Dragon Con 2024: We Seek the Superb Owl (A Parody Piece)

*From the Desk of What We Do in the Shadows’ Laszlo Cravensworth*

Greetings, my fine darlings and gentlemen, and welcome to the best damned piece of fine literature you will read this week. As you may know, I – Laszlo Cravensworth – am a man of many talents. Of my voluminous contributions to the arts, I happen to be one of the most prolific storytellers of the 18^th century. Oh really, do tell? Well, you don’t think Mary Shelley just made up Dr. Frankenstein without some vigorous inspiration, now do you? Posh! Now that was a fine woman. Talented and strong – and an absolute heathen when the lamps were off. But I digress. Down to business.

Last year, we set out on a journey to the Capital of the South, a place of immense culture and history – the glorious citay of Atlanta – where we heard tales of an annual gathering of the most wretched, powerful, debaucherous beings. We simply had to attend.

The random blonde woman from the Vampiric Council informed us to seek out the grand Marquis de Marriott, whom we knew to be the master of ceremonies for this sacred pilgrimage. And thus began our journey – through worlds unknown, dimensions, time, escalators and thousands of steps – into the most revered of annual soirées: the Dragon Con.

After last year’s smashing success, we readied ourselves to make the arduous journey once again. We would not be swayed by hellish heat, nor freakishly overcrowded motorways, nor by the Sheraton falling to some tyrant calling himself Courtland the Grand!

But this journey was different. In this year of Two-Thousand and Twenty-Four, we seek a greater purpose — a quest that has eluded us for quite some time. We seek the most dapper of beings: the Superb Owl.

But it’s not all work and no play, my good readers! We also endeavored to befriend the fine people of… well, wherever the hell they all come from. These lunatics are my kind of weird! Let the party begin!

Upon our arrival to the Dragon Con of 2024, we were immediately beset by travelers from distant worlds and faraway cultures — pilgrims from the likes of such exotic lands as Tatooine, Hyrule, Azeroth and Cleveland.

The air of pent-up excitement was palpable. The air itself got quite a bit more palpable after the Saturday morning parade, if you catch my drift, but that’s a story for another time. These saucy lads and ladies had been waiting all year to get their geek on, and by seven hells did they succeed!

As we settled in amongst the churning sea of lovely chaps, it occurred to us that we had no bloody plan. The Superb Owl is an elusive creature. We must be crafty, if we stand any chance of meeting His Dapperness. We need a plan. Wait a moment, where is Gizmo? Damnit, man! And how the hell did Colin Robinson get here?

After much deliberation and a few swigs of Jackie Daytona’s barrel-aged go-go juice, we set off to wander the hallowed halls in search of our finely feathered fowl. The magic was thick in the air — I could feel it tickling my mind, drawing me from one remarkable traveler to the next, like thousands of succubi shuffling around on sticky floors and highly questionable carpet.

‘Twas challenging to concentrate on the quest at hand. We were surrounded by a symphony of strange and beautiful distractions. I’ve heard tell of some mysterious condition called The ADHD, but whatever – I stopped listening halfway through. Don’t care, moving on.

We happened upon a shrine — a momentary jolt of hope! Have we found the path to avian greatness? Wait, what the hell is this? Dear readers, it was a shrine to the legendary Jon of yore – he whom The Cult of Jon was formed around in the year Two-Thousand and Nineteen, the age of enlightenment before the great plague. There was one strange bit, though. Jon was apparently a Fed, so I’m a bit confused as to why anyone is worshipping this obvious narc. But whatever, cult away. Under his googly eye, you bunch of informant rats.

After paying our respects at the shrine, onward we searched, from skybridge to Loft and beyond. And being dangerously groovy individuals, Nadja and I took a moment to enjoy the festivities. It’s important to blend in, so as not to alarm the locals. Ravishing as always, darling.

Now, where was I? Being the damned party, that’s bloody where! Everywhere we turned, the wonders never ceased. The forces of good and evil don’t struggle here, baby — they know how to have a good time!

Deadpools and droids and some rather dashing gents named The Doctors Jones. An interdimensional traveler by the name of Peter, who was hands down the nicest mustachioed killer I’ve met in decades. Great guy, that one.

Amidst our meandering, the ethereal pull of the Superb Owl drew us back to our quest. We needed to focus, to regroup.

Seeking the aid of a savvy local, we spotted an unsuspecting yet wise one. As he pondered his place in the universe – which happened to be the Marquis level at that particular moment – we converged upon him with merciless haste! His surprise quickly yielded the key to our next move.

He spoke: “Go, take thee upward, seek the Atrium of the Droids — and within it, seek the wisdom of the one they call… Rizzo.”

And again he spoke: “Those escalators over there. Don’t bother with the elevators. Total nightmare.”

Onward! But first, a brief celebratory interlude for the Regent of Hyatt, whose advertisements encouraging blood donations were a welcome sight. Sir Regent, you are a man of utmost character and esteem. We thank you for your service.

After some time, we arrived at the Atrium of the Droids — only to find an utterly godawful display of cheer and kindness. Disgusting. Damn near ruined the night. But we pressed on.

Then, through the muck of happiness, we found him — the sage named Rizzo. Turns out he’s a literal talking rat. This wasn’t getting anywhere. The local wiseman had deceived us.

The solution was clear: it was time to recruit.

And recruiting, we indeed did! An absolute damned success, if I do say so myself.

Not straight away, mind you. First we found an astronaut bouncer in a green suit who claimed to be the “Master of Chiefs”, which was a stretch but we let it slide. But then all the talk about Halos made me tell him to piss off. Keep that divine nonsense to yourself. Absolute waste of space.

Next was a right freakshow of colorful characters from a traveling carnival, which was perfect — no morals and plenty of time on their hands. But the one called “Logan” kept pissing on about his timeline being “overlooked”, while the big one Bonky the Clown just plain gave me the creeps. Turns out they were all just discussing the modern art scattered about the walls, undoubtedly curated by the Marquis de Marriott himself. Useless. Utter clowns.

Finally, we found success! Members of the local Atlantis Vampiric Council! We were set upon by a damned near carbon copy of my darling wife, Nadja — which was unsettling and lovely. Someone nearby with large curling gold horns, a Taylor Swift complex and a smug look referred to her as a “Variant” – but I think they can rightly piss off. My wife is “very” many things, not just an aunt.

Also, some fine lass named Willow wandered into our midst whilst looking for her glasses. Her familiar was doing a piss poor job. He’s no Angel, that one.

AND THEN OUR TOILS WERE REWARDED!! Rounding the corner, headed possibly to the bathrooms, were two proper fine individuals — seemingly of the House Gryffindor of Hogwarts. There they strode, with two perfect snow white owls upon their esteemed shoulders. Could one of these be the Superb Owl? Could both, they be?

I broke down. Lost it. We had traveled so far, endured so much — how could they simply stroll upon us in such a fashion? And not one, but TWO Superb Owls? It was what my dark soul needed. The gift of hope — the gift of the Dragon Con.

We had succeeded in our quest. The journey was complete. For now.

What say ye, Two-Thousand Twenty-Five? Shall we surpass the glories of Twenty-Twenty-Four? Will the ages shine upon us with more friends and sights and wonders?

They shall. And we will be here, Atlantis. To bring our type of weird to the Dragon Con.

BAT!!

*Disclaimer: This post is a parody and is purely in the spirit of fun. We’re massive fans of FX’s What We Do in the Shadows. No infringement is or was intended.