AnimeCon Harem Bonus: Auditions (Patreon)

“Okay, I think that’s all we need to see. Next,” Foxy commanded, drumming his fingertips across the legal pad on the table out of boredom. The Perseus cosplayer from Dice Duelists who’d been standing in front of them at the judge’s table nodded and shuffled off in dejection.

A faint smile played across Foxy’s handsomely arrogant face. This year he’d gone from being the local Mana: the Mastery pariah to one of the esteemed cosplay contest judges, and in a matter of a few hours. All it took was finally cashing in an old favor. He’d always jokingly badgered his buddy Nick to let him stand-in as a judge—this year, it actually happened.

Becoming a someone here at AnimeCon was all about connections, and few people could boast having the influence of Foxy of fucking Loxly. Throughout the years he’d won prominent titles in several different gaming tournaments here, including a Mana: the Mastery regional championship, so he was a familiar face in those circles. He was well-known among the established artists alley who regularly bought booths as well, because he was an infamously generous patron; regularly paying extravagant sums for commissioned art.

Honestly, it wasn’t any coincidence that his old pal Nick happened to also be a veteran AnimeCon staffer and cosplay contest judge. Each of Foxy’s carefully hand-chosen cadre of friends was also, in fact, someone of importance in their field of subculture expertise. One was head moderator of one of the largest internet anime fan-forums. Another, the artisan geek famous for running an entire small lab of 3-D printers that produced miniatures and small props. Several of the voice actors and convention guests were on a first-name basis with Foxy, and the AnimeCon afterparty he hosted every year at his hotel room was legendary for featuring several thousand dollars worth of freely flowing liquor.

Ironically, for someone so deeply involved in this fan community, Foxy’d never had much of an interest in cosplay, personally. But, after all—wasn’t becoming a contest judge like this a step above that in the hobby hierarchy, anyways? The awards and titles everyone was vying for were his to dispense, he was the one to determine how much value their hard work constructing a cosplay actually had. Imagining himself lording this borrowed position over these costumed sycophants was so funny to him that Foxy could almost forget there were two other judges.

“If you could first give us your name, the character you’re cosplaying, and then the series they’re from,” Joe rattled off his rote instructions to the slim young girl in the enticing white and black ensemble who’d stepped up next.

“Hi!” That girl gave them a giddy smile and energetically waved both hands at them. “My name is Melanie Campbell, and my cosplay name is Neko!”

“I think… uh, well, that’s already taken, actually,” Joe interrupted, leaning forward. “As a cosplay name. ‘Neko’ is a pretty well-known west-coast cosplayer, for the past... probably seven or eight years? She gets hired by game studios to do cosplays for publicity. I follow her on Nibbler.”

“Neko is… already taken?” Melanie all at once looked completely crushed.

Watching the bubbly young teen go from animated enthusiasm to speechlessly despondent in a matter of seconds piqued Foxy’s interest, and he sat up in his seat as Joe gave the girl a nervous chuckle.

“We actually don’t require cosplay names, or anything like that,” Joe assured her. “Just Melanie, is fine.”

“Kind of a waste, though,” Foxy gave the pretty young contestant in front of them a charming grin. “How ‘bout… ‘Melaneko?’”

“Melaneko?!” The new moniker seemed to stun the dark-haired girl, her blue eyes going wide and mouth falling open before she erupted into an enormous enthusiastic smile and jumped in place like she’d been given a spike of adrenaline.

Damn, she’s a cutie.

“Ohmigod, Melaneko! That’s so perfect! You’re like, a genius!” Melanie gushed. “Melaneko! Melaneko! Oh my god, thank you so much!”

“You heard her, Joe—write down ‘Melaneko,’ instead of Melanie,” Foxy decided, not failing to notice the unrestrained bounce of Melanie’s breasts through her costume as she did her excited little dance. Joe actually had seniority over Foxy and Ghost Wine by a pretty large margin, but he was a laid-back guy who simply smiled and penciled over his previous entry.

