A Draft

I have considered all of your input and decided I should share with you my Work In Progress. It's a working sketch, mind, but it should give you an idea where things are headed in terms of structure and characterization.

You may be inspired to spontaneously send money. I haven't got the PayPal account up and running as yet, so please, lay it by and I shall generously accept when I may do so in an appropriate double-blind non-refundable electronic format. Thank you.

Ahem:

THE VAMPYRES OF BEAUTIFUL DESTINY

Parte the Fyrst:

The Escapèd Sun


I.

The night was dark. Also, it was stormy. Both at the same time, in fact. Between the dark and the storminess, man, was it eerie. Not in a regular weather-type way, but more than that, like in a gloomy and scary-ish way.

The headlights of a dark blue car sweep the semicircular drive in front of Morris Day High School in rural Wyrdhaven, upstate New York. The car is like a Ford Taurus, one of the new ones, not the ones with the weird bug eyes. Or maybe like a Chevy Malibu. Or whatever. You know what, forget the car details. Not important.

What counts is that the passenger door opens and out into the rain and cold steps Marvela Wynde, arriving for her first day of school in her new home town. She is sixteen years old, with pale white skin that would have shone in the moonlight but for the dark stormy overcast, which I'm beginning to rethink. She wobbled for a second on impractical wedge heels under a knee-length plaid skirt and an impossibly tight and weather-inappropriate sheer white blouse straining to contain an ungodly rack that could support the heavens, everything clinging as the rain fell over her and she tossed her black hair in slow motion, backed by a modern-day acoustic cover of an '80s song about hot girls. Maybe "Legs" by ZZ Top.

The door slammed shut and the car drove away. Marvela looked up at the unadorned flagpole in front of the school and thought to herself "I wonder if there are VAMPYRES here? Also, why am I starting school at night?"

She turned and watched as the car that dropped her meandered half a block down the street and crashed into a tree. Ah, she thought. Dad drinks.

II.

The family of ageless tousle-haired VAMPYRE Voluminous Kankakee Orson Destro Magnitude Valkyrie Brad Guy d'Estiné Jr. sat around the really old oak dining room table for a regular repast of uncooked beets, strawberries, cherry Kool-Aid and a homeless man. Around the table with him sit his parents, Vermilda and Senior, his sister Hortensia and his common-law wife, Grenadine.

The tension was palpable, take my word for it. The main problem was the generation gap as Junior was born in the mystick past of the 1970s and his parents were more set in the ways of the Galba administration.

"You never let us do anything fun," whined Hortensia, and then she ate Grenadine whole.

Junior was single again.

III.

We meet the staff and student body of Morris Day High, which includes a werewolf named... well, it doesn't really matter because I haven't figured out how to work him in yet. I just know there's always a werewolf now. Vampyres and werewolves go together automatically in movies and books like confident female sexual expression and untimely death.

For now mostly he keeps to himself and is occasionally very itchy.

There is also a shop teacher who is a zombie and he is called Mr. Finger.

IV.

The Meeting.

Lots of slow motion and wind-machining and extreme close-ups of eyes as Marvela and Junior see each other across a hallway, with something appropriately delicate and chick-like playing in the background like some classical bullshit or maybe Flower by Liz Phair. Oh! For Junior, the camera does one of those zoom-in-but-the-background-falls-away effects. I've always wanted to know how they do that.

V.

Falling in love montage. Sharing ice cream, tickle fights, picnic, Junior beheads a horse and sticks his whole face in the gaping neck wound to satiate his unholy thirst for the still-warm blood of a living creature. Marvela does not throw up.

Parte the Secynd:

The Waxing Crescent

I.

The Plot.

...erm... yeah, nothing yet.

But plot, bah, whatever: it's got style and... well, style. It's got cross-platform marketing potential right out the ole wazoo. Fuck you, Cormac McCarthy! Daddy wants a Maserati.