A/N: Birthday gift to myself that I share with you. And a very merry un-birthday to you!
EPOV
"Happy Birthday, Master!" My child, Pam, says beaming at me with a shit-eating grin, as I walk into the back door of Fangtasia towards my office, bypassing the bar area entirely.
"Don't be silly. We are vampire; we don't celebrate birthdays."
I say it while rolling my eyes at her; it has been decades since Pam had finally stopped demanding a yearly party to celebrate her human birth – now we celebrate her vampiric one. Not. Better. But my child is spoiled; I give her everything and more – when did I become so indulgent?
"Hap-py Birth-day, Eri-c."
She says it again more slowly, popping the "c" in my name. What the fuck is going on? Anger blooms within me like a virus, brought on due to my vast and consuming confusion – what does she want me to say? Have I forgotten the anniversary of her turning? It is quite possible, seeing as the date itself means very little to me – especially when the product of said event is still at my side.
"Happy… Birthday… Pam?"
There is an undeniable questioning in my voice, and I do not like it, do not like feeling out of the loop. Why do I feel like I am being fucked with? But upon examination of my maker-child bond with Pam, I cannot spy even the minutest bit of deceit or general fuckery – and it exasperates me to no end. She throws her head back in uproarious laughter – she is laughing at me! – and then with a suddenness that could only be accomplished by vampire, she motions that she is zipping her lips and vamps away just as I open my mouth, this time to ask plainly, what the fuck is going on? Something strange is happening, and I do not like it.
Not. ONE. Fucking. Bit.
I slump into the chair behind my desk after slamming the door to my office; the beast inside me has been woken up and he is railing against the cage. Honestly, I'm not sure why fury has started to bubble within me at such a high speed, but it is what it is; it's there and I can't deny it – did I miss someone's birthday? Am I supposed to give a fuck about anyone's birthday? That seems unlikely to me, but still I speed through my calendar looking for circled days or notes to indicate otherwise.
I know Sophie Anne, the Louisiana Queen has a deplorable habit of gathering her subjects to celebrate a day she claims is her birthday, but I could've sworn that party was only months ago – but maybe it has been longer, the years tend to bleed together…
Ha! I love when that happens – it's bloody good fun! Double HA! – even if I only ever get to make non-threatening vampirish jokes in my head.
Lightening my own mood with my internal witticism, I flip at a much calmer pace through memories of historic dates that seemed of note to my people, finding nothing. Perhaps I should take time to consider the very few I care about... It is a list of two, and it takes less than two seconds. Damn! Circling back to Pam, that is a big fuck no, and then there is Sookie, whose birthday is definitely during the summer months – July?
Yes!, I say outloud, finding the day in my calendar with an "S" with a balloon drawing scribbled in red sharpee squarely on the first of the month. Fucking Pam; I should've never let her near my day planner – night planner, haha. I chuckle out loud this time. It is most certainly not July, too cold – I think? I can only assume by the piles of clothes I see humans wearing on the streets – although in Fangtasia, the fangbangers are wearing so little you'd assume we were experiencing a tropical hell-like temperature here in Louisiana. Fitting, since Pam and I effectively run our own little sin bin.
Ba-da-da-dum. (Cymbal crash sound effect!)
The noise sputters past my lips, and then my brow begins to furrow – I know because I am exaggerating the gesture, even though I have an audience of none – because I can also feel something else… a lingering steady drip of something invading into my bond, causing these mirthful and easy feelings that I am now realizing are not altogether mine.
Did I fall down the rabbit hole into fucking Wonderland? What is going on?!
"HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ERIC!" Pam screeches at me from the outside my office, rapping her fists on the door in a rhythmic pattern I can't identify.
It's definitely not MY birthday – is it? No, it can't be, and even if it was, no one would know it. Hell, I don't even know when my birthday is – either one – and if I did? I certainly wouldn't bother to celebrate it – what a revoltingly human thing to do. My lip turns up in disgust with a sneer, and I feel it again – my emotions showing on my face. It's like I can't control myself!
