A Boy and his Blog

Welcome, my darlings! Join your host Cedric MacKinnon for some wicked fun.

Monday, September 22, 2014

Drawing Dead's Gangster Vampire Faolan O'Connor

Today, I interview Faolan O’Connor. 

CM: Welcome to Sexy Cedric, Faolan.  I do hope you’ll share a few spicy tidbits, my darling.  It’s always a pleasure to interview one of the blood.

FO: Sure, whatever you say, creampuff. Mind if I smoke? (lights up a cigarette)

CM: Of course I don't mind, if you share. I'm simply dying for a fag myself. To start us off, why don’t you share some of your history? You must have a lot of interesting stories to tell. How did you end up a vampire?

FO: Yeah, I got a lot a’ history. Let’s see, uh, I got Created by this piece a’ shit name of Darcy Killian. He was the guy runnin’ things at the time, so I talked him into makin’ me a vamp. It was either that or get killed, really, but I ain’t gonna try and say that I didn’t go into this whole business with my eyes open. Soon as I found out vamps were real and had the run of the fuckin’ place, that was it—I wanted in. The particulars ain’t so glamorous. He drank me and gave me a bunch of his blood and then I spent a week pukin’ and shittin’ my guts out and tryin’ not to scream from the fever and pain. We ain’t no fancy-pants magical bullshit vampires like you see in the movies, ya see. Our whole body gets transformed at the root and it ain’t no fuckin’ picnic, lemme tell ya!

CM: Do you keep company with others or are you more of a lone wolf?

FO: That’s funny you ask that; d’ya know my name means “wolf”? They used to call me that sometimes, back in the old days: “Wolf” O’Connor. But, yeah, I got loads of other vamps around me. We have to, since we got a whole city to run. I got a whole big organization under me—bigger than most, since New York can support so many vamps. I get along pretty well with most of ‘em, I guess, though there’s plenty of ‘em that’d gladly rip my head off to take my place.

CM: Well, my adept name, Shardul, means tiger. So don't think this pretty lad here is a pushover. Can you share a little about your vampire culture?

FO: Well, it ain’t really all that different from the rackets, ‘cept maybe a little more organized. But they don’t call it The Order for nuttin’, ya dig? It’s all about control and keeping us hidden. We’re like the ultimate secret society or, uh, whadda ya call it, Illumination? Illuminati, that’s it! Sounds Italian, don’t ya think? Anyway, we got ranks and traditions and rules out the ass…old world fuckin’ vamps sitting at the top while the rest of us do all the real work, just like any other business. That’s really what it’s about is money and power, which are usually the same thing, but not always.

CM: I know what you mean. What would you say is your driving force?

FO: Me? Ambition. But not necessarily in a bad way, you understand? I wanna try and do right by the regular Joes of New York. I feel like, with all the power that we vampires got, that there’s no reason we can’t do a little to make things better for average folks, you know? So long as it don’t hurt us, what’s wrong with giving something back?

CM: I’m a rebel myself.  What sets you apart from the run of the mill vamp?

FO: I dunno. I suppose I’m a rebel too, in my way. I always been part of some kind of organization, though, so I’m comfortable there. I know the system ain’t never been perfect, but I like to think that I can change that with enough time. There’s lots that’s different about me than the guys around me, but we got a lot in common, too, so … I dunno. I guess I figure my intentions are better than most, at least among the vamps I know.

CM: Any lovers?  Don’t spare any juicy details. 

FO: Don’t get any funny ideas, there, Percy. Just ‘cause a guy dresses sharp don’t mean he’s into that fairy shit … Anyways, sure. There’s been some dames in my life, but I ain’t the kind to kiss and tell, ya know?

CM: I never bite unless invited, darling. And I've had more than a few "dames" in my life as well. I'm what you might call an equal opportunity sort of bloke. When will your story be released?

FO: No fuckin’ clue. I been talking to this author guy and telling him about my life and he says the first book should be coming out soon, but it’s getting spiffed up. That one’s about my early days in The Order, I think, back with Killian and the World’s Fair.

CM: Well, Faolon, you have quite a story to tell. Thanks for being my guest today!  I had a brilliant time getting to know you.
Anything else you’d like to share?  


