Work Text:
Foreign (Visiting) Relations
by Scribe
Morticia Addams sat in her tastefully appointed living room, placidly tatting a large piece of lace. The stuffed polar bear located behind her chair held the spool of silk spindled on one long, sharp claw, allowing it free movement. One might have thought that Morticia was working on a tablecloth, or perhaps a bedspread, if not for two things. One, it was in black, and two--when she held it up, it strongly resembled a cobweb.
A loud shriek sounded from outside, and she looked up thoughtfully. "Mail's come," she murmured. There was an approaching scurrying sound, and the lid of a small, fine wood box on the table beside her lifted. A handsomely shaped male hand emerged, holding a heavy, buff colored envelope. "Ah, thank you, Thing." She accepted the envelope. "Oh, dear, this is a thick one." She regarded her hand, particularly the sharp, shiny black nails. "And that manicure you gave me is so lovely I hate to..." Thing snapped his fingers twice to get her attention, disappeared, and emerged holding an ancient, ornate, wickedly curved dagger. Morticia took it delicately. "You're a wonder, Thing."
She used the dagger to slit the envelope and extracted a sheet of paper, scanning it. Morticia seldom smiled, but her expression became pleased. "What wonderful news! Thing, tell Lurch that we're expecting guests--three of them." Thing crooked a finger in question. "Some distant relatives of mine, from the French branch of the family."
Thing made an 'okay' sign and descended into his box, pulling the lid down. Morticia carefully folded the lace, murmuring, "So much to do, so much to do. Let's see... The guest rooms need dusting. I'm sure Lurch can find plenty of fine grade dust in the dungeon. I wonder if Mamma has enough lizard gizzards and turtle eyes. It's so hard to get them fresh on short notice..."
"Tish!" Morticia looked up fondly as Gomez turned a cartwheel into the room and finished it up with a handspring, all without removing the cigar from his mouth. He landed before her, took the cigar out, then wiggled his eyebrows and bent down to give her a passionate kiss. "You're looking deathly today."
"Flatterer. I have exciting news, darling. We're having relatives to visit." She held up the letter.
"Really? Itt knows he doesn't have to write. We're happy to see the old dust mop sweep in any old time."
"Not Itt. One of my distant cousins is dropping by with his, mm, paramour."
"You spoke French!" Gomez swooped down on her, grabbing her hand and beginning a fast lip-waltz up her forearm.
"Gomez, you haven't been chewing betel nut again, have you?"
"No, cara mia."
"Good. The last time you did that Lurch almost killed himself trying to get the spittle stains off my sleeves. Carry on."
He did. They'd worked themselves up to a fine near frenzy when approximately seven feet of dolorous butler appeared in the room. "Uhhhhhhrrr," Lurch said with the politeness of one clearing their throat for attention.
Morticia tore her lips away from Gomez's, causing her husband to more-or-less fall in her lap. "Yes, Lurch?"
His voice like the tolling of a funeral bell, Lurch said, "Delivery."
Gomez hopped up. "Marvelous! It must be that moray eel I bought for Pugsley."
"You're so thoughtful," Morticia sighed. "He worries so about Aristotle being lonely. A moping octopus is a sad sight."
"Not eel," Lurch growled.
"Oh," said Morticia. "Perhaps it's my new lingerie?"
Gomez perked up. "Victoria's Secret?"
"Please! Of course not. It's from my usual store--Passionate Goth."
"Not... lingerie. Uhhhuhuh." The corner of Lurch's upper lip lifted, rather like a dog showing a fang. This was his version of a sly smile.
Now the Adams’s were puzzled. "I don't suppose your mother ordered anything for the kitchen," said Gomez. "She can get all the spiders and snakes she needs in the dungeon, and the cemetery is full of toadstools. I love how she insists on fresh produce." He shrugged. "Well, there's one way to find out. Bring it in." Lurch turned and shambled back out into the foyer. "Now, about that lingerie..." Morticia smiled demurely.
There was the sound of much shuffling and complaining, and two burley men in parcel service uniforms waddled in, bearing a large, dark wood coffin between them. Both were sweating heavily, and not strictly from exertion. "I'm tellin' ya, Harry," one was saying, "I SAW it."
"Ya couldn't have seen what ya think ya saw," Harry replied.
"But it ran right across my FOOT, I'm tellin' ya..."
"SHUT UP! Ya didn't see it because if ya DID see it that means I saw it, too, and I DIDN'T. I'm this close to that promotion, and if anyone at the office hears that I thought I saw a..." They thumped the coffin down on the floor.
"Please!" said Morticia. "Gently. I know he can't be awakened right now, but he can feel the after effects of manhandling."
"Lady," said Harry, "I don't EVEN wanna know. We got two more of these, and delivery orders specify that they have to be in..." He consulted a sheet of paper. "A windowless room before sundown. We got stuck in traffic, and there are only a couple of minutes left. I don't need to get written up. C'mon, Mortimer." They hurried out.
"Mortimer..." mused Gomez. "Sounds like he could have some Addams blood in him."
