We at the Dark and Brooding offices apologize for the long delay in getting this episode on the net. Children, winter, various illnesses, and holidays got in the way. In other words, reality interfered once more, as it is wont to do. We hope to post the next few episodes once a week for the next month until we are mostly caught up. There will be no Halloween, Christmas, New Years, Valentines Day, or St. Patrick’s Day episodes, we will pick up in the current year.

We will be moving to a separate website for the Mope Opera in the near future so you don’t have to wander my personal site, and will be adding merchandise so you can get T-shirts, cups, mousepads, etc., of your favorite Dark and Brooding characters. Also, look for new characters to be entering the fray. If you would like to guest write an episode, create or become a new character, or become one of our artists, please email us to make arrangements. Thank you and we apologize for the lengthy delay. We now return you to your regularly scheduled programming.

Twilight is deepening through the windows in the loft. Vincent and his new friend enter. Vincent’s arm are full of unframed canvases. He stops short after entering, staring in wonder and awe. Sparsely furnished, the vast space is sectioned off, not by walls or screens, but by art. Vast tapestries and framed canvases hang back to back, suspended by cords hanging from the ceiling. Doorways and walkways are marked by freestanding sculptures on either side. After absorbing the initial view, Vincent focuses on the one empty interior corner; actual walls, no windows or pieces.

Vincent shifts in growing excitement,
”Is….Is that corner empty for, uh, any particular reason?”

The canvases are taken from his hands, and are replaced with a glass of Vampire Cabernet Sauvignon (private stock limited edition special blend, grapes sqozen by real vampires).
“Well, I *AM* a *collecter*. I was saving that corner for…” *barest pause* “…the exquisite expression.”
*barest smile*, “Let’s see how yours do.”

Vincent starts to tremble. Without thinking, he shoves the quavering glass at the other mans chest, snatches the canvases up to his own and darts over to the corner. He hangs the pieces up in groups and then steps back to determine the effect. Deciding he doesn’t like it, he moves in again to rearrange. Moves back…no. Move in. Move back; he is so happy in his fussing that he barely notices the exiting thought of Benny always helping him with his arrangement and straightening. A long finger over his shoulder and a voice in his ear stop all thought , fleeting or otherwise.
“Do you know what I find most attractive?”
‘BREATHE’ thinks Vincent, ‘I’ve got to..’
“The texture, the contrast.”
‘…..breathe.’
“The light shining, pouring down this, the…what do you call it again?”
“Destruction of the Sunrise.” Vincent manages.
“And then the light stopping , shattered over the uneven layers of ‘Medusa’s Mirror.’”
Vincent turns around, to directly facing the man, and finds himself face-to-face with him.
“I….I can’t believe you….remember my work.”
The man does not back away. “You’re not an artist…or a man….to forget.”
Vincent opens his mouth to spe-

BBZZZZZZZTTTT!

-ak
A momentary lingering caress and he goes to answer the door.

The party has started.

He takes the coats, gives them wine, and with an empty wave of his hand, ushers his guests into the main room and indicates that they should wander his collection. “Feel free to peruse at your leisure. I’m finishing something I’ve started tonight and will be with you momentarily.”

He returns to Vincent, who had started to nervously rearrange his pieces once again. The man lays a calming hand on Vincent’s forearm.
“Come. They look fine. Here, take this.” He hands Vincent back his glass of wine. “Tell my guests what you think of this piece over here.”

Vincent allows himself to be led over to a small cluster of people and quickly finds himself deep in conversation. The man’s hand never really leaving his forearm, now rests lightly on it. The other hand studiously replenishes Vincent’s glass. As more people show up, the conversation widens and splinters. Vincent is led from group to group, facilitating discussion, the man steering both Vincent and the topic of conversation.

After a hour has passed, they have ended up in the center of the loft space on a small arrangement of couches. Vincent, hardly aware that the man has left again to answer the door, is deep in a discussion of Renaissance light techniques. Vincent slowly realizes that the man has not come back into the conversation for a few minutes. He turns to see where the man went to find….

