AUTHOR: Thank you for joining me this evening, Seymour, I’ve been looking forward to speaking with you about your experiences at Wandering Falls. Did you have any trouble finding my study?
[Seymour idly twists his hair around his finger, staring at the coffee cups with his lips pursed]
SEYMOUR: You’re joking, right? Not actually serving me coffee, while there are perfectly desirable bottles of wine under that window. I mean, really, who has delicious wine but lives off coffee and water?
[I clear my throat and take a drag off my cigarette]
AUTHOR: I’ve abstained from alcohol for nearly a year. I happen to be a sober individual. But, if you must drink, I won’t stop you.
SEYMOUR: [sarcastically, off to the side] Jeez, what a wild night we’ll have.
[He jerks, startled]
SEYMOUR: Wait a tick…you’re telling me you rewrote Volume I for the 13th time, then created Volume II in a month, and cranked out Volume III in a few months without any booze?! You must be putting me on! Writers are neurotic creatures, who live off things the rest of the world wrinkles their noses at – I simply can’t digest it all.
AUTHOR: I wouldn’t joke about such a thing. I didn’t drink often before, but a glass of wine while writing would be nice. My husband attempted sobriety, so I tried being supportive of his recovery.
SEYMOUR: How’d that work out for you?
[I bristle, sip my coffee, and finish my stog]
AUTHOR: Let’s keep this interview on task, shall we? Please tell me about the manor.
SEYMOUR: It’s a gigantic old house filled with art and beloved lunatics – supposedly – creeping with ghosts… but, I’ll tell you, I haven’t met a single spirit. Well, expect for Mimir – we all rather saw the disembodied head a few times.
AUTHOR: I have to stop you there – I should be clear – we need to focus on Volume I this evening. The other two novels have not yet released.
SEYMOUR: Why not? You finished them. Why are you hoarding the 2nd and 3rd books?
AUTHOR: Editorial processes take time. I thought you would understand that, being a poet. Would you like to talk about your own work?
SEYMOUR: Not necessarily. Plus, we’d need more than wine for such a feat. Fine. I’ll talk about Wandering Falls – part one, since you’re a slacker. You should ask better questions, though. I bet you’re the only interested in the manor proper. What do you really want to know?
AUTHOR: Right, good point. Well, you’re the first I’ve interviewed, and I just…
SEYMOUR: I’m the first? Really? Interesting. That’s lovely, isn’t it – I’m not the main character, you saw to that yourself. Yet, you begin with me. Very telling, Madame.
[He licks his full lips and leans closer, placing his elbows on his knees. I blush at his closeness]
AUTHOR: Could you explain your claim that Iris ‘created you’ to the readers?
SEYMOUR: Since you edited your version of it out, you mean? Cut my whole damn scene with Ty at the pool because you worried it didn’t move your precious story forward. Ha! Yet it’s the one thing you’ve been dying to expound on, I’m sure.
[I offer a tight-lipped smile and await his answer]
SEYMOUR: As you well know, I suffer from a dark past. I dabbled in way too many shady dealings, lost my inheritance, and ended up on the streets, sucking dick for my next fix. Iris and Anton came upon me one evening, puking in an alleyway somewhere in San Diego – overdosing, I guess… I don’t remember, I was so out of it. They told me they had Hugo load me into the car and rush me to their hotel. The deets don’t really matter, but man the swanky digs! I awoke five-days later in a crushed velvet robe, propped up on a mountain of pillows, with an IV in my arm. Guess the Sheik called in a doctor friend, who nursed me back to health right there in Iris’s bed. Anton sat in the corner, glaring at me with distaste. But Iris, oh my sweet Iris! She raced to my side and covered my head in kisses while pressing my face into her small bosom.
AUTHOR: Why would she do that? Did you know her already?
SEYMOUR: [snorts] Don’t be ridiculous. I didn’t ‘know’ anyone at that stage of my life. I could barely remember my own name. Seemed she found some poems I jerked out during undergrad, and my words charmed her – made her want to meet me for some reason. Her and Anton were in town for yet another conference, and I guess it comes down to luck that she found me… although, I don’t trust that for a second – the Sheik makes his own luck. If Iris wanted to meet me, then ole Laxmi more than likely set the whole thing into motion. He gives in to all her wicked demands, after all. Anyway, Iris said talent such as mine could not be wasted in alleys. She started calling me ‘Seymour’ or ‘Sly,’ and she insisted I came with them back to Iceland.
