“You are not Elvis,” Fergus said to the large man in a white suit with sparkles.
“Sure I am son, how many folks do you know can sing like this,” the white clad man broke out into song performing a surprisingly good rendition of Hound Dog on his ukulele.
Hopping down from the table he stood on, Fergus shook his head a few times. “Nope. I don’t think so. I’ve listened and watched the real Elvis on the Tube more than once. Besides, when did the real Elvis become a vampire?”
Elvis smiled, one fang peeking out, down at the tiny horse-like creature in front of him. “I’m as much Elvis as you are a unicorn.”
“Nope. I watch that XYZ show on the internet. They’ve never said anything about Graceland vampires. I know a big shot in the vamp world too. She’s never told me about it. Friends tell each other stuff like that mister not-Elvis.” Fergus accused.
“Accidents happen. Who could you possibly know that matters to someone like me anyway?” Elvis asked as he watched the unicorn investigate the small local Missouri museum.
Fergus bounced around from one exhibit to the other, sometimes jumping up to look closer at things. Still on his way to California he’d stopped at this roadside dive in Wright City, Missouri when he saw the sign for Elvis. Some music legends deserved a look, besides he thought he might be able to get a fried egg, bacon, peanut butter, and banana sandwich like the King used to eat. That sort of thing was hard to get on the road.
“Not gonna say? Vampire royalty doesn’t hang with tiny horses. They might snack on one though,” Elvis asked.
Jumping back to the table he’d started on Fergus looked up at Elvis. “Don’t you think that using Elvis is Dead as a sign is tacky? The vamp I know is named Anastasia. She’s supposed to be one of your ancients.”
“Do you really know her?” Elvis asked him quietly a tiny bit of fear in his voice now.
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