He pulled back the hammer on his revolver as they entered the back room. Ugly green walls, dingy carpets, chipped booths, and scratched tables: this little shit-hole in the wall was the best Dutch could do for a temporary headquarters? Schultz was a cheapskate to the bitter fucking end.
Faolan slides into his killing groove and time seems to slow.
His crystal blue eyes scan the room, empty except for the three men at the far corner table. Before they so much as blink, Bug’s shotgun speaks, blowing a hole in the side of fat old Abadabba Berman and setting Faolan’s sensitive ears to ringing.
Plug the accountant first. Nice thinking, shithead!
Lulu Rosencrantz—a gorilla wearing a tin Deputy Sheriff badge that allows him to carry—draws his heater as he rises. Faolan fires.
To his grooving eyes, it’s as if Lulu’s shirt blossoms with a carnation made of blood. He fires again as Abadabba settles onto the table-top, moaning.
Another carnation forms on Lulu’s chest.
Bug pumps his shotgun, ejecting the empty shell.
Faolan shifts his barrel an inch and takes aim at—
Tall, skinny, and bald: Abe Landau, another hitter. Where’s Schultz? Where the fuck’s the Dutchman?
Faolan fires anyway, punching a shot through the upper shoulder of Landau’s business arm as the hitter reaches for his piece.
Ignoring the cramp building in his shooting arm, Faolan fires again. He watches the bullet pass through Landau’s arm and hit Lulu in the right wrist as the gorilla clears his Colt from his shoulder rig.
Ignoring his shattered wrist, Lulu tips the table forward for some cover—spilling poor Abadabba onto the floor—as he and Landau both take aim.
Bug’s shotgun roars a second time, buckshot splashing across the tabletop, Lulu’s chest, and Abadabba’s back.
Forcing himself to remain steady despite the shiver traveling up from his toes, Faolan fires again.
This shot hits Lulu’s right elbow, ruining the arm but doing nothing to prevent the lefty from shooting back at them.
The first shot goes wild as Bug ejects his spent round and Faolan lines up his last shot between Lulu’s eyes.
Landau’s first shot is better, catching Faolan in the shoulder—
There’s no pain, but the bullet’s impact throws his aim and wastes his last round. Beside him, Bug turns tail and runs. Faolan drops the empty revolver and reaches in his pocket for—
The Colt…Laying right near the bathroom!
Dutch is known to carry a Colt like this one stuffed into his waistband. If he were on his way out and needed to use the john, he might set the gun down first.
Yanking out the .45, Faolan ducks back into the corridor as bullets smash into the paneling around him. As he gets to the bar side, he sees Bug behind the bar trying to open the register. Schmuck.
Even though the entire exchange of gunfire only took half a minute at most, Schultz must be on the alert. Readying the Colt, Faolan pushes open the men’s room door.
His quarry, one Arthur Flegenheimer, who is better known as Dutch Schultz, does indeed wear his white fedora and gray topcoat as if preparing to go out. A stall door is still swinging closed and he’s in the act of rushing toward the door when Faolan enters. He skids to an awkward stop, looking a bit unsteady on his feet.
They lock eyes for just a second.
Stocky and below average height, Dutch has the looks of a bank clerk and the social grace of a racetrack bookie. He’s worth millions but wears two dollar shirts and off-the-rack suits. Tonight, he reeks of beer and his fly is still open. Dutch Schultz is a man who will never have class.
A loud ding! announces Bug’s success in opening the register.
Dutch turns away.
Faolan’s finger tightens on the trigger.
A bullet slams into the door just behind his head—his shot goes low, ripping into Dutch’s abdomen rather than his heart.
Clenching his teeth against the pain, Faolan sees Landau and Lulu stagger into view like a pair of monsters from a nightmare.
Bug scurries around the bar, stuffing a handful of cash into his coat pocket, and runs flat out for the door. Faolan turns back to Dutch. One shot just isn’t enough.
Another bullet strikes the floor by his right foot just as he fires—
The shot goes wide, hitting the tiles of the back wall as Dutch stumbles back into the urinal and drops to the floor. Goddamn Colts!
Landau and Lulu stumble into the corridor, raising their guns.
Fuck!  Faolan runs for the door. Bug, however, makes the mistake of glancing back as he reaches the end of the bar and puts a foot wrong—
The stocky gunman flies forward, ass over tea-kettle, and kisses linoleum near the phone booth in the corner. His shotgun skids to the front door.
Up ahead, the cigarette machine takes a few rounds, but Faolan waits until he makes it to the front door to risk a glance.
The wound on Landau’s shoulder is worse than Faolan thought: the bullet severed an artery and jets of blood pulse out in a heartbeat rhythm while the thin man continues to stagger toward him. The sight is morbidly engrossing.
Behind Landau limps the bloody monstrosity that is Lulu Rosencrantz, also fighting to lift his gun and fire.
Grabbing the shotgun, Faolan gets the door open and rushes out. He dives into the cover of the idling Packard and throws the shotgun down behind the passenger seat.
“Step on it, they’re coming!”
Weiss hits the gas and the Packard speeds off. Faolan looks out the back window and sees Landau stumble out onto the sidewalk after them, still firing. One step: blood still squirting from his neck. Two steps…Landau collapses into a set of trash cans against the wall of the Chophouse.
The groove ends.
Faolan’s senses snapped back to normal. His heartbeat began to slow.
“Shit!” Weiss cried. “We left Workman!”
Faolan saw The Bug run into the street at that very moment, chasing their dust. Still wasn’t too late to stop and pick him up.
“Nah,” Faolan told Weiss, reaching into his jacket for his Camels. “He went out through the kitchen.”
Let the little fucker walk home.

