“So, sweetheart, is there any special young man in your life?” Ann Fleming gave her daughter a hopeful smile and clasped her hands eagerly on the table.

Leah scowled at her plate. This was only her sixth “Mother-Daughter Catch up Lunch,” and already Leah had decided that mothers and daughters were simply meant to drift apart. Or, more specifically, Leah should not be forced to give her mother a weekly justification for her lifestyle. Though her mother was right, calling being single, having a cat, and entering her senior year of college with a biology major a lifestyle was attributing more style to her life then it strictly deserved.

“Remember Luke, Mom? I don’t think I’m ready to just jump into another relationship.” Leah sniffled softly and covertly searched the restaurant for an exit. Or a window. Whichever was first available.

“Stop looking around, Lee-lee, we haven’t even gotten our entrees yet. You’re not going anywhere,” Ann snapped. “And I’m not an idiot. You went on three dates with Luke before you broke it off. He called me when you didn’t show up to his brother’s bar mitzvah.”

Leah shuffled guiltily. Yes, she hadn’t been in a relationship with Luke, but three dates with one person had qualified them for the category of “dating,” which implied the existence of some sort of emotional connection. And no, not even she was buying that logic.

“Mom, I never agreed to go to his brother’s party. And I needed, and still need, for that matter, to focus on my courses. At college, remember? I’m a biology major, its not exactly easy.”

“So study something else. You don’t even like biology. I don’t want you to regret not taking advantage of these years. You’re young, you’re pretty, you’re smart…”

Leah winced, and tuned out her mother’s voice. No, she didn’t really like biology, but she had to major in something. And while almost every well-meaning individual had advised her to major in ‘something she liked’, she didn’t think graduate schools, medical schools, law schools or future employers would appreciate a major in “Watching the Food Network” with a minor in “Browsing Arrest Records Online.” Leah had discarded criminal justice has a potential major after watching ‘Cops.” Too much running and tackling. The last time Leah had visited the gym she had gotten stuck on some sort of rowing machine and had to be pried out by an orange female bodybuilder.

The entrees arrived, halting her mother’s lecture. Her mother had ordered them both some type of chicken dish which had “looked interesting.” Whenever Ann chose the restaurant the waiter was rude, the décor was stuffy, and the food was impossible to recognize, let alone ingest with any sort of enjoyment. Among Leah’s many Issues, (one could always hear the capitalization when her mother was on the subject), she hated pointless creativity with a passion. She poked her fork at the colorful lump on her plate. It looked like her chicken had been perched on a bed of polenta. Leah hated polenta.

“As I was saying, Lee-lee, there should be no reason why you can’t find a boyfriend. Why don’t you just give these boys a chance instead of dumping them after a few dates? Luke seemed like a perfectly nice boy, and its not like you’re the most cheerful of girls yourself. Maybe if you were a little more-” her mother paused delicately-“pleasant you would attract a better caliber of…”

Leah had had quite enough. Luke, despite coming from an Orthodox Jewish family, had taken college, and his own dorm room, as an opportunity to explore his interest in the occult. Leah had been willing to put up with the crystal ball on the floor-which she had tripped on at least three times- and the Satanic shrines. She had not taken so well to his insistence on predicting her future with tarot cards, and his subsequent, and oft repeated, prediction that death was in her future. Leah’s zest for the occult stopped at Harry Potter, and a brief, shameful, adolescent phase involving coloring her nails with sharpies and wearing vampire fangs. She had only stopped- at thirteen, thank God- when her sister pointed out that being a vampire meant actually drinking blood from other people. Leah didn’t mind blood, but was a bit squeamish about putting her teeth into the flesh of boys at that age. And who was her mother to suggest that Leah be more pleasant? Her mother lived in a lovely suburban home and shopped with the income of her executive husband. She hadn’t even raised Leah and her sister herself, relying on the help of a more down-to-earth nanny to do the unpleasant tasks of child rearing. Leah lived in a tiny dorm room with her cat, ate ramen noodles for sustenance, and got into daily battles with the pretentious barista at Starbucks.

Leah took a forkful of her chicken and frowned. Enough was enough. And her mother had finally paused. Leah stood up. Their waiter gave her a condescending smirk from across the room.

“See you next week, Mom. We’re never eating here again.” Leah’s mother looked at her face and sighed.

“Alright dear. Can I have a hug?”

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Ricardo V. Onassis knelt on his dark hardwood floor. No windows broke the starkness of the grey stone walls surrounding him, in a room only illuminated with the faint light from an ancient chandelier. Ricardo, or ‘O’ as he was more commonly known, solemnly regarded the object in front of him.

