Childe

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Eric Northman returned to Fangtasia to find that the usually cool, upbeat atmosphere was absent. Instead, patrons were up in arms at the bar as they shouted at the lone human behind the counter, Ginger, demanding drinks. Frowning at the disarray, Eric surveyed the club, only to find it empty of the familiar faces he sought. Then Pam appeared from the back, carrying a clipboard and furious expression. She made a beeline for Ginger, adding to the abuse the woman was receiving.

"You fucked up the order, Ginger! You left off a fuckin' zero. How do you fuck up our vodka order?" Pam was yelling at her. "We got zero bottles of vodka instead of ten!"

Ginger, struggling as she whisked up drinks and accepted payments, shouted back with reproach, "That wasn't me! It was that dumbass new girl, Mira! Girl's got as much air in her head as she does in that fake chest!"

"Glass houses, Ginger," snapped Pam.

"Least mine are real!"

"What the hell is going on?" asked Eric, appearing next to them. At his sudden appearance, the annoyed customers all settled, some simply in awe of his presence, others frightened by his reputation.

"Mira didn't show up. Rolland called in sick," said Pam shortly as she too began making drinks to help with the rush. "So it's just us, apparently."

"And our favorite little redhead? Not like you to not put her to work, Pamela," murmured Eric, again surveying the crowd. It was pointless; he could feel she was no in the room. Pam shot him a dirty look.

"If the little princess actually deigned to show her face, then I would," Pam said frostily. Eric sighed. While unsurprised by Pam's open disdain for Gwendolyn, he'd also hoped she was working through it. It didn't seem that would be happening anytime soon.

"I'll go find her," said Eric.

"Find her? Just summon the little—" at his look, Pam broke off.

"Fine. I'll hold down the fort," said Pam.

Eric found Gwendolyn easily. Their bond, still so new, burned bright like a newly born star, so vivid and impossible to ignore. It was strange how different it felt from the one he had—had—with Pam. Even though it had been over a hundred years ago, he remembered that first year of his bond with Pamela well, treasured it even. He had been so careful with her, so intent on being the perfect Maker… where had that tenacity gone?

Gwendolyn was somewhere he knew her to be often, though he himself had never personally visited. He simply had felt her presence in the little Shreveport suburb. And there she was, perched on the roof of a little house, just inside the sill of a window. He did not reveal himself to her, choosing to simply observe his youngest Progeny. He had always thought that Pam had been difficult. Then he'd sired Gwendolyn.

She was a strange apparition, sitting there in that windowsill. Her skin shown with the ghostly pallor of their undead kind, but her hair was the flaming red of life, of the very star in the sky that would end her. Her eyes were green of the wilderness she seemed to belong to, the one called to by her bare feet. Pale pink underwear peeked through the sheer white dress that hung on her frame.

She was singing. Softly, and with such a delicate care Eric felt a coldness wash over him, the dead organ in his chest threatening to twitch with emotion. Not for the first time, he wondered if he had made the wrong decision when he had turned her.

Decision; had it been a decision? Hardly that. Instinct.

He was so lost he hadn't even realized she'd stopped singing. It only occurred to him when she rose, touched her hand to the glass window, and then dropped down to the ground. Then she was ghosting down the street, slowly, silently wandering.

Taking her place on the roof, Eric peered into the room she had been singing outside of. It was quite clearly a child's room, and though at first Eric had assumed it to be a little boy's room by the posters and toys and colors, the little girl sleeping in the small bed proved it to be otherwise. Eric struggled to try to guess her age. Five? Ten? Perhaps somewhere in between? He wasn't so sure about human children anymore. She was dark skinned, and her little pink lips parted as she breathed to reveal small white teeth. Her hair was a bush of tight black curls. Eric cocked his head to the side, wondering how his progeny had known this tiny human. At least, by the feelings he had known her to feel through their bond, he assumed she had known the child. Glancing over his shoulder, he caught sight of Gwendolyn turning into an adjacent street.

Eric followed. He had never done such a thing with Pam, but then again Pam had always been an open book. Pam had taken the change in stride; he had very little doubt she had been born to become anything but a vampire. She had immediately reveled in what they were, just as he had. Gwendolyn was… different. She was difficult to gage, because she told him so little but felt so much and so incessantly. Eric was constantly bombarded by surges of her feelings, so strong and explosive he was being reminded of so many emotions he had long forgotten. She was, he supposed, a puzzle.

As he followed her, he tried to sort out through the emotions that he could currently feel coming from her end of the bond. She looked so incredibly melancholy, a ghost in the night haunting its old dwellings, that he was surprised not to find that same gloom in her. Instead, he felt an astounding amount of…curiosity. Eric watched as she wandered away from the sidewalk and peered into the homes of the humans that lived in the little houses. Her fingers would trail over the fences and short gates she'd easily hop, whisper over the petals of flowers and rosebushes. There was a rhythm to the way she moved, like she moved to a symphony only she was privy to. With the way her small feet flitted over the ground, he thought she might have formally studied dance, likely ballet.

It was when she stopped at a yard and dropped into a sitting position before a child's bike that Eric decided he'd had enough. He was feeling oddly… uncomfortable by his progeny's wanderings. When she began to tinker with the bike's chain, which had fallen free of his wheel, he revealed himself to her.

