He Called Himself Death
Summary:
Two years ago, the Great Revelation occurred and Vampires opened Human's eyes to their existence. Ever since then, hate crimes have nearly tripled. Accusations sprung out of the ground at every death or mysterious murder. Fear strung the Humans so tightly, that they feared leaving their homes at night.
Four years ago, Violet Danvers, an eighteen-year-old, fresh out of high school and about to start her first year at The Visual Arts Academy of Dallas, needed just one last model. All she needed was a stranger. All she needed was one last portrait to fill in her showcase for an art auction. All she wanted was to draw the handsome face.
Four years ago, Violet Danvers did not expect her Sight to clash with the eternally youthful vampire, Godric. She did not expect to meet the very person that seemed to personify Death.
She sure as hell wasn't expecting to fall for him either.
Disclaimer: I do not own True Blood.
Author's Note: This is a Godric/OC fic. Please, throughout the story, keep in mind that the Great Revelation hasn't happened yet. This story is going to progress throughout the following two years after they meet. And yes, there is something 'special' about Violet. Please keep in mind that this story is my own original plot. Do leave a review and let me know what you readers think.
Chapter One- Glimpse of Death
Laughter leaves the lips of the many patrons, mixing with the melodic music echoing deeply from the digital jukebox somewhere behind the billiard tables. Waitresses, clad in denim shorts and tan v-neck shirts, move about the room, refilling drinks and filling out order slips. It seemed almost everyone in Dallas came to Cookie's for a night out, the humble bar packed to its maximum capacity.
None of this seemed to hinder the ebony-haired woman behind the bar, her fingerless-gloved hands moving with practiced ease as she mixed drinks and poured cocktails. Her thick black curls, piled on top of her head in a messy bun, clashing with her round, China-doll face. Full pink lips move as she speaks with every patron, green eyes dancing with laughter. None of the customers seem concerned by the few tattoos marking her pale arms, shoulders and on the right side of her neck, nor the silver barbell decorating her left eyebrow.
"Hey Vi," the woman glances up as the back-up bartender, Melvin, slides behind the bar, "Cookie says you need to take a few off your feet, or he's going to get in serious trouble with labor laws."
The woman, Violet Danvers, flashes her friend a wink before sliding the man across from her the drink she finished making. Moving from behind the bar, the petite girl made her way toward the exit, searching the pockets of her thin, leather jacket for her pack of cigarettes. She knew they had to be in her pockets somewhere, and her triumph of finding them quickly ended as her shoulder slammed into someone else.
"Sorry," she murmured, rubbing her shoulder as she moved to push the door open.
Shaking off the thoughts of the person behind hard as a rock wall, Violet's fingerless-gloved hand brought a single cigarette to her lips. Inhaling the nicotine, Violet's eyes move over the customers coming and leaving, some of them acknowledging her, while others glare in her direction. Staring up at the night sky, fleeting memories of her high school years flash through her mind, missing her flamboyantly homosexual best friend and his brash cousin. Hell, she even missed the Golden boy and his crazy sister. She giggles softly at the thought, shaking off the last one. Not crazy, just different she supposed.
Finishing her cigarette, Violet disposes of it before heading back inside. Shoving her way toward Melvin and the bar, the ebony-haired girl felt her foot catch on something. A small yelp sounded as she quickly shut her eyes, bracing herself for the eventual moment her body hits the ground. Something cold and firm stops her decent, the air leaving her lungs at the sudden jerking motion her body made as it stopped its motion. Opening her eyes out of instinct alone, she felt them widen as barely three inches from her nose laid the floor.
She quickly became aware of the arms unwrapping from her waist, firm hands gripping her by the shoulders and sure enough she was brought back to her feet. She exhaled, thanking whatever deity that existed that her jacket was on, allowing her to shove her hands into the pockets. She didn't really like people touching her, even if it was out of kindness.
"Are you alright?"
The strange accent causes her to snap out of my inner musings, her green eyes clashing with endless pools of liquid mercury, flecks of piercing ice blue decorating the irises. Her mind's artistic side immediately looks over his firm jaw, round, stoic face. She silently take in the intensity behind his eyes, the firm line forming between his full lips. The pale complexion seems to fit him perfectly, his casual black slacks and a deep grey button-down shirt giving him a perfect balance of light and dark.
"Oh, yeah, I'm fine," she replies, giving him a forced half-smile before mumbling a thank you and walking off.
