Vampire NEET Thing

You knock on the door and wait for her to answer. It's 11:30, which is pretty late at night for you, but she always sleeps in late. After a minute, you hear her shuffling to let you in. As she opens the door, the smells from inside waft over you: cup ramen, Mountain Dew, and blood. She must have left the carton sitting out. Again. As she finishes opening the door, you get the first glimpse of her in days. She’s wearing nothing but panties and a t-shirt. Vampire Weekend, just for laughs. Her hair is in an awful tangle. You wish she’s at least take care of that, since her golden locks are quite lovely when she manages the upkeep on them.
“Are you a Vampire now too? Do I need to invite you in?”
You take the hint and step inside.
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As your eyes adjust to the light you take in the wreckage of the one-room apartment. Wrappers, ramen cups, soda cans, and the blood carton you smelled are strewn about, along with several articles of clothing, none of which seem to include pants. It’s like she’s allergic to them.
“Jesus, Carmilla, couldn't you at least keep it clean for a week? I’d like to not have to start from square one every time I come,” you say, exasperated.

“It’s Carry, Carmilla is my mother’s name,” she says, expertly avoiding the issue as usual.

You sigh and begin the process of cleanup. As you put the carton in the fridge and begin clearing the floor of wrappers, you see her sitting there, her trademark blank gaze in her red eyes. The first time you were here it scared you a little, like she was imagining different was to drain your life.

You’d been assigned to help her for community service, thanks to an idiotic drunken stunt. After their appearance and subsequent integration into the populous, the government made a habit of trying to help monster girls stay adjusted to society. Most of the time, government workers are happy to do it themselves, but a bit of old stigma still remains on monsters like Vampires, so they assign people like you to do it as punishment.

Never having met a Vampire before, you were very apprehensive about the whole thing, glancing at Carry every few minutes to make sure she wasn’t going to try biting you. It was about halfway through that you realized how harmless she is. She had just come out of the bathroom when she issued a shriek. She had forgotten you were there, and panicked when she saw you. No one that airheaded could really do you much harm.

Of course, there was no reason to keep coming back, now that your community service was done. Well, there was one reason. A petite, pale, blond one.

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As your mind returns to the present you notice you've finished picking up all of the trash. You've also moved the clothes into a pile to wash later. Right now, however, Carry needs washing more than they do. You open your bag and present her with some nice soap and shampoo you picked up on the way here.

“Alright, go hit the shower while I begin the laundry. Be sure to wash your hair really well, it’s looking pretty rough.”

She takes the toiletries from you and looks at the scents. She briefly smiles at the pomegranate shampoo, then heads to the shower to wash up.

You start in on the mountains of unwashed clothes in the meantime. They aren't really all that dirty seeing as she never goes anywhere, but they all smell faintly of ramen and something else, almost like honey. Sweeter though, and more subdued. You shrug and begin removing some bloodstains from the dirtiest articles.
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Half an hour later you hear her coming out of the shower. All you have left to do is the laundry, so you’re sitting on the couch chilling when she exits the bathroom. She put on a solid black tank top and, to your surprise, small pink shorts.

She walks up to you and stares right at you. Her red eyes seem to bore right through your head.

“Y-yeah?” you ask, unsure of what she wants.

“Hair.”

“What?”

“My hair. I couldn’t get it untangled.” She holds out a brush to you.

“Oh, uh, I’ll help you then, I guess.” You take the rather elegant looking brush and motion for her to sit down on the couch beside you. She gets seated and you both rearrange positioning so you can get at her rat’s nest of a hairdo easier.

You’re a bit hesitant at first, seeing as you’ve never actually touched her at all before. Swallowing your nerves, you make to undo the large knots. It’s still a bit damp from her shower, but you can tell that her mane is naturally very silky. And thick, which seems to be the root of the problem. Thinner hairs would have split under these knots and strains, but her strong locks refused to break. You spend several minutes on each one before they yield and come undone. Satisfied that you’ve unknotted everything, you move to get up, but she stops you.

