Eric stood on the low platform on which rested his dark leather throne, surveying the opening of his bar. It had been a long time since he'd been in this good of a mood. Breathing deeply the smell of blood and sex that always lingered here in the air, he approvingly watched Ginger lean over one of the tables to wipe it down. Night was just beginning to fall outside, and within a few hours the bar would be full of fang bangers, vamps, and a little something extra . . . He smirked with wolfish pleasure at the idea he'd cooked up for the Bon Temps telepath that had stomped so thoroughly all over his pride. And his heart, some small part of his brain supplied out of nowhere. Eric frowned, trying to quash the thought.
"I know you like it here, but some of us want to get this freak show on the road," a dangerously monotone female intoned from behind Eric's left shoulder. He smiled slightly, not bothering to turn and look at her.
"In a few minutes, Pam," he said. "We're waiting on the new girl."
The past few nights had not been good to Pam. Eric's hare-brained idea had been pure exultation to enact, but she had found that it was harder than she'd thought to get the proper equipment prepared and installed in the timeframe he'd given her. "Please remind me why I'm setting up a new novelty stage in the back room, before I take my broken nail out on you," she threatened in the same deadpan voice, examining said nail with disdain.
"That sounded remarkably like a threat, Pam," Eric said, in a tone much like hers. "But I know better. My progeny would never be so audacious."
Pam looked up from the eye-searingly pink wreckage on the end of her finger. "What's got you in a mood?" When Eric made no reply, she ventured further intrepidly. "Not getting enough alone time with Sookie and her precious little-"
"Don't, Pam-"
"-fairy vagina?" Pam finished, undaunted. She would not be intimidated. Her agreement had been to tolerate Sookie, not speak charitably of her, and Pam was not the type to lie down and submit when challenged. Even if the one she was pitted against happened to be the beloved Maker she had just gotten back after a long separation neither of them had enjoyed.
Eric sighed heavily, rubbing a hand through his hair. While the bar scene merely worked for Pam, Eric thrived here, or really anywhere where the point was mindless sex and instant gratification, she thought snidely, but not without affection. He wore sex god look well, and the fact that the title actually fit certainly helped. He would have everyone swooning tonight, with his hair slicked back and his pants practically painted on. Yes, she thought with satisfaction bordering on adoration, her Maker was as close to his element here as he could be without traveling back to the North Sea. Still, he was troubled.
"-don't think that's really necessary, do you?" Eric was saying as Pam's mind returned to their conversation.
"Yes, of course, blah blah blah," she said off-handedly, going back to examining her nail.
"You weren't listening to me, were you?"
Pam shrugged, still attempting to remedy the huge crack that had sliced down into her nail bed.
Eric's tone changed as he observed her. "Does that hurt?"
Another shrug. "About as much as it would if I stepped on your toe in these shoes," she said wryly, indicating her wicked 5-inch heels.
Eric chuckled darkly as he gently took her hand to examine the damage for himself. His brow wrinkled as he puzzled over such a classically female problem. "How is this typically fixed?"
"With a salon," Pam replied pointedly, hoping he wasn't getting any ideas, like ripping her nail off, for example.
"Shouldn't you try to cut it or something?" Eric said, continuing to eyeball the crack like he could come up with some radical new solution if he stared at it long enough.
"Not if I want to save the manicure," Pam stated matter-of-factly. Eric looked up from her hand in consternation. "You're looking at $200 worth of work, Eric. It's staying on."
Eric cocked an eyebrow, but let her hand go. "Suit yourself. Where is that damned telepath?"