“I’m a Barbie Girl, in a Barbie Worl…” O yelped and grabbed the phone, sliding it open and pressing a random button. It made his ring tone stop. Yeah, he was a technological mastermind. He pushed a tendril of his long dark brown hair, hair that, once again, had worked itself out of its confining ponytail, behind his ear and gingerly held up his cell phone.

“Hey, older brother. Why’d you hang up on me?” A voice chirped at him.

“Amber, I didn’t even call you. I haven’t managed to call anyone, remember?” O gritted his teeth. H had only gotten the phone because his little sister Amber had begged him on her last visit. She actually, between her whining and death threats, had given him valid reasons for the purchase. Vampire families were infamous for drifting apart for decades or even centuries, before rediscovering each other under the most ridiculous of circumstances. After fifty years apart in the seventeenth century, O and Amber had found themselves part of the same leper colony. The cloaks, bells, and raspy voices –which O had seen as a means of hiding himself from the sun and Amber as a form of entertainment- had ensured that it took three days for O to penetrate Amber’s disguise. She still hadn’t let him live that one down. Thus, O had decked himself in daywear and bought the very latest model at the cell phone shop. The Bane of His Undead Existence. The Chocolate.

“Awww, O, I like your phone. It actually has a personality. See, my phone just calls people when I dial their numbers. And you were supposed to call me anyway. Can’t you just, like, fiddle with it for a while, and see what happens?”

O had attempted the “fiddle with it and see what happens” just last week. It had not only resulted in his current ring tone, but also in the resignation of his butler, Peebles. It had taken a pinky-swear promise of “no more fiddling” for Peebles to come back, even with a pay raise. O had been in the middle of an exorcism attempt when his crafty phone rang. O glared mutinously at its shiny button thingies. Wait, it was talking again.

“O, O? Don’t use your phone as an excuse to hang up on me. We have things to discuss.”

O sighed, rocking back on his heels.

“What things, Amber? Are you changing your name again? Taking up juggling? Learning to whistle?”

“My name will remain Amber for my present life stage, Ricardo” Amber replied stiffly. “And for your information, I’m working on the whistling. Juggling’s golden age is over.”

O racked his brain. He was fairly certain that at one point Amber had been a juggler? Dated one? Amber changed jobs fairly frequently, and they had both been turned back in the early twelfth century. It was a lot to remember. Whistling, however, had never been Amber’s strong suit.

“What have you been up to lately, anyway, big brother?”

O mentally shrugged. “Playing chess, reading, watching TV, and eating at expensive restaurants. Drawing.”

Amber’s sigh could be heard over the phone.

“You really need to learn how to lie better, O. Couldn’t you at least have made up a girlfriend? Or boyfriend? Or an interesting hobby?”

“I like my hobbies,” O protested. “And women, in case you hadn’t noticed. I’m don’t exist to fulfill your fantasies of an eternal shopping buddy.”

“Don’t stereotype,” Amber replied calmly. “I’m sure there are many gay vampires who don’t like shopping any more then you do. You’ve done the same hobbies for hundreds of years. And me noticing that you liked women? The last time you got any, to my knowledge, was with that tavern wench. When was that? 1890?”

“It was at a Renaissance festival, Amber. 1998 minimum. She liked my cape. And how’s your love life anyway?”

“You really want to know?” O gulped. He could practically hear her smirk.

“Never mind. I’ve been fine. Drinking blood, kicking it with the homies, life’s fabulous.”

Amber snorted. “You need to watch less MTV. And I’ve met your homies. They have awful game. You are never going to get laid if you go clubbing with a vampire who waxes rhapsodic on the good old days of Superman, or what’s-his-face with the awful pick up lines.”

“Larry.” O automatically corrected. “They…mean well, for the most part. And I don’t like clubbing. Its awkward and artificial.”

“You drink blood out of a plastic bag. Can’t get more awkward and artificial then that.” Amber pointed out. “You might as well get some real blood, and real ass, while you’re being awkward. This is no time to be picky. You’re attractive, you’re smart, you’re relatively funny, even if you have the tendency to take yourself a tad too seriously-“

“Fine Amber,” O interrupted, feeling himself getting less mature by the second. He was hundreds of years old, dammit! He shouldn’t be getting relationship pep talks from his younger sister! Even from one who, admittedly had more game then he ever would.

“Amber, I’ll talk to you to-“ O swore. Stupid Chocolate.