The night was cold, not that he could feel it but from the feel of the wind hitting his face it forebode storm. An unexpected if not unwelcome change in weather in the usually humid southern Bon Temps. Pulling his Ferrari into the crowded parking lot of the ever merry 'Merlottes' Bar and Grill' Eric Northman pressed the button that reattached the roof to his vehicle and smirked lazily. Time to make some bigots piss themselves.
Exiting the car he strode up to the entrance in slow, languid movements, uncaring of the pace when there was nowhere to rush. Compton and his fair-headed telepath had left to Vermont earlier that week in order to finally publicize the boring monogamous affair they called "love". Nothing else interested him in this town and no one else really new him either; but Pam was PMSing (how she still managed after 100 years was beyond him) still she was nonetheless aggressive and unapproachable. When he realized that no amount of "put down the throne, as your master I command you" did any good. For fear of being accidently stabbed or strapped in silver Eric made the wise choice of clearing our for a few hours, and let her miss him some before coming in before dawn for what indubitable would be round two of the same bullshit.
Stepping into the well lit bar, it took less then a minute for all eyes to fall on him and voices to extinguish. Flashing a fabulous fanged smile all around the joint of gapping on lookers he proudly walked over to the bar, the previous residents of which were thoughtfully migrating with the speed of foreign asylum seekers. Plunking himself in the middle to insure the rest of the bar stays blissfully free of fearful whisperers, he looked up expecting to see the black visage of Sookies' childhood friend, some girl with a distinguishing attitude problem. Instead he faced a…child? Maybe not but the girl before him was scarcely of legal age, looking at most to be toeing the line at 15, with assisted imagination 16 years of age. Her height and appearance didn't do her justice if she were truly of age. Standing at just over 5 feet, she had a pallid complexion highlighted only by two rosy cheeks, glowing on her chubby face. Her eyes were blue, not the sky blue so often seen in southern beauties but rather a deeper blue reminiscent of the dwell between the shallow and deep end of the ocean coast. The size of those orbs overwhelmed her small oval face and together with plump bee stung lips made a set that in a comical fashion gave her the appearance of being in a frozen state of constant awe or excitement. This was made further tragic by the unsightly mop of waist long hair that border lined between red and strawberry blonde, giving it a dreadful appearance of having been put to many times through the washing machine. She had the front clipped back with a small butterfly clip that added to the child like illusion. The fact that she clearly didn't use make up did not help either.
"What can I get you guv?"
It took Eric a moment to catch on to the fact she had spoken, still bewildered by this gods grotesque idea of joke before him.
"Umm eyes up here sugar puff"
At that moment Eric realized he had been trailing his eyes south in order to appraise her style of dress, worn out jeans with slit knees and a black singlet that said, "rocking it" in pink glitter; as devastating as the girl wearing them if not more so. He gave a 'humph' of amusement, there was nothing to look at. The girl was flat as an ironing board.
"I'm sorry I was just wondering considering the lack of necessary assets, what exactly is it that you're "rocking" in that shirt."
Ahh there it was, the insult that would make her already ruddy face flush and most likely initiate a heated response in which the frequent use of such terms as 'soulless leech' and 'dead mother fucker' would be used. Why the hell did he say that. To run from one PMSing bitch right into another; Eric you're a fucking moron.
She was looking at him, her expression thoughtful but measured, giving nothing away. Then suddenly as if shoved by some vocal force she burst into uncontrollable laughter, rubbing a beer glass with a cloth and rhythmically swinging back and forth with the power of her chortling.
"You know I was wondering the very same thing when I put this shirt on this morning. I got it as a birthday present last week from my sister in law. I think it was her way of making a point. She's been pressing me to get em' done for a few years now, swears by em' too," she said with a wink before placing the now polished glass on the rack.
"So what can I get you? Or are you here to catch girls with bad pick-up lines and sexist jokes?"
That truly unexpected come back snapped Eric out of his thoughts which had drifted to contemplate how unsuitable her voice sounded on that frame, so gruff and tom boyish; like a dwarf in a ballet outfit, singing soprano. He smirked with genuine interest as the she picked up another glass and started drying it.
