---Esme’s perspective---
---Friday, 31st of October, 2684 Terran Calendar---
---Western Pangaea, New Australia---
I have never, in my life, worn this much makeup!
The tan skin I’ve had for a little over a year now is completely covered, across my face, neck, shoulders, arms, hands and shins, in a thick layer of white paint.
My thick, scarlet hair is temporarily died even darker than Oskar’s!
The strapless, white dress with black trim and a black cincher is the fanciest looking dress I’ve ever worn, including my wedding dress! Though, in reality, it’s much more cheaply made than that!
My heart flutters as I hear Pvt Ortega start to play the intro.
His Spanish guitar is soon joined by a base guitar, a bongo beat and a single trumpet, being played by Sgt Wilson, Pvt Wainwright and Pvt Becker, respectively.
Then, from the far side of the stage, he steps out…
Wearing a set of black trimmed, white coattails and a black ribbon bowtie, standing well over 2m tall in his black, high heeled boots, his face and hands are painted the same white as half my body!
He has shiny black claws, adhered over his fingernails, and red contact lenses covering his pupils.
He holds a microphone in his right hand.
He matches me in every way, except his hair, being naturally black, didn’t need to be dyed.
There is a very female dominated cheer of appreciation as he appears.
Hands off ladies(!)
He opens his mouth, wide enough to reveal false fangs, adhered over his canines, and starts singing, rapidly:
f♫¡No me importa si me cortan la respiración!♫f
I jump out, greeted by a distinctly male dominated cheer of appreciation which, thankfully, isn’t loud enough to interrupt my amplified intro line:
f♫¡Lo han tratado un montón!♫f
I sing loudly, a few octaves above Oskar, and make sure to fully display my prosthetic teeth as I pose for the tent full of Soldiers, cheering up at the two of us dancing together on the stage and singing in a language that neither of us speaks.
He leans down and affects a subtle, smug expression:
f♫¡Y si me ponés una bala en mi corazón!♫f
Bringing my free right hand to the left side of my chest to perform a pumping motion over my heart, I shake my head and sing into the microphone in my left hand:
f♫ ¡No palpita nada mi corazón!♫f
Answering my headshake with his own, he sings:
f♫ ¡Sinceramente, casi no hay manera de matarme!♫f
I add:
ff♫ ¡De asustarme!♫ff
Together, we harmonise:
f♫ ¡Mientras, yo no salgo cuando está brillando el sol!♫f
I raise a single, clawed finger to the side of my mouth and, careful not to smudge the jet black lipstick, thoughtfully, nod:
mp♫ Pués, si, tienes razón.♫mp
The smiles on the faces of the hundreds of people looking at our silly song and dance are a lovely birthday present!
Even LtCol Wallace looks like she’s enjoying herself and she literally has a third of her name denoting her generally sour, bitter attitude(!)
Looking at Oskar, I have to say that Pvt Webber was right when she was designing our costumes… the splashes of black really are more suggestive of Vampires than they would be if we’d gone for all white clothes and hair, like I suggested!
‘If you have all white clothes, white hair, white skin and red eyes, you won’t look like Vampires, you’ll look like two albinos on your way to a funeral(!)… The black trim, hair, claws and lipstick is necessary to highlight your pale skin by contrast!’
This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
She’ll definitely have a future as a costume designer… if she makes it through the War.
We didn’t have too long to rehearse this…
We’ve only had orbital supremacy for the past two weeks or so, finally allowing us a chance to set up camp and take a break from the constant movement!
The Hallowe’en Variety Show was announced at that point, clearly as an effort to boost morale, what with the psychological tole that the withering heat, exhausting mobility and the constant fear of being targeted from orbit has been taking on us since we made planetfall… to say nothing of the effect of having to slaughter xenos, in the thousands, who are either unwilling or unable to surrender…
This show is just the mood lifter everyone needs right now!
Oskar and I aren’t exactly great dancers (having been selected for this number much more on the basis of how good we’d look as Vampires than anything else) but we’re able to step in time with the beat at least… and we can carry a tune, even if neither of us can do much more than trust to Ortega’s translation of the lyrics(!)
I don’t imagine that you need to speak Spanish to get the idea that we’re Vampires singing about being Vampires but I bet anyone here who does speak Spanish is getting more out of this!
The lights go out, plunging the room of variously costumed privates into almost pitch blackness.
A few in the audience shriek in surprise but the noise quickly subsides as they realise the music hasn’t stopped and infer that this must have been planned.
I know there are four points of shining red light in the darkness… Though, I’m only able to see two of them!