“HI!!!” *bounce*
“I didn’t expect to see YOU here!” *Bounce*
“Were you at the con at all?” *BouncE*
“Oooh!…..Cheez!!!” *BOUNCE*

The PerkyGoth’s have entered the building.

Vincent jumps to his feet and attempts to block them from the rest of the room. “What are you doing here?!?” he hisses.
“We saw him at the con and he gave us invitations to check out his…..oooh…SHIIINY!”
Vincent vainly tries to steer them out the door, looking nothing so much as like a dog trying to herd butterflies, as the PerkyGoth’s were paying him about as much attention. Giving up, he leaves with a final parting hiss, “Don’t touch ANYTHING! You’ll get glitter on it!!!”
Bravely ignoring the off comment of “…but that would be an improvement on this one though…” he heads towards the door. And stops.

The man is standing next to Benny, very close. A lasting touch while handing Benny a glass of wine. Jack is lounging next to Benny in a standing sprawl.
“It was nice for you to invite us here, but I never got a chance to get your name….so who the hell are you?” Jack’s tone and posture is deliberately conversational, not bothering to hide intent.
The man draws himself up to his full height and draws on the lapels of his smoking jacket. “I am Alexander Romero.”
Jack extends his hand. “Jack. Romero, hmmmm, I’ve heard of you. Photographer right? Used to run a cybercafe?”
Alexander draws himself up even further. “That *pause* was a while ago. I’ve turned to something..” lays a hand on Benny’s bicep “..more fulfilling.” Alexander turns with Benny in hand. “I wish to show you to some of the others. Come.” Their back to Vincent’s shocked gaze, they head to a small group of people admiring an arrangement of dead blue roses adorned with Deaths Head Moths. Vincent takes a halting step towards them and stops, his expression of shock now tinged with hurt. Jack regards the incredulous Vincent for a moment, and then gently steers him towards the now seated PerkyGoths. Vincent, oblivious, cranes his head to track where Alexander and Benny have gone. Jack seats Vincent on the couch and looks over his head, following his gaze. Alexander and Benny are currently speaking with the biggest art house dealer in the city. Without a pause Jack lifts Eve out of the conversation and drags her over to the group with their intended prey.
Lilly turns to Serra. “So who was the that dork who was following you around today?”
Vincent watches as Jack and Eve expertly extract the art house dealer from his conversation with Alexander and Benny. Vincent starts to get up form his seat to wander over when Alexander pivots, angling Benny towards a new person. Vincent, unable to see Benny’s face, looks at Alexander’s smug countenance, and sinks back onto the couch undefeated.
“Arrrgghhh. My GenCon dork claimed he couldn’t get a hotel room, so he asked me where I was staying. I told him that I’m sleeping in my own bed with my boyfriend, but if he wanted to share a room with the crocodile, I’d have to run it by both of them.”
“Well, mine turned out to be this guy I went on a date with once. In high school. On the other side of the country! We went to go see Hamlet, and he kept referring to Shakespeare as ‘Willy Boy’.
“So does he have a boyish willy?”
“Never found out. Never Checked. Never wanted to. Thankyouverymuch!”
“Maddy, your guy’s cute and all, but why did you give him your home number?” Maddy, on her 6th drink of the evening and her 2nd at that particular party, flails. “I did WHAT?!?!”
“Gimme that wine. Your done.”
“You gave him your home number, dear.”
“Crap! If you see him tomorrow, tell him I’m dead!”
Serra and Lilly look at each other, look at Maddy, and give her a thumbs-up. “Okee-Dokee!” The part of Vincent that has been listening to his conversation has had its fill.
“You guys are just wrong. I’m going to find Benny.”
He stalks off majestically, sweeping past the returning Jack, Eve, and Thomas. (The art house dealer is now on a first name basis with the One Stoppe Goth Shoppe owners.) He rounds a ‘corner’ to see Alexander and Benny turn a different one. Vincent takes off in pursuit.