Wednesday, August 27, 2014

Sexy Cedric on Gods and Goddesses of Love

Cedric portrait by Arlie Adams 

Greetings my darlings! Being a devotee of the Great Mother in her fierce form of Kali, I thought I’d talk about some gods and goddesses of love and their importance in mythology. Instead of starting with the more familiar Greco-Roman myths, let’s take a look at another mythos, that of India.

Kama is the Indian god of erotic love and believed to be the forerunner of the Greek Eros and Roman Cupid. Like Eros, he carries a bow and arrow (to my authoress’ delight, he’s often depicted riding upon a parrot). Like Eros, he takes the form of a beautiful young man. The goddess Parvati, the consort of Shiva, is looked upon by many as the epitome of loving devotion and sensual beauty. Here is a tale that involves both.

Lord Shiva was set away from the celestial kingdom by Indra and the other gods to do penance after killing Daksha, the father of his dead wife Sati. Once Shiva’s anger passed he fell into a deep sorrow and went into a trance, motionless and meditative. He no longer took any interest in the world and creation was unraveling. Demons (Ashuras) were gaining power, and the gods called upon Uma/Parvati, the reincarnation of Sati, Shiva’s dead wife, for help. From her birth Parvati knew she was destined to marry Shiva and conceive a son, who would defeat the demons. She lovingly tended the oblivious god, but still he would not stir. Parvati enlisted Kama to rouse Shiva from his meditation by shooting one of his flower-tipped arrows from his sugarcane bow. Shiva, startled from his slumber, opened his third eye of destruction and incinerated Kama into ash, but when the lord of creation and destruction looked upon the lovely Parvati, he was moved to embrace her as his own. Shiva and Parvati eternally dance together across the cosmos. In the great scheme of things, this symbolizes the cosmic dance of the divine feminine and masculine principles. In other words, all of us need to understand that we embody both of these sets of attributes and understand them to be spiritually healthy. Now, lest you think poor Kama was left a pile of ash, Rati, the love god’s consort, entreated Lord Shiva to restore her husband to life. Shiva relented and Kama was brought to life as a formless spirit, visible only to his wife, Rati.

Other Indian Deities associated with love:

Radha- the wife of Krishna and the personification of divine love.

Sarasvati -Inventor of the Sanskrit language. Goddess of sensual love, creativity, beauty, art, music, learning, science and teaching

Now, let’s move on to the Greco-Roman myths. Most of you are probably familiar with Venus/Aphrodite the goddess of love, beauty and sexual passion. She is often depicted as rising from the sea on a half-shell or even minus her arms (Venus De Milo indeed had arms at one time). In one account, Aphrodite was born out of the sea foam after Cronus cut of the genitals of Uranus and threw them into the ocean, but in another she is the daughter of Zeus and Dione the mother goddess. Ouch on the first one. Her personality was often vain and demanding. Not unlike the queen of the Immortyls, Giulietta, if I may say. Aphrodite caused much mischief among the gods. (See the judgment of Paris) This lady got around and cheated on her husband Haephesteus with Ares, Adonis and Hermes. (Hmm, reminds me of another Immortyl woman I know.) She became the archetypal mother-in-law when her son, Eros, fell for the mortal girl Psyche.

