Midwhile in the Mid-Atlantic…
Rentwich A is now face-to-face with Flandly Overture, the vampire who had been lying in wait until sunset. Behind him, Rentwich B holds firm, seemingly undisturbed by the undead creature’s sudden appearance.
Rentwich A: “So, it’s come to this. Well, you know as well as I do – after what happened in The War – that there’s no way I can harm you… You may as well just get it over wi-”
Before Rentwich A is finished, Flandly coughs up some vile vampire-inside goo, flails briefly, and falls to the ground. In his back, and forced in deep enough to pierce his heart, is the stake.
Another man vacillates slowly, his eyes distant, with his hand grasped as if still holding the stake. Victory, thy name is Gordnauld Fortuna.
He looks at Rentwich A, turns slowly towards Rentwich B, and then walks past them both into the night.
Rentwich A: “Gord-”
Gordnauld B: “Leave him… He needs some time alone.”
Rentwich A: “There’s two of you!… I would guess you were clones, except that none of my genetic material’s been unaccounted for since that unbagged turd in Phnom Penh back in ’98.”
Rentwich B: “The Mekong can move when she wants to.”
Rentwich A and B share a brief chuckle. Gordnauld B cringes.