"I hardly think so, darling," said Morticia. "Did you see that tan?" She shuddered. "I want Wednesday and Pugsley here to greet our guests, but Lurch and Thing are busy right now. I told you we'd regret not investing in those control collars."
"Now Tish, imagine the batteries we'd go through with them playfully shocking each other." Gomez pulled a shiny silver whistle out of his pocket, put it to his lips, and blew. Instead of the usual tweet there was a piercing shriek. "That should bring everyone."
"How clever! And so much more pleasant than just shouting."
The first of the family to arrive was Uncle Fester. He slid down a fire pole located in a corner, landing with a cheerful thump. It was amazing how well he could get around in those monk robes. He spotted the coffin and said, “Good news? Has there been a death in the family?” Addams often came back to be buried in the family cemetery behind the house. Some of them liked it so much they came back several times.
“No, Fester,” said Gomez. “One of Morticia’s distant relatives is visiting with his entourage.” Morticia lifted one delicate eyebrow at the French—Gomez wiggled both his eyebrows.
“Drat. We haven’t had a good ol’ rousing funeral here for ages. Not since… Well, I guess we can’t count Cousin Blurp in the fifties—we just had the wake.”
“And we wouldn’t have had that if he’d stayed in that lovely Black Lagoon,” sighed Morticia. “Still, I’ve always enjoyed a burial at sea, and it gave us a chance to take the barge out of dry dock.” She frowned. “I wonder what’s keeping the children. Even if Wednesday had locked Pugsley in the iron maiden again, she’d have been here by now.”
As she was speaking a trap door opened. Sulpherous fumes bellowed into the room, and all three of them took the opportunity for a few deep sniffs. A little girl with pigtails climbed out, followed closely by a stout little boy in a striped shirt. Both of the children reached down into the trap and helped a wizened crone climb out. Then Wednesday thumped the trap door down again. Pugsley was alert, and managed to keep head and toes out of the way of the falling planks. “I’ll get you next time, my pretty,” she said flatly. “And your little octopus, too.”
“Mamma,” said Morticia. “Have you been letting them watch The Wizard of Oz again? You know that all that color and cheerful music can’t be good for them. And what that horrid Gale person does to those poor, sweet witches…”
“I’ve edited it down to the good stuff,” Grandma assured her. “Flying monkeys, fireballs, and the talking trees right up till that sappy soup can appears.”
“Well, then. Perhaps you could do the same thing with that Lord of the Rings series? We’d have to get rid of the elves and hobbits, of course, but all those lovely Orcs and Nazguls… Oh, and Sauron! He’d be a wonderful role model.”
The delivery men waddled back in. This time they were carrying TWO coffins—a standard size and a child size piled on top of it. “Oooh, my achin’ back!” Mortimer groaned as they lowered their burdens.
“Yeah, well, if ya hadn’t had ta stop for that mochachino earlier we woulda had time to hump ‘em in one at a time. We barely made it. The sun’s gonna set…”
*woosh* *woosh* *THUMP* “MERDE!” The lids of the two large coffins lifted quickly, dumping the small coffin over on its top, and eliciting the exclamation. It was in a childish treble, but no less vehement for that.
“Now,” said Harry. “BYE!” *shoopshoop* *slam*
Morticia blinked. “We’ve had some sudden exits, but I do believe that may be a record.”
Two young men sat up in the coffins. One was a richly dressed, decadent looking gentleman with long, blond hair. The other had long dark hair, was more soberly dressed, and looked a little morose. The blond said, “Language, Claudia.”
“Putain de merde!”
“Claudia…”
“PUTAIN DE BORDEL DE MERDE!”
He sighed. “Louis, please right Claudia’s resting place and allow her to exit.” As the dark man climbed out of the coffin, the blond man offered them a charming smile. “Morticia! Ah, it’s been ages.”
She held out her hands. “Lestat. You’re looking stunning.”
“Yes, I know. And you as well, of course. The gloomy thing now struggling with the coffin is my companion, Louis de Point du Lac, and the little hellion about to be released is our adopted daughter—Claudia.”
Louis had managed to get the coffin righted, and the lid popped open. A small girl about Wednesday’s age, popped out in a flurry of ruffles, lace, and blonde curls. She was very disheveled, and her expression said she was ready to chew nails and spit rust, or kick ass and take names, or any other expression indicating extreme irritation and an inclination to take vigorous and violent action. Then she spotted the Addams and quickly became as sweet and bland as tapioca pudding with honey. “Ah, Pappa! New, um, friends?”
“No,” said Lestat flatly.
“But I haven’t eaten since…”
“Don’t argue with me. We cannot get fat, but we can bloat, and you, given free rein, would end up like one of those huge balloons the humans parade on holidays. If you need a snack I’m sure there are plenty of rats somewhere hereabout.”
“Oh, yes!” said Morticia. “There’s a lovely colony of plump ones in the kitchen. I’m sure that Mamma can spare a few.” She smiled. “She never can resist giving children treats.”
Claudia noticed Wednesday staring at her and smiled, flashing dimples. “Mother,” Wednesday whispered, “I’m scared.” Claudia flashed fang. “I like her.”
