An audible snarl vibrates through the room at the words.

Betsy and Lycana take in the impeccably, albeit old fashioned, dressed man standing in the doorway, both hands clutching the top of a stylish walking stick. The Impossible Traveler slowly rises from her stance, turning towards her partner who remains crouched, eyes locked onto the newcomer, long hair, tumbling forward over her shoulders. A low growl emits once more, prompting a flicker of the man's lips.

“You will find something to cover yourself in there.” droll tones emerge from his mouth as he waves an elegant, bejeweled hand in the direction of the closet.

Betsy takes in her fellow Entity's state and mutters a low expletive, scampering over to rip the door open, rummaging around inside before returning with a cascade of frothy lace. Lycana takes it, eyeing it before her gaze flickers back to Betsy, who shrugs. “It was the least of the evils in there believe it or not.”

Lycana swiftly yanks it over her head, rising, now clad in the most ridiculously frilly confection she had ever had the displeasure of laying eyes on in her life. “I look like a wedding cake.”

Betsy snorts, covering it with a cough. “No! You look... umm...”

“You look ravishing.”

Steely eyes turn in his direction, a slow flicker of fire coming to life in them as Lycana spins. “I look like one of those mortified women in those old-time portraits.” She turns to Betsy, her lips curling with disgust. “It’s hideous.”

“Well... No one else will see you like this, at least?” Betsy says, hoping to steer the conversation in the right direction.

“Perhaps the two of you would accept my invitation to remain here permanently. It seems you made rather crude work of my Lucy and Mina...” Both women turn a glare on him.

“And then I think we’ll swallow glass,” Betsy says snippily. “Hard pass.”

“I could just kill you and turn you anyway. I’ve never had a Wolf Woman before,” he says, his tone becoming husky as he turns warm eyes on Lycana.

“Get used to that,” Lycana growls, her long fingernails stretching outward. “If you thought what I did to your sluts was bad, wait until I get finished with you.”

“So much passion and rage!” Dracula declares gleefully, slowly inching his way closer to them. “What luck allows me the company of such spirited beauties?” he asks of them, his eyes flicking back and forth between them.

“Bitches.” Lycana mutters.

“Pardon?”

“Cucks,” Lycana says a bit louder now.

“What she means is,” Betsy begins, slanting a quick look at the sapphire-haired vixen. “We’re professional wrestlers and we find ourselves in a tag match with a rather... complicated stipulation.”

“It’s not complicated, it’s fucking stupid.” Lycana interrupts.

“Nevertheless,” Betsy says, giving Ly a sterner glance now. “The other team, a pair of fascist sons of bitches, have to call on the power of the Wolf Man to help them through this match. Incidentally, our task was to recruit you to be our third.”

“Still can’t believe they gave those two troglodytes the Wolf... What the fuck were they thinking?” Lycana snarls, still glaring up at Dracula. “They couldn’t even come up with the real deal, but I’m stuck here taking in your horrible stench.”

“To be fair, dear Wolf Woman, you don’t smell so divine yourself. When was the last time you and your pack bothered to bathe?” Dracula says, his eyes narrowing towards Lycana now.

Betsy rests a hand on Lycana’s shoulder when she notices the glowing purple hue begin to emit from the steely blue orbs. “Easy killer, we still need him.”

“The fuck we do,” Lycana says in a dangerously soft tone.

“Tell me of these Cucks and Bitches you loathe so vehemently.” Dracula inquires of them, taking a seat in a grand chair.

“Why do we need him?” Lycana ignores the request. “Their Wolfman is… one of the weaker lineages. You know, biped… killed by silver bullets, wolfsbane, only changes on the full moon and all that shit. They have an IQ somewhere between a sack full of doorknobs and a flea with a concussion. Fuck Bets, tomorrow isn't even the goddamn full moon. What are they going to do with a werewolf that can't turn?” She continues, not allowing Betsy to get a word in. “Jack shit, that's what.”

Dracula seems to be listening in genuine interest, but Betsy catches his eyes drop down to the small peak of cleavage the frilly dress allows him. Clearing her throat loudly, she reaches out her hand and snaps her fingers just under his nose. “And here I was hoping you would be more the Christopher Lee type… Oh well.” For the first time, Dracula shows real interest in the Impossible Traveler. “She’s right, we could manage the job on our own. Whatever Wolf-Cop, bargain-basement trope they trip and fall into won’t be enough to match the genuine article.” Betsy pats Lycana’s shoulder. “However, showing we made the effort to follow the assignment wouldn’t hurt us either. And if you’re a good boy and help us, I won’t let my friend here rip your head off the same way she did to your Lucy.”

To emphasize the point, Lycana cracks her knuckles and twists her neck to crack that too. Eying her carefully, Dracula nods before turning a challenging gaze to Betsy. “I understand her threat, but you’ll find I’m not as easily destroyed as my poor wives. And what about you, Golden Beauty? What could you possibly do to stop me?”

A smile crosses Betsy’s face as she holds up her hands, allowing them to glow. Dracula’s black eyes reflect the blinding lights as he observes what she can do with a casual shrug. “Light tricks?” He says, a hint of laughter in his tone.

