Would you like a little rot with that?

"Oh, you're thirsty?" She inquires sanguinely. "My dinner can wait. Why don't you, like, come inside for a drink?"

"Me, too?" I yelp.

"Totally! You've gotta join us!" Enthused, the woman grabs my arm at the wrist. "You're the best smelling thing I've met in awhile. Not the prettiest, though. My boots are the prettiest. Aren't they totally cute?"

"Totally," I grimace at the word choice. What's that smell?

I follow the jacketed woman over the threshold and into her home.

"Pick your poison," she laughs. Her slender hands gesture at a liquor cabinet. "Take whatever you want. It's no good to me. I don't drink...alcohol." Again, she giggles.

"Actually, I hoped for something warm." Lazarus insinuates as he enters the home.

"Oh, sure! Something hot, coming right up."

"What's that smell?" I can't hold in the question any longer.

"You're that smell." The girl answers. "And you smell so delicious."

"No," I counter. "I mean the bad smell."

"Oh," she stops bustling. The oblique kitchen light glints in wedges on her shaded eyes. "You smell it too?"

"It's hard to miss."

"I figured it was, like, a vampire thing. Ever since I got turned, the whole world totally smells." Then she smiles. "Except you, of course."

"Wait. You're a vampire?" Lazarus exclaims. "I knew it!"

"You didn't know it," I rebuke. "Just give it up, Lazarus. Your dark power does nothing but leave you in the, well, dark."

"You guys have powers? That's, like, totally cool."

"I do." Lazarus asserts. "I am The Vampire Lazarus, and I read minds."

No, you don't. I broadcast a signal on the mental airwaves. Lazarus doesn't tune in. Obviously, he listens to the wrong station.

"Really?" The woman coos, wide-eyed. "So, can you guess my name, Vampire Lazarus? Lazzzaruss," she repeats. "Laazzzaruss. Your name slides like a slippery snake. I like it."

"Of course, I can reveal your name, babe. But, it isn't guessing. It's prophesy. And, names take a bit of concentration. I need to gaze into your eyes."

Gosh, I don't think this postmortem flirting ritual could get any weirder.

"Come closer to me. Put your hands on my chest."

OK, yes it can.

"Relax." His fingers massage her shoulders.

It really can.

"Just relax."

With soft hands, he traces the line of her hood, all the while, penetrating its shadow with his lurid stare. "Just relax," he soothes. Like a priest blesses a dark sacrifice, he cupped his palms on the crown of her hooded head. "Focus on your name. Whisper your name."

"Elle," she murmurs. I roll my eyes.

"I have it," he divines. "As I unveil you, your name will be revealed."

His hands slip beneath her hood, sliding along her silken hair. In a sensual flourish, he brushes the cloth from her head. He staggers backward…in a not-so-aphrodisiac way. Clenching his hand to his face, he falls against the floor in an awkward convulsion that I'm sure I've copyrighted.

He's discovered the source of the stench. And, the smell is coming from Elle.

Hey, that rhymes.


The duo has become a trio, and it seems that one of them is truly decaying. What happens next?

A. Deirdre and Lazarus scramble their way out of the stinky house. (Does it smell like eggs in here?)
B. With his verbena-infused cape, Lazarus cuddles up to cry in the corner
C. Deirdre introduces Elle to a new perfume…myrrh.
D. They continue their search for Desmond, this time they use the white pages, and set off with Elle in tow (Or, is that toe? She definitely smells like one). Surely, Desmond will have some gas masks they can use.

Perspectives

Well, the characters are settled. Splendid names were chosen by all. The names I considered corny or superficial won in this round (accept it a benchmark for the rest of this story). I hadn't thought about surnames (they're those easy-to-forget, extra words that your modern society insists you drag around with you), but you surprised me by including some...clever people. So, I threw in suggested surnames, because you can never tell when they may come in handy in a jumble of words like this.

When I introduced you to the characters, I might have left out some minor character flaws. Expect them. Embrace them. They're staying.

Your task is simple: Read the two blurbs below, and choose a narrator. (Yes, they are both female characters. I thought about allowing you to choose one of the males as the narrator, but then I decided against it.) Indicate from which character's perspective you would like the story narrated. Only comments posted to this blog will be considered in the decision making process. And, remember: these characters have flaws that you have yet to imagine. Choose carefully.



Afterlife according to Deirdre Espy(#2):
Muscled limbs move swiftly. Feet barely strike the ground. He bounds gracefully down the darkened street; his bouncing strides propel him toward me.

He is a perfect specimen, and he is mine…at least, he will be. In the haze of early twilight, I lurk, waiting. I remain hidden from his vision, creeping between the marble façade of the lecture hall and the tree-lined curb of the city street.

"Good evening." He greets the postbox that stands between us.

What a strange creature! Obviously, he's deranged. Oh well, it's nothing that the dark magic can't fix. A few more footfalls strike the ground as he jogs away. Seconds slide by while I wait for tension to build.

Springing from behind the postbox, I launch into pursuit. Slamming the pavement with my sneakers, I break into a full run. Vampire blood speeds my steps. This mortal has no hope of escape. He will be mine!

"Oof." In a tangle of limbs, I hit the ground. Pain stings my cheek, my palms, and my knees. Groaning, I peel myself from the pavement. A little five-pointed star of blood shines at me from the asphalt.

Did anyone see that? Embarrassed, I glance behind me. Girls dressed in miniskirts giggle amongst themselves. Covering their glossy smiles with manicured fingertips, they snicker over a shared secret…a scandalous confession about a forbidden tryst, perhaps. Regardless, they're oblivious to my faux pas.

With a sharp twist, I perform an about-face and cast a fleeting glance at my fleeing prey. Away from me, he gorgeously capers with his two perfect, healthy legs. Why is death so cruel?


Afterlife according to Elle Dimsworth(#4):
I gotta be honest with you. I am totally loving this whole vampire/gothy fashion thing. I mean, what a great excuse to wear a little lace! Besides, I look hot in black.

Now, I just gotta figure out this mirror thing. I have fabulous clothes. I know I put them on, but when I look in the mirror, poof. Nothing's there. It could be worse, I guess. I could be naked when I look in the mirror. Thank heavens--I mean thank hell--I'm not. The only thing that could be worse than no reflection is a bad reflection. Although, I do look pretty hot when I'm naked.

Makeup is a total fail, though. I really gotta figure out this mirror thing. Until I do, I'll just powder my nose and hope for the best. Maybe people will be too busy looking at my boots to notice…they're really cute boots. I just wish I could figure out why they smell so bad. Yuck! This extra-strong, vampire sense of smell thing really sucks.