“You’ve still got to run the brush through it.”

Sighing, you get back to work. She could totally do that herself, why is she insisting you do it? But you have nothing to do while waiting on the laundry so you begin running the brush through her golden, silky locks.

Stroke. Stroke. Stroke.

You’re pretty sure you’ve never felt anything quite so soft before.

Stroke. Stroke. Stroke.

Breathing in, you notice the pomegranate shampoo, and that same sweet smell that stuck to her clothes.

Stroke. Stroke. Stroke.

It’s almost fifteen minutes before she’s satisfied with her hair. She sets the brush down in another room, then comes back to sit with her laptop beside you on the couch. The rest of the evening passes with chores and some more stares. It might just be you, but you think they look a bit less empty now.
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“You’re late.”

She’s standing at the door when you arrive. Apparently she’d been standing there waiting  for you for about half an hour for some unfathomable reason. You struggle to make out her expression in the darkness of her apartment.

“Sorry Carmilla, traffic was really backed up on the way here.”

“Carry. My name is Carry. Now help me, I spilled some blood on my favorite shirt and I don’t know how to get bloodstains out,” she demands, relocating to the couch.

You almost ask her why a vampire doesn’t know how to remove bloodstains, but you decide she’s probably always just relied on someone else to do it for her. Sighing, you ask her for the shirt while taking a quick survey of the place again now that your eyes have finally adjusted.

“Hey, you actually managed to keep it kind of clean this ti-”

You’re cut off by a t-shirt pelting you in the face.

“Oh come on. At least warn me if you’re going to throw somethi-”

This time you cut yourself off as you face her, only to realize the shirt she threw was the one she was wearing. She sits herself back down on the couch, now in nothing but her plain black underwear. You really hope she doesn’t make a habit of taking off the little bit of clothes she does tend to wear. You’re silently thankful she can’t see you blush from where she’s sitting.

“Well, if we’re going to get these out, I’m going to need Coke. And since your stores must be getting low you’re going to have to go with me to pick out food.”

A low hiss emanates from the couch, sending a slight shiver up your spine.

“I know you don’t like it, but last time I went alone you complained about everything I bought. So get dressed. And yes, pants are necessary even if your shirts are long.”

Carry’s hissing slowly transforms into a constant grumble as she drags herself into her bedroom. Her reluctance means she doesn’t emerge until a good 15 minutes later in a plain black shirt, shorts, and sandals. Nothing fancy but it’s not like you’re going anywhere high class. She grumbles all the way to the car and for the five seconds it takes you to turn on the radio to drown her out. You aren’t sure, but you think you can hear her singing along with some of the lyrics.

The traffic from earlier has died down and you arrive at the supermarket fairly quick. You grab a cart at the entrance and start walking when Carry tugs on the back of your shirt.

“Up.”

“Excuse me?”

“Up. Put me in the cart.”

“What? No, you can walk. You’re older than I am!”

“You’d make a poor, small girl like me w-walk though the s-s-store,” she stutters, putting on the most staged waterworks show you’ve seen.

You quickly think of a way to defuse the situation before people start to stare.

“I would if she wants me to buy her an extra case of Unholy Water.”

Immediately the fake tears stop, replaced briefly by smirk before her face returns to it’s natural blank state. She falls in beside you and behaves quite fine for the rest of the trip out, spurred on by the bribe of her favorite energy drinks. You get her another month's supply of food, as well as what you need to fix her shirt and proceed to go return to her home.

As soon as she walks through the door she strips off her sandals and shorts. Thankfully the shirt remains on this time. You clean her shirt and do the rest of the laundry, as well as cook a small dinner of beef tips for the two of you. You finish up the rest of the chores and prepare to leave. As you leave, you hear a faint “thanks” come from the couch. You stop in the doorway for a second before returning a faint “You’re welcome,” and heading out. You ponder on the way to the car and realize this is the first time she’s ever thanked you.
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