Author: Kat Lee
Fandoms: Golden Girls/The Munsters
Character/Pairing: Grandpa/Sophia, Stan/Dorothy, Miles/Rose, Blanche
Challenge/Prompt: lands_of_magic: Blind Date (If you join, tell them Kat Lee of Team Winter sent YOU!)
Word Count: 1,535
Date Written: 11 July 2017
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to their rightful owners, not the author, and are used without permission.
"I thought your date was picking you up, Blanche?" Dorothy asks as the doorbell rings again.
"It's not mine," Blanche says with a shake of her head. "Maybe it's actually somebody for you."
"No way," Dorothy denies immediately. "Stan never bothers with the doorbell, and my only date for the night is my students' term papers."
Blanche makes a face. "You certainly know how to party on a Friday night, Dorothy!"
Dorothy smirks and is about to voice a retort when Rose calls from her bedroom, "It's Miles. Let him in, please. I'm running late."
"There's a first," Blanche mutters as Dorothy walks to the door, opens it, and stares. "This . . . isn't Miles," she calls back.
The old, seemingly distinguished gentleman smiles up at her, but she can't take her eyes from his cape, pale face, and the tips of fangs sticking out of his grinning mouth. Her hand goes instinctively for the cross at her neck as the Count beams up at her. She's about to slam the door in his face when her mother snaps at her, "Stop staring, Dorothy. Haven't I taught you anything? You don't stare at royalty!"
Dorothy remembers the time her mother stole the ring right off the Pope's finger and another time when she took one from a Princess visiting from England. She'd like to remind her of both incidents, but she can't stop staring, slack-jawed and tongue-tied, at the man before her.
"I'm sorry, Count Munster. My daughter seems determined to make a fool of herself again."
"Many people do, my sweet, in the presence of true power." The Count performs a courtly bow, and Dorothy feels strangely like curtseying -- and also like grabbing her mother back inside to safety as Sophia walks around her and out the door.
She grasps her arm. "Ma!"
"Dorothy, don't make a fool of yourself!" Sophia snaps. "Count Munster is my date for tonight. Just because you want to sit at home and grade papers doesn't mean the rest of us don't want to have a good time!"
"B-Bu-Bu-But look at him!" Dorothy cries.
"Hey, women my age can't be too choosy! So he's a little pale faced and a little overweight! Big deal! When was the last time you looked in a mirror, Pussycat? There's a reason you can't get a date!"
Dorothy's face falls. Flustered, she mutters, "I-I could get a date if I wanted to."
"I'm certain you could, Miss Petrillo."
"That was her maiden name. She got hitched to the first thing that knocked her up while she was still in high school."
"I told you to be more choosy and to be careful, Dorothy!"
"Ma, look at what you're dating! Look at his teeth!"
"He's an actor, Dorothy! This is Miami! Geez! You act like you've never seen one before!"
"Actually, my fangs are very real, Madam Petrillo."
Sophia laughs and pats the Count's arm. "He likes to stay in character," she tells Dorothy out of the side of her mouth. "Isn't it cute?"
"Oh, don't be such a spoilsport, Dorothy! I've got plenty of garlic and crosses in my bag," she declares, missing the way the Vampire eyes her wicker handbag, "if he decides to get a little too fresh! Besides, I like them a little fresh! Now don't wait up!" She slams the door shut in Dorothy's face, takes her date's arm, and leads him lead her to the waiting . . . hearse? She eyes the vehicle warily but then shrugs. After all, she told Dorothy scant moments before, women her age can't be choosy. The man clearly has a pulse as he's walking around, and he's got his own wheels -- that's definitely a plus, even if they do look like they should be headed to a mortuary! And even if they were, she thinks, a mortuary still beats a retirement home.
As they ride off together, Dorothy still stands on the other side of the closed door, staring at it in shock. "I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I can't believe it!"
"Dorothy, come off it!" Blanche snaps. "You heard yoah mother! He's an actor! Besides, Ah dated a real Vampire once -- "
"You did not!" Dorothy exclaims, finally tearing her gaze from the door to look at Blanche in disbelief.
