Vampire Fashion Statement©

Online Vampire Stories

Written by American Author Sky Taylor

Vincent revolved his dark head slightly, moving his eyes mysteriously over the crowd.  They loved him, without a doubt.  His popularity was certainly nothing to scoff about.  But would they love him still, if they knew that he was a vampire?

The packed room was hot, causing most of the people in the crowd to be fixed with cherry-red faces, the blood surfacing as their body temperatures rose.  Vincent noted that he was the palest image in the room, suddenly glad for stage makeup.  It had explained away his pale pallor more than once when he been forced to mingle with the Human Race.

The Human Race.  It was difficult to imagine that he’d been one of them so very long ago.  His thoughts drifted like the smell of popcorn that was heavy in the air as the moderator, Mark Mattel,  signaled the beginning of the show. 

"Welcome to Your Favorite Fashion!"  

Mark was dressed to kill, suited in a formal tux with a bright red cummerbund that was sasooned around his waist.  Vincent felt that the makeup artist had applied a tab too much red on Mark’s lips, for the sake of the camera, for it clashed with the cummerbund.

The crowd delivered a brisk clap, almost seeming in unction.  A few whistles echoed from the back of the room, and Vincent heard his name screamed several times over from a few of the more dedicated adoring fans.

A hush fell over the people as Mark spoke again.  "I’d like to introduce our fashion cops at this time – and might I add that we’ve been very fortunate to sign on a group of names this big in the fashion industry!  Kala Mars, Mickey Ynez, and Vinnie Santinni – who has graciously agreed to stand in for Steven Cale.  There you go ladies and gentlemen - your fashion cops for the evening!"

The crowd went wild – a total frenzy as Kala, Mickey, and Vincent took their places at a long table with a bird’s eye view of the stage where young models would soon strut their stuff.

"And we’ll be right back – after this from our sponsors!" Mark yelled, pumping up the crowd and giving the audience a reason to stay tuned for what was yet to come. 

Kala and Mickey spent the commercial break mingling with the crowd, tossing wet, fake kisses into space.  Vincent mulled in silence, wishing he’d passed on that second helping of blood pudding.  The noise, the bright lights, and music were bringing on one doozy of a headache.  

He wasn’t used to crowds and preferred working alone.  If not for the in-depth exposure that he was certain to receive for the evening, he would have passed on his agent’s recommendation to substitute for a very ill Steven Cale. 

Vincent was basically eeking through the event, for unlike half the nation, he hadn’t been following the fashion showdown.  He’d heard bits and pieces here and there, but other than that, he’d remained in the dark.

"Welcome back, everyone!" Mark was yelling, his lipstick a bit smudged.  The man had a bad habit of rubbing his lips together, and if he didn’t quit soon, he was going to look like he’d feasted on a flock of redbirds by the end of the show, Vincent silently considered.

"As you know, audience - both here, and at home," he added, his eyes boring into the camera, "our contestants design and create an original costume.  These creations are crafted with their personal choices of fabric, and are designed on a drawing board – from scratch – without a pattern.  What talent!  Don’t you agree audience?" he challenged, holding the mike out towards the mob as they roared their obvious approval.

Mark continued, "Our judges – all fashion gurus in their own right - have whittled our contestants down to the final three, and we are hoping that our winner and runner-up will be announced this evening.  Then again, will it end in a tie, leaving the victory to be savored until next week?  Oh – the pressure!  Now don’t go away!  We’ll be right back!"

A rather famous seventies recording bayed in the background as they faded into yet another series of commercials.

By the time they were on again, Vincent’s head was filled with a dull throb.

"Let’s introduce our first contestant," Mark yelled, his lips now laced with a big false smile.  "

She’s a little bit country and a little bit rock and roll," he laughed, reading in precise measurements from the cue cards.  "Welcome, Tammy Trotter from Tallahassee, Tennessee!"

Where did all those t’s come from, Vincent silently mocked, feeling a bit cranky due to his undesirable situation, his overstuffed tummy, and the headache which was fixing to slip off the edge and shatter into a full blown deal.

Tammy Trotter.  Vincent’s agent said that this girl had been a favorite from the beginning of the season.