Eros is the god of sexual desire in Greek mythology and called Cupid by the Romans.  Although he's often depicted as a baby, he's truly represented as a youth.  As an eternally 19 year-old male, I can tell you why this is.  Who is randier than a boy in his teens?

Lovely, isn't he?  No, I didn't model for the statue.  He's more in Kurt's line.

In some stories, Eros is the son of Aphrodite, but others name his as one of the original gods.  In one of the tales, he is sent by his mother Aphrodite to make a beautiful mortal girl named Psyche fall in love with some horrible beast.  Instead of shooting the fair lass, he falls upon one of his own arrows and is pierced through the heart, thus falling in love.  After much trial and tribulation brought on by jealous Mum Aphrodite, the young couple get together and symbolizes the union of soulful and erotic love.

Other Greek and Roman Gods associated with Love and Sex:

Priapus was the Roman god of male potency. If you take too much Viagra and get an unquenchable stiffy, you suffer from priapism.

Hymen was the Greek god of marriage. He always pops out at the appropriate moment.

Hermaphroditus (the son of Aphrodite and Hermes, depicted often with female breasts and male genitals) He’s been called the god of bisexuality--my kind of bloke.

Satyrs were half man and half goat, known for chasing nymphs. A man with compulsive sexual behavior is suffering from Satyriasis.

Dionysus is the wine god, but he is also associated with orgiastic excess, joy and divine ecstasy. If you’ve indulged too much, you know what I mean.

The Norse goddess of love, beauty and fertility Freyja is somewhat akin to Aphrodite. She also is associated with war and death and receives into her hall the half of warriors who die in battle but don’t go to Odin’s hall, Valhalla. There is some conjecture as to whether she and the Goddess Frigg are actually two faces of one Germanic fertility goddess. She was revered as a supernatural figure in Scandinavia into the 19th century. The name Freyja means, “the lady", related to the German word Frau. Many things named after her were renamed for the Virgin Mary when Scandinavia was Christianized.

Love Deities of Various Cultures:

Ishtar was the Babylonian goddess of love, procreation and war.

Inanna came from the Mesopotamian region and was also a goddess of love and war. Although a virgin, she is the goddess of sex and procreation.

Ashtart was a Semitic goddess of sex, maternity and fertility.
The Egyptians had Hathor and Isis. Hathor was often depicted as a cow. She is the goddess of childbirth and the patron of lovers. Isis was the goddess of magic, fertility and motherhood. Both of these Goddesses are sometimes shown wearing cow’s horn with a solar disc between them.

Indians revere the cow as the ultimate symbol of motherhood, so I guess this brings us full circle.

In closing, my darlings, love as you see fit to love! It’s divine madness. Leave me a comment and I'll enter you in a drawing to win a free e-book of Annals of the Immortyls.

All images are in the public domain, excepting the portrait of /Cedric by Arlie Adams and Cover image, which are the property of the author.

Sunday, April 6, 2014

Amazon Giftcard Giveaway and Spotlight on Summoned by Rainy Kaye

Greetings, my darlings!  Today, I have a juicy tale of a sexy genie to share with you!

Twenty-three year old Dimitri has to do what he is told—literally. Controlled by a paranormal bond, he is forced to use his wits to fulfill unlimited deadly wishes made by multimillionaire Karl Walker.

Dimitri has no idea how his family line became trapped in the genie bond. He just knows resisting has never ended well. When he meets Syd—assertive, sexy, intelligent Syd—he becomes determined to make her his own. Except Karl has ensured Dimitri can't tell anyone about the bond, and Syd isn't the type to tolerate secrets.

Then Karl starts sending him away on back-to-back wishes. Unable to balance love and lies, Dimitri sets out to uncover Karl's ultimate plan and put it to an end. But doing so forces him to confront the one wish he never saw coming—the wish that will destroy him.

Summoned is represented by Rossano Trentin of TZLA.

Buy Summoned on Amazon

Find out more at http://www.summonedtheseries.com

Author Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/rainyofthedark
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Rainy Kaye is an aspiring overlord. In the mean time, she blogs at http://www.rainyofthedark.com and writes paranormal novels from her lair somewhere in Phoenix, Arizona. When not plotting world domination, she enjoys getting lost around the globe, studying music so she can sing along with symphonic metal bands, and becoming distracted by Twitter. She is represented by Rossano Trentin of TZLA.