Alma doesn’t understand why people don’t always listen to her. Sometimes, it makes sense. She supposes it’s fair that Armani preferred she asked before turning the mansion’s kitchen into a makeshift butchery. Animal viscera is messy, and if she were Armani she probably wouldn’t want to soil those nice countertops either. She gets that Landon doesn’t quite understand what “I need personal space” means because their deteriorating brain is so clingy, hovering two feet away from her at all times seems normal to them.
But the information in the letters she sends is easy to comprehend. To-the-point and frank, with none of the confusing nuance that live interactions tend to have. When she requested to meet with the council of the town nearest to her, she clearly wrote, “If you want to discuss this matter in-person instead, give me a week's notice by letter. I do not like surprise visits and if you show up without warning, I will be upset.” They had an order and a reason to follow it. So a couple of days after she sent that letter, she received their response and found herself a little vexed as she read it. They thanked her for reaching out and said they would like to meet tomorrow, but not much else. Humans’ lifespans are vastly shorter than her two thousand years and counting. Maybe a week feels like an eternity to them, she figures. Whatever the case, she doesn’t care. She wants a week so that she’ll have enough time to mentally prepare herself, lest she lose control of her vampiric urges and eviscerate whoever comes to visit.
Bottomless appetite aside, she’s feared social interaction since she was a little girl working her ass off on a farm somewhere. No one likes her tone of voice, she misses all of their social cues, and some people are just plain annoying. Knowing when she has to talk makes her feel like she has a little more control over the situation.
Alma replies that she's not willing to wait any less than three days and hopes that'll be the end of that particular negotiation. She wants to focus on the main issue at hand: her relationship with the townspeople. She’s been stealing from them every couple of weeks or so since she moved into an abandoned cabin in the woods nearby a decade or two ago. A traditionalist at heart, she’s tried to live her life as closely to how she did when she was human as possible. Her newest appliances are her ice box and wood-burning stove from the 1920s. But there are some things she needs, like shoes (she’s a horrible cobbler), that she can’t make or find in the wild. Buying them isn’t an option not only because she’s an interaction-hating vampire, but because she has no job and no money. Currency didn’t exist in her part of the world when she was born. So she steals, after days of mental preparation so she doesn’t snap, in the middle of the night when she’s least likely to run into a human. But now that her instincts are getting easier to control, she’s willing to try trading with them instead. She can hunt, garden, and sew, among other things. Those are skills that humans find useful, last she checked.
Two days later, she's reading a book in her cabin. She “borrowed” it from the library earlier this week, and she’ll return it tonight since she’s almost done. It’s what humans would call a classic now, but modern by her standards. It’s a contemporary fiction novel about an average French woman trying to live the life of a noble. Alma spent a few centuries in France, so she finds books like this somewhat relatable. She didn’t interact with the humans there either, but she remembers the food and the fashion and she can still speak the language.
She starts the last chapter just as she smells a human approaching. She sets the book down, takes a few deep breaths to steel herself, and looks out of her cabin’s tiny, curtained window. There is just one man walking down the dirt path, a short human wearing business casual, but there’s a gun holstered on his waist. Alma recalls that the council’s letter said they’d be sending one representative. Probably to avoid looking too aggressive, if she had to guess, which would be a good move on their part. In the past, Alma has responded to aggression by eating her assailants. The gun offsets their efforts, though. She hopes it’s not loaded with silver bullets, although she doesn’t think this man could kill her anyway. He looks terrified, and his hands are trembling. He wouldn’t be able to land a good shot if he tried.
Alma opens the door just before he’s about to knock, and he leaps back with a yelp. The fearful stench rolling off of him is thick, but underneath it his blood smells quite sweet. She tries not to focus on that fact. “I said I wanted at least three day's notice. It's been two days since you last mailed me.”
“Well,” Business Casual stammers, “The other council members and I spent a long time discussing your letter. We understand that you wanted to wait longer, but this is an urgent issue for us and we decided it'd be best to speak with you as soon as possible. We meant no harm, ma'am.” His eyes automatically flicker down to his gun.
Alma follows his gaze. “And you brought that weapon along in case your impatience was enough to anger me.”