AUTHOR: So, your name isn’t ‘Seymour’?
SEYMOUR: It is, now. But no, it’s not my birth name, if that’s what you’re wondering. It’s a clever word trick she pulled, meaning “Say More” because she said I wrote from my soul instead of my hand, that my words bled onto the page. Names have power – you know that – so she created me with the Word.
AUTHOR: Surely, there’s more than that to it? You led poor Tycho to believe she made you from nothing.
SEYMOUR: Poor Ty, my ass! Don’t you remember how he tortured me? Still, tortures me, really…leaving me in want. Of course, there’s ‘more to it.’ Anton’s methods reconditioned my mind, beating and fucking the street-rat from my persona. Some may say he’s too rough with my kind, but – I’ll tell you a secret…I wouldn’t have it any other way. There’s times I misbehave just so he’ll take me to ‘the room.’
AUTHOR: Yes, there – please elaborate on ‘the room.’
SEYMOUR: Sure. It’s beneath the manor, right along the coast. Numan and Cash worked together – well, Numan dug out the chamber, and Cashmere assisted with the lock. Super clever, really, something about planets and positioning…anyway, once it’s all lined up, you push on the copper sun and the mountain moves. What you’d take as a wall opens like a door, revealing ‘the room’ where Anton’s devices are stored. Back when I first arrived, he had to use some of them on me.
AUTHOR: What kind of devices?
SEYMOUR: Oh, the usual thing for a mad-cap historian/collector to have, I suppose. There’s the rack, a brazen bull, a heretic’s fork, the pear of anguish, an iron maiden, and the chair of torture. Plus, some rusty mechanical restraints from those asylums he liberated. And a fair amount of lube.
AUTHOR: So Anton tortured you? How did he get away with such atrocities?
SEYMOUR: Calm down – a lot of it is just for show, to make a person fear repercussions. Mostly, he used his own body against me – bringing me back from my zombie state with sex. Iris played her role, too. When I was very good, I got to sink into her silken folds.
[His eyes glaze over, lost in thought. He crosses his legs, concealing his erection]
AUTHOR: Are you saying they used a form of sex-therapy on you?
SEYMOUR: Maybe, I don’t know – I know the three of us fucked an awful lot, if that’s what you’re really asking. For months, I became their favorite. Numan was so jealous! He gets so much attention, you know, because he can travel the Never like Iris. But, during my initial recovery, all their energies focused on me – I was their shining star.
[Nostalgic tears fill his eyes, and he takes one of my cigarettes without asking]
AUTHOR: Do you miss the bond?
SEYMOUR: I miss Anton, but you told me to speak on Volume 1.
AUTHOR: Yes, of course, you’re right. I fear our time is running short. Could you speak a few moments on Tycho and Loki?
[He rolls his eyes and blushes]
SEYMOUR: I’d rather fuck Loki, if that’s what you’re asking. He’s more imaginative. Ty can be a fun ride, but he’s always so guilty afterwards, hating himself for looking to me for compassion. Wondering if he’s still “clean” for enjoying a man’s touch.
AUTHOR: Ah, if we could speak on matters not of a sexual nature?
SEYMOUR: More of a bore – you really should have that glass of wine and loosen up. But, if you insist… Loki, really, made me immortal – not Ty. Loki put some type of old magick into the Philosopher’s Stone. He won’t tell us what it was, but I kinda have the taste of apples in the back of my throat. All. The. Time. Like, I don’t mind apples, but ever since this green tinge has covered my skin, I taste apples. I prefer strawberries.
AUTHOR: Makes sense – the Asas remain young by eating Idun’s golden apples.
SEYMOUR: Hmpf…imagine that – I mean, I’m guessing Idun must be a goddess?
[I nod and finish off my coffee]
SEYMOUR: Anyway, now that Loki has more abilities – is that saying too much? – he’s somewhat more social at the manor proper. But yeah, back at the end of Vol.1, Ty went through an awful lot to subdue the Trickster. Good thing Anton had reconditioned me – I used some of his skills on Ty, and I’d like to think my assistance and devotion encouraged him into formulating the elixir that restrains Loki. Of course, I’d be your first interview – I am supremely important. If not for me, Flynn and his rabble might have…
AUTHOR: And our time is up. Thank you so much, Seymour, for conducting this interview. I hope your journey back through the Never is pleasant.
[Before he can answer, his pale figure fades away]
IRIS: I can’t believe you chose Seymour first. This is my story…