If you could get past all two hundred and eighty pounds of Psyko Ravenmoon, you would know that she was:
A.) a Goth's Goth, as well as,
B.) a five-hundred year old Vampire Queen from the depths of Transylvania, and not,
C.) Lisa Gross, fifteen, Freshman, Sunnydale High, and Hot Topic's newest customer until the pot reeking clerk caught her trying to shoplift a cheap vinyl corset three sizes too small in her old Elementary School "Hello Kitty" backpack last week the day after Thanksgiving.
Despite threats of prosecution and the epic grounding Psyko Ravenmoon got, five bags of fun sized Snicker's bars washed down with a two liter bottle of Pepsi later, she managed to complete her complete makeover: dead black hair thanks to a combination of Clairol Jet Black and her dad's shoe polish done up into two bedraggled but edgy pigtails, dark smudged eyes, fake black fingernails, pale makeup that made her face itch, bits and pieces of old Halloween costumes, plus a pair of her big sister Tamara's red and white striped Christmas tights (leftovers from Sunnydale's Thanksgiving parade when Tamara and the rest of the Varsity cheerleader squad played "Santa's Little Helpers" at the parade's finale when the man himself made his appearance) with holes carefully torn in them in all the right places - so what if she just got kicked out of the only Goth club in Sunnydale because she wasn't Goth enough?
It was their loss, Psyko Ravenmoon sniffled, wiping her eyes as she ponderously teetered her way back down the dirty alley leading to the club in her mother's borrowed six-inch stilettos, if they couldn't recognize a real five hundred year old Vampire Queen from the depths of Transylvania when one dramatically swept in, crucifix necklace, fake lip-piercings, and all.
So, forget them... what did they know? Psyko Ravenmoon paused, blowing her nose loudly on the red lace Christmas dining room table runner she'd "borrowed" to use as a veil; after a bag of powdered sugar donut Gems and a two liter bottle of Pepsi from the 7-11 on the corner, she'd find the real Children of the Night, the Lonely Ones - real Children wouldn't care if she used to be fat, boring old Lisa Gross with a butt you could plug a manhole with (something Grammy Dennis said Thanksgiving day when she walked into the kitchen and caught Lisa squirting whipped cream straight from the can into her mouth while everybody else was playing touch football in the back yard), zits, and a love of lame-o knock-knock jokes and Hello Kitty.
No, the real Lonely Ones would recognize Psyko Ravenmoon as one of them, and take her into their dark embrace where she'd be what she was supposed to be, not some fat girl in a Hello Kitty t-shirt who sat at the back of the classroom sneaking M&Ms while fantasizing about Tamara's jock boyfriend when she should be doing quadratic equations.
And she'd be hot; way hotter than Tamara, and everyone would be afraid of her, they'd worship her instead of laugh… and she'd wear long, black gowns cut way down to here and nobody would dare call her "Crisco" and "Leeeeeeee-saaaaaaaa" through their noses like they did tonight at the Goth club, like they did all the time… ummmm, (what was that?)
Psyko Ravenmoon froze in mid-waddle; swaying heavily in her borrowed shoes… there it was again!
Feet throbbing from the abuse of high fashion and a love of sugar, Psyko Ravenmoon awkwardly picked her way towards the dim light filtering in between the sticky walls of the alley as behind her up out of the basement club the grunting bellow of Fields of the Nephilim's "Moonchild" alternately shimmered and snarled, but not enough to drown out the whimpering scuffle ahead of her.
The noise was joined by a wet, sucking sound, and an off-tempo drumming, like sixth grade band class.
Psyko Ravenmoon teetered forward, nearly stumbling over a pile of old newspapers, "Hell….ohhhhhh."
Harsh as the black paper silhouette she'd made in third grade for Valentine's Day, a man in a long dark coat had a girl pinned against the dirty bricks, pale hair gleaming in the merciless rays of a nearby streetlamp, head bobbing in and out against her throat.
Psyko Ravenmoon froze, mouth hanging open like a dead goldfish's.
The girl's heels thudded spastically against the wall, hands clenching and unclenching as the stench of blood and urine reached out and wrapped themselves around Psyko Ravenmoon, pulling her in as she tried to look away while Fields of the Nephilim, oblivious to the wet, sucking slobbering sound overwhelming their guttural howls snarled on - the woman gave a violent shudder, breath rattling loudly before going limp - Psyko Ravenmoon gave out an incoherent squeal, slapping both pudgy, ring-burdened hands over her mouth.
The man turned his head sharply, yellow eyes gleaming beneath heavily ridged brows, jagged mouth dripping - Psyko Ravenmoon released the shriek she'd been trying to stifle as her feet took over, hurling her towards the other end of the ally, running, running, running…
…a few days later, what she'd seen that night in the alley slowly fading into the background, Lisa Gross, a plate of fresh cookies at her side along with a two liter bottle of Pepsi, taped ankles propped up on the couch and wearing her favorite Hello Kitty sweat suit, (mercifully rescued from the trash by her mother after Lisa'd tossed it out as part of her extreme makeover,) sat watching South Park with her big sister Tamara, laughing at Cartman's latest rude demand for Cheesy Poofs while Grammy Dennis and mom baked Christmas cookies.
Tamara was braiding her hair, and there was a brand new book of knock-knock jokes on her lap - later on big sis'd promised to paint her toenails, hot pink, my god baby sis, when's the last time you had a pedicure???
Yeah, there were a lot worse things in life than being a fat girl who loved Hello Kitty and lame-o knock knock jokes and who had a hot sister who liked painting your toenails your favorite color.