"Eric! Eric! Eric!"
Is Pam… drunk? She sounds strange, and as I actually take a moment to listen to her chant my name – instead of tuning her mostly out to simply respond based on context clues (which I will admit to doing NEVER, even though I do it often…) I note a bit of a slur in her speech patterns. How? What? Why? Whooooooo? MMMMMmmmm… whatever feelings are oozing over my bond from Pam feel warm and cozy, like a goose feathered duvet wrapped around me like a comforter burrito.
WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT!?
I'm panting now, hyperventilating – IT'S GETTING WORSE! I'm becoming more and more certain that something has been compromised; perhaps someone poisoned our blood supply. They must have struck at Pam first – I'll KILL THEM!
"Maaaaaasssssttttteeeerrrr!"
Pam's trying to lure me out of my office, and it's worrying me what sort of magics are at play. I begin to barricade the door, shoving my desk up against it and at vamp speed piling every piece of furniture, paper – whatever I can get my hands on – as high as possible. A voice in my mind screams "save your child" but fuck Pam right now! Okay, not really – and I feel a twinge of guilt for leaving her outside my fortress. Ugh, guilt?! It's like I'm infected by feelings right now! How did I catch them?
Did Pam give them to me? I can hear her clawing at the door, or I think it's her(?). I'm losing the ability to focus on the bond. It's overtaking me, and something warm and chilling is still seeping in. Somehow it doesn't seem to be frightening Pam, which is frightening me more. WTF!?
Now, I'm sure it's her at the door, as I listen to her singing jovially to herself, like creepy murders do – maybe? It's like I'm in the middle of one of those gory horror flicks where the bad guy has lost his mind, humming to himself like a madman, except sans man with a substitute of Pam.
I look over at the disheveled wall that is meant to seal me off from whatever enemies are on the other side. I'm not a very masterful builder; what a piss poor attempt at barricading myself in. It looks like a shit show, and what's worse, the door opens outwards, not inwards – evidenced by Pam's opening of the door. Bad design, such a bad design. I can't stifle the giggle that erupts from my throat. I'm so fucked, and I can't help but laugh.
"Ohhhh…..Maasssttteerrrr," She purrs at me, "I don't think you are appreciating your presents," and she licks her lips lasciviously running the length of her tongue down one of her fangs, "Give into it. It's HEAVENLY."
Gods, that was slightly terrifying, and it feels like my heart is thumping wildly in my chest.
Now… that… sensation shuts down my brain temporarily. I close my eyes, and will the world to still – or at least it feels that way for a moment. Yes, my undead heart took a beat. Wha-wump. And another. No, that can't be right. And somehow instead of scaring me, it grounds me. FINALLY! Something that makes some modicum of sense!
This isn't real.
None of this is real. It can't be. I search the corners of my mind for an explanation. Okay, what do I remember? Before I look too far inward, I notice that the room is, in fact, frozen – Pam in mid-jump; was she about to fucking jump me?! – furthering my belief that I've somehow stepped outside reality.
Think, Northman. Think!
Thinkthinkthinkthinkthinkthinkthinkthinkthinkthinkthinkthinkthink… Okay, that's not fucking helping. I push the cadence to the background, but it persists. I ignore it, to the best of my ability, but it's causing my face to tick along with the punctuation of the words – word? (Is it just one word when it runs together? I guess so...) I can't help but wonder if vampire took breaths would my inner monologue make words, not one long-ass word? Would the torture would be better or worse… What if I pretended to breathe, what then?
Why are these the things I'm thinking of!?
Now, I'm thinking I've gone crazy… Something insides me says "Bingo! B-I-N-G-O!" but something else growls, and bingo (was his name-o) slinks away, to the farthest reaching crevisse in my mind. Where do I know that phrase from? It does NOT sound familiar, and yet it does. I take a deep inhalation, and the sound shoos away the unrelenting chanting. Ha! It relented. THANK THE GODS.
"Eric."
