December 4, 2024 • 23 mins
When a perpetually stressed event coordinator takes on the gig of a lifetime—a convention for vampires—she quickly learns that managing the undead is no ordinary job. From fog machine mishaps to chocolate fountain disasters, and a batty ballroom showdown, things spiral hilariously out of control. But when an intoxicated vampire decides to show his gratitude with an unexpected bite, her life changes forever. Equal parts comedy, chaos, and bloodsucking shenanigans, this is one party you don’t want to miss!
Become a supporter of this podcast: https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/tales-that-tickle--5861752/support.
Become a supporter of this podcast: https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/tales-that-tickle--5861752/support.
Mark as Played
Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:00):
You know when you're scrolling through job postings at two am,
wineglass in one hand, despair in the other, and you
stumble across something that makes you squint and say, what
in the twilight is this? That's exactly how I ended
up applying for the gig that would become the most
bizarre chapter of my life. The ad read seeking an
(00:23):
experienced event coordinator for an exclusive client gathering. Must handle
high pressure situations with grace, comfort with unconventional guests. A
plus salary fifty thousand for one weekend fifty thousand dollars.
I didn't even care that it screamed suspicious, louder than
(00:45):
my aunt Linda at Thanksgiving. Fifty grand for two days
of schmoozing and decorating. Sign me up. I sent in
my resume and didn't expect much. But less than twelve
hours later, my phone buzzed with an email from someone
named Miss Drusilla Nightshade, definitely not a name you'd trust
in a murder mystery. She said I'd been selected for
(01:08):
an interview at a discrete location and included GPS coordinates,
coordinates not an address that's red flag number one, right,
but fifty grand, so I replied, sure, looking forward to it,
because apparently I have no survival instincts boiestra. The interview
(01:34):
the coordinates led me to what I can only describe
as a Gothic castle dropped smack in the middle of
suburban Ohio. Think iron gates, gargoyle statues, and a vibe
so ominous I half expected the Adams family to answer
the door. Instead, a butler who looked like he'd been
alive since the invention of doors opened it and gestured
(01:55):
me inside, Miss Nightshade, will see you in the drawing room,
his voice so dry it could sandward. The drawing room
was a cavernous space lined with floor to ceiling bookshelves,
all packed with leather bound volumes whose titles were in
languages I'm pretty sure weren't real. In the middle of
the room sat a woman who looked like she just
(02:17):
stepped out of a nineteenth century fashion catalog, sipping from
a teacup. You must be Delilah Jones, she said, her
voice like honey dripped over razor blades. Please sit, Miss Nightshade,
I said, trying not to stare too hard at the
fact that she had literal fangs peeking out When she smiled,
(02:41):
lovely home, you have very dramatic She didn't laugh. Tough crowd.
Let me get straight to the point, she said, setting
her cup down. I represent a very exclusive organization that
requires someone of your skills to coordinate our annual convention Convention,
(03:04):
I asked. Yes, it's an opportunity for our community to gather,
celebrate a network. There will be parties, workshops, and of
course the grand Masquerade Ball. Sounds fancy, it is, she said,
it's also unique. You see, miss Jones, our attendees are vampires. Vampires,
(03:29):
I repeated, blinking yes, like Dracula, but make it corporate.
Her lips twitched, and I'm pretty sure that was her
version of a laugh. Precisely, so do you accept the job?
Every part of me wanted to scream no and run
out the door, but then I remembered that my landlord
(03:53):
is a bigger bloodsucker than any vampire, and that fifty
thousand dollars would make a lovely rent cushion. So instead,
I said, when do I start cess the prep work?
Planning a vampire convention is like planning any other big event,
except everything happens at night and your clients are undead. Oh,
(04:14):
and the caterer's menu consisted of Type O negative martinis
and plasma shooters, which made me really question my life choices.
The guest list was another beast. Entirely there were names
on there that sounded like they came straight out of
a bad paranormal romance novel. Lucienne Darkthorne, Esma Rolder, Crimson, Veil,
(04:38):
Baron von Bloody Cape. One guy was just listed as Steve.
I kind of liked Steve. Then there were the events.
In addition to the masquerade ball, they wanted workshops like
the Art of Hypnotic Staring and Advanced cloak Swishing. One
session was just titled Garlic friend Or, which I'm pretty
(05:01):
sure was meant to be a debate. I had a
million questions, like do vampires RSVP? What's the dress code?
Are mirrors a bad idea for the decor? But every
time I asked Miss Nightshade, she'd just smile her fanny
smile and say, I trust your instincts. That was the problem.