She entered the stage, the crowd’s delight swelling with each move she made.  She walked the stage lights with a bit more jerkiness than Vincent preferred in a woman, but she was first class for a human – blond hair, blue eyes, and an azure-colored sparkling gown that she’d supposedly created from scratch.

After Tammy’s strutting was completed, Mark turned to the judges for their comments.  In previous shows, there had been two offerings by the contestants, but tonight, only one. Tammy’s career was riding on one azure gown and an expensive-looking smile.

"Okay, judges, mark your vote!" he instructed, the crowd as still as death as they awaited in the wings.  Vincent decided that he liked them this way.  Mark continued, "Jot down your honest opinion – one being the highest score and five, the lowest."  He had brought down his voice for the word lowest, some of the younger ladies screaming with delight from the crowd.

"Ready?" he asked for confirmation, though it really wasn’t necessary.  He could plainly see that all three judges had penciled in their vote.

"Beautiful Kala, let’s start with you, darling," Mark decided, as judges were randomly chosen with no specific pecking order.  It was Mark’s one-minute thrill of control.

Kala’s voice was deep, sexual, and laced with an erotic Hispanic accent.  "Darling," she began, addressing Tammy who seemed almost dead, for Vincent couldn’t detect her breathing.  Kala continued, "I gave you a four – not quite your usual quality.  Did you really think that the one-inch right-to-left difference would escape my professional eye?  What happened, darling?  Did your scissors slip?"

Kala received several sneers from the audience for her cruel raking of Tammy, whose bottom lip was doing a quiver thing.

Mark seized the moment, then tossed control to Vincent.  "Vinny, baby!  By the way, welcome to the show and thanks for standing in for Stevie at the last possible minute!"

The crowd clapped loudly, Vincent delivering a gracious nod and a wave of his hand.

Mark asked, "And your vote?"

Vincent faced Kala and drawled deeply, "What a witch.  You’re claws are showing, darling," he added, purposely mocking her accent when he’d uttered the word, darling.  Then, "Two!" he yelled out, tossing Tammy a tight smile.

The crowd went wild, obviously pleased with his vote.  Tammy’s lip seemed to stabilize and she mouthed a sincere, ‘Thank you.’

Vincent pursed his lips at her, tossing her a feather-light kiss, and again the crowd soared with approval.

"Mickey!  What’s your verdict, baby?" Mark yelled out, the audience settling into silence.

"Girlfriend, you botched up that gown pretty bad there," he began, Kala nodding in agreement.  "Five is as high as this dude goes," he announced, delivering a snort in the process.

"Mick, want to pass the javelin down here?" Vincent toyed, the crowd loving it.  "We wouldn’t want you to stab yourself with it.  Again."

When the clapping subsided, Mark asked Vincent, "Any last words for Tammy before we bring on the other contestants?"

"Tammy, what is your opinion of Kala’s recent roll out of the Portal?" he asked her, his lips quirking with amusement as Kala stiffened beside him.

The Portal was her latest creation and a total flop.  There was a hole cut out in the naval area that didn’t quite match the wearer’s own.  It had been the laughing stock of the fashion industry for about six weeks now.

Tammy smiled, gazing directly at Kala as she offered, "Well, I think it’s a bit holier than thou."

"And we’ll be right back after another important word from our sponsors!" Mark bayed and the music panned in as they went into yet another sting of commercials.

Kala took the moment to attack.  "Worm!  How could you embarrass me on national television!"

Vincent shrugged, taking the green crystal glass of water to his lips, then he enjoyed a lingering sip, knowing that his actions were irritating Kala further still.

"You embarrassed Tammy on national television," he reminded without looking at her.  "Pretty fair-play to me, Kay." 

Kala gritted her teeth, then as the lights hit she barely managed a fake smile as the camera panned in on her.  If not for his damaging headache, Vincent would have laughed aloud.

"And here she is, our next contestant, Georgia Mills!"  Mark introduced, the area surrounding his lips growing redder by the minute.  "She’s a student by day and a dancer by night!  Give it all you've got, Georgie!"

