some work.”

“Thank you Professor.” The shaken patient headed for the busted door.

“Um… the other way, please, I would like to be paid for today’s session.”

“Oh, sorry Professor.”

Bill was looking around the new music shop that had been opened in the leased space at 2 Ultramauve Drive that the Professor also owned. The shop was called ‘Sharps, Flats & Whatnot’ and was staffed by friendly Mr. F. Sharps, Ms. B. Flats, and odd Mr. K. Whatnot. The store had quite an assortment of unique musical items such as the Wolf Whistle¹, Vampire Brand Violins², and the Unicorn Ukulele³. Bill was just glad to be out of the backward office building. The Vampire Union had called in that morning telling him that building couldn’t be rebuilt until late spring. It was a good thing that the Vampires were willing to do the work for free because the budget was drained.

The Professor meanwhile was taking things rather well. He had set up a temporary waiting room outside. His secretary, Malicia Craven, even though a Vampire cured of her Blue Inferiority Complex, didn’t want to ruin her tan (or lack thereof, which was considered cool), so the Professor had hired a temp.

“Find what you are not looking for?” said the odd Mr. Whatnot.

Bill looked up, “Well, actually, I haven’t… all of what I have seen so far is pretty much what I was looking for.”

Mr. Whatnot glared at Bill. He pulled off the shelf a thing that had a mouth with two reeds, a long curved neck covered with five strings and two holes, and a wide belly with a deep resonator. “Is this something you weren’t expecting?”

Bill shook his head, “No, I expected to see musical instruments, especially a Flamingoian Flute-Guitar.”

Mr. Whatnot sighed, “Tell you what, do you think this is a musical instrument?”

Mr. Whatnot outheld a small purple carved thing with wings and a grotesque head. The thing had a huge nose with two large flute-like nostrils. It had holes down the back where its buttons (it seemed to be wearing a backward shirt) should have been.

Bill shrugged, “Yes, it looks like a flute or something… just oddly carved.”

Mr. Whatnot smiled, “Actually, it is a Flutknot, a tuning device for the Pansy Nose Flute and Sissy One-Stringed Semi-Guitar.”

“Really? Well, I wasn’t expecting that.”

“Good. Anything else I can help you with?”

WorldMaker Industries bought 3 Ultramauve from the Professor and no one could figure out what they did. That is, until the invitation came.

WorldMaker industries

Presents

Their Grand Opening Celebration

Professor, you are cordially invited to help us celebrate our new building. P.S. Bring whomever you want… we may have need of your services. Thanks, WorldMaker Industries.

The Professor handed the invitation to Bill after reading it.

“The question is, Bill, what do they do, and why do they have need of my services?”

Bill shrugged, “Maybe they need to pick a carpet.”

Ms. Flats called the office on Monday. She wasn’t feeling well and thought it was the color of her one-bedroom apartment above the store. Mr. Sharps called two hours later and said that Ms. Flats was faking her illness just to get his two-bedroom, also above the store. Mr. Whatnot called an hour after that to say he was out of soap. The Professor told him to call Mr. Sharps. Mr. Sharps, a half-hour later, called to tell the Professor that he was not the Professor’s secretary. The Professor told Mr. Sharps that his secretary was not a grocer and to go the store and buy more soap. Mr. Sharps told the Professor where the Professor could stick his soap⁴. All of this predated the Professor’s actual Chromatonic profiling of the three proprietors⁵, so he was noticeably angry when they arrived one by one.

“Ms. Flats, your illness is not a psychochromatic reaction to the wall color, merely a chromatic reaction of the green kind: envy.”

Ms. Flats argued all the way across the “Lobby” on the fore lawn. Mr. Sharps arrived a few minutes later.

“Professor, I’ve never had a psychochromatic profiling before, so please excuse me if I’m a bit nervous.”

The profile went smoothly, but Mr. Sharps couldn’t help asking on the progress of the local grocer (4 Ultramauve Drive) so that he didn’t have to drive into all the way into town. Mr. Whatnot arrived soon enough. The Professor had some disturbing news for Mr. Whatnot:

“According to the responses you have given me, you have a psychochromatic affliction known as Pinkleton’s Disease⁶. You have a mild neural chromatic imbalance. I can’t prescribe anything, but I can tell you the effects of the disease. You will experience brief nausea, small hallucinations, evil cackling, pink-outs and possibly some rather odd rashes. Some experiencing your disease resort to the magentallogical renewal offered by Vampirism. I know a good Vampire who could make it a short process.”

Mr. Whatnot was stunned, but decided to go ahead and give Dr. Dracule a call.

The Professor sighed and walked up to the third floor. Walked from the landing to the door, entered, walked through closet, across the bedroom and down the hall to the bathroom. When he got there he realized he was out of soap and yelled until was hoarse, then flopped onto the bed like a giant mackerel.