"Midnight mechanic, are we?" murmured Eric, slipping his hands into his pockets. Gwendolyn's green eyes snapped up at him, and she smiled. Her end of the bond crackled with surprise and contentment. Excitement.

"My expertise doesn't go past bicycles, I'm afraid," she murmured in return. She wiped her greasy hands on the dewy grass, then stood up. She was gazing at him questioningly, waiting for his direction.

Eric simply observed her for a long moment. He was… lost. He'd already been a Maker—and a damn good one, he'd agree with Pam on that. They had wanted the same things to fuck, feed, kill. But he felt out of his depth with Gwendolyn, like a snake trying to coddle a songbird. They had different natures, and before long he would slip up and devour her whole.

He reached a hand out to cup her cheek. The corners of her lips turned upwards as she leaned into his touch. There was that contentment again.

"Have you fed yet?" he asked. She shook head, causing him to frown. She had an incredible temperament for a fledgling; he did not recall Pam being the same. Then again, she was petulant by nature. Still, he remembered the recent fledgling vampire Jessica. She had been a nightmare. Gwendolyn was almost questionably well adjusted, which made him suspicious. Things that were too good to be true… well, they were just that. Too good to be true.

"You're hardly a week old. You need to feed often. Your body is still adjusting to—"

"Death?" prompted Gwendolyn, green eyes shining with an emotion he could not place.

"I was going to say 'the change'. But yes, death," said Eric.

"Is malnutrition a thing with vampires?" she asked interestedly.

"Rare. Even for those who hate what they have become," said Eric, watching her carefully. He noted no outward or inward reaction. "It is difficult to resist the urge to feed. Especially for young vampires. Come,"

Gwendolyn obediently fell into step beside him as he took off out of the yard and down the street. He felt her curiosity renew, along with a sense of excitement. It took him a few moments to realize that her excitement was due to his mere presence; he realized grimly that he had not made himself entirely available in the past week to her. His own doubts had kept him away along with the excuse of business, and he had left her to the care of Pam for much of that time. He needed to get his shit together.

"I often forgot to eat when I was human," said Gwendolyn. "Hmm. When I was human," she repeated, like she was tasting the words for the first time. "That slipped out so easily."

"It's different for our kind," said Eric.

Gwendolyn merely hummed in response. "Blood is nice, but none has been as nice as yours,"

Eric chuckled at that, glancing at his progeny with mild amusement. "You remember the taste of my blood? Impossible,"

"It's what I remember most clearly about that night. I don't remember dying or the moments before. At least, I don't think so. What I remember was… pleasant. It was nice. I don't think death is supposed to feel that way," said Gwendolyn. Eric came to a stop, gazing down at her.

"You remember your death pleasantly?" he asked incredulously. "A thousand years and I still remember the pain of mine. I drained you of your blood and then fed you mine. That was 'nice' for you?"

"Wasn't my worse Friday night," Gwendolyn said cheekily. Eric scoffed, resuming their walk. "Getting shot was painful. That was the worst bit. But it didn't hurt when you bit me. That was…"

"Nice?" offered Eric, though this time with something of a smirk.

"Yes," said Gwendolyn. "And I remember the first drop of your blood that touched my lips. It tasted like the sea and the winds that toss the ocean waves. Which I remember thinking was so strange, because I've never been to either sea or ocean. But it was so peaceful and beautiful. And comforting, too. Like coming home after being away on vacation for very long,"

Eric remained silent, pondering her words.

"Are you going away again?" asked Gwendolyn. She could feel her hope that he wouldn't, that he would remain. He cursed the coward that he had been for staying away. He had thought of her all night every night, his newest progeny, had listened closely to their bond and tried to decipher her very thoughts. Of course, she didn't know that; he knew she worried he might reject her. Was that not the fear of every child with their parent, and in turn, that of parent with child?

"No. I have been away long enough," said Eric. "It is time I know my progeny, and that she know her maker. I've been… preoccupied until now, and I apologize. Starting tomorrow night I will help make certain all your affairs are in order,"

Contentment. Curiosity. Anxiousness.

"When will I be able to see my family?"

"Pamela and I are your family now," Eric said sharply. He paused to stare back at her when he felt her stop. She was frowning openly at him.

"Just because I'm dead doesn't mean my family isn't my family anymore," said Gwendolyn.

"They're human, Gwendolyn," reminded Eric.

"So were we. Some of us more recently than others," shot back the redhead, glowering like an angry kitten. He remembered how Jessica Hamby had disparaged her human family often when she had been staying at the club with them in her first days; leave it to him to sire a human so close to her human family.

"Exactly. Were. You aren't just some vampire, Gwendolyn. You are my progeny; I am sorry for it, but my enemies are your enemies. Your human family is clearly a weakness that can be used against you, and therefore me. If they matter so much to you, you will keep your distance," warned Eric.

He watched and felt as she struggled with this fact; he could feel the fight in her, but it was quickly giving away to pain. He sighed, wondering if she might cry. She looked like she might by the glossiness of her eyes; but she finally only nodded once, and then resumed walking. Eric followed, though he wondered if he had truly won this fight. She had given in far easier than he had expected. Had he overestimated her attachment to her human family? Perhaps they both had. It was normal for her to be confused right now, still sorting through the residual feelings of her former humanity. Perhaps she felt she was loyal to them because that was what she had always been; not because she still felt a need or desire to be.

Only time would tell.