A/N: It's been a LOOOOOONG time since I've updated, but I haven't forgotten this story and I've been sitting on written but unedited/unfinished chapters this entire time. Going to edit them up, finish them, post, and get back into wrtiting this. I really hope you all haven't completely given up on this, but if you have, here's something for a start. Lets dive right in! please excuse typos, I'm going to come back and check for more later. :)
Disclaimer: I don't own True Blood but if I did, I would not be writing fanfiction and would've given it a more satisfying ending.
"Lafayette, whip me up one of those fruit salads."
The queen of a man turned the page of his magazine and sighed. From the side of his perfectly lined eye, his gaze fixed on the brunette leaned over the counter. Chevelle grinned at him, arms folded under her shoulders.
"Hook'ah," The man's head bobbed as he stretched the word. "What part of 'new season blow out sale' don't you understand?" Lafayette folded the corner of his page and set the book down in favor of a wooden spoon. "And'ja bout's ta get them gorgeous hairs pulled out 'cha head if you get a single curl on my freshly cleaned counters." When the woman rolled her eyes, he maintained a humorously serious expression. She raked her hair back with one hand, and her gaze fell to her arms; still outlined by the orange and black glow that started at the club.
Moments after she left, Chevelle cancelled all after plans. She's ended her shift early, chose the bus instead of catching a ride or driving, and still, the glow was there. So in her steadily increasing panic and defeat, she decided to buy some weed and a smoke buddy. Naturally, the safest source of said weed was Lafayette, though Chevelle knew it'd be awfully ironic if the drugs she bought to soothe the panic of her impending demise brought said demise upon her. Sookie was apparently not scheduled to close, which she'd found when she arrived. The mind-reader hadn't answered her phone in a few days, leaving Chevelle on edge. Even more so when paired with the aura, at least.
Not wanting to be alone, she opted to wait until closing and smoke with the man preparing her food. Lafayette started to speak just as a familiar red head appeared behind her and cut him off.
"Ya'll believe that man at table seven gave me a whole twenty, just cause I kept his cup full?" Arlene stopped at the counter beside Chevelle, tip in hand. A pleased frown had taken her features as she shuffled through the cash once more before stuffing it into her apron.
"Oh he wasn't payin' for the drinks, sweet stuff." Waving his spoon towards her, Lafayette turned towards the refrigerator.
Arlene laughed his name, her eyes flicked towards Chevelle for a mutual grin. A bowl of fruit was placed in front of Chevelle as she leaned up, and Arlene turned towards the quickly deadening restaurant.
"Why're you standin' up here? I gave you a table."
The question was shrugged off as Chevelle reached over the counter to grab a fresh fork. "I was bored." The playfully disapproving glance she received curled her lips. "Oh, come on, I'll still tip you- maybe not as much as your little boy toy over there,"
"Hey!" Arlene's jaw dropped as she leaned up, still grinning at Sookie's friend. "Now, I know what you're thinking, and you can wipe that thought clean off your brain, Missy!" The red-head drawled the words and gazed at Chevelle over her shoulder for added sass before she bounced away. Already perky and anticipating closing.
"You's a fool if you think that's gon' keep yo ass from getting the munchies later." Devious in every sense of the word, Lafayette reclaimed his chair and picked up his magazine.
"Oh come on, I just got off." Covering her mouth as she swallowed a chunk of pineapple, the woman tilted her head. Her fork hung over the side of the bowl as Lafayette turned to his magazine. Old movies and enough weed to knock out a horse sounded perfect to end the night.
"Where the fuck have you been?"
The moment Eric stepped into his office, he was met with Pam. She was seated at his desk, arms folded over her pink two piece skirt suit and complimented by a look that only she could manage. Suspicion and irritation, all in the form of a deadpan stare.
"Save it." Not even a glance was spared on the woman. Eric walked across the room to a file cabinet. As he pulled it open, Pam made her presence known once more.
"This is the second night in a row. You didn't even say you were leaving this time."
"Pamela," The warning was deflected with a roll of the woman's eyes.
