Thanks again to everybody who left a review for the last chapter. I really do appreciate them. This chapter is a bit different from the last two, so
please drop me a line and let me know how I'm doing. Longer chapters? More from Tara? How do you all feel about me adding a new character?
Disclaimer: I don't own True Blood :/
Once upon a time, there was a fairy fucking princess called Sookie. My progeny fucked off to her castle. The end.
Here's a real story. I have a house in Bon Temps. A quant little two bedroom, not too far from Merlotte's. I never cared much for it, though.
I've always preferred the rhythm of Fangtasia. Even as the sun begins to rise, I can feel the night's events resonate in its walls.
Never fails to make me look forward to the next night, the next bar fight, the next big spender.
When Eric and I first moved to the area, he had Fangtasia built from the ground up. He bought the house for me and purchased one even further from the city for himself. I didn't want it really, but Eric insisted I have my own place. I slept there every day for a while, to humor him.
But the quiet was agitating, too much so. So as soon as Fangtasia's basement was finished, I had a coffin delivered. When Eric asked about it, I told him I wanted to be closer to supervise the construction. He didn't buy it, of course, but he never said anything more.
At first, I only slept at Fangtasia one night per week, but it quickly grew into two, sometimes three. Before its grand opening, it was obviously quiet there too. But it was a different kind of quiet. It wasn't missing anything. Fangtasia was meant to be empty during the early hours of the morning, and as the sun set. The little house in Bon Temps was meant for a family. Fuck families.
I had Eric, I have Eric. I got him back now, and he's all I need. Anyway, back to Fangtasia. It eventually opened, and I began to sleep there daily. It was my idea of comfortable. Eric noticed my sleeping pattern immediately, but still said nothing to me. He just rehired a few of the construction workers, and told them to build me a walk-in closet. Have to love that man.
A fight broke out a few nights after our grand opening, two baby vamps fighting over some fangbanger like the dumb fucks they were. I swiftly knocked the shit out of both of them, and just as quickly moved our patrons' attention back to our scheduled entertainment. After I was done, I turned to see Eric smiling amusedly at me. He hadn't originally given me any specific position at the club, allowing me to choose how, or even if, I wanted to help. But after that incident, he requested that I manage the floor for him while he handled other matters in the office.
I loved my new job, and the power that came with it. While Eric was absent, it was my floor, and if anyone had a problem with that, they could politely get the fuck out. But most nights at Fangtasia went smoothly, and the atmosphere was to die for, literally. I'd died, Eric had killed me, or rather I killed myself, and Eric saved me, allowing me to live this sexy, exciting, but still so comfortable life. I could live in Fangtasia for another century, without a doubt.
But after Bill tried to kill us all, I thought I'd take a day off. Or that Tara deserved a day off. She didn't seem to mind working there, but I
know she doesn't love it the way I do. Even though she was willing to fight for it. Kill her sheriff for it. Or for me, because I love it. Whatever.
Anyway, I thought I'd take her to my house in Bon Temps. It was different, being in the house with her. She was easy company. We didn't talk a lot, but the silence was comfortable. We fell into a rhythm, so unlike that of Fangtasia's, so unlike any I've ever felt, but still so familiar.
The quiet that had previously seemed to envelope me wasn't at all present. Every twilight, just before bed, or just after waking,
I told myself I'd go back to Fangtasia. Every night, I'd leave the master bedroom and lean against the doorway to the family room, sweeping my eyes over the place, trying to remember why I didn't come there more often. Every night, a few minutes later, Tara would slip past me, smile and yawn her good morning. Every night I reminded her that we were vampires, and it was actually far from morning. She'd laugh and apologize, and I'd raise an eyebrow at her. Every night, I put Fangtasia off, just for one more night.
Until our date night, that is. We'd been in the house a little over three weeks, and I'd begun to expect our routine more than I knew.
That night, I'd awoken and dressed for the occasion before I left my room. I walked to the family room, waiting for Tara to come in. Ten minutes passed, then twenty, then thirty. I should've taken longer to dress than Tara, and she tended to rise only half an hour or so after I did. I did some quick math, figuring it'd been over two hours since I'd awakened, and I was suddenly overcome with anxiety. I walked to her room, tapping her door in quick succession. No answer. I opened the door, and Tara was nowhere to be seen. I noticed her coffin was still closed, and the anxiety I felt instantly turned to dread. I wanted to rush to her, but I couldn't move.