“Wonderful. Why don’t you take her and show her your doll collection, dear?” said Morticia.
Wednesday looked at Claudia, holding out her doll. “This is Marie Antoinette.”
Claudia frowned. “She has no head.”
“You don’t like her?”
“Oh, no. No head is fine, but it makes biting the neck difficult.”
“I have a few I haven’t fixed yet. You can bite them.”
“Thank you.” They left, Claudia closely following Wednesday. “I do hope they are not the rag dolls. They make me spit cotton.”
“I’m so happy that Claudia has someone to commune with,” said Lestat. “Um, Wednesday DOES know what to do incase…?”
“She keeps garlic in her pocket,” said Gomez cheerfully. “You know girls—they love those pretty scents.”
Louis was looking around. “Your house is… dismal.”
“We like it,” said Gomez. He proudly put a hand on Morticia’s shoulder. “Tish did all the interior decorating. Yes, this was just an austere bachelor pad till she brought her woman’s touch.” He puffed up with pride. “It’s been featured in ‘Better Haunted Mansions and Mausoleums’.”
“I love it,” said Lestat. He tickled the bear’s tummy, and it growled. “It’s the little touches that mean so much.” He glanced at Pugsley, then said almost gently, “Little one, has no one ever told you that stripes are not flattering when one is less than svelt?”
Pugsley shrugged, but looked at his mother. “Mother, can I go put on the shirt you bought me from Hot Topic? I know we have visitors, and it’s casual, but I want Mister Lestat to see it.”
“Certainly, darling,” said Morticia. “After all, Lestat is family.”
“Yes, do change,” said Lestat. “I hear that this ‘Hot Topic’ is considered more or less the pinnacle of ‘cutting edge’ among young people. I do so love cutting edge.”
“I’ll be right back.” Pugsley went over to the staircase and slid up the banister.
Lestat blinked. “Nimble for a chubby thing, isn’t he?”
“Cara mia,” said Gomez, “I really need to go to my study. I don’t want to abandon our guests, but it’s time I checked the incubator. I’m sure that the vulture eggs need to be turned.” He looked at Lestat. “A zoo captured one of the nesting mothers. We’re working on freeing her, but in the meantime we’re nurturing her clutch.”
“Go,” said Lestat, flicking his hand. “Such useful creatures must not be neglected.”
As Gomez left, Fester sidled over to Louis, eyeing him. Louis’ morose look never changed. “Say, how do you do it? You’re the most consistently gloomy person I’ve ever seen. What’s your secret?”
“Eternal damnation,” Louis whispered.
“Hm. That could do it.”
Pugsley slid back down the banister, landing with a thump, and hurried over to Lestat. “See?” He said proudly. He was wearing a black T-shirt. The logo on the front showed a grinning skull, with blood dripping fangs. There were bloodshot eyeballs in its sockets, and a pentagram carved into its forehead.
Lestat clapped his hands, delighted. “Marvelous! You must have a portrait done while wearing it.”
“I wore it to school on picture day, but they made me turn it inside out for some reason. I don’t know why. They let the high school kids wear stuff like this all the time.”
“Well,” said Grandma, “I better get started on dinner. Don’t worry—I’ll have something for the visitors. I always keep a little A- stashed away, and I have a great recipe for a real Bloody Mary. Can the kid have booze?”
“Claudia reached the legal drinking age more than a century ago,” said Lestat. “And do not stint on the pepper sauce. We all have lived in New Orleans, and are not afraid of spice. I tell you, Morticia, the blood of some of those coonasses is so hot…”
“Some of those what?” she asked.
“Average people—coonasses, or Cajun. Obsessed with the past and their ancestry—Creole.”
“Mamma will have things on the table in no time. Gomez tends to lose track of time when he’s with those eggs. Lestat, would you please go and tell him that dinner will soon be ready.”
“Of course.” Lestat went to the study and entered, leaving the door ajar.
“Oh, dear,” said Morticia. “I should have warned him.”
“About what?” said Louis.
“About how French affects Gomez. Well, he probably won’t…”
From the study they heard, “Gomez, your femme fatale calls you to dinner, tout suite.”
Gomez’s voice sounded interested. “You spoke French.”
“Naturellement.”
“But… you spoke French!”
"Oui. I am, after all, French."
Gomez's voice was rising. "But you don't understand! You spoke French."
"Oh, dear," Morticia repeated mildly. "I'm afraid that an incident is immenent."
"But what should I speak--Swahili? Ceci devient ridicule."
"FRENCH!"
"EEK! Please, I am not that kind of... Actually I am, but this is very sudden, and..."
"FRENCH!"
*pause* "Well, if you insist..."
"Excuse me," said Louis. Expression never changing, he went over and took a dueling saber off the wall, then
went toward the study.
"Hmmm..." said Morticial. Then she shrugged. *Oh, well. Gomez always has a sword within reach, and he's been complaining that he needs a new fencing partner. I'm sure he won't hurt the boy too badly."
end part 1