By Donovan Bertch
Originally Published in Unfading Daydream Vol. 1 #2
“We used to be somebodies.”
Frank glanced up from his phone, tapping away as his head turned to face Vlad. The reflection of the phone’s screen glinted off Frank’s horn-rimmed glasses, betraying the cat video that the man had been invested in not seconds earlier. His broad shoulders stretched the green button-up shirt that he wore, with one of the buttons looking liable to spring free at any moment. “What?”
“You heard me.” Vlad picked up his coffee, the steam from the cup wafting in front of his face. With his dark sunglasses, wide-brimmed hat, and dark red scarf, he looked like someone out of an old comic book. Sliding the scarf down somewhat, he took a sip, his pale features gaining some color before quickly reverting to a sickening white. “We used to be somebodies.”
“I get that,” Frank grumbled, glancing back down at his screen, “But the hell’d’you mean by that?”
Vlad’s eyes flickered to the TV set hanging from the ceiling. Onscreen was some commercial for a superhero movie that neither of them had heard about, starring some indiscriminate youngster named Chris something-or-other, playing someone named…Steve? It was probably Steve. It was always Steve. “Look at this. This is what they consider entertainment today.”
“Oh, God, are we really doing this again?” Frank sighed, pocketing his phone and crossing his arms. “You just had a cartoon, man. Let it go.”
“I was once renowned far and wide!” Vlad snapped, lowering his sunglasses to deliver what he no doubt assumed to be a steely gaze.
“It’s on Netflix! That has to count for something!”
“Everything is on Netflix,” Vlad hissed. “The novelty has passed.”
“Can’t you be happy with what you have?” Frank muttered, tapping his fingers on the table. “At least you got something people liked.” Frank sat his elbows down on the table, moving his free hand to his neck. He scratched at the bump, carefully covered by makeup, as he continued. “Sure, we used to be more…famous,” the man said after a pause, glancing around the café. “But y’know, anonymity has its perks. If people knew we were- “
“Still around?” Vlad interrupted.
“Real,” Frank hissed. “That’d be a bit of a problem. We’re supposed to be fictional. Made-up. I got no clue how you, me, or any of the others managed to last this long; hell, I don’t know how we wound up alive and kicking here in the first place, and I am just fine with that.” Vlad frowned at that, and Frank waved his hand dismissively. “You know what I mean. Like it or not, though, we’re here.” Frank rapped his fingers nervously on the table, trying to ignore the fake skin peeling off his knuckles. “The more we stick out, the harder it is to blend in.” Vlad frowned, shuffling his scarf as Frank’s eyes narrowed. “You’re great at that kinda thing, Vlad. You at least look normal-ish.” Frank’s tone turned disdainful, and he quickly took a sip of his own drink. “Trust me, it’s a lot easier to have nice days like this-a nice life, even-when people forget you even exist. Don’t you deserve a lot more of these days?”
Vlad looked down into his coffee. His pale reflection stared back. Or, it would, if he could see it. That never really made much sense to Vlad; why would vampirism take away something so inconsequential? He didn’t need to see his features, though, as Frank never lost an opportunity to rag on his “dried-up prune face.” The young punk claimed it was the scientific term. Unfortunately, he didn’t need to know he looked tired-he felt it with every move he made, every involuntary twitch or spasm. He was an old man-older than anyone in the room, his companion aside. It might be time to just take his anonymity in stride, and-
“Oh, what fresh hell is this?” Vlad was snapped out of his thoughts by a bearded man in a flannel shirt sitting a few tables down with (Vlad presumed) his friends. His eyes were glued to the television, watching another movie trailer; onscreen, a floundering fish-man terrorized teenagers as some middle-aged man monologued about creatures of the night. The flannelled man was, evidently, not impressed. “No one watches this kind of crap anymore!” he declared, a smug grin on his face. Oh, joy, Vlad realized. A film student.
One of the others at the table, a young woman in glasses and hair a color he couldn’t even comprehend rolled her eyes. “We heard you the first twelve times, Adam. It’s a bad movie. Deal with it. There’s thousands of them a year. It’s no big deal.”
