GOD, no!

Just instantaneous regret.

Looking up at Dans le Noir?, the stylized, black lacquer sign with depressed, silver lettering seems horribly imposing. A primal urge to leap up and assert your dominance over it with claw and fang gets shoved to the back of your mind, for its pointless stupidity as much as its risk. All the same, you steel yourself, walking into the foyer under a veil to avoid being spotted.

While you’re reasonably sure no one could tell you’re not a man at a glance, it’d be pointless to risk it, anyway. The bolt of fear you have discreetly entering one of the stalls with no one visible opening the door pales in the face of that, which is something, at least. Besides the thick, black blanket you’re expected to wear to ensure a “pure,” dining experience, the provided mirror lets you check your … outfit feels like the wrong word. Costume?

Your gaunt, eerie face looks reasonably human, at least with the reflective sunglasses and while your mouth stays shut. The absurd height isn’t beyond human norms, either, and the suit you scrounged up hides your skeletal frame very well, though you suspect anyone touching you might disagree. That thought pulls a visible wince, considering that’s a requirement for getting to your table … but no restaurant host, no matter how weird the place, is going to comment on it.

Your claws were the hardest parts, really. After making sure these lenses masked the baleful flicker of your eyes, getting them all the way up into your hands was quite the task. Painful, for one. While they sat peaceably enough for the moment, forcing them to draw back from your fingers was positively agonizing the first time you did it. Not that it was fun when you were getting ready for tonight, mind, but less so. Ideally, it’ll eventually be as easy as contorting yourself into spaces too small for a toddler, let alone a towering horror like yourself. The comparison gives you some pause as to how unusual your life’s really become.

Unsure of any other steps, you close your eyes, think of Alex, and throw the blanket over your head. Leaving your bowler at home feels like a good idea when you consider how what’s probably supposed to be a nearly fully body cover only falls just below your elbows. Besides, you can’t be sure if it’d look pretentious or not. The point of it was to look weird and creepy, after all, that’s why you picked it. But this wasn’t a hunt.

Wait, was it a good idea to leave it at home? Your hair is all … it looks like an old man’s hair. Maybe not in texture, but definitely in shade, far too salt and very little pepper these days. At least you weren’t balding. Though that’d make the hat more acceptable, right? Or would you look like as much of a hipster? Would you in the first place? You LIKED the hat, even if it was a little silly. And wasn’t the point to be you? Yeah, right, because you’ve been so forthcoming about that.

As you feel a host take your hand and guide you after you give them your name, you note a start from them at both your touch and voice. Do they know? Jesus, stop being so paranoid. And so what if they do? They can’t hurt you. Just ruin the only relationship with another person you’ve enjoyed in living memory. Of course, you may do that yourself tonight. It’s too early to tell. God, you should have worn the hat.

After being guided to your seat, your instinct is to tear off the blanket, even shred it to relieve some of the nervous tension building in your muscles. There’s a time you’re supposed to remove it with everyone else, though. The momentary satisfaction isn’t worth the possibility of things spiraling out of control. This is your actual chance to see Alex, to go on a real date with her, like a normal damn person instead of a neurotic nightmare thing.

What if this takes the oomph out of it? Yeah, you have plenty in common and enjoy talking pretty much all day, but what if this being normal is a problem by itself? What if she’s just in this for the thrill? You don’t think Alex would lie to you, but what, are you suddenly some kind of expert on social graces and interpersonal relations? Even if she’s not, she might not know until it’s happening. Would a hat have helped with that? Would you seem less mundane with a hat?

When someone finally calls for the removal, you jerk the blanket off your head, suddenly unsure of if Alex will even show up. Why would she? God, there’s so much that could go wrong. Your eyes are pinched shut despite folding the blanket over your right armrest as instructed. What if she’s not there, across from you? What if she’s realized what you are? A monster, sure, but also a weird loner who can’t just be regular. Why would you have believed that’s what she wants? She’s a goddess, she could have anyone, why the HELL would she pick you? FUCK, you wish you had your hat right now.

Against all instinct, you **** yourself to open your eyes.