He rounds the corner to find Benny’s back to him, he is being introduced to an androgynous couple. Alexander is leaning against an interior wall, a look of beatific pride on his face. Vincent feels a surge of jealousy and is jarred by the realization of uncertainty as to whom it is focused on. Lingering in the uncertainty, Vincent watches as Alexander, Benny, and the girl/guy things continue their leisurely stroll away from him. He starts to follow as if tethered to them by his own desire and dejection; unsure as to who’s leading his emotions.

Hours speed on as Vincent bypasses conversation, art, important people, and a large miasma of glitter, all in favor of knowing where Benny and Alexander are. He never approached them, but was constantly aware of where they were and who they were talking to. He forlornly watched after them, until, fumbling for the final cigarette in his pack, he realizes that he is coated in red, blue, green, and black glitter.
‘I don’t want to be coated in glitter!’ is the stray coherent thought that slams him into the reality of his current surroundings. He grabs a glass of wine off of a passing tray and wanders off in an alcoholic haze of depression.

Vincent comes to himself sitting in the middle of the back seat of Serra’s car, his still unlit cigarette dangling in horror from his slackened jaw, he stares at the vanilla scented Virgin Mary that is returning his blank gaze from Serra’s dashboard.
“What am I DOING HERE?!?!”
“You were being all mopey and the party was breaking up, so we opted to grab you and go to the Klub. We’re meeting Jack, Eve, and Thomas there.”
“I like him. He’s nifty.”
“And cute! Hey Maddy, are you gonna give him your phone number too?”
Maddy brings here head back in from the open window and merrily proclaims “Fuck you!…I’m gonna puke!”
Serra manages to parallel park without taking off Maddy’s head, which is still hanging out of the window like a golden retrievers.

The Klub is packed . Gothmaster B, looking maniacally gleeful, appears downright orgasmic when the PerkyGoths place their requests and blow kisses into the DJ booth. Vincent stalks past all of them and takes over a strategic table that views both the dance floor and the door.
Zack and Christina tentatively approach their glaring friend.
“Hey, uh, where’s Benny?”
*Shrug.*
“How was the party?”
*Shrug.*
“The gold of your hair rivals the last lingering sunset rays that play across a still pond on Midwinter’s Eve.”
They all turn and look at Tristan, leering over Zack’s shoulder at Christina. Zack moves his shoulder further in between Christina and Tristan and hisses, “Go away!”
Tristan sneers at Zack. “You may have her in this lifetime, but I’ll have her in the ever after. For ever after!”
Christina stares at Tristan in disbelief. “Did you know that your left nostril is bigger than your right one?”
Tristan laughs imperiously and walks off.

He heads over to the DJ booth. “Hey man, can you play some Type O?”
Gothmaster B whips around, “Yeah, yeah, whatever you want. Hey!” He lights Tristan’s cigarette and then his own. “You must have your work cut out for you tonight!”
Tristan smugly exhales. “Whatever could you mean?” *Laughs* “Besides, I’m on break. Tonight’s my night off.”
Gothmaster B shrugs, smiling. “Didn’t think that you, err, I mean Death, could take time off. I thought you were filling in for the real Death while he was on vacation….is this like, paid vacation time or just a cigarette break?”
Tristan smiles back, while the DJ continues. “Besides, can’t you feel it tonight? There’s something in the air. Something’s going down tonight. Something messy. Something that requires…..clean up. Or a professional touch.” Gothmaster B flips through the CD’s, swivels, and slams a disk into the machine. ‘Little Gothic pours out through the speakers and envelops the dance floor and the teeming mass. And One’s PanzerMensch follows, then blends into that Stomkern song that no one knows the name for, but every one sings the lyrics in hoarse off key voices. “….Keep the heresy alive, another day….” Another World by Beborn Beton follows and packs the dance floor beyond capacity once more. Kathy’s Song keeps them there, and adds more bodies to the teeming throng.