She could feel his gaze lay upon her for the past few hours. It wasn't constant, as if he was staring at her relentlessly. It was glances thrown in her direction every-so-often. The few times her gaze moved to him, he would always be staring at the glass of bourbon, his eyes deepened with thought. Looking over his features once more, Violet told her fellow bartender that she would be right back before she slid out from behind the bar and approached the stranger's table.
The moment she stopped beside his table, his eyes snapped up to meet her own gaze, her body tensing out of reflex, "Sorry to bother you sir, but I was hoping to ask a favor of you." He says nothing, but nods his consent, "May I draw your portrait?"
Violet barely caught the glint of surprise that flashed through the grey eyes, and without giving him the chance to ask why, she continued, "See, I'm studying at The Visual Arts Academy of Dallas, and every teacher chooses select students to place a few of their pieces in a showcase for the annual art auction. Well, Mrs. James asked me to be one of the showcases, and I still haven't done a First Impressions Sketch yet, so I was wondering if you might allow me to draw you."
Violet watched as his brow turned thoughtful, eyes glinting with an undefined look, before he asked, "What is a First Impressions Sketch?"
"Just what it sounds like," she replied, giggling at his questioning gaze, "It is a portrait of a complete stranger. Unbiased and lacking of judgment. It's a way of showing the world how the artist perceives a person."
A moment of silence fell over them before the young man at the table nods. Thanking him, she made her way to the back of the bar, instantly opening her messenger bag. Pulling out her spiral sketchpad, a pencil and a smudging pencil, she grinned widely, realizing she can finally get this piece done.
"What are you doing?" Melvin asked as she closed up her bag.
"He agreed to be my subject for my First Impressions piece."
Melvin seemed shocked, "Vi, you don't know him."
"That's kind of the point, Mel, besides, a face like that is just begging to be immortalized," Violet replies with a small giggle before heading back to the front.
Sliding into the booth across from him, she ignored the glint of amusement in his eyes as she flipped to a blank page. Glancing over his face, she inwardly nodded before her gaze moved back to the sketchpad. A fingerless-gloved hand dragged the pencil along the paper, her eyes focusing on getting the right shape of his face, the firmness of his jaw, but roundness of his cheeks. She was sure if the man smiled he would have a pair of dimples.
"What is your name?"
She jumped slightly, her gaze moving to meet his, but he still sat the same way, his facial expressions never changing. Shaking her head, she flashed him a wide grin.
"Sorry, I get lost in thought when I'm sketching. My name is Violet Danvers. You don't have to be so stiff. Relax, you can talk if you want to. Go ahead, since you have given me permission to sketch you, ask me whatever you want."
"How long have you been an artist?" he asks.
Looking back down at the beginnings of a portrait, she moves the pencil to shape in his ears, making sure to outline the way his hair fell just over his ears, "For as long as I can remember, I've always been drawing. It became a way for me to cope with how constantly my world changed. I knew I wanted to become an artist when I eleven."
"Does your family encourage your subject of study?" he asks, causing her to glance up momentarily, "Art isn't the most paying career out there and I know how greedy people can be."
Violet stares at him blankly for a moment before turning her gaze back to the portrait, carefully shaping his nose and those full lips, "I do not talk to my family."
"How come?" he asks after a moment of silence.
Violet sighs, not bothering to look up as she replies, "My father was incarcerated when I was ten. My mother committed suicide when I was twelve and two years later, my brother was institutionalized. I was placed in an orphanage and that was that."
"That is a lot to go through at that age," he comments softly.
Shrugging noncommittally, Violet tugs on her bottom lip with her teeth as she focuses on drawing out the eyes, "I guess. The orphanage wasn't too bad. It was a roof over my head, gave me a warm meal every day and every night, helped me through my schooling and essentially they let me be myself. When I started high school, I took it upon myself to help out with the younger kids. Most of them lost their parents due to a tragedy. My family, I can't really call it a tragedy. It was more like a cluster fuck waiting to happen."
Using the smudging pencil, she carefully shaded in the shadows under his eyes, silently wondering if he had trouble sleeping like she did. Using the lead pencil, she pencils in the eyebrows, shaping them over his eyes. He did have beautiful eyes. Eyes that told so much and yet hid everything deep within.
"You are very open about your past," he states softly, "What area of art do you major in?"
She smiles softly at his change of the subject, using the smudging pencil to apply the shadows cast upon him from the dim light, "Freelance Sketching." Without looking up, she knew he was going to ask what that meant, so she continued, "Freelance, is also considered Freehand. No outlines. You draw, what you draw, as you draw it. There is no plan on how to draw it. You simply draw it as you see it. I find it a way to truly understand the artist. You see their real talent. Anyone can draw a couple lines, fill in the spaces and people consider it art."