The voice comes from behind me, and I'm unable to move, fixed to my spot - literally. It's unnerving that I spend so much time motionless, but when I want to run? NOPE. Cheap trick, body; cheap trick.
Not. Fucking. Funny.
My own personal siren glides over to me, standing before me, draped in the red and white dress – her hair cascading down her shoulders in loose waves, light reflecting off her blonde curls. I can hardly believe she's here but somehow her presence makes this all seem even less real, and somehow more because, of course, the infamous Sookie Stackhouse would be here to bear witness to my psychotic breakdown - who else? But still... why would she come at all? Sookie can barely stand me; she's been more than upfront about that – it's driving me crazy (OH CRAP! I HAVE OFFICIALLY GONE CRAZY... something shrieks in my head), wanting someone who harbors so much disgust for me, or at least ostensibly espouses that she does.
"I make you crazy."
It's not a question she's asking, and she says it in a stilted way like she can't believe it. My eyes widen. Shit! Shitshitshitshitshit. Not only does it seem like she's read my mind, but AGAIN I can't control my reactions, and she can plainly see the fear in my eyes. I think she's going to use it against me – it's what I would do, have done to others, to her – but inexplicably she looks at me with a softer expression – perhaps because she is sunlight? – and flutters her pretty eyelashes at me.
I'm counting them.
Sookie giggles and places the tip of her finger squarely in the middle of my forehead. Yeah, I'm over 6 feet tall; that's most definitely not possible. But the connection sparks something – sends tingles through me head to toe – and I'm sort of remembering a couple of things now – memories are flashing through my mind like a movie on fast forward and Sookie fades from before me as the picture show takes over. It's as if she dissolves into thin air – a 'would-be-useful' skill I don't believe Miss Stackhouse possesses. I nod to myself; yeah, not real.
Not. Real. At. All.
The events of the past 24 hours hit me like a train, effectively forcing the air I'm for some reason breathing from my lungs. I stumble into Pam, knocking her mannequinned self onto the floor. She looks kind of funny on her side with her arms rigidly splayed before her, hands curled like claws – Seriously?! Was she about to attack me before I stopped the world? Maybe I deserve to get my assed kicked...
I may have done some bad things.
I mean, they were good for me, and maybe good overall, but maybe also a little bit bad – (POKE) OUCH! Fuckshitdamnhell. OKAY! Okay, I did a whole host of very bad things that I am prostrate and sorry for (since when do I use words like 'sorry'?!)... Inherently, I know I'm being poked for spinning my actions into the best light – someone or something is actually spearing me in my own thoughts for being nonchalant about my misgivings. I rub my head – even though the pain is on the inside – fuck, that kind of hurts.
FINE! I may or may not have served Sookie up on a silver platter to Russell Edgington.
SHIT! That stings! Okay, I did! I fucking did! What is happening?! I… don't think this is how guilt works… I'm not entirely sure since it's quite a foreign feeling to me… So I pause to think about it again more slowly. Tonight was quite a busy night for me. I buried a monster – Russell – exposed a liar – Compton – and drankafairyhybridwomanIlike namedSookie whoisprobablysuperpissedsinceIalsoaidedin… Breaking. Her… Heart.
Sookie's blood.
The answer is right in front of me – or inside me apparently. How does Compton handle these surges of emotion, her blood? No wonder he always looks like he's got a stick shoved up his ass. Fuckface asshole.
My face contorts into a frown; why is her blood affecting me like this? It's fucking unfair. UNFAIR. And I stomp my feet like a human child; Pam raises an eyebrow at me from her position on the floor – Gods, is this what Sookie feels like all the time? Like a slave to such base and basic emotions?
Maybe this is why she leaks so much – I don't like these feelings. Not. One. Fucking. Bit.
CRAP! I'M FUCKING LEAKING!
I heave as sob after sob mutinously escapes my chest and throat. I clasp my hands over my mouth – NOPE, that does nothing; what a waste of perfectly good energy. I SCREAM at myself to stop – yeah, doesn't work with humans and didn't work with me.