(05:21):
My instincts were screaming that this was a terrible idea.
The meeting, two nights before the convention, I was summoned
back to the castle for a final briefing. This time,
the drawing room was packed with vampires, real vampires, pale
as snow, impeccably dressed, and all radiating an aura that said,
(05:45):
we could kill you, but we're too classy for that. Everyone.
This is Miss Jones, Miss Nightshade announced, gesturing to me
like I was prized they'd won at an auction. She's
are esteemed coordinate. The vampires murmured polite greetings, though one
of them, a tall guy in a crimson cape, whispered,
(06:08):
she looks delicious. M Hi, I said, trying not to faint.
I promise to make this the best vampire convention ever,
no pressure or anything. They laughed, not a warm, hearty laugh,
more of a we're amused, but also we might eat
(06:30):
you later kind of laugh, super comforting. Miss Nightshade clapped
her hands. Let's give her our full support, shall we,
and remember the masquerade ball is the highlight of the event.
Don't embarrass yourselves. The vampires dispersed, and I was left
with Miss Nightshade, who gave me a sly smile. I
(06:53):
think you'll do wonderfully, Miss Jones. Thanks, I said, my
voice about two octaves higher than normal, just one question
what happens if things go wrong? Her smile widened. Let's
hope you don't find out, and with that she disappeared
(07:14):
into the shadows, leaving me to wonder if fifty thousand
dollars was enough to cover therapy Part two, fangs, fumbles,
and fire alarms. You'd think coordinating a convention full of
vampires would be terrifying, and you'd be absolutely correct. What
I didn't expect was that it would also be hilarious, frustrating,
(07:36):
and occasionally absurd. The setup the first night was all
about prep getting the ballroom ready, finalizing workshop spaces, and
dealing with caterers who, let's be honest, were probably traumatized
for life. One guy from Plasma's Finest kept muttering I'm
(07:57):
not paid enough for this every time I'm a vampire
walked by and sniffed the air a little too enthusiastically.
The ballroom was the Pierce de Resistance, decked out in
crimson drapes, golden chandeliers, and a fog machine cranked so
high it looked like a mid two thousands music video.
I'd argued for less fog, but Miss Nightshade had insisted
(08:20):
atmosphere is everything she'd said, and honestly, who was I
to argue with someone who could probably turn into a bat.
The guest list had swelled to over three hundred attendees,
including a handful of celebrity vampires. Apparently the vampire world
has influences, and they are just as insufferable as human ones.
(08:44):
One guy named Vladislav Eternal posted constant selfies with captions
like blood is thicker than water, but wine pairs better
with a good meal Immortal Cuisine chapter, saying the first snafu,
things went sideways Almost immediately. The caterer called me over
(09:06):
pale and shaking, not unusual given the company. Uh, miss Jones,
we we have a problem. He gestured toward the bar,
where a vampire in a velvet blazer was dramatically throwing
glasses of blood tinnis onto the floor. This is swell,
he bellowed. Did you source this from a trucks dot
(09:29):
blood bank? Where is the seventeen ninety two vintage? Seventeen
ninety two, I asked, wondering if blood had vintages like
wine ab positive from a French aristocrat. Miss Nightshade whispered
behind me, appearing out of nowhere and scaring me half
to death. Exquisite difficult to come by these days. Great
(09:54):
now I had to deal with blood snobs. I'll uh
see what I can do, I said, making a mental
note to invent a fancy sounding excuse for why the
seventeen ninety two wasn't available. Maybe I could claim it's
out of season jet Bouvigau workshop mayhem. While the bar
situation spiraled, I checked in on the workshops. The advanced
(10:18):
cloak swishing class had attracted a huge crowd, mostly vampires
who couldn't resist the allure of theatrics. Unfortunately, the instructor,
Count Dapafang, was having an existential crisis because his demonstration
cloak had been misplaced. I cannot teach without my cloak,
(10:39):
he wailed, clutching his chest like someone had just driven
a stake through it. How will they respect me? We'll
find it, I said, shoving two in turns toward the coach.
Check In the meantime, maybe you could, I don't know,
explain the theory of swishing. He gave me a withering look.
(11:00):
He spat, as though I'd suggested he perform a TikTok dance.
Cloak swishing is an art for Miss Jones, not a
term paper. By the time the interns returned with the
missing cloak, half the attendees had already tried to swish
on their own, resulting in a lot of tangled fabric
and one unfortunate vampire who accidentally knocked over a candelabra.
