As a brief education to anyone unfamiliar with British pantomimes, they are shows which crop up for the Christmas season. Generally they are warped fairy/folk tales and are very campily performed with many cliches.

Also, the 'vampire' references in the text are based on the White Wolf game system information.

Cast:

• Red Riding Hood, a neonate fluffy cute Toreador.
• Granny, an aged Ventrue git.
• The Woodsman, a hunky Brujah who has no lines.
• The Wicked Wolf, c'mon, what do you think he is?

[Enter Red Riding Hood. She's skipping along in a wet and soppy way, singing cheerfully in the dark and grim woods that wobble a little when her cloak brushes past. She's dressed entirely in red, and her fangs make her lisp a little.]

R.R. Hood:

I'm off to see my gwandmother, the Pwimogen of thethe woodth! I'm going to bring her thome nice fwesh blood for her to feed on! Twa la la, I'm tho happy, I'm a Toweador!

[She skips around the stage for a while. Shortly, we notice a Great Bad Wicked Grey Wolf, probably in search of more adjectives to go in front of his name. He hides behind a painted bush. R.R.H doesn't see him, and for some odd reason doesn't hear him either.]

Wolf:

Muahuahuahuahua! Now I know who'sss the Primogen of thessse partssss! And to think she dissssguisssses herself as a sssssweet old lady. Now, if I can only find out where it livesssss....

[The villain of course is contractually obliged to hiss, which makes all his lines last twice as long as they should. Villains have to abide by -some- rules, after all.]

[The Wolf springs forth from the bush, making poor Little Red Riding Hood drop her basket in alarm. He keeps his head averted from the girl, as he speaks.]

Wolf:	(coughs) Ssssssorry to alarm you, little girrrrrrl. Where are you going too, on ssssssuch a dark night? Thesssse woodssss are full of evil thingsssss, like wolvessss, Sssabbatt, Anarchsssss, and men with ssssteeely grey eyessss that pierce your very sssssoul.
R.R.Hood:	Eeeek! I'm going to my gwandmothers, who lives in the little cottage by the wiver. It's a tewwibly long way. I'm taking her thome of my blood.
Wolf:	Well, don't let me sssstop you, little girrrrrrl. (Aside to audience) Yesss! I can take the ssssshort cut through the woodssss, pretend to be the fluffy Toreador, eat the grandmother, wait for Red Riding Hood to turn up, pretend to be the grandmother, and eat her too! Muahuahuahua!

[The Wolf leaps offstage, disappearing into the woods with a thundering crash of falling scenery.]

R.R.Hood:

Eeeek! What a stwange man! Perhaps he was a Twemere.

[She skips offstage, and the curtains close.]

Wolf:	Hello, aged crone. I am your grandaughter, the fluffy Toreador.
Granny:	Red Riding Hood! (Peers shortsightedly at the Wolf) You're not a fluffy cute Toreador! You're a garou! Is that a stake in your pocket, or are you just pleased to see me?
Wolf:	Oh, no I'm not!
Granny:	Oh, yes you are!
Wolf:	Oh, no I'm not!
Granny:	Oh, yes you are!
Wolf:	Oh, yes I am!
Granny:	Oh, no you're not!
Wolf:	Alright, can we finish with this bloody pantomime cliche? Yes, I am the sodding wolf. Yes, you did fall for the 'oh yes I am' trick. And yes, you're toast.
Granny:	Bugger.

[The Wolf pulls out a stake, laughing triumphantly, and stakes Granny. Curtain.]

Wolf:	Enter, my dear.
R.R.Hood.:	Gwanny!

[She skips in, and perches on the edge of the bed.]

R.R.Hood.:	Gwanny! Are you alwight? You look vewy hairwy.
Wolf:	Whatever makes you say that, my child? I am but a poor old woman, who happens to be Ventrue Primogen.
R.R.Hood:	Yes, but Gwanny, what big claws you have!
Wolf:	All the better to, er, rip apart the wolves, my dear.
R.R.Hood:	Yes, but Gwanny, I never knew you had Pwotean!
Wolf:	I do now, -darling- cute fluffy Toreador.
R.R.Hood:	Yes, but Gwanny, what big eyeth you have!
Wolf:	All the better to dominate you with, my dear.
R.R.Hood:	Yes, but Gwanny, what big fangth you have! And you only used to have two.
Wolf:	(mutters) Er, inflation? Ssssod this! All the better to rip out your throat and pull off your limbssss and rend you to the four windssss because you are a stinking abomination on the face of Gaia and your sssssoul is a twisssssting pyre of corruption!
R.R.Hood:	(frowns) Gwanny? Are you -thure- you're gwanny?

[The wolf leaps out of bed to rip her apart. At that moment, the sturdy woodsman bursts through the door. A terrible battle ensues, with R.R.Hood cowering out of the way. Finally...and a terrible blow this for the traditionalists in the audience...the woodsman lies dead, staked on his own axe. The wolf turns, slavering and glowering.]

Wolf:	Now! Fluffy Toreador, prepare to die!
R.R.Hood:	(flutters eyelashes) But my lovely wolfy! That woodthman was a Thabbat and he wath twying to convert me to hith evil wayth! And Gwanny wath a Ventwue git and bethides, she'd dominate me all the time, it was howwible! I could never think for mythelf!

[The wolf, hearing this, has a sudden coughing fit. I can't imagine why.]

R.R.Hood:

You can come with me, wolfy-dear! And we can live happily ever after!

[She flutters her eyelashes again, and, against the balance of probability, entrances the poor animal. They go off hand in claw, gazing devotedly into each other's eyes, and do indeed live happily ever after.]