"You come in here smelling like shitty cigarettes and perfume, and trust me, I wouldn't be surprised if it was any other night," Eye contact was made for a moment as Eric found the file he had been looking for. Bills to balance. Rather, totals to find. Since he'd narrowly missed his newest prey, he'd taken the opportunity of meeting the owner of Temptations instead. It turned out that Angus, as they called him, was not immune to glamouring, and now Eric had a few comparisons to make. "but that's the same smell as that tacky little club that's stealing all my business." Pam stared straight at the man as he retrieved the file and closed the drawer.
"Your point?"
"My point?" The question seemed to spark Pam's ire. She jumped to her feet in a blur, brows furrowed. "Do you see how many customers we have tonight?" The woman strutted to the office door and pushed it open. "None. That's right; zero." Motioning to the empty room, Pam placed her hand on her hip. "Even Tara decided to leave, 'cause food aint comin' to us in a place like this." Pam stared at the Viking as he walked to his desk, eyes on her. He placed his file down and continued to listen, only half-interested.
"And while our dream is runnin' into the ground, you wanna go out and party with the competition. Fuck sluts in bathrooms."
"It wasn't a bathroom." Eric's insert only sharpened Pam's glare.
"They're sellin' blood, Eric; real blood. How're we supposed to top that?"
"I'm working on it." Eyes on his file, the man flipped the cover. He'd total his losses and previous profits, then compare it to that new club's totals. Courtesy of the Human owner. An owner that apparently, didn't know anything about how to start a fucking blood bar. Oh, the irony.
"Working on it? Coulda fooled me."
"Pamela," With a sigh, Eric attempted to stave off his temper for the second time that night. He walked to his progeny, of whom was standing at the door. Arms crossed, expression sour. A hand on her shoulder reminded her that she wasn't alone. They were a team, aiming towards the same goal. "I'm working on it. Give me some time, I'm gonna get you another bar." The hand on Pam's shoulder moved to the nape of her neck, and she was pulled into a light one-armed embrace. The woman leaned into Eric's torso, unable to help the smile that took her.
"You spoil me."
The murmur received a light squeeze and the hug broke as Eric returned to his desk and finally reclaimed his seat. After a moment of silence, Pam changed the subject.
"Tomorrow night," Eric glanced up at the woman. "I'm going to Georgia."
"Georgia?"
"That cute little boutique I love is having a sale." And she was complaining about him leaving Fangtasia.
Just as Chevelle had gotten to work, a few coworkers arrived as well. They made small talk and changed together; discussed what new outfits and costumes could be themes for future nights. Over five girls sat around the room, all in front of the mirror. The music from the club was significantly lower in the locker room. It allowed for the exchange of tips and jokes; all useful things to make it through the night. Any good dancer would listen to the other girls talk about their usual clients and how they interact with people. Every club was different, just like it's usual patrons.
"Your tag is showing."
One of the girls gripped the fabric in question on Chevelle's back. She turned as it was mentioned and peered at the white panel in the mirror.
"Anyone got a pair of scissors?" The brunette gathered her hair over her shoulder as she spoke and glanced around the room. She was met with shaking heads, save for one person.
"I think I do..." She was a petite girl named Barbara, with red hair fresh from a box. After searching her locker, the girl announced that she couldn't find them, and alternative methods were sought.
"I have a lighter, we could burn it off."
"You're not getting anywhere near my hair with fire." Chevelle immediately shot the offer down and searched through the drawer of a jewelry box, to no avail. The doors were about to open. She couldn't greet anybody or dance with the possibility of a tag jumping out of her clothes.
"I think I have a box cutter in my car."
"That'll work. " Finally moving from the mirror, the brunette turned to Barbara. She expected car keys, but got none.
"It's parked out back. Should be unlocked."
"'Kay," As Chevelle pulled on a coat and started from the room, the other girls turned to the red head.
"Seriously Barbie?"
"That's not safe!"
"I'll lock it!" It wasn't clear whether anybody had heard Chevelle, but it was no surprise that they started to scold her coworker as the door closed. Everybody had to look out for one another. It wouldn't be unheard of for some sicko to follow a girl home or try to catch her on the way to her car. Who knew what they would do if they found out that she had left her car unlocked all night?