Georgia literally danced down the stage in an outrageous outfit that consisted of a piece of peach-colored satin, a red halter-top, and a basket of fruit that she was balancing on her head.

When the crowd settled, Mark turned to Vincent first.  "Your vote, please?"

"Georgia, it’s very unique – very original," Vincent told her and the poor girl was so wide-eyed he considered for a moment that he had accidentally bared his fangs at her.  "Two!"

Again, the crowd went absolutely berserk with approval.

"Mickey?"  Mark inquired.

"Four," he eased out tightly.  "Obviously, Vincent doesn’t know a basket of fruit from a fashion creation," he boldly mocked.

"Let me go get my loom," Vincent tossed back, the audience definitely on his side by the positive reaction.

"Kala?"

Kala peered at the anxious-looking Georgia.  "Darling, next time just wear a fig leaf, k?  Five, Mark, and only because I can’t vote any er…lower."

"And we’ll be right back after this quick break!" Mark yelled out as they panned into a commercial break.

Vincent patiently waited, the crowd growing anxious.  They wanted a champion, and soon.

"Welcome back, everyone!" Mark oozed, just as his red lipstick had done.  Vincent decided that the man looked painfully stupid.

Mark’s voice lowered to a mysterious tone as he addressed the audience with, "Folks, at this point we have a tie.  It’s a dead heat.  Can Lana break the tie?  Or will we have a er….three way?"

He delivered a naughty laugh, his only reward for his very bad joke as Lana entered on stage.

The world suddenly stopped for Vincent.  The pencil he was holding snapped.  His eyes were transfixed upon the loveliest creature he’d ever seen.  She seemed to float towards him, like a lost apparition.

She was clothed in black velvet, the color setting off her long, dark raven hair and eyes that were as black as cobalt.  Her delicate neck was secured in a diamond collar and Vincent suddenly yearned for his lost mortality.  One delicate kiss from this exquisite woman would last an eternity.

He didn’t even remember scribbling a number on his card, and vaguely heard Mick’s and Kala’s typical crass comments, delivering a vote of four and five.

Mark woke him from his daze.  "Vinny, it’s up to you!  If you vote another two, we’ll have a tie across the board!  If you vote less than two, we’ll have a Tammy and Georgia face-off!  Tell us, Vincent, without further delay, how did you vote?"

Vincent held up his card, knowing that Lana had won the contest.  He was in shock as the crowd went wild and Mark announced, "A five?  We’ve got a face-off ladies and gentlemen!  Oh, I can’t believe it!  Join us next week as we conclude this exciting saga!  Who will win?  Tammy or

Georgia!  What an ending!"

As Vincent drove home that evening, he was greatly troubled.  He’d written the number one on his card; he knew that without a doubt.  What had happened?  Had his headache hampered his sane judgment?  He felt like a total idiot – a confused one at that.

He was gripped with anger, with an uncertainly of his own self.  Lana had deserved to win.  It appeared that he’d been her untimely demise.

The path leading to his doorway was dark.  Vincent felt empty, more alone than ever before.

He went to insert the entry key and was momentarily shocked as a soft hand descended on his own.  Lana.

He twisted his head, questioningly at her, a look that demanded an explanation.

"I’ve been trying to get your attention for months," she eased out, her tone a mere whisper.  "It wasn’t easy, convincing Steven that he was ill."

She paused, then asked Vincent, "You realize my talents – it’s written in your eyes, Vincent."

Then she offhandedly suggested, "May I come inside for a drink?"

 He batted his eyes, actually considering taking her offer seriously.  However, he’d be the one drinking.  From her sweet neck.

Finally, he spoke, his voice sincere.  "Lana, in another life I wouldn’t give it a second thought. However, I must warn you that you’re playing with fire."  He paused, then carefully continued, "I know you won’t believe me, but….you should have won the contest tonight.  Something…unexplainable happened."

"Well, you know what they say, darling," she toyed, both of them acutely aware that she was mocking Kay’s tone.  "One can be a very lonely number," she eased out, barring the most adorable set of fangs that Vincent had ever laid eyes on.

And the magic continues even today...

 

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