(11:24):
No one was hurt, but only because vampires are apparently fireproof.
Who knew Jagassa says Shugi the unholy fire alarm. Speaking
of fire, the next disaster came in the form of
a fog machine mishap. Remember how I said Miss Nightshade
insisted on atmosphere. Well, someone turned the fog machine up
(11:49):
to eleven and it set off the castle's ancient fire
alarm system. Picture this three hundred vampires scrambling like cats
in a thunderstorm, hissing at the Blair siren and shouting
things like this is why I hated the Industrial Revolution
and who's responsible for this cacophony? Meanwhile, the butler, who
(12:12):
I'm convinced is actually a zombie, shuffled over to me
and said, shall I disable the system, madam, Yes, please quickly.
But by the time he found the control panel hidden
behind a false bookshelf, because of course it was. The
fire department had already arrived. Now try explaining a vampire
(12:32):
convention to a group of human firefighters. It's a costume party,
i said, blocking the view of a guy in full
Nosferatu makeup. Really immersive. You've probably never seen anything like it.
One firefighter squinted at me. You sure, because it looks
(12:54):
like that dude over there is drinking something that ain't wine.
It's tomato juice, fancy European thing, you wouldn't understand. They
didn't buy it, but thankfully Miss Nightshade showed up, waved
a hand, and suddenly the firefighters looked dazed and confused.
(13:15):
Hypnosis is apparently a thing vampires do. She sent them
on their way with a polite thank you for your service, gentlemen.
I'm still not sure whether to be impressed or terrified.
Da Fiagsuru Steve saves the day. By midnight, I was
ready to curl up in a coffin myself. Everything that
(13:39):
could go wrong had gone wrong. The caterer was still
fending off blood snobs, the workshops were in varying states
of chaos, and the ballroom floor was now so foggy,
I'd lost two interns somewhere near the buffet table. That's
when Steve, remember Steve, the one guy with a normal name,
showed up. Need some help, he asked, holding a clipboard,
(14:02):
like he was born to manage undead chaos. Desperately, I said.
Steve took over like a pro. Within an hour, he'd
smoothed over the catering fiasco. Just tell them it's artisanal.
Vampires love that word. Reorganize the workshops, maybe skip cloak
swishing one O two until we've cleared the ballroom and
(14:25):
even found the missing interns, who were hiding behind a
chocolate fountain. Why are you so good at this? I asked,
as we surveyed the now semi functional event. He shrugged,
used to work at comic Con. This is basically the same,
just with less sunlight. I could have hugged him, but
I wasn't sure if that was considered rude in vampire culture. Instead,
(14:47):
I just said, you're a life saver, Steve. He grinned,
revealing fangs figuratively, of course, and just like that we
were back on track for now Part three, Bats, Masquerades
and the bite Herd round the ballroom If you think
managing a ballroom full of vampires is hard, try managing
(15:10):
a masquerade ball for vampires, complete with hidden rivalries, questionable
dance moves, and one very insistent bat. The grand finale
of the convention was upon us, and I was determined
not to screw it up. The ball begins. The ballroom
looked stunning, if I do say so myself. Crimson curtains
(15:35):
framed the room, chandeliers sparkled like a disco ball for
the undead, and the fog machine, now under strict supervision,
added just the right amount of eerie ambiance. The vampires
arrived in droves, decked out in their finest attire. If
there's one thing vampires know how to do its dress
for an occasion. Steve and I manned the entrance, checking
(15:58):
the guest list while trying not to stare too hard
at the parade of capes, corsets, and disturbingly realistic fangs.
One vampire, a woman in a gown made entirely of
black feathers, handed me a card that read Lady Posephone Raventhorne,
Mistress of Shadows. That's quite a title, I said. She
(16:22):
tilted her head, regarding me like a particularly unremarkable insect.
And you are the party planner, I said, with what
I hoped was an intimidating smile. Spoiler, it wasn't dance
floor drama. The masquerade kicked off with a waltz, and
(16:44):
I have to admit it was mesmerizing. Vampires glide like
they're born to dance, which, given their whole immortality thing,
they probably are. But the elegance didn't last long. About
halfway through the second song, a commotion broke out near
the punch bowl. Apparently two vampires had shown up wearing
(17:05):
the same mask, a gold, intricately detailed thing that screamed
I'm richer than you. This would have been a minor
faux pas at a normal event, but for vampires it
was grounds for a duel. How dare you copy my mask?