Humans. Sookie. Sookie got upset tonight – over Compton – because of me. When I left her, she was leaking – I'm sure of it– did she ever stop? I can't remember, but as bloody tears stream uncontrollably down my cheeks I'm thinking NO.
What happened before she… before that? Suddenly, it's like my skin is itching and I feel too clean, too fucking clean. I rip my clothes from my body and stand stark-naked in the ransacked room I'm tentatively calling my office – tomorrow this might be Pam's, hers is tidier and it might be time for an annexation. Time to go a-viking! – I truly do crack myself up, while I'm cracking up. I could do a late night show… people would watch I think… I already have a following…I'm rubbing my hands up and down my arms – has my skin always been this cold? Or this smooth? MMMMmmmm... that feels divine…
SNAP OUT OF IT NORTHMAN!
I smack myself hard in the head, enough to cause me to stumble…
CEMENT!
That's what's missing! I'm not covered in cement. I know Pam didn't manage to pick all of that fucking stuff out of my hair, off of my skin – it's going to take weeks to undo the fucking damage that Compton has done! Growling audibly – yeah, yeah, yeah, stoic vampire rules broken, blah blah blah; fuck that, I'm giving up all semblance of control at this point – I huff down in my chair. I'm dealing with a veritable Sookie cocktail of emotions – and then it knocks me out of the chair, like an angry wind.
It's a dream; this is a fairy blood dream…
But vampires don't dream; it should not be possible and yet? Either this is a dream or I've found some way to get WILDLY high without meaning to. And that didn't fucking happen (I don't think...) so back to my other conclusion I go: Dream – and it's... exhilarating and a little awful. I can see how someone who... enjoyed feelings might relish this rollercoaster ride, but I am less than amused. I can feel the fairy blood coursing through me, infusing itself into the fiber of my being, playing my strings to make me feel. But … it's not just the blood… is it?
Vampire blood enhances feelings - it doesn't create them. What if… it's much the same with fairy blood?
I can't deny – as much as I'd prefer to – that Sookie makes me feel a spectrum of things I haven't felt in a thousand years. Her very presence excites me, makes me itch to be alongside her – truly, having to watch her with Compton, covet her from afar has been driving me crazy.
OH SHIT! I do actually care for Sookie Stackhouse. Not a trick, not a game, not a ploy to fuck her hard until the sun comes up. Just affection, I mean still with hopes of the sex, but it's no longer my primary goal... When the fuck did that happen?!
"I don't want to make you crazy."
Sookie pops back into the room and places her hand on my shoulder. She says the words, but her mouth never moves. I can't even bring myself to be shocked anymore – it's like a numbness is moving through me, dissolving all the feelings I had previously thought were torturing me. I grab for them, but that's fucking silly – they're not corporeal.
And then DARKNESS.
My eyes snap open.
And I wake with a start, realizing there is a very large Sookie-sized hole in my heart, and that all of my feelings-friends have left me. I feel cold, except that I'm always cold and I've never noticed it before – but now it's all I can feel, the cold.
And I do not like it, not one fucking bit.
I feel a tinge of sadness and I can't bring myself to brush it away. In this moment, it's all I have left from Sookie, and it tells me she's not dead – but where did she go? Is she okay? And, almost so quietly than even my own ears can't perceive my utterance, I whisper out loud, "Is she going to come back?"
I jump from my coffin and stride into my office at Fangtasia, which looks just how I left it, no weird wall of craziness and no frozen Pam on the floor. I can sense, however, that Pam is stirring from her day death in the room below. She'll be up here soon enough, so I hurry. Gathering my calendar from the desk and grabbing a red pen from the drawer, I find the box for today, writing S.S. inside a milk carton shape I draw; I will count the days until she returns and tend to her home; she will not come back to a broken life... if she comes back at all. I note that there is another entry, in the same red with little fangs scribbled next to it – Pam's B-day.
Shit!
"HAPPY BIRTHDAY, PAM!" I scream.
"Oh, thank you, Master," she says as she vamps into the room, "I wasn't sure you'd remember."