The Questions pt. 1
The Questions pt. 1
Zenith
“ G ot her mic-ed up?” the host, dressed in a mixture of a three-piece suit and ancient formal attire, asks some shivering fish-person intern as they fumble with my tits. Well, not my tits really.
They just happen to be in the way of the tiny little mic they are trying to attach to my shirt. I guess the cleavage window was a little much for this show. Oops?
“Not yet, sir,” the intern croaks, the gills on the sides of their neck fluttering.
Literally croaks. Like a frog.
I can’t help the snort that slips out, but I do swallow down the giggles that follow. “Oh wow, sorry, I’m just, like, so not used to all of this still.” I wave my hand at the intern, who is now dripping with something that looks thicker than water.
“Miss Calasso, monsters have been out in society for over fifty years now. I thought humans like you don’t live that long,” the intern mumbles as the mic finally finds a good place to rest within the window of my top.
“Yeah, but I’ve never really hung out with monsters, y’know? I went to a private all-human school and my family isn’t too big on mixing,” I say with a wince. It felt like second nature to talk about how small-minded my family was. I am trying to break away from them, but what’s an only daughter to do? I can’t exactly break my parents’ hearts so easily; plus, my daddy might make someone sleep with the actual fishes if he was displeased.
“Oh...so your family are those kinds of people?” the intern asks with a sour expression, jerking their hands from my body like it burned them and smattering my chest in oddly cold sweat.
“They are traditional, to say the least,” I squeak, trying to hide the embarrassed flush on my cheeks by turning my attention to my bust. I try to wipe off whatever they sweat onto me, but all that does is make me shinier. “My folks are not really...the best people. Ever heard of the mob?” I ask with a smile so wide and fake they could use it for a dentistry commercial.
The intern blinks, clear eyelids passing over their eyeballs disconcertingly as the host pushes them out of the way. Their skin is pale and sunken in places where it would be awkward for a human’s to be, but it looks mystical on this person.
“And that is precisely why we wanted to start with you, Miss Calasso. To bridge the gaps of evil between humans and monsters.” He grins. “I’d think the daughter of one of the most feared mob bosses in the city would feel honored. We have picked some of the most influential and evil individuals known to monster-kind for you.”
My face flushes. My daddy is a dangerous man but not an evil person.
“I mean, I’m excited for—” My words get stuck in my throat as a live studio audience of monsters begins to flood in behind the host. The bleacher-like stands alongside the back of the studio fill up in seconds. Tentacles, fur, shadows, and wings all blend together behind the glare of the studio lights in my eyes.
He whips away from me, turning to the monsters as they flow in like a sea of fucking weird. All manner of folk flow in, the likes of which I’ve never seen before, and take their seats.
“Welcome, one and all, to Dates of the Damned . I’m Vladimir Van Deltras, and I’ll be your host. We will begin shortly. Take your seats and be silent .” He grins and flashes a mouth filled with dagger-sharp fangs at the audience.
Silence falls as quickly as Aunt Gina downs a pitcher of mimosas.
“Wonderful,” Vladimir croons, turning back to me, those sharp fangs still on display. “We will begin shortly. Don’t move a muscle.”
My foot cramps due to how not moved my muscles are. I hiss from the pain, finally letting myself shift my foot from the little ledge at the bottom of the stool to the floor. The chunky platform heel making a satisfying thunk that is perfectly timed to when the overhead lights flick on, blinding me.
“Jesus!” I squeak, nearly slapping myself as I bring my hands up to shield my eyes.
“Put your hands down, look at a spot in the distance, and you’ll get used to it. We need lights bright enough to put some life into our less than alive contestants,” Vladimir says with a wave of his hand at my face.
Squinting, I put my hands down and force a smile.
“Less than alive? Like, as in a corpse?” I ask.
“Only one of your suitors has some...less than alive qualities. If that is a deal breaker for you, then perhaps this show isn’t for you. Would you like to break your contract?” he asks, all of those teeth coming into view again.
“Nooo!” The word comes out a little sing-songy. I wipe my sweating hands on my skirt, trying to smooth it down my legs. “No big deal. I’m totally into necrophilia.” The laugh that yanks itself from my soul is light and tittering.
Fuck. Me. Did I really just say that?
“I do hope you don’t mind. We’ve got that on camera.” He chuckles, stepping back to where the cameras are being manned by more monsters. The vampire’s eyes flick to the other side of the stage, cut off from my view by a wall as tall as the ceiling. “Fantastic. Take your seats gentleman, monsters, and various lords of darkness.”
Shuffling, terribly ominous shuffling , from the other side of the wall pulls another giggle out of me.
“She sounds pretty cute,” someone with a deep voice lashed through with a southern twang stage whispers from the other side of the wall.
A small smile tugs at the corners of my lips. Humor. If they’ve got a sense of humor, then I can do this, even if one of them is a sorta dead guy.
“Excellent, thank you all for participating in the inaugural episode of Dates of the Damned . I am your host, Vladimir Van Deltras, and if you’re settled, we can begin with our lovely human asking her questions.”
He gestures for me to go on with a roll of his wrist.