You insolent fledgling, shouted one, who looked like he'd stepped
(17:25):
out of a Renaissance painting your mask. I commissioned this
from an artisan in Prague three centuries ago. The other retorted,
sensing that things were about to get stabby, I jumped
between them. Gentlemen, this is a party, not a battleground.
Let's settle this like adults or you know, immortal beings
(17:49):
who should really know better. They glared at each other,
but eventually back down, muttering insults in languages I didn't understand.
Crisis averted for now the bat situation. Just as I
was patting myself on the back for avoiding a vampire duel,
(18:09):
a bat flew into the ballroom. At first, I thought
it was part of the ambiance, a little on the nose,
but hey, it fit the theme. Then the bat started
dive bombing the dessert table and things got weird. Oh,
for the love of Dracula, muttered Steve, grabbing a napkin
and trying to shew it away. Is this normal, I asked,
(18:33):
dodging as the bat swooped past my head. Not unless
someone forgot to bring their blood flask and decided to
go on naturel, he said. Sure enough. The bat landed
on the chandelier and with a puff of smoke, transformed
into a vampire, A very drunk vampire. Lucien groaned, Miss Nightshade,
(18:55):
appearing at my side. I told you to pace yourself. Lucienne,
now dangling precariously from the chandelier, raised a glass. Ah,
where did he even get that and slurred to immortality,
before promptly falling into the chocolate fountain. Steve sighed, I'll
get the mop the grand reveal. As midnight approached, the
(19:20):
energy in the room shifted. Miss Nightshade took to the stage,
her presence commanding even among this crowd of supernatural egos,
ladies and gentlemen. She began, it is time for the
highlight of our evening, the unmasking. Unmasking. No one had
(19:40):
mentioned this to me. Before I could ask what it meant,
the vampires began removing their masks and then their human disguises.
The elegant facades melted away, revealing glowing red eyes, sharp claws,
and in one case, actual wings. It was both terrifying
(20:02):
and oddly beautiful, like watching a nature documentary where the
predator is way too close to the camera. I glanced
at Steve, who looked completely unfazed. You knew about this,
I whispered. They call it showing their true selves. It's
symbolic or something, he said, with a shrug. Just smile
(20:25):
and nod. They love that, so I did. I smiled, nodded,
and tried not to look too horrified. When one particularly
toothy vampire complimented the ordeuvs. The bite heard round the ballroom.
Just when I thought I'd made it through the night unscathed, Lucienne,
(20:46):
now cleaned up but still very drunk, stumbled over to me. You,
he said, pointing a wobbly finger at my face. You've
done well for a mortal. Ah, thanks, I said, backing
away slowly. No, no, no, he slurred, grabbing my arm,
(21:07):
I insist a token of my gratitude. Before I could
ask what he meant, he leaned in and bit my wrist.
It didn't hurt as much as I expected, more like
a sharp pinch, but the room went dead silent. Lucienne,
miss Nightshade, said, her voice icy enough to freeze lava.
(21:28):
What have you done? Expressed my thanks, he declared, throwing
his arms wide. She's one of us now. The vampires
erupted into chaos. Some cheered, others shouted in outrage, and
one yelled, does this mean she's in charge of next
year's convention? Meanwhile, I just stood there, holding my wrist
(21:49):
and trying not to hyperventilate. Wait, what do you mean
one of us? Miss Nightshade sighed, pinching the bridge of
her nose, congratulations, miss Jones, You're now a vampire the aftermath.
Becoming a vampire wasn't part of my five year plan,
but hey, neither was planning a convention for the undead.
(22:13):
On the plus side, I no longer have to worry
about aging or student loans. On the downside, my caffeine
addiction has been replaced by a craving for type O negative.
As for the convention, it ended with a standing ovation
for me, apparently, and Miss Nightshade offered me a permanent
(22:33):
position as their event coordinator. I'm still weighing my options,
but let's be real. The health benefits are probably killer.
And Steve turns out he's not a vampire, just a
really efficient human who's been coordinating vampire events for years.
Pays the bills, he said with a shrug.
Speaker 2 (22:55):
So here, I am immortal, caffeinated, I've found a workaround
and ready to take on whatever the undead throw at me. Next. Life,
or rather unlife is weird, but hey, at least it's
never boring.
You know when you're scrolling through job postings at two am,
wineglass in one hand, despair in the other, and you
stumble across something that makes you squint and say, what
in the twilight is this? That's exactly how I ended
up applying for the gig that would become the most
bizarre chapter of my life. The ad read seeking an
(00:23):
experienced event coordinator for an exclusive client gathering. Must handle
high pressure situations with grace, comfort with unconventional guests. A
plus salary fifty thousand for one weekend fifty thousand dollars.
