7iv3

from THE BOOK OF STORYIES
=========================

[]s indicate apocryphal inserts or unreliable translations.

CHAPTER 3

1 And it came to pass that in 1958 in Rio de Janeiro a cargo ship
docked in the night.

2 And it was in the cargo hold that a steamer trunk lay.

3 And it did open and disgorge three Malkavians, as Groucho's trunk
did in "A Night at the Opera."

4 [And so they will be called Chico, Harpo and Alan]

5 And Chico did tell a dockworker to come with them, as they were
hungry. [And the dockworker, he did come.]

6 And Harpo did steal some bicycles from the street. [And yea, the
bicycles did have large bells on the handlebars.]

7 And Alan did toss a grenade into the engine of the cargo ship. [And
there were many divers alarums.]

8 And they did ride the streets of Rio like the parking attendants from
"Ferris Bueller's Day Off." [Excepting that they had more bells and
very little John Williams music.]

9 And yea, they did stop at a nightclub.

10 And yea, the prince of Rio did summon them with many thugs who looked
like Jimmy Cagney.

11 And they did visit the prince, who looked like the Mexican guy in
"Dead Men Don't Wear Plaid." [And the prince did not wear plaid. Amen.]

12 And the prince did say: "What brings you loonies to my city?"

13 And Alan did say: "Where are my pajamas?"

14 And Chico did say: "A race."

15 And Harpo did say: "A bicycle ding ding!"

16 And the prince did say "A race?" [For the prince was old and wily and
knew that Alan was wearing his pajamas and that bicycles cannot cross
the ocean. Listen well to the wisdom of the other clans.]

17 And Chico did tell the story of the Great Race

18 "

In 1814 we took a little trip
The Colonel told us London was the place to be
So long city life
London was fun
But we were there for a reason
The reason for the season
Was a race
The Great Race
Organized by a Tortillador
There was a Race
With a Great Prize
A large Herd
A small Princedom
But most importantly
A cubic zirconium necklace worth well over five dollars.
The race was a trip around the world
And three from each clan were chosen
From the Tremulous, Larry, Moe and Curly
From the Ventricle, Hitler, Hirohito and Mussolini
From the Gangbangrel, Kerouac, Burroughs and Ginsberg
From the Brujahaha, ABC, CBS and NBC
From the Notforyoutojudge, the Father, the Sun and the Holy Simolean
And from the Tortilliador, Pancho, Cisco and the Lone Ranger
And we, we were sent from the Malfabrications."

19 The prince did shake his head and did say "This was in 1814?"

20 "Aye," Chico did say. "Aye think therefore the ayes have it."

21 The prince did say "But is not the race over, then?" [For the
prince was {UNTRANSLATABLE}]

22 And Harpo said "Jesus, look at the time!"
23 And Chico said "Jesus isn't here."
24 And Alan said "You're right."
25 And Chico said "We gotta find him."
26 And Harpo said "He isn't here."
27 And Alan said "We can't be here right now."
28 And Chico said "Bye."

29 And they did cross the Andes by frog.

CHAPTER 4

1 And it came to pass that in Beijing in 1968 a plane landed at night.

2 And three Malkavians got off the plane, like Bergman in "Casablanca"
running backwards.

3 [And so we will call them Bogart, Usual Suspect and Namgreb.]

4 And Usual Suspect hailed a rickshaw and told the rickshaw driver to leave.

5 And the rickshaw driver left.

6 And Usual Suspect pulled the rickshaw with Bogart and Namgreb into the
city.

7 And in the same city was Curly the Tremere, who had hunted high and low
for the losers of the Race.

8 And Curly stood before them and Curly shook her head and said "You have
lost."

9 And Bogart said "Nice to see you too, Curly."

10 And Curly said "My name is Vivian."

11 And Usual Suspect said "Okay, Vivian. See you at the finish line."

12 And Curly said "There is no finish line. The race has been over for
150 years."

13 And Namgreb said "If there is no finish line, how can we be finished?"

14 And Curly said "You have lost. You can stop running."

15 And Bogart said "We may have lost, but you _are_ lost."

16 And Usual Suspect said "Do you know where you're going?"

17 And Namgreb said "Because we sure as hell do."

18 And Curly stamped her foot and said "But the race is over."

19 And Bogart said "But not the running of the race."
20 And Namgreb said "Running."
21 And Usual Suspect said "Run!"

22 And Curly ran. And Usual Suspect ran, dragging Bogart and Namgreb
behind him/her/it.

COMMENTARY:

Think on this:

Travel Time (London to London, 1814)
Tremere: 114 days
Ventrue: 117 days
Gangrel; 120 days
Nosferatu: 125 days
Toreador: 127 days
Brujah: 136 days
---------
And somewhere in the world
Three people run
And fly
And ride
And float
And sail
And drive
A meandering path across a planet
They are nearly 200 years late
They can no longer finish
Because there is no finish line
But they have direction
They have each other
And they have a horizon that smiles a broad curved smile on their drunken
path
Who has won the race?

--------------------

(Chris Fieldhouse)

An untidy room with a double bed.
A mound of blankets is the only sign that there is anyone asleep here.
The mound stirs as the hibinating occupant begins the slow and painful path back to consciousness.

From the mound of blankets the first scout, a teddy bear, is thrust out to see what the evening is like. When he fails to report, a mutilated rabbit is thrown out to find out why the first scout failed to report in.

Silence.

The third scout, a pale hand, wanders out and blindly probes the surrounding area for clues. Eventually it comes open the clock and begins the difficult task of retrieving it back to the warm lair.

Silence.