Adam scoffed. “Maybe to you. I’m practically forced to hear about this garbage all the time in pretty much every class I have! This is what’s ruining film these days, I swear. When were monsters ever cool, anyway?” Vlad could feel his grip tightening on his cup. Frank’s gaze narrowed.
“Vlad. No.”
“I wasn’t going to say anything.”
Frank tapped at his jaw. “I’m more afraid of what you’d do, Fangs.”
That gave Vlad pause. He ran his tongue across his teeth, feeling it scrape under a pair of large sharp incisors. “Damn.” He breathed in, shuffling his scarf aside and shakily raising his cup. Maybe some nice, calming decaf would-
“I mean, seriously, who’s afraid of crap like vampires anymore?”
Frank’s face fell as the sound of porcelain shattering echoed through the café. “Oh, god dammit.”
In any other situation, Vlad might have noticed that his hand was covered in shards and lukewarm coffee. He may have noticed his breathing becoming harsher, or his eyes beginning to bulge out of their sockets as he seethed with rage. What he did notice, out of the corner of his eye, were the exasperated glares that Adam’s tablemates gave him as he continued. “Like, all they do is suck blood. They’re just zombies that can think, right? What makes them any scarier than a rabid dog? And I hate when movies try to make you feel bad for them! “Oh no, I’m no longer human! I’m a monster!” Maybe you should pay better attention to what’s biting your neck, morons!”
Vlad felt his face morph into a snarl. Letting out a growl, he began, “I’ll show you rabid, you insolent- “
“-de Red, Vlad, Code Red!” Vlad paused, glancing over at Frank gesturing once more (and far more urgently) to his jawline. Vlad instinctively yanked his scarf further over his mouth, trying desperately to un-sharpen his teeth as they began to poke through the fabric. He glared over in Adam’s direction with the ferocity of a hawk scouting its prey. How dare that whelp presume to know of the plight of his kind? Of monsterkind, even? Surprisingly (given the situation and his impulses to just go for the jugular right then and there), the most dominant thought running through Vlad’s mind was something along the lines of:
What the devil would this brat know about great cinema?
It was a petty thought, to be sure, but it was hard not to think it. As his notoriety grew and more of the humans tried their hand at telling his tale, Vlad gained an immense appreciation for the arts. It may have been a tad presumptuous, sure, but seeing the sheer work and effort being put into bringing his story to life over the years was interesting to say the least. He became especially enamored with film, as Hollywood’s fascination with him had exploded in the 20th century. They turned him into a terrifying force of nature, a comical farce, and even an action hero on occasion. He saw the art form and its ability to tell stories (especially his) grow immensely over time, and he knew more than anyone just what went into good filmmaking.
This impertinent fool, on the other hand...
“Besides,” the student continued, oblivious to the murderous intent from the other side of the room, “I bet you anyone could make a better movie than that crap. I bet you I could make a better film with a $1 budget than these morons!”
Vlad barked a hoarse laugh at that, covering it up with a few fake coughs as Frank raised an eyebrow. Really. This brat thinks he can make a movie? Please, he thought. I’ve lived longer than film itself. He doesn’t look old enough to remember what a newspaper was. If anything, I could make…a better…
A grin crossed Vlad’s features. He dropped his scarf, standing up and turning towards the exit. Frank’s fingers tensed on the table. “Vlad, calm down. I- “He paused, squinting at Vlad. “…your fangs are gone.”
“Indeed, they are.”
“You’re not mad anymore?”
“Why would I be mad?” Vlad asked, a flippant tone to his voice. He walked over to Adam’s table, much to the horror of the man’s companions (who were muttering things along the lines of “I told you he’d piss someone off,” and “Dude, look at his prune-face!”). Clasping a hand on Adam’s shoulder-and ignoring the startled jump the young man gave, and his futile attempts to remove Vlad’s hand from his shoulder-, the older man turned back to Frank. “I believe this young man has just changed cinema forever.”
Adam stopped struggling, his eyes lighting up ever so slightly at this praise before narrowing in confusion. “Wait, what? I feel like I’m missing some context here.”
“It doesn’t matter, my boy. Now- “Vlad looked at Adam right in the eyes, his gaze boring into the man’s very soul. “Why don’t you take a long walk off a short pier?”