I didn't even care that it screamed suspicious, louder than
(00:45):
my aunt Linda at Thanksgiving. Fifty grand for two days
of schmoozing and decorating. Sign me up. I sent in
my resume and didn't expect much. But less than twelve
hours later, my phone buzzed with an email from someone
named Miss Drusilla Nightshade, definitely not a name you'd trust
in a murder mystery. She said I'd been selected for
(01:08):
an interview at a discrete location and included GPS coordinates,
coordinates not an address that's red flag number one, right,
but fifty grand, so I replied, sure, looking forward to it,
because apparently I have no survival instincts boiestra. The interview
(01:34):
the coordinates led me to what I can only describe
as a Gothic castle dropped smack in the middle of
suburban Ohio. Think iron gates, gargoyle statues, and a vibe
so ominous I half expected the Adams family to answer
the door. Instead, a butler who looked like he'd been
alive since the invention of doors opened it and gestured
(01:55):
me inside, Miss Nightshade, will see you in the drawing room,
his voice so dry it could sandward. The drawing room
was a cavernous space lined with floor to ceiling bookshelves,
all packed with leather bound volumes whose titles were in
languages I'm pretty sure weren't real. In the middle of
the room sat a woman who looked like she just
(02:17):
stepped out of a nineteenth century fashion catalog, sipping from
a teacup. You must be Delilah Jones, she said, her
voice like honey dripped over razor blades. Please sit, Miss Nightshade,
I said, trying not to stare too hard at the
fact that she had literal fangs peeking out When she smiled,
(02:41):
lovely home, you have very dramatic She didn't laugh. Tough crowd.
Let me get straight to the point, she said, setting
her cup down. I represent a very exclusive organization that
requires someone of your skills to coordinate our annual convention Convention,
(03:04):
I asked. Yes, it's an opportunity for our community to gather,
celebrate a network. There will be parties, workshops, and of
course the grand Masquerade Ball. Sounds fancy, it is, she said,
it's also unique. You see, miss Jones, our attendees are vampires. Vampires,
(03:29):
I repeated, blinking yes, like Dracula, but make it corporate.
Her lips twitched, and I'm pretty sure that was her
version of a laugh. Precisely, so do you accept the job?
Every part of me wanted to scream no and run
out the door, but then I remembered that my landlord
(03:53):
is a bigger bloodsucker than any vampire, and that fifty
thousand dollars would make a lovely rent cushion. So instead,
I said, when do I start cess the prep work?
Planning a vampire convention is like planning any other big event,
except everything happens at night and your clients are undead. Oh,
(04:14):
and the caterer's menu consisted of Type O negative martinis
and plasma shooters, which made me really question my life choices.
The guest list was another beast. Entirely there were names
on there that sounded like they came straight out of
a bad paranormal romance novel. Lucienne Darkthorne, Esma Rolder, Crimson, Veil,
(04:38):
Baron von Bloody Cape. One guy was just listed as Steve.
I kind of liked Steve. Then there were the events.
In addition to the masquerade ball, they wanted workshops like
the Art of Hypnotic Staring and Advanced cloak Swishing. One
session was just titled Garlic friend Or, which I'm pretty
(05:01):
sure was meant to be a debate. I had a
million questions, like do vampires RSVP? What's the dress code?
Are mirrors a bad idea for the decor? But every
time I asked Miss Nightshade, she'd just smile her fanny
smile and say, I trust your instincts. That was the problem.
(05:21):
My instincts were screaming that this was a terrible idea.
The meeting, two nights before the convention, I was summoned
back to the castle for a final briefing. This time,
the drawing room was packed with vampires, real vampires, pale
as snow, impeccably dressed, and all radiating an aura that said,
(05:45):
we could kill you, but we're too classy for that. Everyone.
This is Miss Jones, Miss Nightshade announced, gesturing to me
like I was prized they'd won at an auction. She's
are esteemed coordinate. The vampires murmured polite greetings, though one
of them, a tall guy in a crimson cape, whispered,
(06:08):
she looks delicious. M Hi, I said, trying not to faint.
I promise to make this the best vampire convention ever,
no pressure or anything. They laughed, not a warm, hearty laugh,
more of a we're amused, but also we might eat
(06:30):
you later kind of laugh, super comforting. Miss Nightshade clapped
her hands. Let's give her our full support, shall we,
and remember the masquerade ball is the highlight of the event.