“Moving on,” the last judge, Ghost Wine, looked annoyed. “You’re Blaire from EMRLD, correct? Did you make the outfit yourself?”

“Yep! And, well, sorta!” Melanie answered with a chipper, unabashed smile. “Mom helped fix a few little, uh, mess-ups I made, and then it like, practically came apart when I was in line here when I lost an important pin, or something! But, my friends helped me get it all back together, so—here it is!”

“Seems like your cosplay’s been a real adventure,” Foxy said, carefully observing her up and down. Nice. Hope she’s not underage. She was short-statured and pretty thin, but positively stacked, sporting a ripe pair of tits barely held in by the fabric of her cosplay.

“Oh yeah,” Melanie nodded energetically. “You have no idea!”

“Well, I think you look great,” Foxy praised. “How old are you?”

“I just turned eighteen!”

“Uh, now wait a minute, here,” Ghost Wine bitched, frowning at Foxy and then turning toward Melanie. “I’m familiar with many variations of Blaire, but all of them have either a large black bow worn on the top of the head, or cat ears—and you have neither.”

“Fuck!” Melanie swore, reflexively grabbing at her crown to discover there was nothing there. “I mean, uh. Whoops! I think... I maybe left them in my car. I do have cat ears.”

“Uh-huh, okay,” Ghost Wine shook her head. The Filipino judge looked even more aggravated. “I think that’ll be all, then. Next in line, please?”

“Now, now,” Foxy argued, motioning for Melanie not to leave yet. “It’s an honest mistake, and she’s been through a lot to get this far. I think she looks great, can’t you cut her some slack?”

“Are you fucking serious right now?” Ghost Wine hissed at him in a low voice. “You veto Sarah Star for Best of Show, you wave away almost every single decent cosplayer in line, and then you want to let her walk the stage? Even cat ears aside, Blaire wears thigh-highs, not sneakers.”

“Sorry,” Melanie apologized, squirming uncomfortably.

Wow. This girl has a sharp sense of hearing.

“I did find a pair that was perfect, but they were a little too expensive…”

“It’s not fair penalize her for that,” Foxy scowled at the other judge. “Not everyone’s made of money, Ghost Wine. There’s a lot more to cosplay than that—everyone has to start somewhere.”

“Okay, what. What. Ghost Wine slapped her hands on the judging table. “You know that’s not what I—”

“We don’t have to give her an award, but we can at least let her walk on stage,” Foxy cut her off. “Everyone was a beginner, once. You don’t have to be mean to her.”

“Are you fucking serious?!”

“Hey, both of you—it’s fine,” Joe stood, placating both of them. “We have plenty of slots left, still. She can walk. Not a big deal.”

“Thank you, Joe,” Foxy nodded in appreciation.

“Whatever,” Ghost Wine huffed.

“Thank you!” Melanie chimed in awkwardly. “Joe.”

“It’s fine,” the judge sighed, running a finger down the partially filled-in list. “Let’s put you… about halfway through. You’ll be number forty, make sure you remember your number.”

“Thank you so much!” Melanie squeaked out, wriggling with excitement again. “Forty! Got it. I promise I won’t mess up and ruin everything!”

“Next in line, please,” Ghost Wine impatiently called, still pissed off.

She’s got a huge ass for such a little body, too, Foxy thought, watching Melanie leave with appreciation. And unlike Mary, she seems fun. Easy to please. By comparison, the lovely Chinese teen waiting for him in the front row of seats seemed practically frigid. It had been good having her around to showcase his own worth, and she was an exotic pretty face, but this Melanie girl seemed so much more imminently… fuckable.

“I go by Synn,” the next girl introduced herself confidently, “this year, I’m cosplaying Dmirtir Dhampir, from HellState.” She opened her coat slightly to reveal a neatly tailored vest beneath, as well as the dual gunbelts for her pistols.

