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texchan(Written: April, 2006)
Warnings: None ... I think. >.O
Summary: Being a traveling salesman is never easy ... especially not when you end up at a strange castle, just as darkness begins to fall.
Legal Stuff: As always, this story is intended to express one fan's genuine appreciation of the character Dracula, and the myths and legends surrounding him. It is just for fun and not for profit. If you have any rights in the character described here and find the posting of this fanfiction offensive or harmful, please contact me, and I will be happy to remove it. Max Greene is my original character, so, of course, he belongs to me. (Poor Max.)
Author's Note: Response for Dracula / Vacuum
Death of a Salesman ... ???
(a writing challenge response for Dracula / Vacuum)
Max Greene swallowed, hard, as he reached out and, once again, pushed the doorbell. He heard the bell's bongs echo away inside the massive structure before him, and he couldn't help but think that they sounded like the crack of doom, or the opening of Hell's gates, or something similar. The horror and mystery novels he loved to read were always talking about doorbells sounding like that, but he hadn't ever given much thought to exactly how it would feel to hear that sound. Really, he had just glossed over the words as empty, meaningless description, ignoring them in his haste to get to the next bit of action. They had meant nothing to him, other than a bunch of "blah-blah-blah" keeping him from the good parts of the story.
Until now.
Because, now, he knew what the crack of doom sounded like. He knew how it felt to have your heart drop down into your stomach, and, then, continue onward until it hit somewhere around your feet … where it stopped, but only because it couldn't go any farther. He knew how it felt to hear a noise that made your mouth run dry and your stomach heave from fear. He knew how it was to swallow, hard, and almost choke on your own tongue, just because you didn't have any spit left. It felt … well, really not so great.
Max wasn't sure how he had gotten here. He hadn't had this job for very long. Almost a week ago, his boss had given him a map of his "territory", a sample case, and the keys to a company car, shoving him out the door with no instructions other than a bellowed: "And sell some damn shit, or I'll fire your ass! Hundred more where you came from!"
So, Max had driven around for the past week, doing his best to follow the map, doing his best to cover all of his territory. He hadn't ever been very good at directions. He had failed geography twice in the sixth grade. It hadn't come as any great surprise when he had gotten hopelessly lost. At least, it hadn't been any great surprise to Max. That was just the kind of luck he had. Bad luck. Coupled with no sense of place.
Speaking of which … Max glanced around him. This place was creepy. Creepy in an elegant and understated way that seemed to scream "Old Money", but … yeah. Creepy all the same. At first, he would have called the house a mansion, but, now that he stood in front of its huge double doors, made of heavy oak bound together with iron bands and bulky nail studs, he had to revise his initial observation. "Mansion" didn't even come close. From the arching doorway … to the heavy blocks of stone, stacked one upon another … to the turrets towering above him … to the gargoyles leering down at him from the dizzying heights … to the big, open courtyard, where he had parked his car … this place had "castle" written all over it. A real, honest-to-goodness castle. He couldn't believe one actually existed out here. He thought such things only showed up in cheesy romance novels, fantasy books, and England. Certainly not here in his sales territory.
Well, if he was still in his territory, that is. Max hadn't had much luck with reading either the map or his boss's chicken-scratch directions, and he had the sneaking suspicion he was way, way out of his sales area.
He looked around once again, squinting to make out details of the castle and courtyard in the deepening dusk. Yep. Way out of his territory … and, most definitely, not in Kansas any more, either.
Max reached out, and, with a shaking hand, punched the doorbell again. His common sense and the run-away beating of his heart both told him he should be thankful no one had answered the bell's initial summons; he should just cut his losses, turn around and drive away from here -- as fast as he could. But, he had been driving around for a week, and hadn't made one sale. Not one.
As he stood there and listened to the crack-of-doom bell echo away through the castle once again, Max shifted his weight from one foot to another and ran his finger underneath the too-tight collar of his white dress shirt -- jerky, nervous gestures to try and take his mind off of how stupid he was to be standing here, fighting down this panic-induced nausea, and going against his better judgment in the hopes of making one measly, stupid sale.