Don't embarrass yourselves. The vampires dispersed, and I was left
with Miss Nightshade, who gave me a sly smile. I
(06:53):
think you'll do wonderfully, Miss Jones. Thanks, I said, my
voice about two octaves higher than normal, just one question
what happens if things go wrong? Her smile widened. Let's
hope you don't find out, and with that she disappeared
(07:14):
into the shadows, leaving me to wonder if fifty thousand
dollars was enough to cover therapy Part two, fangs, fumbles,
and fire alarms. You'd think coordinating a convention full of
vampires would be terrifying, and you'd be absolutely correct. What
I didn't expect was that it would also be hilarious, frustrating,
(07:36):
and occasionally absurd. The setup the first night was all
about prep getting the ballroom ready, finalizing workshop spaces, and
dealing with caterers who, let's be honest, were probably traumatized
for life. One guy from Plasma's Finest kept muttering I'm
(07:57):
not paid enough for this every time I'm a vampire
walked by and sniffed the air a little too enthusiastically.
The ballroom was the Pierce de Resistance, decked out in
crimson drapes, golden chandeliers, and a fog machine cranked so
high it looked like a mid two thousands music video.
I'd argued for less fog, but Miss Nightshade had insisted
(08:20):
atmosphere is everything she'd said, and honestly, who was I
to argue with someone who could probably turn into a bat.
The guest list had swelled to over three hundred attendees,
including a handful of celebrity vampires. Apparently the vampire world
has influences, and they are just as insufferable as human ones.
(08:44):
One guy named Vladislav Eternal posted constant selfies with captions
like blood is thicker than water, but wine pairs better
with a good meal Immortal Cuisine chapter, saying the first snafu,
things went sideways Almost immediately. The caterer called me over
(09:06):
pale and shaking, not unusual given the company. Uh, miss Jones,
we we have a problem. He gestured toward the bar,
where a vampire in a velvet blazer was dramatically throwing
glasses of blood tinnis onto the floor. This is swell,
he bellowed. Did you source this from a trucks dot
(09:29):
blood bank? Where is the seventeen ninety two vintage? Seventeen
ninety two, I asked, wondering if blood had vintages like
wine ab positive from a French aristocrat. Miss Nightshade whispered
behind me, appearing out of nowhere and scaring me half
to death. Exquisite difficult to come by these days. Great
(09:54):
now I had to deal with blood snobs. I'll uh
see what I can do, I said, making a mental
note to invent a fancy sounding excuse for why the
seventeen ninety two wasn't available. Maybe I could claim it's
out of season jet Bouvigau workshop mayhem. While the bar
situation spiraled, I checked in on the workshops. The advanced
(10:18):
cloak swishing class had attracted a huge crowd, mostly vampires
who couldn't resist the allure of theatrics. Unfortunately, the instructor,
Count Dapafang, was having an existential crisis because his demonstration
cloak had been misplaced. I cannot teach without my cloak,
(10:39):
he wailed, clutching his chest like someone had just driven
a stake through it. How will they respect me? We'll
find it, I said, shoving two in turns toward the coach.
Check In the meantime, maybe you could, I don't know,
explain the theory of swishing. He gave me a withering look.
(11:00):
He spat, as though I'd suggested he perform a TikTok dance.
Cloak swishing is an art for Miss Jones, not a
term paper. By the time the interns returned with the
missing cloak, half the attendees had already tried to swish
on their own, resulting in a lot of tangled fabric
and one unfortunate vampire who accidentally knocked over a candelabra.
(11:24):
No one was hurt, but only because vampires are apparently fireproof.
Who knew Jagassa says Shugi the unholy fire alarm. Speaking
of fire, the next disaster came in the form of
a fog machine mishap. Remember how I said Miss Nightshade
insisted on atmosphere. Well, someone turned the fog machine up
(11:49):
to eleven and it set off the castle's ancient fire
alarm system. Picture this three hundred vampires scrambling like cats
in a thunderstorm, hissing at the Blair siren and shouting
things like this is why I hated the Industrial Revolution
and who's responsible for this cacophony? Meanwhile, the butler, who
(12:12):
I'm convinced is actually a zombie, shuffled over to me
and said, shall I disable the system, madam, Yes, please quickly.