Adam’s eyes dimmed, his shoulders slumping out of Vlad’s grip. “Yes, my lord,” he muttered quietly. Standing up, Adam shuffled out of the restaurant, his friends following and trying (in vain, it appeared) to keep him from stiffing the café on the bill. As Vlad reached into his pocket, fishing for his wallet, Frank crossed his arms.
“Was that necessary?”
“Absolutely.”
“You realize we’re in Colorado.”
“It will be a very long walk. Which way do you think he’ll head, West or East?”
“Vlad.”
“It’ll wear off eventually. Probably.”
“Vlad.”
Vlad pulled out his wallet, opening it up and placing two bills on both his and Adam’s tables. “I’m serious. He’ll probably walk off a diving board at a public pool. Technicalities and all that.”
Frank grumbled and grabbed his phone from the table. “You seem pretty chipper for a guy this close to turning rabid.”
“Why wouldn’t I be? After all,” Vlad grinned, his teeth bared wide at Frank (who let out an involuntary shudder). “We’re about to make the best monster movie this world has ever seen. And we’re going to be the stars.”
“…what the he- “
———
“-llo, everyone! Please, gather ‘round!” A clapping sound came from the center of the room, provided by a man wrapped in full-body bandages. He wore a trenchcoat and sunglasses, odd attire for a film set but the man seemed odd enough that it fit him. “My name is Claude, I’m going to be your Assistant Director, and I’d like to get a few things straight before we get going!” A hand went up from the back of the room. “Yes,” Claude said, “You there, the fellow with the tacky shirt!”
“Tacky?!” The man, who was admittedly wearing a shirt filled with nothing but emjois, snapped back. “What- “
“Name and question, please!”
“Oh, right,” the man replied. “Uh, I’m Mark. And, well…what’s with the bandages?”
Claude chuckled. “Oh, I see, that’s what you ask about. Not my resume, or my work. Always with the bandages.”
Mark blanched. “I-I didn’t mean to be- “
“I’m kidding!” Claude laughed, adjusting his shades. “It had to come up eventually, after all. Yes, I was but a simple stagehand like yourselves, when fate saw fit to put me under a precariously perched light. Miraculously, I survived, but I need to keep these on at all times.”
“…why aren’t you in the hospital?” another PA asked, with murmurs rising from the crowd.
“Why, cinema itself, my friend!” Claude “The power of the silver screen can defeat any old burns!” Before anyone could reply, he continued. “Now then, if we’re done with the pleasantries, there’s a few ground rules- “
As Claude continued his spiel, Frank shook his head. He scrolled through the headlines on his news app, a very noticeable one being “One Man’s Long Walk to Find a Short Pier”, as Vlad preened himself. That was the best way he could put it; with his tuxedo vest, dark pants, and a cravat strapped to his collar (a word Frank only knew because Vlad kept correcting him when he called it “that giant poofy thing”) the man looked like he was getting ready to go to a fancy ball, not make a movie. “You know,” he muttered, “There’s better people we could’ve picked as AD.”
“Well, he certainly gets the crew’s attention, doesn’t he?” Vlad asked. “He commands a presence. It’s all you could ask for in an AD.”
“He doesn’t have a presence.”
“You know what I mean.”
“What happens if the bandage slips?”
“We’ll work it out.”
“What if it’s on his head?”
“We’ll work it out.”
Frank rolled his eyes. “Fine. How are you paying for this whole thing anyway?”
“Let’s just say I’ve made some wise investments over the years. Did you know people will pay thousands for dusty old books? It’s fascinating.”
Frank shrugged. “Sure. I mean, I kind of figured you’d just use that eye thing to get rich people to give you a whole lot.”
“…that is a brilliant idea- “
“Don’t.”
“-and now,” Claude concluded, “Let’s hear a few words from our director and lead actor. C’mon out here, Vlad!” With the requisite applause from the crew, Vlad stepped away from Frank and next to Claude, arms outstretched.
“Welcome one and welcome all! I’m glad you’ve all made it here today. As we all know, the oldest genre in cinema is the monster movie. It’s been so long since the last good monster movie though, hasn’t it? We- “
“What about Godzilla?” a voice from the crowd asked.