Max couldn't help but think about how much he hated this stupid job. Four years of college. Five years of graduate school. All for this. To end up some kind of cheesy, stupid, traveling salesman. And, he didn't even sell anything neat or cool. Not super-strong, ninja-style cooking knives … not even insurance. No. Vacuum cleaners. He sold vacuum cleaners. If it hadn't been his life, his own, personal little version of hell on earth, Max might have thought it funny. But, this was his life. And, it wasn't funny. It was just … freaking pathetic. Still, the economy was bad. Jobs were hard to find. And, he needed to make rent. At such times, you do what you have to. So, here he was.
He ran through the sales pitch he had memorized. So far, he had given the talk five times, and he had bungled it each time. It wasn't like it was so hard to remember. It wasn't. He just got nervous or something. Or, maybe, it was because the whole thing was just so stupid.
"Good evening sir/madame. My name is Max Greene, and I'd like to give you a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity -- ownership of the XLT 6500. This little machine will revolutionize the way you clean house …" Max muttered, under his breath.
"A once in a lifetime opportunity? Do tell. I'm all ears."
The smooth voice brushed against his eardrums like fine silk rubbing over freshly-washed skin. Max jumped, startled, and his voice trailed off mid-speech. He hadn't heard anyone approach. He hadn't heard the door open. And, yet, a stranger stood before him, head cocked to one side, and an amused smile quirking up the corner of his lips.
Max's speech fled from his mind. He forgot what he had intended to say. He forgot why he was here. All he could do was stare, an open-mouthed expression of shock on his face, at the man standing in front of him.
If he had had a hundred years to imagine the person who owned this particular place of residence, Max didn't think he would have come close to the truth that now stared him in the face. The man, who stood there, calmly watching him with an amused, almost teasing expression on his face, looked as if he had stepped right out of the pages of one of the novels Max spent all of his free time reading. And, he looked perfectly at home in the dank, drafty castle.
Shoulder-length, straight black hair framed a thinish face. The man's skin was so light it appeared almost translucent in the murky gray light of early evening. Dark eyes regarded Max with a curious expression that managed to look both teasing and rather hard at the same time. Somehow, it repulsed Max and, yet, drew him toward the man, even as he measured the distance between himself and his car … although he had the distinct feeling he wouldn't make it if he tried to escape. The stranger wore a white shirt -- all ruffles down the front and poufy, long sleeves -- a long, black cape with red lining, black pants, and black boots. Max couldn't quite place the man's age. He guessed somewhere around thirty-five or so, although something about the man's eyes gave him the feeling this guy had seen a lot more living than that. Overall, the man was … unsettling. Handsome, and, yet, something about him seemed cold … chilled Max to the bone.
The man favored Max with a smile. The barest glint of long, sharp fang peered out from beneath bloodless lips.
"So?" the man asked, "Once in a lifetime? That can be rather … long for some of us. I can't wait to hear what you have to say."
Max cleared his throat. "Uh … yeah. Yes sir. A once in a lifetime opportunity. Ownership of the XLT 6500."
"And, what is that, exactly?" the man asked. The amused little smile never left his face.
"A v-v-vacuum cleaner," Max stammered. He cleared his throat again and forced his voice to take on a more even tone as he repeated, "A vacuum cleaner, Mr. …?"
"Oh. My name is Dracula," the man replied. "You may call me Mr. Count."
He paused for a moment or two, as if engaged in some internal debate, before continuing, "A vacuum cleaner. Now, that is interesting. You wouldn't believe the dust bunnies around this place. Please. Do come in. My family and I were just sitting down to our evening meal. I would love to hear your entire speech, but, first, we would love to have you for dinner."
Max swallowed, choking on his too-dry throat, as he thought about the man's double entendre. "For dinner". Did that mean …?
Mr. Count stepped away from the door, gesturing Max into the castle. His smile had gone from teasing and amused to something resembling genuine friendliness, and, somehow, it put Max at ease, made him realize that the "for dinner" remark must have been nothing more than a private joke -- one that seemed to amuse his host quite a lot.
Max stepped into the castle's foyer, shivering in the cool, moisture-heavy air, and followed Mr. Count down the first long hallway to the right. A joke. It was just a joke. And, besides, a sale was a sale … right?