But by the time he found the control panel hidden
behind a false bookshelf, because of course it was. The
fire department had already arrived. Now try explaining a vampire
(12:32):
convention to a group of human firefighters. It's a costume party,
i said, blocking the view of a guy in full
Nosferatu makeup. Really immersive. You've probably never seen anything like it.
One firefighter squinted at me. You sure, because it looks
(12:54):
like that dude over there is drinking something that ain't wine.
It's tomato juice, fancy European thing, you wouldn't understand. They
didn't buy it, but thankfully Miss Nightshade showed up, waved
a hand, and suddenly the firefighters looked dazed and confused.
(13:15):
Hypnosis is apparently a thing vampires do. She sent them
on their way with a polite thank you for your service, gentlemen.
I'm still not sure whether to be impressed or terrified.
Da Fiagsuru Steve saves the day. By midnight, I was
ready to curl up in a coffin myself. Everything that
(13:39):
could go wrong had gone wrong. The caterer was still
fending off blood snobs, the workshops were in varying states
of chaos, and the ballroom floor was now so foggy,
I'd lost two interns somewhere near the buffet table. That's
when Steve, remember Steve, the one guy with a normal name,
showed up. Need some help, he asked, holding a clipboard,
(14:02):
like he was born to manage undead chaos. Desperately, I said.
Steve took over like a pro. Within an hour, he'd
smoothed over the catering fiasco. Just tell them it's artisanal.
Vampires love that word. Reorganize the workshops, maybe skip cloak
swishing one O two until we've cleared the ballroom and
(14:25):
even found the missing interns, who were hiding behind a
chocolate fountain. Why are you so good at this? I asked,
as we surveyed the now semi functional event. He shrugged,
used to work at comic Con. This is basically the same,
just with less sunlight. I could have hugged him, but
I wasn't sure if that was considered rude in vampire culture. Instead,
(14:47):
I just said, you're a life saver, Steve. He grinned,
revealing fangs figuratively, of course, and just like that we
were back on track for now Part three, Bats, Masquerades
and the bite Herd round the ballroom If you think
managing a ballroom full of vampires is hard, try managing
(15:10):
a masquerade ball for vampires, complete with hidden rivalries, questionable
dance moves, and one very insistent bat. The grand finale
of the convention was upon us, and I was determined
not to screw it up. The ball begins. The ballroom
looked stunning, if I do say so myself. Crimson curtains
(15:35):
framed the room, chandeliers sparkled like a disco ball for
the undead, and the fog machine, now under strict supervision,
added just the right amount of eerie ambiance. The vampires
arrived in droves, decked out in their finest attire. If
there's one thing vampires know how to do its dress
for an occasion. Steve and I manned the entrance, checking
(15:58):
the guest list while trying not to stare too hard
at the parade of capes, corsets, and disturbingly realistic fangs.
One vampire, a woman in a gown made entirely of
black feathers, handed me a card that read Lady Posephone Raventhorne,
Mistress of Shadows. That's quite a title, I said. She
(16:22):
tilted her head, regarding me like a particularly unremarkable insect.
And you are the party planner, I said, with what
I hoped was an intimidating smile. Spoiler, it wasn't dance
floor drama. The masquerade kicked off with a waltz, and
(16:44):
I have to admit it was mesmerizing. Vampires glide like
they're born to dance, which, given their whole immortality thing,
they probably are. But the elegance didn't last long. About
halfway through the second song, a commotion broke out near
the punch bowl. Apparently two vampires had shown up wearing
(17:05):
the same mask, a gold, intricately detailed thing that screamed
I'm richer than you. This would have been a minor
faux pas at a normal event, but for vampires it
was grounds for a duel. How dare you copy my mask?
You insolent fledgling, shouted one, who looked like he'd stepped
(17:25):
out of a Renaissance painting your mask. I commissioned this
from an artisan in Prague three centuries ago. The other retorted,
sensing that things were about to get stabby, I jumped
between them. Gentlemen, this is a party, not a battleground.
Let's settle this like adults or you know, immortal beings
(17:49):
who should really know better. They glared at each other,
but eventually back down, muttering insults in languages I didn't understand.
