Ferdinand/Stereotypes

The Prodigals "High noon in the alleys of Madrid. There were angry words in Latin followed by bolts of fire that rained down from the heavens and the stench of burning hair and flesh. It wasn't my fault that he had his nose buried in a book and he spilled hot coffee all over it when we bumped into each other as I was trying to escape the devil-worshiping pack of cultists that wanted their chalice of invocation back." "Midnight in Budapest. There was a killer redhead with alabaster skin, a voice like honey and eyes that one could drown in. We danced, we sang, we ended up wrapped in silken sheets. Unfortunately, I wasn't to her ... tastes ... and gave her quite the bout of indigestion. At least I held her hair back as she emptied my blood back out into the porcelain bowl?" "On the moors of the British Isles beneath a new moon, a bard and I shared a fire, drinks and tales while waiting for the fog to lift. There was much howling, baying and running through the mist in a game of tag until we were taken by slumber and strange dreams. When next we woke, we were within faerie rings and a fortnight had passed. What a night!" "Paris. I was lost in a haunted house there once. The ghost that I met, she was quite polite and genteel. I shared my dreams with her that night, and she shared hers with me. The walls ran with kaleidoscopic colors, and strange lights and sounds could be seen and heard from outside, but I slept as peacefully as I ever had since the murder of my father that night." "To sleep, perchance to Dream. My most cherished cousins. Fellow heirs to the realms of Arcadia. Perhaps I shall show one or two of them the way home once my business on Earth is done. Would they be allowed past the gates, however?" "Upon my exile from the Arcadian Gates, I fell fast to Earth and passed by a lost shadow with broken wings. So sad."