~End
Warnings: None ... I think. >.O
Summary: Being a traveling salesman is never easy ... especially not when you end up at a strange castle, just as darkness begins to fall.
Legal Stuff: As always, this story is intended to express one fan's genuine appreciation of the character Dracula, and the myths and legends surrounding him. It is just for fun and not for profit. If you have any rights in the character described here and find the posting of this fanfiction offensive or harmful, please contact me, and I will be happy to remove it. Max Greene is my original character, so, of course, he belongs to me. (Poor Max.)
Author's Note: Response for Dracula / Vacuum
Max Greene swallowed, hard, as he reached out and, once again, pushed the doorbell. He heard the bell's bongs echo away inside the massive structure before him, and he couldn't help but think that they sounded like the crack of doom, or the opening of Hell's gates, or something similar. The horror and mystery novels he loved to read were always talking about doorbells sounding like that, but he hadn't ever given much thought to exactly how it would feel to hear that sound. Really, he had just glossed over the words as empty, meaningless description, ignoring them in his haste to get to the next bit of action. They had meant nothing to him, other than a bunch of "blah-blah-blah" keeping him from the good parts of the story.
Until now.
Because, now, he knew what the crack of doom sounded like. He knew how it felt to have your heart drop down into your stomach, and, then, continue onward until it hit somewhere around your feet … where it stopped, but only because it couldn't go any farther. He knew how it felt to hear a noise that made your mouth run dry and your stomach heave from fear. He knew how it was to swallow, hard, and almost choke on your own tongue, just because you didn't have any spit left. It felt … well, really not so great.
Max wasn't sure how he had gotten here. He hadn't had this job for very long. Almost a week ago, his boss had given him a map of his "territory", a sample case, and the keys to a company car, shoving him out the door with no instructions other than a bellowed: "And sell some damn shit, or I'll fire your ass! Hundred more where you came from!"
So, Max had driven around for the past week, doing his best to follow the map, doing his best to cover all of his territory. He hadn't ever been very good at directions. He had failed geography twice in the sixth grade. It hadn't come as any great surprise when he had gotten hopelessly lost. At least, it hadn't been any great surprise to Max. That was just the kind of luck he had. Bad luck. Coupled with no sense of place.
Speaking of which … Max glanced around him. This place was creepy. Creepy in an elegant and understated way that seemed to scream "Old Money", but … yeah. Creepy all the same. At first, he would have called the house a mansion, but, now that he stood in front of its huge double doors, made of heavy oak bound together with iron bands and bulky nail studs, he had to revise his initial observation. "Mansion" didn't even come close. From the arching doorway … to the heavy blocks of stone, stacked one upon another … to the turrets towering above him … to the gargoyles leering down at him from the dizzying heights … to the big, open courtyard, where he had parked his car … this place had "castle" written all over it. A real, honest-to-goodness castle. He couldn't believe one actually existed out here. He thought such things only showed up in cheesy romance novels, fantasy books, and England. Certainly not here in his sales territory.
Well, if he was still in his territory, that is. Max hadn't had much luck with reading either the map or his boss's chicken-scratch directions, and he had the sneaking suspicion he was way, way out of his sales area.
He looked around once again, squinting to make out details of the castle and courtyard in the deepening dusk. Yep. Way out of his territory … and, most definitely, not in Kansas any more, either.
Max reached out, and, with a shaking hand, punched the doorbell again. His common sense and the run-away beating of his heart both told him he should be thankful no one had answered the bell's initial summons; he should just cut his losses, turn around and drive away from here -- as fast as he could. But, he had been driving around for a week, and hadn't made one sale. Not one.
As he stood there and listened to the crack-of-doom bell echo away through the castle once again, Max shifted his weight from one foot to another and ran his finger underneath the too-tight collar of his white dress shirt -- jerky, nervous gestures to try and take his mind off of how stupid he was to be standing here, fighting down this panic-induced nausea, and going against his better judgment in the hopes of making one measly, stupid sale.
