Counts of Blood

Author: Lucinda

Rated T for teen due to insanity, violence and possible swearing.

Main characters: the Count, the Master. Presence of assorted minions and mention of other muppets.

Disclaimer: the Count and any other muppets mentioned belong to Henson Puppetry. The Master belongs to Joss Whedon & his writers. The minions are mine.

Distribution – if you want it, let me know.

Notes: Post Muppet Show, pre BtVS s1.

The smaller Muppet minions surged ahead and scattered, with laughter echoing through the building. There was a squeal of metal and then the laughter took on a metallic echo that suggested that they had ventured into the vents. Count vonCount smirked, and gestured for the larger minions and the ogres to follow him as he walked into the building.

“They’ll let us know if they find anything?” Alex asked.

Count vonCount gave a small shrug, “Ve might learn that they found something interesting by hearing screams and explosions.”

“Oh… screams and explosions… of course.”

In precisely three minutes and four seconds, there was a door with a small window. Dwight looked into it before rumbling “Stairs going down.”

“Perhaps some of us should go down and some of us remain on this lewel. Ve do not know vhere the sorcerer is vaiting. Do any of you have a preference for vhich vay you go?” The Count rubbed at his chin.

“Down,” Alex offered.

“I’ll go with him,” Dwight gestured towards Alex, and grinned. “I’ve seen the movies, the baddies always try to get people when they split up.”

“Ummm…. Aren’t we the bad guys?” Danny asked.

“Not in this!” The Count insisted. “These persons took my frog, ve are simply going to get Kermit back and make certain that they vill newer take vhat is not theirs again. Ve are simply… prowiding an example of vhy breaking some rules should be considered wery carefully before acting.”

“By killing them all,” Danny spoke slowly. “And we’re the good guys here?”

“Yes.” The Count’s voice left no room for argument.

“I guess that works for me,” shrugged Joe. “I’ll stick with you.”

Alex, Sarah and Dwight made their way down the stairs, with Dwight having to do this awkward little duck and turn to fit through the doorway. “We better find something down here…”

Danny and Joe fell into line behind the Count, with the shaggy, snaggle-toothed Thudge scuttling at the rear of the group. The Count strode through the corridor, one hand making little gestures as he tried to determine if there were any internal magical defenses. The other alternated between clenching into a fist and stretching out into something closer to claws.

They had gone ten yards down the hallway before Joe voiced a soft question.

“What happens if Kermit’s been injured?”

The Count stopped, and tilted his head as he considered the question. “IF Kermit is vell, ve kill ewery minion and the sorcerer. If Kermit is no longer vell, then ve shall make them suffer, and they shall have time to rue this day. I have vays to delay death, and to encourage healing.”

“Why heal ‘em?” Thudge hissed. “Can’t we just kill them all?”

“If you heal them, they vill live longer, and ve take more time to explain their errors in judgment. Vith time, vun can be qvite thorough. Much more so than my explanations to Paul the minion,” The Count replied.

Joe and Danny shuddered that the mention of what the Count had done to Paul.

“Ahhhhh,” Thudge bobbled, and his orange tongue licked over his teeth.

Continuing down the hallway, the vampires were carefully checking each former office door to look for anything. Some sign of Kermit’s fate. Minions of the sorcerer responsible for this situation… err, the sorcerer basing operations out of the former cannery. A good reason to barricade themselves somewhere and hide.

They found a room with a dozen old, thick books bound in what might have been leather, though two of them looked like they might be bound in snakeskin. In the same room was a large mirror that only reflected Thudge, a dull copper cauldron that came to the Count’s waist, and a collection of black stone knives.

“Sacrificial blades, made from the cooled blood of the Earth… wery nice. He shall not haff the chance to use them again,” the Count’s fingers hovered over the knives, not quite touching them. “I might vant to come back for those. And the books. Grimores bound in demon hide are not found ewery day.”

Danny took the opportunity to shuffle just a little closer to the door, which also meant further from the Count. Danny’s expression made it clear that he was not happy to be in the old cannery, and might have preferred to go down the stairs with Dwight. Or perhaps to have remained outside guarding the vans. Or been anywhere but right here.

A sudden loud bellow rent the air, accompanied by the metallic echo of thumping and the far more metallic sound of things scraping over and tearing metal.

“It sounds as if the others haff found someone,” the Count mused. “Let us continue on our vay, ve still have not found Kermit or the sorcerer.”

More scrapes, thuds, and the sound of tearing metal echoed through the ventilation system, mixed in with roared Fyarl profanity and…

“Was that a plea for mercy?” Joe whispered, his eyes wide.

“Ummm… I don’t speak Fyarl, but someone sounds very, very unhappy,” Danny whispered back.

The roared words changed to something closer to a deep wail.

“Vhile silwer is more effective against Fyarls demons than iron or steel, there is much to be said for blunt trauma and the application of sharp claws,” The Count sounded amused. “I vonder how they got vun into the wentilation shafts? They do not normally fit in somevhere so small.”

Thudge’s three eyes rolled, and he cackled, “Pull!”

“Yes, that vould most likely explain vhat happened,” the Count chuckled. “So vunderful that they bring as much enthusiasm to this as they did to the theater! You can’t find that sort of commitment just anyvhere.”

The Count stepped out of the room, and waited for the rest to follow him before he turned to face the door. “The things in there could be wery useful. That is vhy the sorcorer should not be permitted to use them against us.”

With a strange but precise gesture towards the doorframe, the Count spoke something that had to be a word, though neither Danny or Joe could identify the language or even repeat the general sound of the word itself. It made them feel very small and fragile, and there was what they could only describe as the afterimage of a flash against the door and a sharp clicking sound, much like the snapping of a fresh bone that still held marrow.

“That was magic, wasn’t it?” Danny blurted.

“Yes, a simple locking spell. Wery easy to cast, much harder to break unless you know the trigger, or can cast the counter is the same language as the spell itself,” the Count sounded rather smug.

“And… what language was it cast in?” Joe ventured.

“That is for me to know, and you…” the Count still sounded smug, “do not need to know. Let us continue our search.”

A short distance down the hall, there was a Fyarl arm sticking out of a ventilation shaft, the grate pushed outwards and fallen to the ground, with a few drops of blood smeared on the edge of the ventilation shaft and dripping down the wall. Closer inspection showed that the arm was covered with tiny cuts and bite marks, with crescents of various curvature and depth sunk into the thick skin. One of the fingers was entirely missing, with only a broken bit of the closest finger bone visible amidst the shredded flesh.

Thudge yipped and darted over to the wall, blue fur sticking in every direction. One long, spindly arm reached up and tugged at the Fyarl thumb. The arm fell from the vent shaft, a portion of the upper arm bone sticking a bit past the end of the flesh, and landed on Thudge’s head, the hand flopping forwards against his chest.

“Arm…” Danny whimpered.

From beneath them, there was a loud clattering, and the sound of metal squealing. No sooner had the winces from that noise stopped then there was a popping noise and the floor shook, accompanied by the sounds of several people screaming.

“Guess the rest of them found something interesting,” Joe glanced at the floor, but the tiles gave no answers.

As they continued walking down the hall, with Thudge gnawing on the Fyarl arm, the screaming from below stopped.

“I did tell them to kill eweryone but Kermit,” the Count mused.

End part 18.