Below Oskar’s contact lenses, fluorescing red in the UV light that our bodies are (otherwise invisibly) bathed in, his mouth opens to reveal a set of glowing white, fluorescent teeth as we harmoniously sing:
fff♫ ¡Porque soy Vampiro!
¡Nací Vampiro!
¡Morí Vampiro!
¡Seguí Vampiro!
¡La sangre brota
Es tu arteria rota!
¡Porque soy Vampiro!
¡Nací Vampiro!
¡Morí Vampiro!
¡Seguí Vampiro!
¡Llena mi boca
En esta noche loca!♫fff
The crowd cheer in appreciation for the glowing white teeth and glowing red eyes, attached to two silhouettes singing our hearts out!
The lights come up and Pvt Webber comes on stage, dressed in an old timey outfit.
She’s the shortest person in the battalion, as far as I’m aware (there can’t be many, since a height of less than 155cm would disqualify you from service), and that, coupled with the frilly, innocent outfit she designed for herself, does a great job of making her look like a helpless damsel as Oskar and I descend on her, still singing, our fangs bare and hungry expressions on our faces!
We chase her around the stage in a choreographed dance.
The audience seem to be enjoying the slapstick as, to the beat, she takes out a bulb of garlic which we recoil from.
I knock it from her hand.
Then, she takes out a silvered crucifix, which Oskar knocks away, doing a good job of play acting at having burned himself on it.
Finally, she takes out a small vial and flings it’s contents at us, careful to aim for our clothes, not our made up skin.
The two of us pull faces of pain and stumble back, still singing.
She takes the opportunity to ‘escape’ off stage and we look to eachother and shrug, in unison.
At this point, Ortega and Wilson stand up beside Becker.
Wainwright remains seated over her bongos but joins her voice to the other two’s harmony (Becker’s mouth is a little otherwise occupied with his trumpet(!))
mf♫¡Oh-Oh-Oh-Oooooh!♫mf
Oskar throws out his arms and sings, in his baritone voice:
ff♫ ¡Chupando!♫ff
Our backup singers repeat:
mf♫¡Oh-Oh-Oh-Oooooh!♫mf
modulating the notes upward.
Oskar repeats:
fff♫ ¡¡¡Chupando!!!♫fff
I cut in with:
ff♫ ¡La sangre tiene un gran sabor!♫ff
and, as I do, I notice a worried looking Burrows whispering something in Wallace’s ear.
Her expression goes grim.
Oskar and I repeat the final verse with our backup singers and, the instant the last notes of Ortega’s guitar fade, LtCol Wilhelmina ‘Citron’ Wallace picks up her holopad and brings it to her lips.
Her sour voice, speaking English with an Edinburger accent, comes loud and clear over the same speakers that were just amplifying me and Oskar.
“Attention all: I have just been informed that a fresh, enemy Fleet has just appeared in system. Regrettably, I am forced to cancel all further festivities while we prepare to go mobile… If you are yet to give your performance, we will attempt to continue the latter part of the show if and when orbital supremacy is regained.”
A groan goes round the room.
“Normally, I would instruct everyone to be ready to break camp in 60 minutes. However, with the proportion of us that aren’t properly dressed at the moment…” she gestures round the room to all the Soldiers in the guise of ghosts and ghouls “…I think I can give you 75. No longer! I do NOT want us to get struck with the fire of an angry god from above while waiting for you lot to wash off your make up!… Hopefully, the time we’ll need to remain on the move won’t be long!”
---Srassiahsk’s perspective---
I look down at the planet below.
My second in command, Ssafazaoz, is beside me.
My tail coils in excitement.
“This War… is the greatest thing that has happened to Sahak since we joined the Galactic Union!” I say, eagerly.
“You think so, Ma’am?” says Ssafazaoz, his tail letting me know that he is much less enthusiastic about it than I am.
“Yes!” I answer, emphatically “Our Representative to Parliament sat in the 147th row, before the War! Now, he sits in the 5th!… I’m certain that, after we win the War, the Sahasi will be granted increased colonisation rights and greater GU subsidisation!… They finally understand the value of having a species of martial roughworlders around! They’ll want us ready for the next time they need to call on us to bail them out!”
“That’s… if we win the War, Ma’am…” says the small male, dubiously.
I turn to him, my fangs bare in disapproval, as I hiss “Ssafazaoz… On account of our friendship, I shall ignore that little indiscretion for now, but do not let me catch you spouting defeatism in front of the troops! Am I CLEAR?!”
Shrinking back from my open mouth, he gestures submission with his tail and says “Of course not, Ma’am… My apologies.”
“Good… now… ready our forces… we have a hunt to begin!”