While Golden slept peacefully, lots of things were going on deep inside that protective vampiric skin. Much rejoicing was occurring within his circulatory system, as the older blood bits introduced themselves to the newcomers. They did not speak English, but a patois of their own. However, this is a conversation between two of them, translated: ''Hello! I'm Gigo! I see you're from the Blackwell host. Good host, that. Feeds often, you haven't gone hungry. This chap, the Golden boy, he feeds decently enough. Though from what I understand, Blackwell might be getting him to gorge more! Now, I must tell you, I am glad to see you. We've been seriously understaffed here. This host of ours has an enormous circulatory system, and there just aren't enough of us to do our jobs properly. A few more good servants like you, Corg, and we'll be operating at peak efficiency in no time! Now, I'll began your training, young neophyte! Life in the blood is quite the life, yes, indeed. Now, the first thing to do is . . .'' And Gigo kept close by Corg, carefully instructing him as they were being pushed through the system. He was glad to have a buddy. All throughout Golden's busy body, similar conversations were being held. Golden himself as he slept peacefully, however, was only dimly aware of happy dreams.|
Meanwhile, let's listen in on Michael's blood bits. He, too, slept completely unawares. ''I tell you, Fergo, this is the last straw! The very last straw. I don't know how this stingy host expects us to perform on such meager offerings.'' Balastra complained. ''Yeah, Bally, things are usually lean, but this is ridiculous. How does he expect us to maintain that ancient old carcass of his on the few drops he gives us. I'd strike, really I would, but I keep on hanging in there.'' Balastra agreed, ''Yeah, we'll hang in there for a while longer. Do you remember the cycle of 9203? Some of us darn near perished, we did. Finally a bunch of us hardier folk knocked the host out and took over. We smelled food, and damn, we weren't gonna let our host not grab it.'' Fergo concurred, ''I'd remember it, but I passed out before the revolution took place. I do remember he treated us better after that. I'll keep watch, Bally. We ain't gonna let him starve us, like in 9203. No way, no how.''
But as this malcontent went on within him, Michael slept on. His dreams weren't the happiest. If he were to awaken, he'd discover he'd been dreaming he was a young boy, eager for his Christmas feast of turkey, but finding only a disappointing bite or two on his plate. When awake, he knew he was operating on less than optimal fare, but his family had grown again, and this time by an exceptionally greedy member. It would only be another week before the farm was ready and filled with cows. He was eager for this to take place.
When he woke in the 'vampire morning', really about four o'clock in the afternoon, he went to the computer, studied the families finances, and decided to order ten more cows. If Blackwell had his way, they'd all be gluttons. He'd already succeeded with Golden, who had had on his own had a rather sizable appetite, without any outside influence. Michael hoped sixty cows would be enough. It was hard telling.