Daddy's Home

The following takes place following: Turning Point

The next day, Travers and Master Devlin returned to the Chronicle office, with Travers proudly announcing his arrival as the staff nervously looked up and began to approach.

Travers: “Hello, my employees! Daddy's home... I was a little out of turn there for a minute, but the spell has lifted, and now I'm back…”

The staff exchanged awkward glances and turned to Master Devlin, who gave a simple nod of confirmation.

Travers: “Now, we’ve got a lot of work to do. I hear we’ve got a bloodsucker problem! This town needs an enema, and we’re going to give it to ’em. So we’re going to double down on the vampire attack stories. I want you combing the streets and interwebs for everything you can find. Alright, people, let’s get back to work!”

As the crowd began to disperse, a visibly relieved Ermintrude approached Travers, knelt down, and planted a gentle kiss on his head. He noticed the plaster on her neck.

Ermintrude: “Welcome back, Boss. It’s so good to see you well again!”

Travers: “Thank you, Ermintrude... It’s good to be back. I’m sorry about... y’know, the whole biting-you thing…”

Ermintrude: “That’s okay. It wasn’t too bad. I’m just glad to have you back. It wasn’t the same without you!”

She reached in and gave him a gentle hug before heading over to her desk. Brian approached next.

Brian: “It’s good to see you’ve recovered, Boss. We were worried.”

Travers: “Thank you, Kyle. Of course, there was no need to worry. The mind of a Travers is far too powerful to be captured for long—even by vampirism!”

Brian: “Oh… of course… well, I’m okay too.”

Brian casually rubbed his own neck, where Travers had also bitten him, clearly fishing for an apology. Travers just glanced at him, slightly bemused.

Travers: “Okay? Uh... good. Well then, back to work, Kyle.”

Master Devlin rolled his eyes at Travers’ continuous disregard for Brian’s well-being. Travers was indeed back in full force.

Travers entered his office and climbed into his editor's chair. He clapped his hands together eagerly.

Travers: “Now, it’s time I caught up with all the news I’ve been missing. Ermintrude! Bring me all the Chronicle girl pages from the past week that I’ve missed. Don’t bother bringing the whole newspapers—just the relevant girl pages!”

****

Later that night, Travers lay fast asleep in his king-sized bed, snoring deeply. Nearby, Master Devlin, who was staying over, had dozed off in his armchair.

In the quiet darkness, Travers began to stir, hearing a sultry voice with a Scouse accent calling his name.

“Jack…” it murmured, long and slow, again and again.

Travers hopped out of bed, his feet moving almost instinctively. He crossed the bedroom, nearly in a trance, and drew back the curtains of the third-story French windows. Hovering just outside, scratching softly at the glass, was his vampiric mistress, Fiona Malone.

Fiona: “Hey there, sexy... where’ve you been? I’ve missed you…”

Travers: “I’ve missed you t—wait, no!” (shaking his head) “Begone, foul temptress! Travers is no longer your puppet! And tell your Master he messed with the wrong goblin, because now Harris Travers is declaring war on vampiredom!”

His raised voice roused Master Devlin, who opened one beady dragon eye, scanning the room. Spotting Fiona floating just beyond the window, he instinctively tensed, prepared to strike—but thought better of it. He waited, curious to see what Travers would do.

Fiona: “Oh, come on, Jackie. Don’t be like that… We had fun, didn’t we? Besides, it’s late, and I don’t want to fight. And me throat is so dry… what I could really use is a hot, warm injection of that goblin oil of yours…”

She grinned, her lips and tongue moving in a suggestive dance.

Fiona: “So why don’t you unlock these windows, and Felicia will take good care of you…”

The temptation swept over Travers. His mustache quivered, fluttering as if it might fly right off his face, and he shivered with barely contained desire. Fiona’s smile widened as his hand began to move toward the window latch, his will faltering.

But suddenly, he stopped. He shook his head, frowning as if snapping himself out of a spell.

Travers: “No…”

Reaching inside his pajama shirt, he pulled out a silver Ed pendant around his neck and held it up to her. She recoiled with a hiss, her face twisting with anger and discomfort.

Travers: “I’m sorry this happened to you, Fiona.”

He spoke in a soft, almost tender tone.

Fiona: “I’m not…”

He exhaled, his gaze softening in genuine empathy.

Travers: “You were a good woman once, just trying to provide for your family... I don’t know if you even care anymore, but for what it’s worth, I’ll see to it they’re looked after. But as for you—” his voice hardened “—you’re not welcome in my town anymore. If I see you again, I’m gonna let Master Devlin here dust you.”

Her expression shifted. Her face fell, and she tilted her head, hurt flashing in her eyes.

Fiona: “You’re serious? You’re breaking up with me?”