As a young vampire, I'd heard stories. Stories of newborn vampires who weren't able to tolerate their own blood. I was told it happened mostly to unusually strong baby vamps, and that I was normal, I should make it past the newborn stage with ease. I always assumed the older vamps who told the stores were just bullshitting, trying to get a rise out of me. But Eric had never confirmed or denied their stories. I supposed he was trying to scare me as well, or trying not to.
But as the stories went, if a newborn was too strong, it meant her blood was too strong, the venom too deadly. The body takes time to adjust to housing vampire blood, the veins themselves must undergo a transformation. For the average vampire, this process goes smoothly, the blood actually aiding in the reconstruction of our veins. But as legend has it, the blood of certain vampires actually destroys their veins. It happens suddenly, during sleep, without any prior warning. With veins no longer strong enough to carry the blood, it gathers at the heart, building pressure until it effectively drives a stake through it. It is supposedly the most painless of all the true deaths. As if anyone has lived to confirm it.
The night Tara beat Jessica's ass in Fangtasia, those stories had crossed my mind. Jessica was at least a year older than Tara, but Tara would've wiped the floor with her. I was impressed really, but I did wonder if the stories held any truth, if Tara would make it past her newborn stage. It honestly didn't make much difference to me whether she did or not, at least at that point. But a lot had changed since then.
So I stood there, just staring at her closed coffin. My senses were completely clouded. I was feeling some sort of emotion, and this was where it was supposed to dissipate into anger. But I had no one to be angry with. And I had no one to take my anger out on. I was alone. That was the only sense I could make out. I knew I was alone in my house, and the quiet was suffocating, mocking me.
I closed my eyes, attempting to gather myself, or to stop myself from reaching a state where I'd need to gather myself from. I tapped into our bond, for a glimpse of anything. Nothing. I couldn't bring myself to open her coffin. I'd call Eric, he'd take care of it.
I turned to leave, to find my cell. Then I heard the front door creak open.
"You ready, Pam?" Tara called in. Oh fuck me. She was alive. What the fuck was wrong with me? How did she know how to turn off her end of the bond so completely? Why would she want to? Why did I assume the worst? And why couldn't I just look in the fucking coffin?
In summation, what the fuck.
The anger I'd been waiting for was rolling in, but not as strongly as it would have if...just not as strongly as it would've. It wasn't enough to take out on her, just enough to balance my head and allow me to act as I would normally.
"Yeah, Tara, just a second," I said. I walked towards the front door, purposely slowing my step. Tara was facing me, quietly closing the door behind her.
She smiled widely and I felt a flood of warmth flow through the bond. So she did know how to control it. She had one hand behind her back, hiding something.
"I got you flowers. I didn't know what kind you liked, so I thought I'd stick with the classics, ya know?" she said, revealing a large bouquet of fresh red roses.
She'd turned off her end of the bond so I wouldn't know she was buying me fucking roses.
I thought she was dead, and she was at the fucking florist.
Ugh.
Fuck roses.
And that concludes my trip down memory lane, or whatever the fuck that was.
Ten days had passed since our little date. Ten days since I'd seen her. Ten days since I'd felt even the slightest emotion from her end of our bond.
Not that I was fucking counting.
Now I'm back at Fangtasia, getting the business back on its feet. After the date, I came here immediately. I invited Tara to stay in my house. Implicitly. As in I didn't kick her out. I thought she'd stay with Jessica, actually. But it seemed Tara had forgiven Sookie for asking me to turn her.
The next night, Eric informed me of her location, and I asked him if he thought I cared. He only gave me a pointed look and changed the subject.
Since then I'd hired a few new dancers, a couple experienced bartenders, and a new bouncer. All the background checks went through fine, with the exception of the bouncer's. He's a vampire by the name of Charles, I'm guessing around the age of 75. Charming guy, originally from England, from what he said. I normally follow through myself, checking for inconsistencies in stories. But he'd managed to stay off the internet almost entirely. Although that rubbed me the wrong way, I hired him, because my old bouncer had fucked off in my previous absence, and I needed a replacement before reopening.
I'd also been negotiating a contract with a new Tru Blood wholesaler down in Florida. Called themselves Pure Blood LLC. Shadier characters than any I'd worked with recently, but I'd be damned if they tried to screw me over. I didn't quite know who I was dealing with yet, but neither did they.
I was faxing a new proposal over to the friendly folks at Pure Blood when the phone rang.
"Fangtasia, what do you want?" I drawled.
"I thought you'd like to know Tara's on her way to come get the stuff she left there," Sookie said, with urgency in her voice.
"Great," I said, my tone positively dripping in faux enthusiasm.