The Gunslinger and the Hippie (Trog)

The ghost woman continued to weep, continued to despair. In the blink of an eye, she went from ghostly outline to a victorian dressed woman. As she wept she told her sob story to Bob, to distract him if only for a moment.

"I tried... I tried to escape... before he would make me a bride... I drank the arsenic... but he called to me... 'Lucy... death cannot save you from me.' and so I was torn from paradise... a slave... A SLAAAAVE!"

Lucy's form still moved at an unholy alacrity, and reached for Bob's very soul. Against his fortifications Lucy would find considerable resistance. His mind however, would be met with an altogether different power- a spell, a communion, a link between minds.

= = = =

In that one moment of mental connection, time was stretched out. A great astral gray sky above, and the mindscape below. A vast darkness stretched before Bob's mind, as a presence tried to reach him. A baroque stone bridge, lined with sinister gargoyles and braziers of pale blue flames, stretched from within the darkness, trying to reach into Bob's own mindscape, only to find resistance.

A single figure strode forth, a maelstrom following in his wake. He was so far away, a universe away in fact, yet the weight of his presence slammed against the barriers of Bob's mind. A billowing black coat, oxford shoes, an lacquered oak cane, and the finely dressed monster with the face of a man who carried them. Pale, but with red eyes. He sought to see why his quarry was not recovered.

"My, my, my, my. What have we here. A formidable fortress indeed." He paced back and forth, between the threshhold of the bridge, and Bob's mind. He tapped the barriers, testing its strength. "Who are you stranger, to deny me my quarry? I have no quarrel with you, and the troubles of the Van Helsing girl are not yours. Hand her over and I shall see fit to reward you, and I shall overlook this resistance." He demanded, a being so used to having his way.

As the ghost started to speak, he felt a spark of pity for her. Apparantly this alternate universe Dracula had torn her from the afterlife or whatver you called it and made him serve him as a weird ghost. Bob was appalled at Dracula. However, the distraction did not quite work. The second she went off on the offensive, Bobs mind picked it up and once again started to bombard her with feelings of disgust panic and now pain aswell. He was not a cruel man, but he was not going to let some ghost possess him out of kindness. He focused his telepathy on keeping out any external influence, whilst still keeping up the emotional bombardment on the ghost. Hopefully she would decide it wasn't in her best interest to quarrel with him. However, as the ghost attacked, it wasn't her mind that he felt, but primarily another one, much stronger.

---

Bob's 'mindscape' could best be described as a jumble of things. It looked a bit like it was built around a farm, and the air smelled of spring, but amongst the farm-buildings, there were clinical hospital-corridors and what looked to be hospital-rooms spliced into the areas between the buildings. Not to mention stage-lights and what looked like the set from an old-school talk-show as well as splashes of what looked like bits of well-furnished rooms and a comfortable sun-deck belonging to a big villa. The connection to his mind, took the form of a gothic-looking bridge, complete with crumbling stone and gargoyles, just like out of the old hammer-horror movies. It did not take a genius to understand that it was an outcrop of Draculas mind.

"Hey, this is a private residence man." Bob's mind spurted out lamely towards the invading mind, but he wasn't even sure if the invader could even hear him yet.
The avatar of the dark lord materialized in mid-step as he paced in front of the strange astral island that Bob called his mind, and commented on the strength of his defences until he made his move, demanding the Helsing-woman.

"look, man, I've got certain information, all right? Certain things have come to light. And, you know, has it ever occurred to you, that, instead of, uh, you know, running around, uh, blaming me, you know, given the nature of all this new shit, you know, I-I . . . this could be a lot more, uh, complex, I mean, it's not just, it might not be just such a simple... uh, you know?" Bob stammered in response to his demands. He was afraid, but that was not it, he was more shocked that someone had made this type of connection. This was definately not the first time it had happened, in fact in his youth he had met numerous varieties of telepaths and telepathic meetings like this was an escape from the mix between horror and boredom that was his early childhood, but it had been many, many years since then. Not to mention that these were friendly visits, this was an all out invasion

"This agression will not stand, man!" Bob asserted, alot more confidently as he gathered his wits about him.
"You killed my friends! I won't take your bloodmoney, man!" he added

Dracula Da Foe looked at Bob with a weary indifference. This resistance failed to get a rise out of him. not yet, anyway.

"Tell me what you desire then. Do you wish to be warlord of this world? to rule it? To bask in all its wealth? Do you have appetites which you've been denied? A trivial thing for me to grant them all."

Dracula's mind powers definitely played up each offer he made. Bob seated on a big talk show, everyone applauding him and shower him praise. Then was covered in golden bling and surrounded by mounds of gold and showered with dollar bills. Then surrounded by harem girls in skimpy clothes, indulging his every whim- drugs, booze, good food, all on silver platters served by those girls.

"You will find me a most generous ally. I reward service, and loyalty, if you must know. Do not refuse my benevolence, lest I withdraw it and you know my full wrath." His delivery was absolutely on point, akin to a Shakespearean stage thespian.

The sudden shift almost took him by surprise. Suddenly the mindscape shifted to a talk-show stage, just like the one he had worked on oh-so-many years ago. He could hear the little jingle, as crisp as pleasant as ever. The audience was wild, applauding him like crazy and guests had tears in their eyes, but smiles on their faces. It was not like he remembered it, but better. It was like the nostalgic memories had materialized around him. Then the skimpy-clad girls came out of nowhere, each carrying a tray with additional indulgances. Drugs, booze, food, sex, it was all avalible to him, just like in the old days, all he had to do was to reach out and take it. He felt like a king on his throne, lording over over a decadent court, all slavishly ready to do just about anything for a mere approving nod or a brief smile from him!

He plopped down in his chair on the middle of the chair, twirling the microphone he found himself holding absentmindedly between his fingers. He adjusted his sunglasses and a big, hungry grin appeared on his face as he looked upon all the delights that had been offered too him. There was a chance he would have accepted the offer then and there, ignoring the consequences. He would be great again! Respected and admired! not just a has-been relegated to be the punchline of a quick joke or a name in a second-rate gossip-rag, or the silly, pointless hero who despite all that he did to help others were never allowed to be anything but a walking talking joke in the shape of a man.

Then he remembered the ghost. Forced to serve beyond death by a cruel man that was not even a human anymore. The audience would be the same, they would not love them of his own volition, they would be made to love him. The same with the women. He shuddered when he realized that he had been so very close to passing all those moral boundaries he had set for himself, and plowed straight into uncharted territory. It dawned on him that it was no better to let dracula supply the 'slaves' than to create them himself. Most villains were monsters that preyed on humanity, but he would be far, far worse if he allowed himself to become like Dracula

"No. I refuse your offer. I won't become another Renfield." he answered calmly and deliberately, but there was an undeniable tinge of steel in his voice.