Shawn Vanity #1

Christmas Evening: Shawn Vanity’s Perspective

Shawn Vanity leaned closer to the mirror, inspecting every pore on his perfectly tanned face. The lighting in the bathroom was subpar for someone of his stature, but he made do, angling his face this way and that to ensure there wasn’t a single flaw. His reflection smiled back at him, dazzling and immaculate. He grinned wider, practicing his most photogenic angles.

“Ah, Shawn, you’ve done it again,” he said, his voice dripping with self-satisfaction. “Who else could pull off this level of perfection? Certainly not Gutless, that buffoon.” He chuckled, shaking his head.

Reaching for his hair spray, he gave his signature blonde locks a final spritz, smoothing them into place with a delicate touch. “Tonight is the night, Shawn,” he told himself. “You’re not just here to report on the event; you’re the event. These people came to see you.”

He stepped back, striking a pose in the mirror. His tailored suit, a masterpiece of tailoring and ostentation, hugged his frame perfectly. The subtle glint of a diamond lapel pin caught the light. Shawn adjusted it slightly, admiring how it added just the right amount of sparkle.

Satisfied, he turned on his heel and strode confidently out of the bathroom. The muted buzz of the party grew louder as he approached the ballroom. He paused for a moment, taking it all in. The grandeur of Maga Logo was overwhelming to most—the golden chandeliers, the polished floors, the opulent decorations—but to Shawn, it felt like the natural setting for his greatness.

As he entered, the crowd parted slightly, some heads turning to glance at him. Shawn didn’t acknowledge them directly, but his chin tilted just enough to suggest he was aware of their admiration. “That’s right,” he thought. “Drink it in, people.”

Shawn’s eyes scanned the room, lingering briefly on the golden escalator that had carried Donold Grump and his shimmering dragon Sparky into the adoring throng. The dragon was perched smugly on Grump’s shoulder, occasionally puffing out multicolored smoke rings. Shawn’s inner monologue was a mix of envy and amusement. “That ridiculous reptile gets more airtime than I do,” he thought. “But no one’s here to see Sparky. They’re here for me.”

Making his way toward the Faux News contingent, Shawn felt a surge of pride as he spotted Laura Ding-Dong, Maria Bizzarra-Rama, Greg Gutless, and Kaykeigh Mega-Ninny huddled together near the bar. They were engaged in animated conversation, their laughter carrying over the din of the room.

“Well, well,” Shawn announced as he approached, his voice cutting through their chatter. “If it isn’t my favorite people.”

They turned as one, their expressions ranging from genuine delight to thinly veiled annoyance.

“Shawn,” Laura said, her voice syrupy sweet. “You’re looking as radiant as ever.”

“Of course I am,” Shawn replied, flashing his trademark grin. “I’d hate to outshine the President-Elect, but someone has to set the standard.”

Maria rolled her eyes but covered it with a sip of champagne. Greg Gutless, ever the sycophant, clapped Shawn on the shoulder. “Vanity, you’re the real star of the show. No one else could spin Grump’s brilliance quite like you do.”

“And don’t you forget it,” Shawn said with a wink. He turned slightly, catching sight of Donold Grump himself at the head of the room, surrounded by his inner circle. Kash Kartel, Pam Blondi, and Wiley E. Suzzi were locked in conversation with Grump, their faces a mix of reverence and calculated charm.

Shawn leaned toward Kaykeigh Mega-Ninny, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “I’ll bet you ten bucks Kash is pitching some absurd policy idea, and Pam’s already figured out how to blackmail him for it.”

Kaykeigh giggled, covering her mouth with her hand. “You’re terrible.”

“I’m honest,” Shawn replied. “Big difference.”

The sound of Grump’s booming voice drew Shawn’s attention fully. Grump, still seated on his ornate throne, raised a glass of champagne high.

“To me!” Grump declared, his voice filled with self-satisfaction.

The crowd erupted into cheers, glasses clinking as they echoed his toast. Shawn joined in, though his eyes remained fixed on Grump. “This man,” he thought, “has no idea how much of his success depends on people like me making him look good.”

After the toast, Grump rose from his throne and began moving through the crowd, Sparky perched on his shoulder like a jewel come to life. As Grump approached the Faux News group, Shawn straightened his posture, his signature grin firmly in place.

“Vanity,” Grump said, his tone both dismissive and approving. “Still dazzling the cameras, I see.”

“Only in service of your greatness, Mr. President-Elect,” Shawn replied smoothly, bowing slightly.

Sparky sniffed dramatically, puffing a small smoke ring. “This one’s full of himself, Donny. But useful.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Grump said, clapping Shawn on the back. Stevie Boot-Liquor crouched low, sniffing Shawn’s impeccably polished shoes.

“Hmm,” Stevie muttered. “Hairspray and… ambition. Lots of ambition.”

“Good,” Grump said with a nod. “Ambition keeps people motivated.”

Grump moved down the line, greeting Laura Ding-Dong next. She curtsied slightly, her voice dripping with flattery. “Mr. President-Elect, your leadership inspires us all.”

Sparky whispered, “This one’s a parrot. She repeats whatever she hears.”

“As long as it’s the right words,” Grump replied with a grin.

Stevie sniffed again. “Perfume and… insecurity. Very strong.”

Maria Bizzarra-Rama was next, her smile as wide as her ambition. “Donold, you’re redefining what it means to lead. It’s an honor to be part of this movement.”

“Massive ego,” Stevie whispered, his nose twitching. “But it’s stable.”

“I like that,” Grump said. “Stable ego. Use it wisely, Maria.”

The group dissolved into chatter as Grump moved on, leaving Shawn both relieved and irritated. “Hairspray and ambition,” he muttered under his breath. “That mutt doesn’t know a thing about me.”

As the dinner commenced, Shawn returned to the Faux News group, entertaining them with his commentary on the event. When the mushrooms hidden in the sauces began to take effect, Shawn’s wit turned sharper, his observations more surreal.

“Did you see Stevie Boot-Liquor sniffing Pam’s shoes earlier?” Shawn quipped, his laughter infectious. “He looked like a bloodhound on a case.”

“I’m pretty sure he sniffed Kash’s, too,” Laura added, giggling. “What did he say? Something about ambition?”

“Ambition and leather polish,” Shawn replied, earning a round of laughter.

But as the mushrooms took hold, the laughter gave way to confusion and chaos. Shawn’s vision blurred, the chandeliers above morphing into glowing orbs that pulsed with an unnatural rhythm. He blinked rapidly, trying to focus, but the room seemed to ripple like a mirage.

“What the…?” he murmured, clutching the edge of the bar for support. He glanced at Laura, who was staring wide-eyed at her glass as though it held the secrets of the universe.

“Is your champagne... talking to you?” she asked, her voice trembling.

“No,” Shawn replied, though he wasn’t entirely sure. He turned toward the center of the room, where Stevie Boot-Liquor was now crawling on all fours, shouting something about rabbits. A senator stood on a chair, conducting an imaginary orchestra, while Maria clutched Greg Gutless’s arm, insisting the walls were melting.

Through the haze, Shawn caught sight of Grump, seated serenely on his throne. Sparky, the iridescent dragon, was puffing colorful smoke rings, his voice faint but audible to Shawn.

“They’re losing it, Donny,” Sparky hissed. “What a show.”

Grump nodded, his expression smug. “Just as I planned,” he replied.

Shawn staggered toward the nearest chair, his mind spinning. Somewhere in the chaos, he could still hear Grump’s laughter, a sound that seemed to echo endlessly. As the hallucinations deepened, Shawn’s thoughts became a tangled mix of awe, confusion, and reluctant admiration.