Blanche shrugs one shoulder to which her cleavage barely clings. "If you can believe yoah mother can land one, why not me?"
"Blanche, do you not hear yourself?! My mother's out on a date with a Vampire!"
"We had a Vampire back in Saint Olaf," Rose says, coming into the room. "He lived by himself up on the hill on the far side of town and barely ventured out even at night. He was nice enough, by all accounts, but we children never dared venture into his yard whenever our balls went in there." She shudders at the memory. "They said if you did, you never came out again."
"And yet you wonder why I'm worried about my mother being out on a date with one!"
"I thought she said he was an actor?"
"I saw his fangs, and even he said they were real!"
"Fangs can do wonderful things to a girl's thighs," Blanche says, sighing dreamily.
Rose starts to brighten as she hears footsteps on the other side of the door, but then her smile fades as the door opens and Stan strides in. "Dorothy! All my favorite girls!" Stan starts to shrug out of his jacket.
"Keep it on, Stan," Dorothy snaps, grabbing his hand. "We're going out -- "
"I knew you couldn't resist me forever, Dorothy!"
" -- and you're going to follow the first hearse you see."
He grins, his eyes lighting up with hope. "Kinky!"
Blanche sighs as the door slams shut again behind them. "Well," she says, "at least it got her out of the house! But not all Vampires are bad -- "
"I know," Rose agrees, cutting her off and completely missing her pout. "I often look back at that time and wonder if perhaps Count Periwinkle only needed a friend -- "
"His name was Periwinkle?"
"What kind of a name is that? Mine was -- "
The doorbell rings, once more cutting Blanche off. "Miles!" Rose beams as she opens the door, calls a hasty good night to Blanche, and ventures out on her own date as, across town, Dorothy, still ignoring Stan, leads the way into the best restaurant in Miami that doesn't require an appointment. She grabs a table where she can watch her mother and her beau, but within thirty minutes, it's not Stan, not Sophia, who's screaming in pain and crying for help.
"I told you," Dorothy snaps, eyes blazing, "what would happen if you put your hand on my thigh one more time!"
"But, baby -- "
"Don't baby me! You're lucky I didn't stab you in something else!"
Stan's good hand moves to protect the spot between his legs as a deep voice inquires from the shadows near their table, "Is there a problem here?"
Dorothy's head jerks up. She hadn't even seen the Count move! Red eyes glower from the shadows that seem suddenly to wrap around their table. Their piercing gaze is set straight on Stan. "I suggest you leave now, good sir, while the lady is the only one yet to defend her honor!"
Stan abruptly gets up and walks away. Dorothy gapes after him, then looks back to the Count as the shadows dispel from around him. Maybe, she thinks for the first time since he showed up on their doorstep to pick up her mother, he isn't all bad after all, and maybe he is an actor. After all, that was some acting to get Stan to leave like that!
"I am sorry for your disappointing evening, my dear, but it doesn't have to be a complete loss." He actually holds out his arm to her like a gentleman of old which, Dorothy realizes, he is even if he isn't Immortal. "Perhaps you would care to join us?"
"I think I might like that, at least for dinner. Then I'll leave you and my Mother alone, as long as you promise to treat her right."
The old Count's eyes sparkle. "I promise you I could never mistreat a woman like that ruffian and will treat your mother as nothing short of the lady she is!"
Dorothy snorts, but it isn't because of the Count's promise. It's hearing him call her mother a lady that has her choking back laughter, but looking into his eyes which are no longer red (and she wonders how he pulled that particular trick off without any obvious props), she believes him. "I believe you," she whispers and lets him sit her next to her mother.
"See, Pussycat? I tried to tell you he was a good catch!"
"I think you're right, Ma," Dorothy murmurs. Both women miss the Count's wide grin as he sits across from them and prepares to enjoy his night with not one lady but two! If only his son-in-law could see him now, perhaps the young doofus would finally learn a thing or two! Regardless, this is going to be the funnest night he's had in well over a century!