Suddenly the blankets erupt as Chriss sits bolt upright to study the clock. 1:30. He's late, he's almost slept the night half away. Slowly and painfully he staggers out of bed and curses that drunk he had yesterday.
He reaches the bedroom curtains, pulls them open, Screams, and thanks god that he had the sense to rent a place with a north facing window........

"Bright light, bright light" he screams as daylight streams into the room.
Well, the old cliche's work for everyone else, so why not for him?
He steps back away from the window .
He stares down at the cold, stodgy mass of a half eaten pizza and sighs.
Slowly, carefully, he sits down on the bed and begins picking the olives and cheese out from between his toes while staring out of the window into the snow filled courtyard below.

Down below are a group of children, probably about 10 years old, building a snowman and having a snow-ball fight. Chriss watches them as they laugh, screams and play. Slowly he finds himself sliding into a depression.....

"I I I If only I hadn't been made a vampire." He mutters to no-one, but himself.
"I would only be a few years older then I am now, b b b but I could go outside and have fun and play their games."
A tear of blood begins to trickle down his cheek.

"No, t t t that would be a foolish idea, I must be mad to think about it.
"But they call me mad anyway.
"Thats b b b besides the point!
"Is it? Why? Why do they call me mad? Answer that!
"No! S S S Stop it! This is a futile argument and I won't do it!
"Fair enough, but think on what I said.....
Chriss pauses in his unusual one sided argument.
"Why do t t t they call me mad....."

The accusation of 'madness' always hurts him,
He does not concider himself insane, that is a word used by people who do not wish to be responcible for their actions, or a term used by others to explain the horrors commited by a 'rational' mind (such aas Hitler).
He does not concider himself insane, instead he is above the simple, trivial
definitions imposed by the closed minded.
He considers himself to be in the elite of the 'super-sane'!

"Why do they call m m m me mad....."

He ponders the question as he sits down at the computer and begins typing...

Why do they call me mad?
Its a simple question I guess.
But I don't have an answer.

But why do THEY call ME mad?

As I walk through the Elysium, a dark and dreary place, they shun and avoid me, but I have never done anything to them. I only wish to join in, but they tell me to go away and they take my spray cans from me and shout at me for using roller skates on the polished wooden floors.

Why should I be ashamed of being called a Malkavian,
why should I be shunned and prejudiced against for being in the clan,
why shouldn't I feel proud of being a Malkavian,
Do I not have a heritage as noble and distinguised as the best of you?

Hey Mr Ventrue sir, In your Armani suit.
What do you intend to do for the rest of eternity?

He smiles at me, but his prides makes him boost of his dreams of the financial empire that he is building up, of the political organizations that he is slowly taking control off and of the people in high places who are his pawns. But I have some money in a bank, isn't that good enough?
He smiles and laugh, foolish child, that is a drop compared to the fortunes he has.
But I have all I need don't I? Why gather more money than you can spend?

The Ventrue tells me I don't understand money.
But they are wrong, I have all I need, I do not drive others to poverty nor do I wish to control their lives through it.

So why do they call me mad?

What will the Ventrue do when they own all that there is to own?

The Nosferatu tell me that knowledge is power and that knowledge is the key to all things and that I know nothing.
But they are wrong, for I know enough to survive and I know what I want to know (I know I don't want to live in sewers, and to change my underwear once a month whether I need to or not).
Why spend eternity collecting knowledge which can never be used.?

So why do they call me mad?

What will the Nosferatu do when they know all that is knowable?

The Tremere plot and scheme and work their plans within plans within plans...
They tell me their strength is in their unity, that each is a part of the whole, that to harm one is to harm them all (Sounds a bit like the 'Borg' to me, "Freedom is Irrelevant, Death is Irrelevant, You will be assimulated!").
But I am an individual, free to decide what to do, answerable to no one, but myself (& Mr Bunny). I have no-one above me to give me orders, no-one below me to want my advice and guidance. No one controls me, and I control no-one.

So why do they call me mad?
What will the Tremere do when their plans are completed and they control all?
What will drive them then?

The Brujah tell me I must break the chains of my oppression, but I am not oppressed. They tell me that I do not see my oppressors.
But of course they are wrong, I have my freedom and liberty. I am not bound into anyones ideas and schemes except my own. I am my own master.
Why should I break free from something that doesn't exist for me?
Your scholars will debate the needs of the revolution, but not enact it.
Your thugs will lash out and destroy everything, but they do not move towards a new order or towards freedom, nor do they have dreams about how things should be.
I tell them that they are bound by chains of their own making, for they only know how to oppose everyone else. They exist to be oppressed.

So why do they call me mad?
When will the Brujah revolution and fight for freedom BEGIN?

The Toreadors tell me I don't understand beauty.
But they are wrong, on a cold winter night, I take the train up the mountain that overlooks Oslo, and there at the top, surrounded by snow, I look at the lights of the city below and at the inky blackness beyond that is the fjord. I look up into the night sky and I see the beauty of the stars. The other night, I looked at the thin crescent of the moon and at the bright point of light that was Venus close by.

Is that not Beauty? The beauty of nature.
A beauty, no one can create or truly describe.
So why do they call me mad?

There are only so many poems a person can write,
so what will the toreadors do when they can write no more?

The gangrels tell me I don't understand freedom and what it is to run wild.
But they are wrong (surprise, surprise).

In the summer, the days are long and the night short (it is merely a twilight that last for a few hours).
In summer before sunset, I climb that mountain (carefully!) and once the sun has gone down, I fly my kite in the warm summer breeze of the twilight.
My kite flies as high as a bird and my mind saws with it, high into the heavens, free as a bird (or bat).

Is that not freedom, to enjoy the simply things that give me pleasure?
So why do they call me mad?

So what will the Gangrels do once all the forests and open spaces have gone, where will they run free then?

So why do they all call ME mad?

Am I mad?