Vlad sighed. “The last good American monster movie.”
“Wasn’t there an American one?” another asked.
“There’s two, actually!” The first voice replied.
Vlad pinched the bridge of his nose. “That’s not the point.”
“What about the- “
“The last good American horror monster movie,” Vlad amended through gritted teeth. “We- “
“You sure?” a third voice piped up. “I mean, have you seen the- “
“Silence!” The room went quiet. “You all make a valid point. There are plenty of new monsters out there,” Vlad groused, “But none hold a candle to the classics. We’re here to bring those good old days back-and you’re the team that will help us make this a reality. Now, who wants to make a movie?”
The raucous cheer from the crowd was all he needed to hear. Vlad knew this was going to go great.
———
A cold draft blows in through the laboratory’s open window. Vials bubble, chemicals boiling in a hideous broth, as a lone man storms through the lair’s halls. “They called me crazy,” the man says, pulling on a pair of oversized goggles. “They said it couldn’t be done!” He continues, waving his hand across a desk and sending empty beakers crashing to the ground. “They called me a monster…” He reaches for one of the vials, holding it up to the light. “Well…I guess I’ll just have to show them just how much of a monster I really am!”
“Cut, cut, cut!” Kevin Malloy grit his teeth as Vlad stormed back into frame. His slightly-too-snug labcoat ruffled as he turned to face the director, and he could feel his laboratory goggles beginning to strain against his face.
“What is it now!? I said the line like you wanted!”
“You said it as scripted, yes,” Vlad agreed, “But not like I wanted. It needs more pathos!”
“You keep using that word,” Kevin growled. “I do not think it means what you think it means.”
“Pathos is pathos!” Vlad insisted, clenching his fists as if to grab the word “pathos” from the air. “You’re an actor, you should understand! Take it back to 1!”
Kevin glared at Vlad as stagehands zipped past, moving props back into place. The prune-faced geezer was right. He was an actor. A damned good one, to boot. He knew he put as much effort into that line as humanly possible, but nothing pleased this guy! “I’ll show you ‘pathos,’ you miserable old- “
Kevin was snapped out of his thoughts by a loud groan. A small smile crossed his face. “See, someone gets it. Vlad just doesn’t get how actors work.” The actor spun around to face his new friend. “It’s so nice to see someone who agreeeeEEEUGH!” In front of him stood a pair of two decrepit, gaunt figures. A man and a woman, they looked to be almost rotting corpses, with dried up skin and bloodshot eyes. Their grey hair and wrinkled skin indicated they had to at least be in their 60s, if not more (if the gaudy Hawaiian shirt and shorts on the man and the similarly patterned dress on the woman didn’t give it away).
Kevin chuckled nervously as he tried to regain his composure. “W-well, at least we know the makeup department is on point today!”
The pair glanced at each other, and then the man offered a shrug and another groan. Kevin blanched, his arm appearing to almost slide off its socket in the process. The woman, on the other hand, smiled at Kevin with a full row of broken and missing teeth. “Yeah…they got some good taste. Kind of like you.”
“H-huh?” Kevin pulled his goggles up, noting the abundance of sweat the heat from the things had caused. Yes. Just the goggles.
“What you told Vlad back there,” the man added. “That’s from The Princess Bride, right? Inigo Montoya?”
“Oh, so you know it!” Kevin grinned, a prideful smirk on his face. “It’s so rare to find someone who appreciates the classics.”
“Well, we were there for the premiere.” The woman admitted, walking up to Kevin with a grotesque hand outstretched. Before Kevin could reply, the woman quickly cut him off. “I’m sorry, let me introduce myself-I’m Maude, and that’s my husband Harold.”
“Hiya,” Harold offered dismissively.
“Well, hello-wait, did you say premiere?” Kevin’s eyes widened. “That must have been at least thirty years ago! Might I say, you two don’t look a day over 200 with that makeup on.”
“Oh, you charmer,” Maude replied with a wave of her hand. Harold rolled his eyes, his sunken in face further unsettling Kevin. “It’s always nice to see young men be respectful to their elders, isn’t that right, Harold?”