“I spent about a month altering patterns from different regency-era men’s clothing so that it’s both accurate for Dmitri, and fits my exact dimensions,” Jordyn continued, slightly turning to show off each hip. “The gunbelts, I made out of six different thrift-store belts and assembled using an awl punch and a rivet gun, while the holsters themselves are water-hardened—I shaped them from scrap leather. All of it I then stained, so that it looks like one matching piece. I hand-stitched the—”

“Hate to interrupt, but you have to let us ask the questions,” Joe chuckled. “You’re definitely good to walk the stage, let’s put you at… here, you’ll be number sixty-four.”

“Sixty-four,” Jordyn acknowledged with a smile. “Thank you.”

“Now, as for winning an award,” Ghost Wine spoke up, “did you make every part of the costume yourself?”

“I… did not,” Jordyn faltered slightly, and guiltily slid the pistols out of their holsters to hold them up. “Jekyll and Hyde I struggled with, and eventually decided that the most faithful renditions of them would be ordering from a 3-D printer. They’re the only part of the entire outfit—including the boots—that I didn’t make by hand.”

“I don’t think we should count them,” Foxy mused, enraptured by Jordyn’s confidence and candor. “It’s a special case. She was gunning for accuracy, if you’ll pardon the pun, and you literally can’t get any more accurate than a 3-D printed prop using the actual models. You painted them yourself, I assume?”

“I did!” Jordyn flashed a bright smile. “Primer, and then a coat of chrome color, followed by a drybrushing of gunmetal gray, and then I used an ink-wash on Hyde, here.”

The black girl was stunning, with fine features and a breathy voice that sent a pleasant shiver down Foxy’s spine. At first, he’d been sorry to see she wasn’t wearing that skintight blue null suit from Metrazoid from last year, but she was sexy in a whole new way in this getup.

Something about the way she carried herself and the way she’d cut the cloth to her dimensions made it seem particularly... classy. The typical HellState vampire cosplayers he’d seen were brash young edgelord kids with lousy store-bought costumes, while Synn instead looked legitimate. She captured all the subtle key points in making the outfit peerlessly elegant, and carried herself with a certain poise and bearing that really sold it.

“Hmm…” Joe tapped his chin. “Let’s say for now that we won’t rule you out for the guns, and we’ll make a final consideration after we’ve seen everyone in line. Sound good?”

“Agreed,” Foxy nodded, flashing Jordyn a grin.

“That’s fine,” Ghost Wine said, giving Jordyn a small wave and a rare smile. “You look great.”

“Thank you,” Jordyn gave a small bow before turning to leave. “Sixty-four, correct?”

“Yep, sixty-four,” Joe confirmed. “Could we have the next person in line, please?”

“Oh, no way,” Foxy snorted to himself as Brian in his Darkmask costume approached the judge’s table. It really is a small convention, after all, huh? That pink-haired ditz that was always clinging to his arm was already slinking out the exit the rejected cosplayers left through, as if she was already certain Foxy wasn’t going to give her a chance.

“Yeah, I don’t think so, but nice try. No way. Next!”

“Wait a minute, wait, stop,” Ghost Wine frowned, holding up a hand to indicate Brian’s Hero hero Haruki minion should remain in place. She turned her glare back towards Foxy again. “What exactly’s the problem with this one?”

“I met this guy earlier,” Foxy shrugged his shoulders. “It’s a very obviously store-bought costume, there’s a bunch of ‘em wandering around the con just like that. All exactly identical.”

“No, wait,” Fletcher interrupted, trotting up to the judge’s table. “Doesn’t he have a helmet?”

“Yeah?” Foxy cast a bored look towards Fletcher and drummed his fingertips across the blank legal pad. “So?”

“None of the other Skullfies I saw going around the convention had a helmet,” Fletcher pointed out, pointing to Brian’s outfit. “Or a belt, or anything. Those store-bought ones just have all their details printed out onto fabric zentai-suits.”