“Hi.” The word squeaks out, and my cheeks heat. I shift in my seat, trying to get my heart to stop trying to climb out of my mouth or ass or both. “My name is Zenith, and I guess I should be asking questions now?”
“Suppose so, darlin’,” that same voice calls out.
A sign I can barely see is lifted. On cue, the entire audience laughs for a heartbeat before the sign is lowered and it stops.
“What is your ideal date?” I try to play it cool, to just let the words roll out of me, but I really want to get out of these damn lights. I’m starting to sweat through my sweater, and it’s making my lubed up boobs even shinier. The last thing I want to do is make humanity appear like some overly sexed up, shiny, giggling airheads. Even if I am a little bit of an airhead.
Vlad sweeps back onto the stage, disappearing behind the wall, microphone in hand.
“Ideal date,” another voice, this one smoother but no less rich, begins. I find myself thinking, this is what liquid velvet would be like. “I would have to say to a café. I’m a big coffee drinker and book reader, so something very low key. That would be my ideal date.”
Feedback crackles through the speakers for a moment as the microphone is grabbed harshly.
“Somewhere nice, of course, but maybe also somewhere that will push us both out of our comfort zones. Ever been to a strip club?” The rumbling chuckle that follows makes goosebumps rise all over my skin.
The return question makes me jump a little, and I bite my lip, shaking my head. Sure, he can’t see it, but I doubt they actually want me to answer him out loud. This is for the cameras. Once again, the laugh cue card goes up, the room swells with sound, and it’s over just as quickly.
“And now for our last contestant,” Vlad says, and the entire audience holds their collective breath. The room is so silent that my heartbeat intensifies in my ears and makes my head a little spinny. All that damn air, I guess.
“I would take my beloved to a place of great significance. There is no use in wasting time with trivial localities.”
Unholy Transylvania .
I shift in my seat, suddenly hot and wet between my plush thighs. That voice makes my blood heat and then travel south. My nipples tighten underneath my cropped sweater, but I can’t look down at them or I’ll just draw more attention to my predicament. I swallow thickly and shift again to hopefully distract the audience with my shiny heart boots. My cheeks flush a deeper pink than my Barbie-pink lipstick.
“If you could equate yourself to an experience, what would it be?”
The question is so stupid I nearly facepalm, but I guess the horniness has gone right to my airhead and made all logic take off like a balloon.
“An experience? Well, my experience you haven’t had yet, doll.” That southern voice makes my insides melt into a warm goo. “But if I had to match it up with something human, it would be a rollercoaster, up and down at just the right speeds.”
“A debate, there is always a good back-and-forth. I will listen and value what you say,” that unholy Transylvanian accent says.
The last man clears his throat. “Would a triathlon be too much? I don’t suppose so. I’m a lot to deal with, if you can’t tell. I think a lot.” He pauses, and I think the microphone is being taken from him just as he speaks again. “But I promise to keep things interesting. If you stick with me, I will be well worth it.”
“What fantastic answers from each of our suitors. We are going to take a quick commercial break and then come back for our human contestant’s final question and her selection. Stay tuned to Dates of the Damned , back in the stopping of your heart.” Vlad’s overdramatic sign off seems to allow the collective breath of the studio audience to be let out.
They begin to whisper and point as I try not to puke onto the toes of my boots. God knows I would probably get some splash back, ruining everything further.
“What the hell was I thinking?” I grumble, putting my face into my hands. I smile into my palms at the sheer ridiculousness of the question. “What the hell kind of experience would I even equate myself too....and when the hell did I start using words like equate?” I mumble to myself, trying to make the shame crawl into the same deep, dark pit inside myself where I store all my self-doubt.
“Zenith,” the fishlike intern says my name and nearly startles me out of my seat.
“Yeah?!” I ask, half-yelping.
“You’re doing well. I believe that Vlad will be pleased. This episode is our first and it very well may be our best.” The words aren’t overly friendly or happy, simply assessing. “Do you have any idea what you’ll ask last?”
“No. I had no idea what I would be asking first or second, let alone third.” I whisper-yell.
“Since you are so incredibly human, ask if they would be willing to share you,” the intern says like it’s the most natural thing in the entire world.
Share me . Sure thing, big scary monster people, share me, for I am a prize.
I scoff, cheeks burning. “You can’t be serious.”
“It’s not uncommon with monsters...supernaturals, really,” they murmur, skin once again beginning to weep that not sweat substance from their short time under the more intense lights.
“Really? You just like...share romantic partners?”
“Or sexual partners. It’s not uncommon for a child to have multiple parents or for marriages to be a union of at least four individuals. We have long lives; we have to keep things interesting.” They shrug, and I pull back a bit, a pout on my lips.
“I’m not good at sharing.” The words sound petulant, more petulant than I’ve ever been, and that is really saying something when I got two ponies for my sixth birthday after asking for a Barbie horse.
The intern shrugs, glancing over their shoulder, eyes wider and glassier, as Vladimir barks orders at some other monsters. “They might be ok with that, just ask,” they say before taking a big step back. “Might save you the trouble of breaking the hearts of people who really shouldn’t be messed with.”
I scoff. I’m more than used to pissing off people I shouldn’t. In fact, I’d say it’s my hidden talent.