The last call for drinks echoed through the bar and a smile formed on Violet's lips as she gathered her pencils and shut her sketchpad, looking up at the man, "Thank you. I'd show it to you, but I still consider it a work in progress."
"You no longer require my assistance?" he asks as he stands from the bar.
Violet grins, shaking her head as she moved to her feet, "Nope. I just have to add some things and finish the shading, I have most of it done. Again, thank you."
He nods, his gaze focused on the sketchpad in her hands before moving to meet her eyes once more, "I hope to see it sometime."
A cheeky grin forms on her lips, his eyes flicking to the dimple that formed on her left cheek, "Well, you'll just have to wait to see it when everyone else does."
He opened his mouth to say something, but something behind her stopped him. Turning on heel, Violet tilted her head at the beautiful woman, thick brown curls and piercing hazel eyes. She was beautiful, Violet thought silently, a woman who turned heads for sure. He must know her, as they both seem to be in the middle of one of those weird silent conversations, the kind of conversation that formed between looks, eyes and eyebrows. Violet smiled warmly at the woman, thanking the young man once more before disappearing to the back of the bar.
The chime singled as the young man exited the bar, the woman in tow, "Isabel, what are you doing here?"
"Caught your scent from outside and wondered why you were still in there. Who's the girl?" Isabel questioned as the two walked down the back alley ways.
The young man shook his head, "She was no one, not of any concern anyway. She is a student at the local Art Academy. She asked to sketch my portrait for one of her showcases."
"And you allowed her to do so? That is very unlike you, Godric," Isabel commented as they made their way into one of the modern houses at the outskirts of town.
Godric made no motions as he replied, "She said she was to draw a First Impressions sketch. I was...curious as to how she saw me."
"Well, what did it look like?"
Isabel felt her eyes widen as a small tick formed at the edge of his lips, "She wouldn't allow me to see. She said I had to wait like everyone else."
"When is it supposed to be shown?"
Godric stopped walking at the sight of Stan, in the middle of the entertainment room, feeding off of a weakly protesting woman, "At the annual art auction."
"That's a month from now."
Godric turned from the sight, making his way to his room, "I know."
Violet hopped out of the car, waving at Melvin as he drove off. Making her way up the steps leading to her two bedroom townhouse, Violet slipped her key inside the lock and opened the door. A sigh of relief left her lips as she sets her keys down on the small table by the door, removing her jacket to hang it up. Running her fingerless-gloved hand through her hair, successfully pulling it from its messy bun, she cracked her stiff fingers as she moved toward the kitchen. Her hand swept the wall as she passed the open doorway to the kitchen, the tired look from her eyes disappearing at the sight in front of her
Her house-mate, Aiden Blake stood in the kitchen, his tattooed chest visible, boxers and jeans pooled to his ankles. His fingers dug into the mess of black hair, gripping it as he moved the person's head up and down his hardened length. Violet, being the artist, tilted her head as she watched, Aiden's head thrown back, subtle gasps leaving his parted lips, as the person on their knees licked and sucked up and down his length, taking every inch into their mouth before moving back out. Hearing the choked gasps and moans, Violet could barely contain the giggle at the truly erotic sight.
"Vi!" Aiden squeaked out, jerking to stand upright from his leaning position against the counter.
His motion caused the person pleasuring him to gag against the sudden forceful thrust, but Violet watched as the person turned, standing upright, almond-shaped brown eyes staring at her wide-eyed. Aiden always did enjoy the pretty Asians. This one was too. Violet looked over the mess of black hair, the strong jawline, full and abused lips. Looking down the flat, muscled chest, Violet giggled at the obvious sign of excitement as Aiden's partner seemed to suddenly be wearing jeans that were too tight.
"I thought you said you were gay," the boy squeaked out.
"I am/He is," Aiden and Violet exclaimed, Violet giggling again.
Shaking her head, she grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, "We're only room-mates. Just let me get my drink and I'll be out of your way. Aiden, you better clean up any mess you make and next time, keep it out of the kitchen."
Slipping into her room, she disposes of her sketchpad and chugs half of the bottle of water before lying back on her bed. Staring up at the ceiling, she barely noticed herself falling asleep as she thought about her newest subject. She wondered if she was ever going to see him again.
He sure was handsome.
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