Fletcher had very clearly seen Brian shuck off the molded plastic helmet to rush over and make sure that pink-haired girl was okay—he even gave up his spot in line to help pick splinters of wood out of the Brady’s cosplay. The scene of Brian carefully plucking sharp bits of wood out of the towering shape of the Ogre King had been a big impression on Fletcher, it was like watching the story of Androcles and the Lion unfold before him. Or maybe that Aesop’s fable that followed after? No act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted.

“I still don’t see the point in letting him walk,” Foxy shrugged. “Like I said, there’s a bunch of ‘em running already running around the convention.”

“There’s dozens of Blaire Bellefontes around too,” Ghost Wine pointed out. “AnimeCon’s a big convention.”

“Yeah, alright then,” Foxy rolled his eyes and gestured indifferently. “Go ahead.”

“Could we please have your name, the character, and the series?” Joe read out his line.

“I’m Brian, and I’m cosplaying a Darkmask, from Hero Hero Haruki.”

“Did you make every single part of your costume yourself?” Foxy challenged.

“No. I bought the helmet as a kit from a guy who uses a vacuum-former to—”

“Aha, that’s what I thought,” Foxy interrupted. “You bought it. I think that’s all we need to hear, then.”

“How’s that any different from getting a prop 3-D printed, so that you can have the most accurate piece available?” Ghost Wine argued, slapping her legal pad on the table. “He looks great. We can at least let him walk.”

“No,” Foxy decided, shaking his head as if that was completely out of the question. “I don’t think so.”

“Alright then, I’ll try again some other year,” Brian remarked casually, stepping back.

“Hey, you don’t have to—” Fletcher started to say.

“Thank you. Next, please,” Foxy called out.

Ghost Wine threw her legal pad at Foxy.

Rather than leaving dispiritedly, however, Brian set his helmet on one of the seats beside Mary in the front row and then remained behind to help the next contestant—the hulking Ogre King—forward.

“Thanks, man” Brady’s voice drifted out from under the Ogre King’s jaw. “Geez, tough judge’s panel this year, huh?”

“You’ll do fine,” Fletcher heard Brian assure the cosplayer.

“Uh, you flunked, Brian, you can leave now,” Mary taunted.

“Um,” Brian turned to the judges with an apologetic smile as he assisted Brady up to the table and tugged him to a stop when he was close enough. “His friend was helping him move around as a handler, but he had to go, uh… there was that issue.”

“What are you doing in here, anyways?” Fletcher addressed Mary in a quiet voice, irked by her terrible attitude.

“Uh, I’m with Foxy,” Mary retorted. “So, I can be wherever I want.”

“Not today, you can’t,” Fletcher pointed towards the exit. “Foxy’s a stand-in, not a staffer. Get out.”

“You can’t do that,” Mary scowled and looked over to Foxy for support. Unfortunately for her, all three of the judges were completely enamored with the Ogre King.

“This one’s absolutely outstanding,” Joe said in admiration. “Could we have your name, the character, and the series?”

“Exactly, now this is a cosplay,” Foxy agreed.

“My name is Brady, and I’m cosplaying Ogre King Jötunn, from Journey to the Western River,” the man inside the suit called out, muffled by layers of fabric and foam.

“I love the details,” Ghost Wine praised. “Little bits like the skulls dangling from the fur skirts, the toothy sneer, all the scars, and the pierced ear. You look like you just walked off of a movie set.”

“Go on, get out of here,” Fletcher told Mary again as the judges started asking their questions about the process of construction on the Ogre King build. “You’re not staff and you’re not entering the contest, so you need to wait outside.”

* * *

Who the fuck do you think you are? Mary scowled indignantly at Fletcher. She was standing now, hoping Foxy would notice her predicament and speak up for her—but he was still ignoring her for some stupid Ogre. I wasn’t bothering anyone who was actually good enough for the contest! So, what’s your big problem?

The thrill and excitement of having Foxy tell off that asshole Brian was already getting ruined. Somehow it had been even more satisfying than watching the two confront each other in a fight, because Foxy was a judge. With barely a wave of his hand and a few words, a position of authority was bestowed upon him, a position of power. Of course Brian was going to lose out; she’d been anticipating this since she’d first noticed Brian and the dim-witted Stephanie girl were in line for the contest. Too bad Kelly wasn’t around to see Brian make this total fool of himself.