Travers: “Yeah… we’re done. And you can bet your ass I’m serious. Now scram.”

Fiona’s eyes flared with indignation, but a hint of sorrow lingered in her gaze. Slowly, she backed away, then faded into a swirl of fog, disappearing into the night.

Silently, Master Devlin rose from his chair and walked over to Travers. Placing a supportive hand on his shoulder, he gave a single nod of approval. Travers returned the gesture with a small nod of his own.

****

The next morning at the Waldopolis Chronicle office, Travers sat at his desk, staring proudly at Page 3 of his morning paper, which featured his two favourite busty German models, Hilda und Greta. Each held up a banner reading, ‘Waldonia frei von Vampiren!’ and ‘Waldonia für die Lebenden!’ Travers nodded in excitement, his mustache twitching like a small, pulsating creature as he gazed at their bare chests.

The Master raised an eyebrow as he looked over Travers' shoulder at the page.

Master Devlin: "'Waldonia free of vampires...Waldonia for the living?' This is your war on the vampires?"

Travers: "Don't worry, Master Devlin, this is but one of the strategies that will help us win the culture war. We need to appeal to the male mindset! The days of listening to women are over, and we're gonna bring back the glory days of the man’s world. This is how we win!"

Devlin groaned, rolling his eyes — when suddenly, he froze, eyes fixed on the television in the corner.

Master Devlin: "Son of a bitch!"

Travers: "What? What is it?"

Master Devlin: "It's Goldenstein...that rat-fuck son of a bitch! Look! He's on television!"

Travers quickly turned to see the screen, where their nemesis, David Rubin Goldenstein, head of DRG House Publishing, was holding a press conference. Standing beside him was none other than Viktor Alaric, leader of VAMP. Travers snatched the remote and cranked up the volume.

On screen, Goldenstein spoke into the microphone, his voice smug and self-satisfied.

DRG: "I owe a debt of gratitude to Mr. Alaric and the vampires who’ve welcomed me into their ranks. Thanks to them, I am no longer bound by the limits of my human body—limits which were ruthlessly imposed on me after an unfortunate ‘accident’ some months ago. As some of you know, I was paralyzed for months, left in a quadriplegic state. But today, I stand before you as a proud member of the vampire family and fully mobile again."

Goldenstein paused to gesture at Alaric beside him, then continued.

DRG: "Together, we will be publishing a series of children’s books to promote inclusivity and understanding between vampires and humans. These books will focus on the centuries of discrimination against vampirekind and encourage a new generation to embrace compassion and equality.”

Travers took a deep drag on his cigar, narrowing his eyes at the screen.

Travers: "Figured the bloodsuckers and bottom-feeders would get along."

The Master clenched his fists as he glared at the screen.

Master Devlin: "We should have killed that hooked nosed fuck when we had the chance. Now he’s went and got himself vampire aids. Though, interestingly enough, he didn’t name and shame us on national television."

Travers: "Maybe he has bigger plans?"

A knock at the office door cut across the room. Brian appeared in the doorway, looking anxious.

Travers: "Yes, Kyle?"

Brian: "It’s Brian… Mr Travers. It’s always been Brian."

Master Devlin: "He’s right y’know."

Travers: "This is no time for silly games. We're at war, Ed damn it... Now what the hell do you want, Kyle?"

Brian: "I’m here to tender my resignation…"

He handed Travers a letter.

Travers: "What the..."

Travers squinted at the letter and handed it to the Master, expecting him to read it out loud.

Master Devlin: "Oh for goodness sake Travers…(sigh) Fine."

The Master put on his spectacles. Travers gave Brian an aggressive stare-down while inhaling deeply on his cigar.

The Master read aloud:

Dear Mr Travers,

I write to tender my resignation from the Waldopolis Chronicle.

I have worked for this newspaper for five years. I debated my position following Mr White’s abdication and your assumption of the role as editor-in-chief. I have struggled with the direction of this newspaper and, as a journalist, this is not the type of racy publication I wanted to be involved with.

I consider myself a professional journalist, but my role has become a mere shadow of its former self: scouting new ‘talent’ for pages 3, 7 and 12; digging up the ‘dirty’ secrets of Waldonia’s celebrities; being expected to be present in your office while you receive oral sex from various individuals or while you masturbate freely.

I have put up with the weird stuff, including your inability to learn the name of someone in your employ. You have elected to call me Kyle, presumably after your former assistant and now our Prime Minister.

I am a man of high tolerance. Even after you chose to attack and injure me during that strange overnight trip to the forest, I stayed. However, your sheer lack of interest in my welfare is staggering.

This kind of working environment is having a serious impact on my mental health, and, until recently, my physical health as well. Therefore I am left with no choice but to leave the business.

