Disclaimer: I own nothing other than my original characters/plot and anything you might not recognize.
True Blood and everything that pertains to it belongs to Alan Ball and Charlaine Harris.
No copyright infringement intended.
For a select number of reasons, Eira was not partial to Friday nights. Everyone liked to go out on Fridays, and this reason was the highest on Eira's list of why she despised gracing the world with her presence at the end of the week. There was just something about a crowded street, or an overflowing shop, that set her teeth on edge—and traffic was another thing entirely. The traffic of people, the traffic of cars, it was all a bit much.
She usually spent the start of her weekends tucked away inside her home, reading her books, watching movies on the large flat screen television in her living room, pouring over her sketchbooks and canvases, or lounging out on the roof and looking up at the stars—she did anything that didn't involve interacting with other people.
In essence, Eira did not like going out—not on Mondays or Wednesdays, or any other day of the week… especially on Fridays. She was not a people-person, and the amount of friends she had—close or otherwise—she could count on one hand. It wasn't that she couldn't make friends, because she could (Eira was very social when she wanted to be) but she just didn't like interacting with other people. It took too much effort that guaranteed awkward silences and awkward conversational topics.
Frankly, she was an introvert—a very proud introvert, at that. She didn't care what other people surely whispered about her; she prioritized her attention on herself and her health, and nasty whispers weren't detrimental to her health, therefore she brushed it aside.
… Yet, given what and who she was, her aversion of social interactions was understandable. Her surname was a thing to behold in certain circles, and unfortunately it was very, VERY recognizable. So much so that publicly she was just known as "Erica." In all her papers (government-wise and of the like) it was just "Erica," no last name, no nothing.
Technically, "Eira" did not exist, and that was how it was supposed to be. Only a handful of individuals knew that "Erica" was just a front, and even then, it was a handful too many, but they were people that Eira trusted wholeheartedly.
On this particular Friday night, instead of being curled up on her window seat and reading the newest addition to her private library, Eira found herself sitting in her black BMW, staring through the windshield and at flashy neon red lights that belonged to one, Fangtasia: Bar and Nightclub.
Going to a vampire-friendly nightclub was something that Eira had never been interested in, but she could not deny that she was curious. What would it be like to step through the currently opened, black-painted doors…?
A stitch of nervousness accompanied Eira's curiosity. An uncomfortable feeling settled deep within her chest and she nibbled on the corner of her bottom lip worriedly. If she should leave the safety of her car, what exactly would await her once she walked past the nightclub's doors? Would the night unfold slowly, each minute taking an eternity to pass—or would there be an explosion of events that would exceed dizzyingly fast, making her head spin?
More importantly, would things go according to plan, or would it all blow up in her face the second she crossed the nightclub's threshold?
There was still time for Eira to turn and run like a wounded animal with its tail tucked between its hinged legs. No one had noticed the shiny black car parked amongst old Chevys and Toyotas, sticking out like a glittering jewel amongst pieces of old plastic. She could leave now and pretend she had not even been before the secluded nightclub with intensions of entering it—but Eira could not be scared off, she could not lose her cool. There were things that she needed to do, things that alone she would not be able to accomplish, and for that reason alone, she did not start up her car and drive down the interstate like a bat out of Hell.
Nevertheless, her pride was preventing her from exiting her car, making her hesitant to take on the cool night air. Relying on others was something she hated; she did not like being dependant of another being, but here she was, and she hated feeling weak, broken, vulnerable, and helpless… but it was a fact that couldn't be denied. She was weak, broken—kept together by seams that were about ready to burst.
Eira was afraid, and when Eira was afraid, it was cause for attention. Eira was never afraid. She was a warrior, a survivor—when she got into trouble, she dealt with it on her own. However, right now…
"I'm here," spoke Eira into her cell phone, her voice merely above a breathy whisper, accented with a soft brogue that sounded slightly Swedish, slightly otherworldly.
"I trust you did not have any complications," said the voice of a woman, her words enunciated with a curious, Hispanic accent.