But, now this dopey staffer was trying to boss her around like he was in charge. Was he a judge? No. Probably just some stupid dweeb volunteering, whereas Foxy was asked to help fill in for someone. Clearly, Foxy was a talent in demand, while this staff guy just signed up to creep on chicks and go on little power trips like this.

“I’m leaving, fine,” Mary huffed, sending a last look to Foxy, who was still ignoring her. She grabbed the cute hand-stitched bag Foxy’d bought her from the artist’s alley section, making sure to bump the other chair hard enough for Brian’s helmet to fall over.

The dumb staffer caught it before it hit the ground, and glared at her.

“Out. Now.”

Rolling her eyes at him, she shook her head and stormed off towards the exit, not bothering to look back towards the judge’s table. She was still hoping for Foxy to call out to her when her shoe scuffed an errant piece of metal on the carpeted floor.

The fuck? It was an iron bangle of some sort. Too thick to be an earring, and Mary swiped it off the ground as she left. Maybe it’s worth something.

Mary stumbled, blinded for a moment by the flash of a golden gleam as she walked out. She felt… different, as she turned the ring of metal over in her hands. It wasn’t gold—it was a dull and tarnished iron color. Why am I thinking of gold? It’s just… metal.

Unlike the classical elements of other ancient cultures, China had always considered metal as one of the few principle elements, just like fire or water. While she’d grown up very westernized, how could she not know Taoism and Wu Xing? Her parents were both very business-oriented and favored pretentious antique Chinese art pieces to show off their (otherwise ignored) heritage—and the metal element was always featured prominently, using gold.

Wealth, ambition. Power and strength, Mary thought to herself, almost swooning. Yeah, doesn’t my Foxy embody all of those metal traits perfectly?

This was all expensive, Mary found herself cheering up at feeling the weight of the cute bag Foxy’d bought her, and the Korean box-set of DVDs she carried within it. That’s how much he values me. I’m that important to him, he’d buy me anything… because I’m worth it. Foxy was always the right choice, Kelly. Your Brian is dirt, and what I have is REAL gold.

* * *

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that—could you speak up?” Foxy asked. Brady’s voice was muffled quite a bit from deep within the Ogre costume, even after Brian had helped him shuffle even closer to their table.

“He said, he used a heat-gun to curve the foam into shape first, then he used a dremel to shape it after that,” Brian answered for them.

“That’s amazing,” Joe said. “I’ve heard of people using that technique for making foam armor, but I’ve never seen it applied to sculpting out muscle like this.”

“I think we have our AnimeCon Best in Show for this year,” Ghost Wine proposed.

“Agreed,” Foxy nodded.

“Yeah, I’m marking that down, too,” Joe said. “Unless someone else in line really blows us away, I think you’re taking it, Brady. For now, let’s put you at the very end of the line walking onstage, so that you finish out the show.”

“He says ‘thank you,’” Brian grinned, bowing on Brady’s behalf and turning to help him leave.

“Hey,” Fletcher called, holding up Brian’s skull helmet. “Don’t want to forget this.”

“Ah, thank you,” Brian said, stepping over to accept it.

“We can still get you walking on stage for the Contest,” Fletcher said in a low voice. “Foxy’s been an asshat.”

“That’s okay,” Brian chuckled. “I’m not too put out about it. I mostly just entered for fun.”

“You sure, man?” Fletcher asked.

“Yeah. I was gonna stick around back there to help Brady up on stage, though, if that’s alright.”

“That’s cool, thank you,” Fletcher said appreciatively. “You’re already mostly in black, you’re practically a stagehand already.”

“I was a stagehand back in high school,” Brian laughed. “If you guys ever need help with anything. My best friend’s mom ran the whole theatre department, and she ran a tight ship.”

“No kidding?” Fletcher looked thoughtful. “Ever think about applying to be a staffer, here?”

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