Respectfully,

Brian Cavendish

Travers seethed — not because of the letter’s content alone, but because Brian had spoken out of turn.

The Master placed the letter down.

Master Devlin: "Well Kyle… ahem, sorry, Brian. Before Mr Travers throws his toys out the pram and fires you... I'm curious, what is it you want?"

Travers looked at the Master with indignant outrage at Brian’s audacity.

Brian: "What do you mean?"

Master Devlin: "Well despite the lack of praise from the Editor-in-Chief, and the transition to writing smut, you do actually write good pieces, and frankly you push out more material than any other journalist in this newspaper. Therefore you would be a great loss. So I wonder... If Mr Travers is able to look past this little indiscretion, what would it take for you to be willing to stay on? Name your price..."

The Master whispered in Travers’ ear.

Master Devlin: "I mean you did maim him. He could sue. Maybe cut him some slack?"

Brian: "Well… the truth is there is another reason. The fact of the matter is, working for this paper is increasingly dangerous. Every time you order me to publish a story, I'm risking my neck — literally. So really I think some generous hazard pay might help. I suppose if I were to get an extra £30,000 per year — plus dental — and an additional 20 holiday days, that would make a difference."

Upon hearing Brian's demands, Travers turned to the Master and burst into full-throated laughter.

Travers: "£30k... Can you believe the balls on this kid?"

Brian managed a nervous smile, but the Master remained stone-faced. Just as suddenly, Travers’ laughter died; his grin vanished, replaced by a look of pure contempt. He fixed Brian with a sneer, his face twisting with disgust.

Travers: "You snotty, disrespectful, treacherous little weasel... You think you can just waltz out on me, after all I've done for you? After I treated you like a son... a successor... and over what? Hurt feelings? Some snivelling sense of righteousness? Spare me the theatrics, Kyle!"

He leaned forward on his desk, his voice dropping to a venomous hiss.

Travers: "You think it's just another day at the office here, don’t you, kid? That we're just here pushing... jerk-off material with a splash of morning news? Wake up, son! We’re fighting an Ed-damned war here! We’re all risking our necks! Vampires are sinking their fangs into this town, draining the life force out of it — and you’re running off in a huff because what? You don’t like my methods? You think you’re better than this place? Better than me?"

"This isn’t some little office spat, you overly sensitive little millennial prick. This is life and death! The fate of all Waldonia hangs in the balance... and I have neither the time nor the inclination to concern myself with your feelings about how I run my Ed-damned newspaper!"

He paused, cooling his rage just enough to reach for Brian’s resignation letter. With a quick flick, he slammed it back on the desk and sank into his chair.

Travers: "You're a good writer, Mr. Cavendish... and Master Devlin here thinks I should cut you some slack. It’s been a very trying time for us all... so I will."

Travers tore the letter in half, then in quarters, and let the pieces flutter onto his desk. He fixed Brian with a final, steely glare.

Travers: "Your resignation is out of turn, and it's not accepted. Now get back to your desk before i let Wally turn you inside out... just for fun."

Brian blinked, momentarily frozen by the intensity in Travers’s gaze, before he nodded and shuffled out, shoulders slumped. Travers watched him go, a faint, self-satisfied smirk creeping onto his face as he settled back into his chair.

Travers waited until Brian was well out of earshot, then leaned back with a sigh, glancing over at the Master with a wry grin.

Travers: "Master Devlin...give Kyle a raise. He’s a pain in my ass, but he’s got guts."

Master Devlin: "You mean Brian?"

Travers nodded with a smirk.

Master Devlin: "I like Brian."

Travers: "Of course you do...he speaks out of turn, just like you..."

Master Devlin: 😁 "So. About the raise? How much?"

Travers: "I dunno... NOT 30k extra...and he can forget the holidays, but give him something fair."

Master Devlin: "Okay."

The Master scribbled down £29,000.

Travers: "I mean we're not made of money here. especially with all the lawsuits we're facing."

Master Devlin: "What lawsuits? What have you done now?"

Travers: "Not me! What you did...I'm referring to the defamation lawsuits from those VAMP freaks."

Master Devlin: "Oh. Yes, yes quite. I just assumed because it's usually your behaviour that leads to lawsuits.”

Travers: "I’m not blaming you. I'm just stating facts of what we have to contend with. It was inevitable that we'd face lawsuits anyway. We'll probably end up facing more before this is over… So. What should we do now? Thoughts?"

Master Devlin: "We could try to dig up dirt on Goldenstein? Find out if he is actually funding genocide in Palestine? Probably true anyway. It would be easier to kill him, but Ed has found another way to torment me."

Travers: "Good idea! Make it so...Also what's a Palestine?"

The Waldoverse continues in The Goldenstein Dossier