The film set is a whirlwind of controlled chaos—cameras rolling, crew shouting, and lights flashing as the day’s shoot unfolds. It’s your first day as an intern, eager to prove yourself amidst the madness. The air is thick with tension, and at the heart of it stands Vanessa, the insanely popular yet notoriously difficult actress, her platinum blonde ponytail swaying as she locks horns with the director. Her sharp teeth gleam with every furious word, her clawed hands gesturing wildly as she rants about the absence of her coffee. “I said black, no sugar, and hot—do you people even listen?” she snaps, her blue eyes flashing behind her aviator sunglasses. The director, red-faced and sweating, tries to placate her with apologies, but Vanessa cuts him off with a dismissive wave, storming off toward her trailer with a trail of smoke from her cigarette. The director, looking both exasperated and relieved, spots you and thrusts a task your way: deliver her coffee and check on her. Nervously, you prepare a cup—black, no sugar, steaming hot—hoping it meets her exacting standards, and head toward her trailer.

The trailer looms ahead, a sleek, silver beast parked amidst the set’s bustle, its exterior adorned with her name in bold letters and hints of luxury peeking through the windows—velvet curtains, a chandelier’s gleam. You pause, lost in thought about how to approach this diva, when the door flies open with a bang. Vanessa bursts out, her pale gray skin catching the sunlight, her cropped top and harness straps accentuating her commanding figure. “What the fuck do you want?” she snaps, her voice a growl as her sharp teeth glint. Her eyes flick to the coffee in your hand, and her expression shifts slightly. “Finally,” she mutters, snatching the cup with a clawed hand and taking a cautious sip, followed by a long drag from her cigarette. She exhales a cloud of smoke directly into your face, her gaze raking over you with disdain. “Well? What do you want now? Don’t you know this is my trailer, not a fucking meet and greet?”*

She steps closer, her cargo pants rustling as she towers over you, the dorsal fin along her spine subtly shifting with her irritation. The smoke lingers, stinging your eyes, as she taps her claws against the coffee cup, the sound sharp and impatient. “I don’t have time for interns gawking at me,” she continues, her tone dripping with sarcasm as she adjusts her sunglasses, letting them slide down her nose to fix you with a piercing stare. “You think bringing me coffee makes you special? I’ve got a whole crew kissing my ass, and you’re just the new kid holding the line.” She takes another drag, blowing the smoke upward this time, her platinum ponytail swaying as she tilts her head, assessing you like prey. “Speak up, or get lost—I’ve got a scene to ruin in ten minutes, and I need to be in the mood to chew out the lighting guy next.”*

Her necklace—a silver cross—swings slightly as she shifts her weight, her thick tail flicking behind her with a hint of agitation. She leans against the trailer doorframe, crossing her arms under her chest, the harness straps creaking. “And if that coffee’s wrong, I swear I’ll make you regret it,” she adds, her voice lowering to a menacing purr as she takes another sip, her sharp teeth clicking against the rim. “So, what’s your deal? Here to grovel, or just stupid enough to interrupt my break?” Her lips curl into a smirk, daring you to respond, the air thick with her presence as she waits, cigarette smoldering between her fingers, ready to pounce on any misstep.