“Better than our grandkids, that’s for sure. They take one look at us and start screaming their heads off! And that’s without the…uh…makeup,” Harold joked, wrapping an arm around Maude. “I tell you, kids these days don’t know how good they have it. Back in our day, we- “
“Pardon me.” A grip walked up to the group, nervously stepping around the couple to make it to Kevin. “Vlad wants to see you about the line again before the next take.” Kevin nodded, and the grip darted away, only stopping to sneak glances at Maude and Harold with a look of unease on his face.
“Tch. And just when the conversation was getting good!” Harold moaned. Reaching around with his free hand to pat Kevin on the shoulder, he continued, “You go do your big movie star thing, buddy. Maude and I will catch up with you later, alright?”
“Sure thing. I’d love to get to know you two more. Enjoy today’s shoot!” With that and a final wave, Kevin ran towards where the grip was headed. Maude sighed as he left.
“Such a nice young man.”
“Yeah,” Harold agreed. “…we should have him for dinner sometime.”
“Oh, absolutely! He’d go great with barbecue, I think.”
———
“For the last time,” Katherine snapped as she slammed down a box of assorted fruit cups, “He’s not allowed back at the crafty table for the remainder of the shoot.”
“Katherine, please,” Claude pleaded to the Crafty PA. “David said he was sorry!”
“Sorry isn’t going to cut it this time.” The woman began spreading out the day’s food on the table. “We can’t keep adding onto the budget like this. Crafty is for everyone, so having one person wolf down half the table isn’t good for- “She paused as Claude snickered, though it quickly turned into a cough once she was boring down into his sunglasses. “I don’t see what’s so funny about this.”
“It’s just- “Claude waved his hand, his bandages sliding slightly as he did so. Katherine could have sworn that she could see through a couple of them, but Claude shoved his hand in his pocket. “Look, David’s just…a growing young lad. He needs a lot of food to keep him energized.”
“I’ve seen the hair on him. He’s 30 at least.”
Claude’s bandages morphed into what Katherine assumed was a frown.
“What?”
“Nothing-look, is there anything we can do to change your mind?”
Katherine paused. After a moment, she sighed. “I can set up a separate table for him somewhere else on set. He finishes what’s on that, he can wait for lunch and dinner.”
Claude clapped his hands together. “I knew we could count on you, Kat!”
Katherine waved Claude off. “This is a one-time only deal. If I catch him on this side of the room again, I’m dragging him back to his dressing room by his damn beard. Seriously, if he didn’t need it for the shoot, I’d shave it off myself. It’s an eyesore.”
If she could see his face, Katherine would have witnessed Claude going deathly pale at that. “Well…good luck with that, then.” Placing a hand on the side of his jacket, he turned away, leaving Katherine to her work.
“Oh, and don’t think I didn’t notice the missing candy bar box.” Claude froze, glancing back with a shaky tone to his voice. “Ha…ha ha…well, it looks like you saw right through me.”
Katherine waved him off. “It’s fine; if it keeps David from devouring the table, you can have as many as you want…within reason,” she added. “By the way, is he okay?”
“What do you mean?” Claude asked.
“I dunno, it’s just-the last time I saw him, he kind of ran off in a panic. Something about the weather report being wrong.” Catherine pulled out her phone, tapping on her weather app. “Don’t see what’s so bad about it-clear skies, full moon, doesn’t look like rain until tomorrow. Can’t see what would make him so upset.”
Claude was silent, his posture stiffening. “…well, thank you for letting me know,” Claude eventually replied. “I’ll be sure to check on him. Have a good night, Katherine.”
“You too.”
With that, Claude ran straight out of the building, swearing all the way to his car.
———
Frank watched as the plate span, the droning hum of the microwave providing a welcome distraction from the noise the rest of the set was causing. He wasn’t sure what they were doing over there, maybe some stunt (if the shouts of “stop setting the Fishman on fire!” were any indication), but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was him and his TV dinner. He scratched at his skin, trying not to break through but doing as much as he could to reach that sweet spot where the bolt in his side met his neck. He was just a little bit away, almost-
“You know, you and that thing are a lot alike.” Frank sighed, letting his hand fall to the side. A gaunt, small fellow stood at his side, hunched forward. He wore a dark cloak, and wore an even darker glint in his eye.
