So starts an experiment of sorts, a round-robin story between myself (c/o the cantankerous Amanda Feral) and author Dakota Cassidy that bridges the week between the release of Road Trip of the Living Dead and The Accidental Human.  Though she’s not mentioned by name in the opening, I think you’ll be able to pinpoint Nina Blackman.  Have fun!

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Fashion Forewarned

by

Mark Henry and Dakota Cassidy

I rarely go to runway shows unless I’m certain there’ll be a plethora of photographers that understand the subtle intricacies of lighting paler supernaturals, so you can imagine my irritation at the Rudolfo Garcia fashion travesty to find not a single paparazzo lining the steps.
Horrifying.

It only took a few emaciated models hobbling down the raised dais like praying mantises in Italian heels for us to understand why.
“Look.  At.  That.”  Gil’s mouth curled up in disgust.  He pointed at a particularly underfed creature balancing her strut by grasping an I.V. pole on wheels.
The model was Giallo.  But the star was her hair, a voluminous rat’s nest, powdered and piled high and to a point, as though dolloped there by some massive insane spoon.  Her gown was pointy and abstract as a painting, some fool would undoubtedly pay a fortune for, but I’d rather eat a box of nails than even go near it.
“God.  What a piece of crap.”  I scanned the audience for like-minded reactions and noticed an equally disgusted scowl on the opposite side of the catwalk, a moderately ethnic woman wearing a tight t-shirt with the phrase, I Fucking Love to Cuddle across the tits.  Our eyes met briefly and we rolled them in response.

I lit a cigarette, intent on creating a haze of semi-lethal fog in our area.  One of the ushers, a petite boy with a hip-swivel like a lazy susan, rushed over.  “You can’t smoke that in here.”

“Oh no?”  I took a drag.

“No! Now put it out and hand it over.  We don’t want any of your butts cluttering up our tent.” He held out his hand.  I shrugged, winked at Gil who shook his head and then tamped out the cigarette into the boy’s tender palm.  He snatched it to his chest with a yelp and sneered.  “You’re outta here!”  He skittered off a few yards then spun around like an after thought.  “Bitch!”

“Yes.  Yes.”  I waved him off.

Gil shook in silent laughter.  “You are so awful.”

“Right?”

The fashion show–if that’s what you want to call it–was drawing to a close.  The models flowed single-file from behind tall black curtains in what amounted to a complete waste of fabric.

“I heard Rudolfo was short,” Gil said, leaning forward to get a look at the elusive designer.  “And hideously overfreshened.”

A brief moment after the final model and Rudolfo appeared, grinning ear to ear with lips like two plump breakfast sausages–or three, depending on how long you stared.  His skin was as waxy as a two-month old Chilean apple. He took a step from between the curtains and staggered, an expression of disbelief corroding his exaggerated surgical happiness.

Then, just like that, his head slid clean off his body and skittered across the runway like a hockey puck.  The body didn’t stay up too long after that, collapsing to the floor in a terribly unfashionable heap.

“Well, he’s much shorter now,” I said.

The crowd began their requisite screaming.  I noticed Cuddles didn’t partake in the horror, rather taking the spectacle in and looking me up and down a bit.

I hoped she wasn’t another lesbian admirer.

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Tune in tomorrow, on Dakota’s blog, for the next exciting installment!  At least I hope it’s exciting, we’re kinda winging it here!  Either way.  Just pretend you’re enjoying it and let us know in the comments.  You never know, you might influence the direction of the story.