Max couldn't help but think about how much he hated this stupid job. Four years of college. Five years of graduate school. All for this. To end up some kind of cheesy, stupid, traveling salesman. And, he didn't even sell anything neat or cool. Not super-strong, ninja-style cooking knives … not even insurance. No. Vacuum cleaners. He sold vacuum cleaners. If it hadn't been his life, his own, personal little version of hell on earth, Max might have thought it funny. But, this was his life. And, it wasn't funny. It was just … freaking pathetic. Still, the economy was bad. Jobs were hard to find. And, he needed to make rent. At such times, you do what you have to. So, here he was.
He ran through the sales pitch he had memorized. So far, he had given the talk five times, and he had bungled it each time. It wasn't like it was so hard to remember. It wasn't. He just got nervous or something. Or, maybe, it was because the whole thing was just so stupid.
"Good evening sir/madame. My name is Max Greene, and I'd like to give you a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity -- ownership of the XLT 6500. This little machine will revolutionize the way you clean house …" Max muttered, under his breath.
"A once in a lifetime opportunity? Do tell. I'm all ears."
The smooth voice brushed against his eardrums like fine silk rubbing over freshly-washed skin. Max jumped, startled, and his voice trailed off mid-speech. He hadn't heard anyone approach. He hadn't heard the door open. And, yet, a stranger stood before him, head cocked to one side, and an amused smile quirking up the corner of his lips.
Max's speech fled from his mind. He forgot what he had intended to say. He forgot why he was here. All he could do was stare, an open-mouthed expression of shock on his face, at the man standing in front of him.
If he had had a hundred years to imagine the person who owned this particular place of residence, Max didn't think he would have come close to the truth that now stared him in the face. The man, who stood there, calmly watching him with an amused, almost teasing expression on his face, looked as if he had stepped right out of the pages of one of the novels Max spent all of his free time reading. And, he looked perfectly at home in the dank, drafty castle.
Shoulder-length, straight black hair framed a thinish face. The man's skin was so light it appeared almost translucent in the murky gray light of early evening. Dark eyes regarded Max with a curious expression that managed to look both teasing and rather hard at the same time. Somehow, it repulsed Max and, yet, drew him toward the man, even as he measured the distance between himself and his car … although he had the distinct feeling he wouldn't make it if he tried to escape. The stranger wore a white shirt -- all ruffles down the front and poufy, long sleeves -- a long, black cape with red lining, black pants, and black boots. Max couldn't quite place the man's age. He guessed somewhere around thirty-five or so, although something about the man's eyes gave him the feeling this guy had seen a lot more living than that. Overall, the man was … unsettling. Handsome, and, yet, something about him seemed cold … chilled Max to the bone.
The man favored Max with a smile. The barest glint of long, sharp fang peered out from beneath bloodless lips.
"So?" the man asked, "Once in a lifetime? That can be rather … long for some of us. I can't wait to hear what you have to say."
Max cleared his throat. "Uh … yeah. Yes sir. A once in a lifetime opportunity. Ownership of the XLT 6500."
"And, what is that, exactly?" the man asked. The amused little smile never left his face.
"A v-v-vacuum cleaner," Max stammered. He cleared his throat again and forced his voice to take on a more even tone as he repeated, "A vacuum cleaner, Mr. …?"
"Oh. My name is Dracula," the man replied. "You may call me Mr. Count."
He paused for a moment or two, as if engaged in some internal debate, before continuing, "A vacuum cleaner. Now, that is interesting. You wouldn't believe the dust bunnies around this place. Please. Do come in. My family and I were just sitting down to our evening meal. I would love to hear your entire speech, but, first, we would love to have you for dinner."
Max swallowed, choking on his too-dry throat, as he thought about the man's double entendre. "For dinner". Did that mean …?
Mr. Count stepped away from the door, gesturing Max into the castle. His smile had gone from teasing and amused to something resembling genuine friendliness, and, somehow, it put Max at ease, made him realize that the "for dinner" remark must have been nothing more than a private joke -- one that seemed to amuse his host quite a lot.
Max stepped into the castle's foyer, shivering in the cool, moisture-heavy air, and followed Mr. Count down the first long hallway to the right. A joke. It was just a joke. And, besides, a sale was a sale … right?
~End