This Book Sucks Blood

Chapter 3: Introductions, Introductions

Song Selection: Uragirinoyuuyake—Theatre Brook

Pink. Everything pink. Harrison rubbed his leather gloves together, his eyes darting around the workroom. On the right side, eight bunk beds were embedded in the walls, all with tucked sheets and single satin pillows—the left wall, draped in shiny black fabric. No windows. White marble floors and four faux wood tables, with two fluffy pink puffs instead of chairs each. He lifted his head toward the room's corners and made out the giant cameras.

Harrison waved and sat down on the puff closest to the door. Carefully, he removed his revolver and placed it flat on the table, showing the empty cylinder to the camera. The last revolver left in all of Astoria. "Well," he said in a practiced drawl, "we certainly didn't save the best for last, did we? I'm Harrison. Blue. The one and only."

As if on cue, the door slid open on its automatic track. A woman in red (red! not pink, not pastel, but red) pumps strode into the room. Her hair, pitch black, piled high on top of her head, and diamonds glittered in her ears. She looked familiar in a way that made Harrison itch, but no matter how hard he searched his brain, he couldn't place her.

She picked a camera to address and pressed a hand to her hip. "I'm Claudine Veritas, talent manager. I've made all of your favorite sensations, and I—"

"Howdy!" Harrison dropped his blue scarf and waved his wide-brimmed hat at her. "You look lovely."

"You smell like cows." She crinkled her nose.

So she wasn't trying to be the camera sweetheart, fair enough. Harrison snuck a sniff of his collar, but he only picked up the emulated scents of his cologne: leaves, leather, and Lark (far from accurate, and he would know). He laughed, posing a joke on his lips about how her observation would be concerning, considering all the cows were dead. Few people knew what a 'farm' looked like these days, the fields of cells in Petri dishes under giant panes of halogen lights. No horses and no rope tricks; it was all labcoats and chemical droppers.

But the joke never came out. A tiny woman strutted into the room with a teased mohawk and about fifty safety pins swinging from her white one-piece swimsuit. Claudine huffed dismissively and Harrison's smile grew wide. Was this it? A place of prickly people who wore distinct colors? If these were the emperor's choice of suitors, maybe he wasn't as bad as Harrisons' ancestors had argued in all of their stories.

"Am I supposed to introduce myself or something?" the woman asked, her sea of safety pins clacking against each other as she spoke. Her voice juxtaposed her outfit; soft, quiet, hardly above a whisper. She looked translucent, so pale she was a ghost, her eyes darting over the floor.

"No one really knows," Harrison offered. "They blindfolded me, pushed me in front of the door, and yelled 'give face.' Face! Face! Face!"

"Well, I'm Kitty. And uh, I like to make people think, I guess?"

Harrison winked. "If you're a kitty, should we get you a litter box?"

Groans erupted from both women just as the door slid open again. Perfect timing. The woman who walked in was tall. Like, Harrison tall. He couldn't help but stare at those dark, intense eyes. They glowered at the contestants that preceded her, hardly hidden by the long black hair combed over them. She didn't stop to greet them or address the cameras, and her thigh-length black dress flowed around her with every stomp. She took the puff farthest from the door.

"What's your name, little lady?" Harrison asked. This is why they had sent him in first, Harrison decided. To be the warm presence he played up in his AstoriaMe videos. He wasn't concerned with remembering the names or the slight snips of personality that came with it; he'd learn more as the days passed. Right now, he was just going to be silly.