“J-Just a simple precaution.” He glances behind Alma, maybe wondering if he can come inside. The sun hasn’t set but the small clearing is shady thanks to the trees and there’s a slight breeze, so he might be cold.
Alma doesn’t want anyone she doesn’t know or like in her house, though. She steps out of the threshold and closes the door behind her. “I don't care. I also want to get this over with, and you couldn’t kill me anyway. So, let's start with the bartering system. You know how that works, yes?”
“Of course. I’m sure there are individual people who’d be willing to barter with you.”
“Good.” That’s what Alma wanted to hear. She’s ready to wrap up the conversation now.
“But…”
Alma frowns. “But?”
“Our businesses rely on money. I can’t guarantee that they’ll be willing to lose out on potential profits just to trade with someone whom they’d view as a tough customer.”
Alma doesn’t understand what he means by “potential profits.” One either makes money, or they don’t. “If they find a use for what I give them, it’s a good thing.”
Business Casual raises his hands in innocence. “And I’m not saying that isn’t a possibility. They would just strongly prefer that you bring money. I recall you describing yourself as a hermit in your letter, but perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to participate in the local economy more? I’m sure the fabric shop would love to have you as one of their employees.”
This conversation doesn’t feel like it’s about bartering anymore. It’s about how much Alma is willing to conform to human society. She looks back to her cabin. She found it in a sorry state, roof caving in and chunks of wall missing, and fixed it up herself. It’s more than a home to her now. It’s her office, her restaurant, her boutique. Almost anything she could rely on humans for, she figures out how to do herself, either within the cabin’s walls or in the clearing around it. She doesn’t want to give any of that up.
And yet, she doesn’t like being feared either. Empathy is alien to her and Business Casual seems more like a cowardly insect than a sympathy-deserving human right now, but she doesn’t enjoy that uneven power balance. She misses the days when she was just Landon’s human mother, keeping to herself but able to ask the neighbors for milk or thread if she needed to. If interacting with the humans a little more is what she needs to do to keep them from being afraid of her, then so be it. But she still wants to do so on her own terms. She turns back to Business Casual, takes a deep breath, and says, “I’ll trade with individual people, then, and leave the businesses alone. If the former group doesn’t have what I want, then I’ll simply find an alternate solution.”
Business Casual takes only a moment to consider Alma’s proposal. Politicians have always been like that, Alma remembers. Being quick on their feet is part of the job. “We can work with that. Would you come into town to trade, or would you rather we come… here?” He says that last word like the forest is haunted.
“Either option is fine, as long as we discuss the circumstances of each trade via mail beforehand. I really do not like surprise visits.” Alma narrows her eyes as she says those forceful words. She doesn’t want humans popping up at her home without warning on a daily basis.
Business Casual instinctively steps back and nods. Alma realizes she might’ve been too mean and tacks on a “please,” her tried-and-true method of softening her tone.
“Of c-course. Um, I’m also obligated to inform you that in the event you do attack somebody — which I’m sure would never happen, ma’am — the town is legally obligated to punish you as we would any other assailant. That may include hiring a vampire hunter.”
The councilman is trying so hard not to offend her, it’s funny. Alma doesn’t laugh very much anymore, but she does crack a smile. She doesn’t care to retract her mouthful of fangs. “I’ve been alive for two thousand years, boy. If I die it’ll be because I wanted to. Do you have any more questions?”
“Not at all, ma’am. Enjoy the rest of your day,” he says a little too quickly. He seems relieved the conversation is coming to an end, which is a feeling Alma can relate to. “Oh, before I forget.” He hands Alma a small card with what she assumes is his name, John Stacey, and the town’s official seal. In smaller lettering is a random string of numbers and his name again, followed by a confusing word with symbols in it: “@gmail.com.”
“What is this?”
John Stacey blinks. “My business card? So you can contact me via phone number or email?”
Alma puts the card in her pocket to be nice, but she’s going to throw it away later. “I see. I don’t use electronic devices at all, but it doesn’t matter. I already have your scent, so finding you if I wish to speak in person again won’t be an issue.”
For reasons that Alma doesn’t understand, that appears to be Stacey’s last straw. He laughs awkwardly and speed walks away. Maybe what she said sounded like a threat. She shrugs and returns to the safety of her cabin, a little exhausted by the social interaction but glad she’s making progress.