“Oh, really,” Frank muttered. “I don’t care, Igor.”
“It’s fascinating,” Igor added, ignoring Frank’s dismissal. “Like this meal, you were concocted from parts of the dearly deceased, were you not?”
“Stop.”
“And,” the man continued, “You were also brought to life by a large dose of energy from that lightning bolt, correct?” Igor sighed, shaking his head ruefully. “Such a pitiable creature. I don’t know how you handle even thinking about your creation, really. The grand gesture of science that brought you to life is now no more than a convenience to- “
Frank slammed his hands on the counter, startling the hunched man. “That’s not how microwaves work, and that’s not how I work,” Frank snapped. “You were there. You should know.”
“…pardon?” Igor offered.
“Microwaves use radio waves to get water molecules to act up, generating heat by agitating the food at a molecular level,” Frank replied. “TV Dinners are pre-cooked, frozen foods that need a little more heat to get to a consumable level.”
“…well, I- “
“I was strapped to a metal harness that was struck by lightning,” Frank continued, turning to loom over the man. “Do you know what lightning is made from?”
Igor took a step back, his eyes darting back and forth. “Well, it’s- “
“An electric current,” Frank answered for him. He pointed to the microwave, still dutifully turning the plate inside. “Do you see any electricity blasting through there right now?”
“N-no.”
“Okay. So, I have to ask-what the hell does a microwave have in common with me?”
“N-n-nothing?”
“Not exactly.” Frank allowed himself a toothy grin. “We both have a nasty tendency to make things explode if we get too heated.”
Ding! The microwave sounded off with a shrill toll. “And if you don’t mind,” Frank concluded, “I’m going to have my mac and cheese.”
Igor slowly nodded. “Right. Of course. I…have to go.” Frank smiled as Igor slipped away, savoring the terrified look on the man’s face. As he took in the scent of steak and gravy, he thought, Sometimes it’s the little things that made the day worth getting through.
———
“…what do you mean, ‘nothing’s showing up’?”
Anne shrugged, gesturing to the camera’s playback screen. “Just like I said. We can see your clothes, but something’s keeping us from seeing you.”
Keith poked his head out from behind the video village. “Same problem here. Maybe it’s the lighting?”
Anne shook her head. “Couldn’t be, but I still can’t explain it.”
“Well, find out how!” Vlad barked. “I’ve waited long enough for my scenes, and I’m supposed to be in charge here!”
A loud “Ha!” crossed the room.
“If I want your opinion, Frank, I’ll ask for it!”
Anne played the footage back again, leaning in as if to analyze every pixel. “It’s like, anything that isn’t covered in clothing just doesn’t show.”
Vlad frowned. “That doesn’t make…any…” His voice trailed off, and his eyes widened. He quickly went in front of the camera, moving his face right into its lens.
“Hey, no breathing on the equipment!” Keith shouted from the Village. His face went pale before he quickly added, “Mr. Director, sir.” Vlad merely glowered at the camera further, angling his head left and right.
“…Everyone, would you excuse me for a moment?” Vlad suddenly asked, a stern tone to his voice. The camera team froze. They’d learned this tone over the past few weeks. It was the “someone screwed up” tone. “Now’s the time I need your opinion,” he continued, looking over to Frank, who offered a raised eyebrow.
“You heard the man. Go take five, all of you!” Claude shouted from behind Keith, who leapt up out of his chair.
“Jesus, where did you come from?!”
“If I had a nickel for every time I heard that…now, off! Off with you!” Claude shoed the team away, quickly following suit as he saw Vlad’s eerie glare turn to him as well.
Frank sighed, getting up from his chair. “What is it this time?”
Vlad placed his hand on top of the camera, tilting it up and down. “…we have a problem.”
“Define problem.”
“The camera won’t record me.”
Frank shook his head. “We got that much already. What’s the- “
“Frank. It won’t record me.” Vlad emphasized, a mixture of realization and malice seeping into his words.
Frank paused, closing his eyes for a moment in thought. Then, they snapped open, wide as dinner plates. “Oh, crap.”
“Apparently,” Vlad seethed, lifting the camera (and the tripod it was on) into the air, “Camera lenses count as reflective surfaces.”
