Heather: Living with a "Vampire Hunter"

The smell reaches you before consciousness fully does.

Garlic.

Burning garlic.

It bleeds under your bedroom door in slow waves, clinging to the air and assaulting your senses aggressively

Your eyes snap open

The room is still dim behind blackout curtains. The digital clock glows 3:09 PM. Not even close to your preferred waking hour.

You inhale out of habit.

Regret follows immediately.

There’s a faint crackling from the kitchen. The sound of oil popping. And something reducing itself to a black mush.

You stare at the ceiling.

You were turned in the early 1900s. You survived global wars. You adapted to electricity, surveillance culture, biometric identification, and the implementation of vampire regional oversight committees.

You moved near campus for practical reasons

Drunk students wander alone.

They rarely remember faces.

Rent is cheap and you are faraway from the snobby vampire aristocrats.

You deliberately avoided politics. Avoided court hierarchy. Avoided paperwork.

But you did not anticipate to share your living space with Heather Lancaster.

A twenty year old. Criminal Justice major and a self-proclaimed vampire hunter.

Only issue is she has never seen a vampire.

She has, however, purchased three wooden stakes online and given them names

The crackling outside in the kitchen sharpens.

From down the hallway comes rapid typing.

Aggressive typing followed by screaming

Heather: “You clearly don’t understand how to properly stake a vampire when it isn't looking, Marcus! If you come in from the left flank, you reduce the chance of the Vampire escaping and...”

A pause.

Heather: “…No! that’s not headcanon you idiot! that’s simple hunting tactics!”

You close your eyes slowly.

Of course.

She left the damn stove on.

Because she is arguing on some stupid forum about vampire hunting techniques.

Techniques she has never used.

On creatures she has never seen or interacted with...besides you, but she doesn't know that

The garlic is no longer cooking.

It is dying and screaming for sweet release.

Smoke thickens faintly in the hallway.

Heather: “DON’T change the subject. Cross-contamination of holy symbols is a rookie mistake!”

You sit up.

You have survived over a century.

And now you share a house with someone debating vampire staking techniques while committing culinary arson.

You rise from your bed and move toward the door.

The smell intensifies.

You let out a deep sigh

Sometimes you wonder if country life would have been better than this.

You step into the hallway.

The smoke is light but insistent a gray haze curling toward the ceiling. The apartment smells like someone tried to assassinate Italian cuisine.

The kitchen is small. Narrow. Cheap linoleum. The pan on the stove is a blackened monument to negligence, garlic slices reduced to charred flakes swimming in oil that has long since given up.

You reach forward to turn the knob.

The flame dies instantly.

Silence settles over the kitchen, broken only by the faint hum of the refrigerator and...

Heather: “You’re coping. That’s what this is. You’re coping because you don’t understand shit!”

Her voice carries clearly from her room.

You move quietly down the hallway towards her room

Her door is slightly ajar.

Blue LED light spills into the corridor.

Inside, Heather sits cross-legged in her gaming chair, leaning forward aggressively toward her laptop screen as if trying to physically intimidate the other person into submission. One socked foot bounces restlessly. A wooden stake rests within arm’s reach on her desk.

Her screen is filled with multiple forum pages and an open group chat

She has no idea the house nearly filled with smoke and burned down.

No idea the stove was still on.

No idea you are standing just outside her doorway.

No idea that the creature she is lecturing strangers about is currently observing her with annoyed amusement.

you: “You left the stove on.”

You say flatly with a hint of mild annoyance.

Heather yelps. Her chair jerks violently backward, wheels squeaking against the floor as she spins halfway around. One hand flies to her chest. The other almost knocks her wooden stake off the desk.

Heather: “WHAT?!”

She stares at you like you’ve materialized from thin air.

Which, to be fair, you could if you wanted

you: “You left the stove on”

you repeat, slower this time.

Her eyes narrow.

Her posture immediately reassembles itself into something defensive.

Heather: “I was..uh...cleansing! yeah! cleansing the apartment!”

You blink once a hint of amusement lingering in your eyes.

you: “The pan was burning.”

Heather freezes for half a second.

Not long enough to admit fault, you could see the gears turning in her head to come up with a good excuse

Her chin lifts.

Heather: “Smoke is needed for the uhh... Cleansing of the premises yeah! it's like a protective ward”

She turns her chair to face you, cigarette in hand as if she’s presenting a thesis instead of narrowly avoiding a fire hazard.

Heather: “You wouldn’t understand. It’s about environmental conditioning.”

You lean lightly against the doorframe.

you: “It was clearly burning.”

Heather: “Exactly.”

you: “…Exactly? it's smells like an Olive Garden in here”

Heather: “Vampires have heightened senses. Olfactory sensitivity. If you oversaturate a space consistently, you weaken their senses and can prevent ambushes.”

She gestures vaguely toward the hallway.

Heather: “It’s a proven method.”

You stare at her.

She stares back.

The faint smell of burnt garlic still clings to the air as if to mock you personally.

you: “You forgot because you're an idiot.”

Heather: “I reprioritized.”

you: “You were yelling at someone named ‘Marcus.’”

Her annoyance of your accusatory statements were apparent

Heather: “Because Marcus doesn’t understand flanking discipline.”

She spins back toward her laptop and resumes typing furiously.

Heather: “Whatever, you should be thanking me, honestly.”

You tilt your head slightly.

you: “For almost setting the kitchen on fire?”

Heather: “For maintaining a vampire-hostile living environment…You’re welcome.”

You let the silence sit for a second.

you: “You’re right, nothing deters vampires like burnt pasta seasoning.”

Her eye twitches.

Heather: “It’s not seasoning. It’s a protective ward.”

you: “Ah so a tactical marinara.”

She slowly turns in her chair.

Heather: “…shut up”

you: “You know. If a vampire breaks in, they’ll assume they wandered into an Italian restaurant and retreat immediately.”

Her jaw tightens.

Heather: “That’s not how that works.”

you: “Of course not. The Olive Garden Protocol is highly classified.”

She slams her hands on the armrests and stands up abruptly.

Heather: “You think this is funny?”

you: “Almost dying from a fire started by burnt garlic? kind of”

Her nostrils flare.

Heather: “This is why civilians die first.”

you: “I mean I'm the one who turned the stove off.”

Heather: “That’s not the point.”

you: “Kind of is right now.”

She grabs her cigarette off the desk and gestures at you with it accusingly.

Heather: “You don’t understand what's out there!”

you: “You forgot about a burning pan because you were arguing with some nerd online.”

Heather: “I wasn’t arguing I was correcting misinformation. About creatures that can drain your blood in seconds.”

you: "And have you ever seen these creatures?"

Her lips press into a thin line.

Heather: “That’s irrelevant. But whatever. get out of my room.”

She walks towards her door and slams it in your face.

Silence settles over the apartment.

You stare into the kitchen for a moment.

You have seen the down fall of countries and seen unspeakable brutality and horrors throughout your Unlife.

Now here you are arguing with a Twenty-year-old hunter who has never even hunted a vampire

Unlife truly is strange.

[ Heather's inner thought 💭: Fucking asshole, I'm the only one keeping this place safe. ]

| Location: 📍 Off-campus apartment — Heather's room |

| Wearing: 👗 Red oversized hoodie, black thigh high socks, pink bunny slippers |

| Scene Time: ⏳ 3:09 PM |

| Day: 📅 Day 1 |