"Well if you can't tell I have rather peculiar taste in the selection of my …'liquids', but since I've obviously chased away the rest of your brigade of loyal drunkards I'll have the most flamboyant cocktail you have on the menu, so we both have a reason for being here." He finished with a smirk.
"Well if that's your ride up front I'm guessing I can go nut on this one and you'll still have enough to tip me. How about I'll make you one of my own creations, I've been told its haven but you'll never know will you?" she laughed and swung her hair back ever her shoulder carelessly. Leaning down he watched as she bought up bottles of different liquors and colored substances which he only assumed to be cordials of some type as well as an old fashioned Boston Style shaker and a cocktail glass. What followed was an experience worth the money on its own. Eric sat mesmerized as the girl let loose with the bottles spinning them like batons in her nibbles fingers and speed pouring into the jigger in rapid succession. The shake itself was fascinating to watch. Her child like physic shook whole bodied as she swung the mixer back and forth over her shoulder making a rhythmic rattle. The final straw for Eric was how brilliantly she broke the shaker free and placing a strainer quickly over the top poured the drink into the freshly iced cocktail glass, one hand stuck professionally behind her back, the other moving the shaker up and down as the liquid poured smoothly into the glass. The magnificent performance took only 3 minutes and left Eric thoroughly impressed.
"Here you go"
She placed the glass with bubble gum colored liquid in front of him and stepped back. Grabbing the used utensils she turned around and started washing up. When she turned back Eric was still staring at her, his untouched drink perspiring droplets of crystalline water onto the waiting coaster.
"How fast can you serve straight mixers, vodka and coke, gin and tonic etc?"
She smiled
"Wanna find out, its gonna cost ya."
Smirking he retrieved his wallet and slammed $100 bill on the counter. Not batting an eyelid she took the money to the cashier returning shortly with $85 in change.
"For this I can make 15 in about 4 minutes "
"No you cant"
"Wanna bet blondie?"
"Its not wise to name call a vampire who knows where you work."
"Its not wise to assume I'm in capable of making 15 straight mixers in 4 minutes when you don't know me"
"Touché"
Reaching once again for his wallet he slapped down another $100 bill.
"I'll make that bet, if you loose you get $100."
She frowned, "and if I win?"
"We're not there yet. Start pouring."
15 tumblers and 3.4 minutes later had Eric clap in slow motion while the girl not even slightly out of breath meticulously placed coasters under each glass. And that's how Sam found them, 16 drinks lined up on the bar, covering one end to the other, a clapping vampire, and his newest addition looking far to smug for her own good.
"What's going on here? Who gave you permission to waste my liquor? I don't fucking pay you $15 an hour so you can pour my booze down the sink and entertain vampires!" he shouted attracting the attention of all his patrons. The girl colored and hung her head.
"H…he…"
"H…h…he what?" Sam mocked as he advanced on her having the advantage of almost a head in height over the cowering red head.
"I should just fire you on the spot, there's no place for lazy, wasteful bartenders like yourself at Merlottes'."
"But there is at Fangtasia, which is where you're working from now on. I will pay you $20 an hour plus extra on public holidays and will give you 5 days off for every month paid leave."
The silence was absolute, somewhere in the background a fork dropped. The girls' fearful eyes shifted from Sam's gapping visage to his own smirking face.
"Really?"
"Yes"
"Trade 3 days of the paid leave for your personal guarantee of protection and you've got a deal mister."
Eric didn't hesitate for a minute, "done".
Growling in frustration Sam stalked off, mumbling under his breath, "you still owe me this shift", before disappearing into the kitchen. The noise levels gradually build up again.
"What is his problem?"
"I refused to sleep with him, which brings me back to your offer. I'm signing up to be your bartender not your blood letting fang-banger."
Smirking at the thought of anyone wanting to do the nasty with the girl apart from her obviously tasteless boss, he nodded.
"Understood"
"You got a name Bossman?"
"Eric Northman and what is your name?"
She smiled and for the first time that night he noticed dimples trying to break free on her chubby cheeks.
"Billy May"