The smile grows wider as Betsy expands the light, floating off the ground slightly. Now Dracula looks on with keener interest. Before he can react, Betsy’s left-hand flies out and throws a blast of white-hot energy at him. He narrowly dodges contact with his body, but his cape gets caught in the blast and catches fire. With a hiss, Dracula swirls dramatically, hopping around in an attempt to douse the flames. Grabbing a bouquet of flowers from a vase, Lycana obligingly splashes the singing cape, eradicating the flames. As he composes himself, he turns a horrible glare on the girls.

“Point taken, ladies. I see that whether I want to or not, I’m at your service.” Despite himself, he grins at them charmingly again. “I hope to convince you both to change your minds before we conclude our business.”

Lycana sets the vase down, clearly picturing smacking him upside the head with it instead. “Grand,” she grumbles, choosing to behave finally. “We didn't even tell you about the Cuck Bitches yet.” she flicks a glance at Betsy. “Although I don’t know if that would influence you to be for, or against this. You can have them as snacks I suppose. If you don’t mind things to be a little… I don't know. Emasculated? Do you have a preference for such things? I may have eradicated NK’s balls. Does that change the flavor of the blood for you?”

“NK?” Drac raises his hands slightly, imploring them to elaborate.

“Short for North Korean War Criminal,” Betsy explains to the confused vamp. “Him and his buddy Flynn, the newly crowned XWF Tag Team Champions.” At this, both she and Lycana spit on the floor in disgust. “A nutless little shit who I would love to get a bit of revenge on. Our last tango didn’t exactly go down the way I would have wanted.” Her green eyes light up with fire. “He caught me at a bad time, that’s all.”

“Without question.” Lycana agrees, nodding emphatically. “And if there’s anything left of his dick after this, feel free to use it as a straw. He’ll be wishing for sweet, merciful death by the time we finish with him.”

“I’m still trying to figure out how the proud Commie and a Capitalist Bro like Flynn are managing to work together so well,” Betsy says bitterly. “Everything I’ve ever seen about Flynn suggests that he doesn’t play well with others, regardless of their background. If NK is a sniveling Cuck, Flynn is without a doubt a useless Bitch. Probably milking NK’s sweet teets until the milk runs dry, then he’ll move on or run off like he’s always done.”

“They sound unpleasant,” Dracula says, soaking in their words. “What happened to the days when men acted with honor and valor?”

“You’re kidding, right?” Betsy asks, unable to keep her disbelief from her tone. “You invaded lands that weren’t yours and got off on mass genocide. They may not have the same blood on their hands that you do; but in terms of manhood, you’re as dickless as either of them.”

“My mission was blessed by God himself; all those who fell to my sword were sinners of the worst kind.” Dracula hisses. “It wasn’t until He turned his back on me that I became the monster.” He glares at Betsy, who throws him a poisonous expression right back. “You come seeking my help, then lump me in the same class as them. How do you propose to convince me to help now?”

“I could have sworn we already went through that,” Lycana says, her eyes glowing once again. This time, Betsy joins her, allowing her body to radiate the energy that fills her.

A slow smile spreads across the face of the vampire as his gaze softens again. “It would seem I’m completely at your mercy, my dears. I think you’ll find that I’ll go with very little fight.” He makes his point clear as he drinks in Betsy’s lean figure.

“Will you just… stop.” Lycana snarls. She turns to Betsy. “This asshole would fit right in with TNGB.” She sighs, crossing her arms as she takes a step towards Drac, her eyes still ominously glowing. “Look, the only fucking I’m interested in is fucking up these two, and their pet Cocker-Poo. I’d be happy to add you to that list if you don’t knock it off. Why don’t you focus that attention on Mark Flynn? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind bending over and taking it. Probably akin to how he felt seeing the Supercontinental get swept away during the cash in.”

Dracula simply flashes a bit of fang, leaning back in his ornate chair, crossing one leg over the other. “I already agreed to your terms, did I not? What are you waiting for?”

“For you to say…” Lycana holds up her hands, clawlike, and does the worst impression she can muster. “I VANT TEW SUCK YER BLOOOOD! It would be more impressive than the shit I’ve seen so far.”

“You can suck my dick.” he offers mellowly.

Lycana nearly turns purple with anger as she hisses. Before she could think of what to do, Betsy flies forward and slaps Dracula hard across the face. The sound of impact echoes through the room as both Ly and Drac are stunned into silence.

“If you continue speaking to us like we’re pieces of meat for you to consume, that next slap is going to have a lot more behind it,” Betsy warns in a low voice, glowing with anger. “This isn’t our most ideal situation, the least you could fucking do is not make it any harder than it already is. You’re going to come with us and we’ll accommodate you for as long as you are needed. If you continue to act like a creeper, I’ll allow Lycana to take your head. Start behaving, and I’ll see to it that you are compensated accordingly. Is all of this clear, comrade?”

“As my crystal vases, my Golden Beauty,” Drac says in a tone that intimates his admiration of the Impossible Traveler. “I believe this is going to be fun…”

FORMER