“Vlad,” Frank began, “I know you’re mad, but just- “With a thundering crash, Vlad hurled the camera to the ground. “Okay. Okay.” Vlad raised the camera once again. “Listen,” Frank tried again, “We all just need to breathe and- “Another slam. “Alright.” Frank held his hands up in an “are you serious” fashion. “You do realize how much that costs-and you’re picking it up again, aren’t you?”
The sound of shattering glass was his answer. Vlad heaved ragged breaths, his fangs sharp and eyes wild. “All of that work, all of this nonsense-all for nothing!”
“It’s not for nothing, Vlad,” Frank offered, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I mean, we can always get another guy to- “
“This was my time!” Vlad roared. “My chance to be someone again!”
“Is that what this is about?” Vlad wheeled his head around to face Frank, who wore a stern expression on his face. “I thought you had some grand vision or something. Isn’t that what you’ve been selling us all this time?”
“I do-but do you know what my vision had front and center?” Vlad snarled. “Me!”
“Vlad, you do realize you’re directing, right? It doesn’t matter who plays you,” Frank argued, “This is still your story.”
“But I- “Vlad gritted his teeth, his fangs looming over his lower jawline. “You don’t understand. We’re not respected anymore. I’m not respected anymore!”
Frank’s face fell into a stoic, unreadable look. “…are you still hung up about the kid at the freaking coffee shop?”
“No!” Vlad snapped.
“Really.”
“…mostly,” Vlad admitted quietly.
“Oh, for god’s sake.” Before Vlad could even blink, Frank was on him, his cravat suddenly in the other man’s grasp. “Who are you?”
“…I’m very confused- “
“No jokes. Who. Are. You?”
“I…I am Count Dracula.”
“Say it louder.” Frank’s gaze seared right through the vampire.
“I am Count Dracula.”
“Louder!”
“I AM COUNT DRACULA!” Vlad roared in response. Frank let go of him, holding a hand to his ear.
“Yeesh. You got pipes, Vlad. Knew you had it in you.”
“…the point of that was…what, exactly?”
“The point is, you’re the damn king of the vampires. Who the hell cares if you’re not ‘respected’ anymore?” Frank asked. “Who cares if you have less movies now than you did before? They’re just freaking movies! Plus, do you think any of us would still be here if we weren’t sorta popular?”
“Quite frankly, I don’t know how we’re still here,” Vlad replied.
“That sounds familiar, don’t it?” Frank grinned. “And if I’ve said it before, I’ve said it a thousand times-I don’t care. You shouldn’t either. Art comes and goes, but you-you’ve left an impact. We all have. That’s not gonna change, and you don’t need to be front and center to make sure people remember you.”
“…you certainly like your speeches,” Vlad chuckled.
“You’re one to talk, Fangs.” Frank shrugged. “Plus, think of it this way-if this whole thing works out, you’ll be the first vampire in history to make a successful movie.”
Vlad was silent for a moment, his head down in thought. Then, he inhaled deep, followed by a long sigh. He turned to Frank. “I’m not sure I’d be the first. After all, Keanu Reeves is still kicking.”
Frank let out a loud, booming laugh. “There’s the Vlad I know.”
“How soon do you think we can we hold auditions for a replacement for me?”
“I mean…if we want to go professional, maybe a couple days. You sure you don’t want to grab someone from the crew? Or put on a mask, maybe?”
Vlad shook his head. “No…no, we’ll do this right, or not at all.” He glanced at the destroyed camera. “I can replace that,” he added.
“Sure. Just add it to the budget, along with the group therapy sessions.”
Vlad stared at Frank. “…the what?” Frank gestured to the nearest window. Outside, the entire crew had gathered (Claude at the front of the pack) and were staring in a mixture of awe and horror at the two. Most of their attention, however, seemed to be drawn to the pile of camera bits lying on the floor.
“…Frank?”
“Yeah?”
“How much did they hear?”
“Nothing, probably. This place is pretty-well sound-proofed.”
“Okay.” Vlad paused. “How much, exactly, did that camera cost?”
“Somewhere around $2500.”
Vlad grimaced.
“…you know, I really should’ve just written a book.”