Outside, Chevelle rounded the corner of the building. She took a shortcut, through a patch of grass despite her heels; a hike around the building was far less pleasant. Voices could be heard ahead; nothing to be nervous about in broad daylight. Five men in deputy uniforms stood behind the building. They had seemed to be in the middle of a heated discussion, which died down as they came into sight. Only one of the men seemed to notice Chevelle's appearance. He glanced up at her for a split second but returned to whatever they had been discussing.
Though she didn't think much of it, officers weren't a common sight at the club. Especially not in uniform. There were probably rules that prevented that. Their cars were parked close by, only three of them. Out of the corner of her eye, Chevelle peeked up at the men. She had barely reached the pavement when the man that had seen her shook his head and turned on his heel. He started to walk away, but before he could take three steps one of the other officers had his gun out.
Two shots echoed through the parking lot and sent a wave of panic over Chevelle. She had jumped, and one of the men spotted her across the parking lot. With two holes in his back, the man that had noticed her before dropped to his knees. One of the standing four kicked him in the back, and he dropped forward; possibly in more shock than Chevelle. At some point she had covered her mouth with both hands and completely frozen.
Before another kick was dealt to the man on the ground, the officer that had noticed Chevelle waved towards the group and pointed to her. The other three turned, and soon, all four standing officers were staring back at her. The fifth remained on the ground where he had been kicked. Low hisses and moans of pain were barely audible over the loudest silence Chevelle had ever heard.
Eric sat straight up in his coffin; shoving the door open. It swung as far back as it could, before the hinges snapped and the door fell to the ground. He frowned at the rush of fear that jolted him awake; eyes fixed on nothing in particular as he collected his mind. He was already on his feet, and the door to Pam's coffin raised.
"What?" The woman drawled as Eric scowled at the concrete floor of Fangtasia's basement. He didn't acknowledge her. The lethargy coursing through him was enough to let him know that the sun was out. "Eric, what is it?" Pam urged, and his eyes skimmed over the room. When she received no answer she persisted. "Eric?"
"Nothing." All hint of expression was dropped in favor of his regular mask, but his progeny could see right through him.
"You expect me to believe that you broke the door off your coffin for 'nothin' '? I don't buy it." Pam easily climbed out of her bed and reached Eric's side as he thought. If he focused hard enough, he might be able to make sense of whatever was happening. At his heels, his progeny peered up at the trail of blood that seeped from his ear. Her frown betrayed every ounce of curiosity within her, laced with confusion and the desire for clarity. Eric was equally baffled.
What had started as fear had been set ablaze. It was still there, but it wasn't normal. He had plenty to compare it to. He would know. Not long ago, he had convinced Lafayette to have his blood. There had been a handful of Humans over the years. Decades, centuries... Like Sookie; her emotions and responses were different. She always had a tinge of elusive, uninhibited thought. A carefree yet competent determination that set her apart from the rest. Apart from Humans.
The sensation that gnawed at Eric's chest was amazing. Nostalgic, for lack of a better word. It made him crave his shield and sword; the pelt he had worn around his shoulders. Despite the fact that he knew the woman was connected to him of his own doing, his plan, the panic felt as if it was crafted specifically for him. Eric's attention snapped to the woman beside him as she repeated his name for the thousandth time. Her voice had been drowned out by the reverberation of war drums.
"The Gods? What are you muttering about?" The woman hadn't moved an inch. Her arms were crossed, hair wrapped in a tight bun that she claimed was more comfortable in sleep in.
"Nothing, go back to sleep." Before the woman could think of another question to ask, Eric had disappeared up the stairs.
There were many things that Chevelle didn't know. Japanese, for example. She didn't know how food was sealed into aluminum cans. Had no idea how to file her own taxes. One thing that she was sure of, though, was the fact that if she didn't move, something horrible was going to happen to her. The moment the men saw her, her heart skipped a beat. When they turned to face her, her stomach wove itself into a knot.
"'Scuse me, miss," One started to approach, yet before he could take two steps, she shattered the glass that had encompassed her legs and dashed away. Twelve inch shoes be damned, that man was not going to get her.
Behind her, his footsteps quickened to match hers. She weaved through cars, practically rolling over the hoods of a few to ensure her own safety. Nothing but the pound of shoes against pavement could be heard. She could have sworn the man had called to her. Claimed to want to talk or something equally friendly and terrifying. Her ankle rolled with one unfortunate step, but adrenaline made up for the momentary lapse. Though the man could be heard closing the distance between them, she wore tall ass shoes every day.
