Cohost writing prompt: @Making-up-Monsters — Monster who's made your bed, time for you to lie in it
"When you tell people that a vampire has been haunting your family's history for generations," Jane says, neatly ripping a beer mat to shreds between restless fingers, "they often get ideas. You know. Gothic monstruosity. Romance. Though I think there was a thing with great-grandma which nobody wants to talk about, and frankly? I'm probably happier that nobody does."
"Wow." The rock climbing instructor that Jane's friends are trying to set her up with raises her eyebrows over her glass of wine. "Family vampire, that's wild. You must have some stories."
"Mostly," Jane says, "it's like having a well-meaning but extremely out-of-touch aunt." She sighs. "What about you? Exciting family?"
Midway through an explanation — something about cousins that's simultaneously convoluted and attention-numbingly ordinary — there's the rap of a walking stick on the restaurant's tiles, and Jane freezes in furious dread, then twists around to search the place behind her.
"Are you okay?" her date says, but by then Jane's spotted her: rakish in an antique double-breasted suit, strolling along with a silver-topped cane, and absolutely up in Jane's business.
"Shit," she says, and then the family vampire is standing by their table, a searing floodlamp of smiling charisma, and Jane watches her date go wide-eyed and pliable under it.
"I didn't know you'd be out late," the vampire says smoothly, to Jane.
"I'm twenty-seven," Jane says. "I don't have a curfew. Or a bedtime. It's only— " she checks her watch with an angry snap of her wrist— "Nine."
"Everyone has a bedtime," the vampire says, with vague reproach. "You're in a mood. Did you miss your afternoon nap?"
"Are you aware I'm not a toddler," Jane says, quiet and savage.
"...Yes," the vampire says, after a few long moments, blinking, and flashes Jane's date a feeble smile that hotly spikes Jane's ire. "Yes, Jane, I know you're not a toddler. I'm sorry you're annoyed; I simply didn't know you'd be out at this hour, I thought I'd check on your wellbeing—"
"That's quite thoughtful, really, isn't it?" Jane's date says diplomatically.
"I'll be back in just a minute," Jane says, stands, and drags the vampire away into a corner near the toilets by the wrist. "As you can see, I'm fine, so you clearly aren't needed—"
"Should you have so many buttons unbuttoned just here," the vampire interrupts, surreptitiously indicating neckline. "It might give an impression."
"I'm perfectly aware what impression I'm giving," Jane seethes.
"Oh. Oh!" The vampire brightens. "If you like, I could spare any risk to your reputation by delicately enquiring as to whether the lady has any inclination of the sapphic type—"
"She's bi and oh my god Barty introduced us—"
"How is master Bartholomew and his gentleman caller?"
"Don't change the subject! Don't pretend you're helping. Don't pretend you don't know this is a date. You're just interfering to get rid of her, you always do this—"
"Is it so wrong to hold my family's suitors to standards?"
"Suitors? Maybe I'm just out to get railed through the mattress."
"Don't be foolish, Jane," the vampire says primly. "You're in no way suited to the emotional vacuity of casual encounters." She pauses. "And that sounds awfully violent. Do I need to keep a closer eye on your safety—"
"Oh my GOD it's fucking HYPERBOLE how has nobody STAKED YOU yet—"
"I worry," the vampire says, and sniffles in a slightly overdone way, patting her pockets for a handkerchief and pressing it theatrically to the corners of her eyes.
"Let me breathe!"
"You don't need some physical fitness instructor slattern to breathe," the vampire says. "I put fresh linens on your bed. I'll make you cocoa. I could read to you a chapter from a diverting contemporary novel while you settle yourself for your bedtime—"
"Oh, now all of a sudden you know exactly who she is, do you." Jane folds her arms tightly, and the vampire falls silent, fusses with her handkerchief, and finally tucks it into her breast pocket.
"I think your lady companion is calling the waiter for the check," she says in a fretful little voice.
"I will kill you," Jane snarls. "I will pour gasoline on your coffin and torch it and pelt your escaping body with lawn darts—"
The vampire sniffs. "Where, pray, do you think you'll find such an unsafe item as lawn darts in this decade?"
"Oh my GOD!" Jane fumes, and strides back in the direction of her unravelling evening.