"I followed the directions you left for me," said Eira, keeping her voice soft, "and I have to say, that I regret making the trek here by land rather than by air. I've already wasted too much time."
"You were upset and you needed time to think," said the woman decisively. "Your little road trip provided you with time to think things through."
"Right," sighed Eira, uninterested.
"How long are you planning on staying there, in Shreveport?"
"I'll stay for a night—two at the most if the need for it arrives," answered Eira, her eyes shifting from the gaudy sign beside the entrance doors of the nightclub, to her left hand that held onto the steering wheel idly. A simple, white gold band rested on her ring finger, the diamonds on it twinkling in the lowlight. The sight of it made her say, "If anything, expect me back by Monday. I do not wish to stay here any longer than I must."
"Do what you deem necessary," said the woman stridently, her voice softening as she added, "and be safe, Eira. We cannot lose you either."
"Can you just tell me what—"
The woman had already hung up before Eira could finish her sentence.
"Of course," she said with a frustrated sigh, slipping her phone into the pocket of her jean shorts, "just leave Eira in the dark—she mustn't know what's going on—whatever."
She needed to get out of the car now, time was ticking away, but the ring on her left hand made her stop and think for a moment. It was a plain thing compared to the assortment of jewels she had in her possession, but it was elegant in its simplicity, and its significance was what made it valuable. The perfectly cut center stone was large compared to the smaller stones that encircled it, and its form reminded Eira of a snowflake—which was appropriate, for her name meant snow in Welsh, and the ring had been given to her on Christmas.
The ring was a promise.
The ring was a reminder.
The ring was causing her so much heartache…
Months ago, Eira was a ball of blissful delight and joy—fantasies of white lace and veils filled her sketchbooks, dreams came to life underneath her pencil of what the future was going to present her with… and now it didn't matter. Everything was gone, just like him…
Signing unhappily, Eira tore her eyes away from her ring, and looked up at the rearview mirror. Her bright blue eyes were a light shade of gray this evening, and there was a look of pure anguish within her stormy irises. No smile, no matter how well she'd manage to prefect it, would be able to mask how miserable she looked.
Avoiding the thought of the repercussion of her actions, Eira quickly exited her car and began walking across the parking lot, the loose gravel crunching underneath the soles of her brown, lace-up boots. She ran a hand through her hair; her light blonde tresses were thick, its ends reaching her hips and curling in free spirals.
As she grew nearer to the entrance doors and the queue of waiting patrons, Eira realized that with her boots, shorts, and flowery white blouse, she stood out like a sore thumb amongst the black-leather clad clientele. That and the fact that she looked far too young to be walking the streets without a guardian this late at night would prove to be a problem—she was sure of it.
Letting her facial features relax down to an uninterested look, Eira walked past the queue confidently, avoiding looking anyone in the eye as she made her way to the front. At the entrance of the nightclub stood a striking female vampire, carding customers with a rather bored expression on her pale face. She had blonde hair and blue eyes, and her body was covered in a short leather dress that left very little to the imagination.
"Is Eric Northman in tonight?" asked Eira with an air of indifference, her head tilted upwards to take in the sight of the blonde vampire before her. "I need to speak with him—it concerns an urgent matter that will interest him greatly."
The blonde vampire blinked, stared down at Eira for just a moment, and then rolled her eyes. In a voice that oozed fake sincerity, she said, "Yes, Eric is in tonight, but you'll just have to wait your turn like everyone else."
"You don't understand," said Eira with a frustrated sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Look, will you just let me through for just a moment—or you could call him out here? I really need to talk to—"
A hand materialized on her shoulder, and Eira felt herself being yanked backwards and turned around roughly. Her eyes met with a pair of irritated brown eyes that belonged to someone unknown, someone who was pissed off for having his entrance into the nightclub delayed—someone oh so very human.
"You can't just walk to the front like you own the place," the man hissed, his eyes narrowed. "Get in the back, cunt."
Eira stood still, unfazed. She merely quirked up an eyebrow in question, her features melting into those of surprise and disbelief as this human thought he had the right to tell her what to do.