Her bicep was grasped, and the moment she was swung around her knuckles shot into the man's cheek. The force of the blow was enough to free her and send the man on a free trip to asphalt land. All meals included. Chevelle had almost lost her balance, and stumbled to catch herself before anybody else could do it.
"Shise-" She had just assaulted an officer. That was great, just great. Exactly what she needed. Vampire blood, exposed tags, and assault. There was no time to stare at the man. The moment the word escaped her, she was back on track. If she made it to the side parking, she could jump the fence and put a barrier between herself and the crime she should not have seen.
One glance over her shoulder showed that there was not one man, but two, in pursuit of her. And one was bleeding and pissed off. The other two were focused on moving the wounded man. There was no chance of getting to the entrance of the club before they grabbed her. No hope in numbers if the police were after her. With a metaphorical and physical leap of faith, the woman landed on the hood of a car.
"The fuck?"
"Look at the bitch go!"
The men spoke in unison, only a short meter away and quickly approaching. Chevelle just wanted to get to the other side of the fence that the car was backed against. She maneuvered over the windshield and to the roof, leaving a handful of dents behind her as she latched onto the wooden privacy fence.
"Get 'er leg!"
Somebody was calling orders, unconcerned with the fact that she could hear them. Half over the fence, she was snatched back by her ankle. One man was deemed enough to drag her back, but she would die before she let go of the only chance at escape that she had. She would likely die if she did let go, so it was a fair shot. Chevelle had barely noticed that she'd started to shout. The amount of strength it took to hold onto the fence made it necessary. The wood was starting to bend, and though she kicked her legs, the officer fumbled to keep her in place.
"Cuff her- I can't-"
Before she could be dragged any closer, she managed to slam her metal heel into the man's nose. He instantly released her and she scrambled over the edge of the fence. Her knees and palms took the shock of gravel under her weight and she immediately determined to ditch her shoes. She practically tore them off, paying no attention to the blood that had gathered on her ankles; deep nailed scratches. Just as she was ready to run, a form was raising over the fence. Without a second thought, Chevelle chucked her shoes at him. He cursed and ducked, but both shoes missed.
Clambering to her feet, Chevelle started down the side of the building. She could hear the man drop down to the gravel behind her and the sound urged her to pick up her pace. Her heart felt as though it was about to tear through her chest and burst through her ears. Rocks stabbed into her bare feet, and just as Chevelle neared the corner of the building a form rose on the fence ahead of her and a large, uniform clad man dropped in front of her. In a moment of desperation, she turned, only to find the man she had punched closing in from behind; blood smeared across his upper lip and cheek.
She dived for the fence again, hoping that she'd make it over, but the men quickly reached her and pried her from the wood, kicking and screaming. The gravel caught her as she fell backwards, and the wind was knocked out of her. Her arms instinctively encircled her ribs, and one hand rose to clear the hair that plastered her face, but the brunette froze at the sight of the men over her. More accurately, the barrel of a semi-automatic, aimed straight at her face.
The men, one fat, one thin. The large one had a porn-stache and brown eyes. A crooked nose, and a lip full of tobacco. He spit and met her eyes.
"No," The word was too low to hear, and through her oxygen deprived lungs and dry throat, it wasn't likely to increase in volume. The skinny man, balding, bloody faced, and gun wielding. A clear grudge etched into his features. His eyes didn't leave Chevelle, even as the larger spoke.
"She's just a stripper, might as well. We don't need no witnesses."
Even through the exhaustion of daylight and the bleeds, Eric knew exactly what he'd just felt.
A/N: Like I said, It's been a long time since my last update, but this isn't a dead fic. It's the only one I'm writing right now, and I have more material and ideas for the next update. I apologize for abandoning this for so long, but hope you all enjoyed this chapter. This is NOT an end or a cheap cop out to end the story, there's more to come. Please review and give me feedback to feed my ego and inspire me to write, or to tell me what you like and don't like so I can be mindful of such in the production of more chapters. Thanks for reading! :)