Laura works at a blood bank and Carmilla needs a new part-time food source.
Two hours to quitting time, and Laura still hasn't reached her personal quota. She'll have to take it up with the trolls in the financial aid office again, because she hasn't had access to her account for longer than she's struggled to answer their riddles. When she presses her forehead to the tabletop she almost wants to cry.
Being an adult is hard, and no one understands.
The sound of approaching footsteps forces her to compose herself. Victorian era vampires always have an even walk that gives them away.
"Oh," Laura says, when a pale woman with dark hair stops in front of her booth. "Sorry, pass."
Laura trains her eyes on the paper in front of her. She would rather go home short than lose anymore self-respect. Just because she works part-time at a Blood Bank doesn't mean she accepts just any old sharptooth as a client. The woman stops to fold her arms and frown.
"Excuse me?" she sounds like she's taking it personally. "You're not even my type, sweetheart."
Laura glances up from her homework but doesn't stop writing. The vampire can't be much older than herself, dressed in some cliche outfit half out of Hot Topic and half out of the 18th century.
"Should I pretend to be disappointed?"
Laura doesn't bleed for romantics, newbies, or any of the fire signs on the Zodiac. The last time she put out for an Aries she almost got put in the hospital.
"Yeah right," the vampire says, shifting her weight. "I could eat a pretty little thing like you in one bite." When she laughs it reaches the walls; hollow.
"I think they call that binge eating," Laura says with a sideways glance. She coughs to cover up a giggle. "Wait," she amends. "You think I'm pretty?"
"For a B-positive, anyway," she says like it's an afterthought.
"You're one to talk," Laura says with a high laugh. "I bet Beethoven was still giving concerts the last time you sucked blood from a willing human."
"He was great live," she confesses.
Laura can feel herself softening like butter left out of the fridge for too long. "You knew Beethoven?"
Laura sees a flash of her oversized canines when she smiles. "No, but my boyfriend did."
Secretly, Laura is a little jealous. "So he was a musician?"
"Close," the brunette says, inclining her head. "A poet."
"That's worse!" Laura complains. "How stereotypical."
The vampire rolls her eyes like it's a tremendous effort. They're pitch black and soulless but her mascara is so on point Laura is almost mad.
"That's a lot of talk coming from someone in the clearance section."
Laura lets the pencil roll from her hand and onto the floor. "Excuse me," she says, face bright red. "I was marked down from over-"
The vampire rakes her eyes from top to bottom. "I can see why."
Laura plays with the hem of her skirt when she realizes she's been harassed into standing. She presses her palms flat to the table and fails to catch the customer's eyes.
"So, Laura," she begins instead, pointing to the fine print on her profile. "Says here that you have an attitude problem."
"What-!" Laura trips an effort to swing around to the other side of the table. She teeters on her heels before fingers curl around her hips, steadying her. This close Laura can smell her; something like black cherry vodka. She studies the words on the counter.
"Something about a condescending tone and excessive moral high ground."
Laura pushes her hands away. "Says the vampire who hasn't broken an artery since the new millenia!"
"The name is Carmilla," she says seriously, but it still comes up short of ringing any bells. "Maybe you've heard of me."
"I haven't," Laura says with a great level of vindication. "And I wouldn't spill a drop for you if you were the last bloodsucker on earth," she declares.
Laura has heard of her. Something about a dead girlfriend and a hero complex. She read about her briefly in Gothic Lit. last semester, maybe.
"I only work two days a week, anyway," Laura tries to discourage her. "And I'm not available on weekends or holidays."
"That's perfect," Carmilla says. "I don't celebrate things or have a life."
Laura evens out the notes on her profile before sliding back into her side of the both. She stares pointedly at Carmilla and slides a tablet in her direction. How long does it take to get a corset on anyway?
"You have to fill out this disclosure agreement if you're actually interested," Laura huffs.
Carmilla pokes at the device before chewing on her lip. She looks so painfully awkward Laura feels uncomfortable by association. "I'm new here," she admits.
Laura raises an eyebrow as she sits back down. "To this neighborhood?"
Carmilla laughs like it's funnier than it is. "To this century," she explains.
Laura remembers reading something about that too-asleep for a hundred years-some nap! Her confusion is so pathetic Laura is forced to intervene. She takes the tablet back and scrolls through the rules; no one reads them anyway.
"You can only drink at my consent," Laura informs her. "And only from the wrist," Laura reminds her sharply.
Carmilla nods her head and tries to press a kiss her knuckles. It's very Edgar Allen Poe. "I wouldn't have it any other way."
"Rule number one," Laura interjects loudly, snatching her hand back. "People don't do that anymore."