Crisis averted for now the bat situation. Just as I
was patting myself on the back for avoiding a vampire duel,
(18:09):
a bat flew into the ballroom. At first, I thought
it was part of the ambiance, a little on the nose,
but hey, it fit the theme. Then the bat started
dive bombing the dessert table and things got weird. Oh,
for the love of Dracula, muttered Steve, grabbing a napkin
and trying to shew it away. Is this normal, I asked,
(18:33):
dodging as the bat swooped past my head. Not unless
someone forgot to bring their blood flask and decided to
go on naturel, he said. Sure enough. The bat landed
on the chandelier and with a puff of smoke, transformed
into a vampire, A very drunk vampire. Lucien groaned, Miss Nightshade,
(18:55):
appearing at my side. I told you to pace yourself. Lucienne,
now dangling precariously from the chandelier, raised a glass. Ah,
where did he even get that and slurred to immortality,
before promptly falling into the chocolate fountain. Steve sighed, I'll
get the mop the grand reveal. As midnight approached, the
(19:20):
energy in the room shifted. Miss Nightshade took to the stage,
her presence commanding even among this crowd of supernatural egos,
ladies and gentlemen. She began, it is time for the
highlight of our evening, the unmasking. Unmasking. No one had
(19:40):
mentioned this to me. Before I could ask what it meant,
the vampires began removing their masks and then their human disguises.
The elegant facades melted away, revealing glowing red eyes, sharp claws,
and in one case, actual wings. It was both terrifying
(20:02):
and oddly beautiful, like watching a nature documentary where the
predator is way too close to the camera. I glanced
at Steve, who looked completely unfazed. You knew about this,
I whispered. They call it showing their true selves. It's
symbolic or something, he said, with a shrug. Just smile
(20:25):
and nod. They love that, so I did. I smiled, nodded,
and tried not to look too horrified. When one particularly
toothy vampire complimented the ordeuvs. The bite heard round the ballroom.
Just when I thought I'd made it through the night unscathed, Lucienne,
(20:46):
now cleaned up but still very drunk, stumbled over to me. You,
he said, pointing a wobbly finger at my face. You've
done well for a mortal. Ah, thanks, I said, backing
away slowly. No, no, no, he slurred, grabbing my arm,
(21:07):
I insist a token of my gratitude. Before I could
ask what he meant, he leaned in and bit my wrist.
It didn't hurt as much as I expected, more like
a sharp pinch, but the room went dead silent. Lucienne,
miss Nightshade, said, her voice icy enough to freeze lava.
(21:28):
What have you done? Expressed my thanks, he declared, throwing
his arms wide. She's one of us now. The vampires
erupted into chaos. Some cheered, others shouted in outrage, and
one yelled, does this mean she's in charge of next
year's convention? Meanwhile, I just stood there, holding my wrist
(21:49):
and trying not to hyperventilate. Wait, what do you mean
one of us? Miss Nightshade sighed, pinching the bridge of
her nose, congratulations, miss Jones, You're now a vampire the aftermath.
Becoming a vampire wasn't part of my five year plan,
but hey, neither was planning a convention for the undead.
(22:13):
On the plus side, I no longer have to worry
about aging or student loans. On the downside, my caffeine
addiction has been replaced by a craving for type O negative.
As for the convention, it ended with a standing ovation
for me, apparently, and Miss Nightshade offered me a permanent
(22:33):
position as their event coordinator. I'm still weighing my options,
but let's be real. The health benefits are probably killer.
And Steve turns out he's not a vampire, just a
really efficient human who's been coordinating vampire events for years.
Pays the bills, he said with a shrug.
Speaker 2 (22:55):
So here, I am immortal, caffeinated, I've found a workaround
and ready to take on whatever the undead throw at me. Next. Life,
or rather unlife is weird, but hey, at least it's
never boring.
Popular Podcasts
Stuff You Should Know
If you've ever wanted to know about champagne, satanism, the Stonewall Uprising, chaos theory, LSD, El Nino, true crime and Rosa Parks, then look no further. Josh and Chuck have you covered.
Cardiac Cowboys
The heart was always off-limits to surgeons. Cutting into it spelled instant death for the patient. That is, until a ragtag group of doctors scattered across the Midwest and Texas decided to throw out the rule book. Working in makeshift laboratories and home garages, using medical devices made from scavenged machine parts and beer tubes, these men and women invented the field of open heart surgery. Odds are, someone you know is alive because of them. So why has history left them behind? Presented by Chris Pine, CARDIAC COWBOYS tells the gripping true story behind the birth of heart surgery, and the young, Greatest Generation doctors who made it happen. For years, they competed and feuded, racing to be the first, the best, and the most prolific. Some appeared on the cover of Time Magazine, operated on kings and advised presidents. Others ended up disgraced, penniless, and convicted of felonies. Together, they ignited a revolution in medicine, and changed the world.
The Joe Rogan Experience
The official podcast of comedian Joe Rogan.