"Right," she said delicately after a moment, taking in an unneeded breath of air to help her stay calm. Lashing out at this stupid man would not prove helpful in getting what she wanted. With a jerk of her shoulder, and a backwards step, Eira was free of the man's grasp, and she said rather stiffly, "A verbal warning would have sufficed—you did not need to touch me."
The man snorted, looking Eira up and down, his narrowed eyes now leering. He took a step towards her, puffing out his chest, trying to be intimidating—but he was only human. Eira had virtually nothing to worry about, and so she remained calm, looking up at the man with a rather bored look in her eyes.
"What's a pretty little girl like you doing here anyway," the man inquired with a malicious smirk. "You're probably not even old enough to drink. Hell—you look like you belong in middle school—no no—elementary school! That's it! Man, the things I'd love to do to—"
Before anyone could even comprehend what was happening—let alone blink, Eira had the man pressed up against the side of the building, her hand wrapped around his throat, squeezing hard enough to hold him in place and show him that it was she who controlled the situation, not him. She had moved so quickly that all anyone saw was a blur of blonde hair, and immediately the people who'd been watching Eira and the man's interaction took a startled step back, the entertained smiles wiped off their faces just as fast as Eira's movements.
"I may look like a mere child, human," hissed Eira with narrowed eyes, leaning up into the man's face threateningly, "but I am over 1,000 years old. I am old enough to manage a drink, don't you think?"
The man tried to put on a brave face, daring to push against Eira's hold—this pitiful little girl had bested him once, but he would not allow it another time, however one squeeze from Eira's hand had him struggling for air, his face rapidly turning pink.
"Silly human," said Eira with a sneer, tilting her head back and allowing two large fangs to extend from her gums with a sharp click, "I did not come here spoiling for a fight—if I let you go will you stand down? I really do not want blood on my boots."
The man's eyes widened, surprise clearly etched onto his features. He was dealing with a vampire, a vampire hidden within the visage of a small, doe eyed girl. A rush of thrill and lust swelled in his chest—he loved little girls… and the fact that this little girl was a vampire made things so much sweeter.
Eira immediately sensed the twisted turn in the man's countenance. Gone was the stab of fear and surprise she had sensed moments earlier as she was crushing his windpipe. She was well aware how "fangbangers" were the new thing now. She couldn't even imagine why a human would want their necks torn at just for the euphoric feeling a vampire's bite would cause, but sex was nearly always involved, and she supposed that there was a sense of thrill mixed with the danger of the unknown, that the humans craved. Tha man in her hand was clearly a fangbanger—she would have to set him straight.
"I can snap your neck in a heartbeat and easily get away with it, you know," said Eira softly, her voice taking on a sultry tone as she stared into the man's eyes, allowing her influence to pour into his mind and ensnare his senses, "however, I am feeling generous tonight. When I release you, you will turn away and walk back home. You will sleep the night away and when you wake up tomorrow, you will do something meaningful with your life. Oh, and before I forget, you will stop preying on children—because oh yes, I can smell them on you… Forget my face, my voice, and this place."
The man, now in a trancelike state, nodded numbly, and Eira retracted her hand, taking a step back and allowing the man to stumble his way past her. She watched him with a mixture of disinterest and disgust as he idly made his way past the queue of startled patrons, and off into the night in whatever direction his home lay.
"Now," said Eira as if she hadn't just glamoured someone, retracting her fangs with a sharp click and turning to face a very stunned, blonde vampire, "you're young I can tell—so—as your elder, you will stand down. I will speak with Eric Northman, and neither you nor anyone else will stop me, is that clear?"
The blonde vampire simply took a step back and lowered her head submissively, knowing that when in the presence of another vampire, age was a rank, and this small thing clearly outranked her by hundreds and hundreds of years. However, she would not allow this little vampire to have the last word, not on her turf.
"Just who the fuck do you think you are?" she hissed, her eyes narrowed into slits, and hands balled up at her sides.
"Eira," said Eira simply, shrugging her shoulder as she walked past the blonde vampire and into Fangtasia, but not before throwing over her shoulder, "Northman..."
AN: Be kind and leave a review please! Thank you.