Vampirella Goth Girl

You barely even remembered you had an Uncle Horace and then he went and died. Two days after the fact, you pedaled over to the courthouse for the reading of the will, then picked up newspapers for your daily delivery route. Afterwards, you'd head over to Uncle Horry's place, a big, mildewy old mansion just outside town.
Turns out you sort of own it now. So maybe now you can stop delivering papers for income, that not being so seemly for a 42-year-old ex-college student. That evening the sun went a crazy violet color and got choked-off behind some sick-gray clouds that'd rolled in from nowhere. It got dark so fast you thought for a minute you were going blind or had a stroke.
By the time the creaking bike got parked by the rotten porch of Unc Horry's place it was practically pitch outside. You hoped the juice was still connected inside.
Yeah, it had been a long time, but everything was still in the same place. Lamps, chairs, some rather rank drapes and several seriously stained oval rugs. A cleaner smell like Pine-Sol lingered somewhere, which was amazing because of the level of built-up filth. Years' worth of it. A small noise presented itself--a rodent?
By investigating the next room you notice a stream of smoke curling up from an immense overstuffed easy chair. "Who's there?" you mumble, faux-brave, your voice trembling slightly and coming close to cracking. No reply.
You step around in front of the big chair for the honor of being utterly ignored by the pale-skinned girl sitting there.
"Whu--who..." the words tumble out foolishly, for you cannot take your eyes from this girl. Her eyes stare into space, perfect small breasts heave in the foul cigarette smoke, and she is clad--he is amazed--in a sort of blood-red bathing suit of an unknown design that in no way complements the purple upholstery.


You try and be friendly, purposely forgetting she is probably an interloper on private property.
"I hear you come into some MONEY..." she croaks at him hoarsely, breaking her silence.
"Well, not 'zactly, not yet, anyway."
She continued, cutting him off "The realtor let me in, said someone was looking for a roomMATE..." she extended the last syllable unnaturally.
Intended or not, a vision of mating with the girl sprang into his mind. He wanted to mate with her. What could he say? To get things started?
"You a Goth chick, or something?" he smiled a little. She regarded him coldly, squinting a pretty mascaraed eye.
"Maybe. So what if I was? You got something against that?"
She rose up, seemingly taller than the New Owner in a pair of very high-heeled wet-look boots. He felt her breath on his face. "I thought maybe you and me coulda hit it off, Romeo, but I guess yer just a little Homeo."
Blood flushed your entire head like a silly beet as you respond to the attack "Naw, baby--I..."
"SHUT-UP" she barked at him. "I ain't no freakin' Goth though I may look like one sometimes and do dig some of the Music and you know Culture stuff, but you got no right ta pass judgment on me or nobody else! Izzat CLEAR, QUEER?"
She slaps your face, hard, and your smudgy glasses go flying. You needed a new prescription, anyway.
But she had touched you, actually touched your face, so maybe that was a start.