Tristan gives the secret Devil-Slayer-Hand-Sign (learned in Catholic Prep School) to Gothmaster B and heads out onto the dance floor. His dance space is immediately infringed upon by the Solid Gold (Solid Silver sic) dancers. His ribcage is elbowed repeatedly by the ‘I’m-taking-MY-80ft.-of-dance-floor-space’ dancer who is also whipping her hair and glaring at him all the while. Tristan pivots to be swooped upon by a lanky youth wearing a trench coat that is too short for him.
‘Poseur!’ Tristan hisses and lunges in riposte. His returning swoop is impeded by a foot sweep form one of the Fu dancers. “I just rented ‘Twin Warriors’! Look! I open the curtain, I close the curtain, I open the curtain…”
“OW!” Tristan looks down at his foot. He was kicked in the shin by a Can’t-touch-the-floor-hot-lava dancer. He glares at the person’s back, who is now hot footing away. He is followed by a vague eyed girl who appears to be chasing an invisible bat. ‘Oh look! It’s a bat! I want to grasp the bat. I hold the bat. Ow! The bat bit me!’
Tristan is valiantly trying to maintain his dance floor space in the growing sea of red velvet shirts, but it’s a losing battle. The swirling mob grows closer, as does Tristan’s mounting frustration. The rising bass beat and foot stomps are setting everything shaking, including the disco ball chandelier. He tries to contain his anger until the techno remix of Phantom of the Opera thunders through the speakers. He throws his arms up in the air and begins to make his way to the edge of the dance floor. Looking up, he notices that the chandelier is spinning, not just the disco ball, but the entire thing. This sets off in the back of his head, and he whips around to clear some room. The high note of the song pierces his eardrums, but this time it is accompanied by the crack of the chandelier breaking away from the ceiling.
“I AM THE GOD OF HELLFIRE!!!!!!!”
*CRACK*
Tristan swoops, grabs Christina (who is dancing in her own world, as usual), and throws her to safety.
*SMASH!*

silence…..

Silly String.
“And I’m SpiderMan!” Rick puts out his cigarette and jumps off the top of the DJ booth.
Kevin crinos line congas in, PerkyGoths in tow.
“Bow to me, son of Jerral!”
They survey the carnage and red velvet shards.
“Hey look! There’s room on the dance floor now!”
“And lots of big shiny bits!!”

In a dark corner, Caryn is having a panic attack. Whisked from the dance floor as the chandelier fell, she can’t see in the darkness and has no idea which corner she is in. She discovers this is because a coat is covering her, and as she drags it off of her head, she begins to sob.
“Why….why does this always have to happen to me?”
“Because you’re a cow. Moo.” A comforting hand strokes her hair through the darkness, and then the GothFather fades back into the mysteriousness from which he came, the sounds of baaahing fading into the distance with him.

This episode is dedicated to all of those kind, kind people who emailed us and complained that there were no plot lines and that we were merely writing a shallow and nonsensical parody of the glorious culture that is known as Goth. Along with a few “How dare you make fun of me!” emails. Look people, this Mope Opera is a joke. It is being written as a response to all of the vainglorious mopey people who don’t have the sense to realize that Goths are pretty damn funny in their own right. If this is pissing you off, good! Read it again and realize that if you can’t make fun of yourself, then why are you even bothering to slather all of the eyeliner on you face night after night? Get a sense of humor. Anywho, now there is some plot. We are going to give you so much plot I’ll soon expect emails asking us to go back to shallow parodies of people. So, in closing, if you don’t like it, our basic response is…TTTHHHHBBBBBBPPPPPPPPTTTTTTT!!!!!!!!!! >:>
Also, yes, the some of the characters are based on real people. And they all know who they are. If you think that you are a character, or if you would like to be a character, or know someone who you would like to be a character, email us and tell us about it……

Thank You! And goodnight Internet!!!

Written By: Jasmyn DuBois & Cara Brinkley

Casting By:
Milwaukee, WI
Chicago, IL
Miami, FL
Melbourne, FL

Special Thanks to:

The Kitchen Club
Sanctuary




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