A/N: HAPPY TWO YEAR ANNIVERSARY TO THIS FIC!

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And that's all I'm going to say about it lol. Enjoy the chapter!

Chapter 9: Crime and Punishment

Eric holds a vampire town hall meeting. Olive wonders how this is her life.

Fangtasia was. . . honestly not as bad as Olive had expected it to be. Vampire attractions had a reputation for playing into human misconceptions about vampiric aesthetic to a frankly disgusting degree, and while Fangtasia was certainly doing that, it wasn't the worst club Olive had ever been in. Sure, the red and black color scheme was a little overwhelming and cliched, and the sheer amount of leather and chains was a bit much-not to mention all the famous, garish vampire art on the walls-but all in all, it could have been a lot worse. When the club was empty it gave off more of a tacky-but-clean vibe than a sex dungeon vibe, which is what Olive had experienced at the one and only other vampire bar she'd ever been to, over in Florida.

Though, based on the outfit Pam had squeezed her into, Olive imagined that most of the extreme, BDSM-esque aesthetic she'd been expecting actually came from the club's patrons, and the vampires were expected to play along for the sake of business. Watching the local vampire contingent trickle in as the clock ticked towards 7pm only confirmed this suspicion, given they were all wearing a series of increasingly ridiculous outfits. No way anyone who'd been alive as long as your average vampire had been would actually think those clothes looked good. The surge of second hand embarrassment that overcame Olive at seeing them left her nearly insensate, but also made her feel a little better about her own ensemble.

Olive didn't really care much about her clothes as a general rule, but she'd be lying if she said she was particularly comfortable in these ones. With sadistic glee, Pam had forced her into a miniskirt so tight and short that it tried to slip up and over the curve of her ass every time she so much as shifted her weight from one leg to another. The only thing keeping it in place was the friction against the fishnet tights she wore beneath the leather monstrosity. Her chest was covered by an eye-searingly red lycra bandeau top, so narrow it revealed the edge of her tattoo where it trailed around the bottom of her left breast and up onto her sternum, creeping towards her heart. The slightest wrong move would undoubtedly lead to a nip-slip of epic proportions.

Olive was grateful for the minimal amount of additional coverage provided by her hair, which Pam had had neither the knowledge nor the time to wrangle, and so had left loose, tumbling around Olive's shoulders and back in dense twists and curls. Unfortunately, it did little to cover the massive, gleaming O-ring positioned in the hollow of Olive's throat and held in place by a wide leather choker that Pam had absolutely insisted upon. Olive had allowed it graciously enough, she thought, even though she wasn't particularly interested in presenting herself as a sexual being to a bunch of random strangers. People she was interested in, sure (she certainly wasn't complaining about the lingering glances Eric and Pam kept giving her), but she was definitely not interested in any of the people in the crowd forming before her.

Even Olive's tiny outfit seemed reasonable when compared with some of the bizarre combinations the other vampire patrons were sporting-ranging from full coverage latex body suits to short shorts and nipple clamps. And the tourists, when they arrived, were sure to be even worse. Thankfully, they could all just focus on each other and leave her alone, as Olive would be retreating to Eric's office well before the humans trouped in. She took a moment to be deeply grateful for that, then turned her attention to more important things.

(Though, given that the tourists wouldn't actually be seeing her, was there really a reason for Olive to be dressed like a Rocky Horror reject right now? She understood the need for something a little more impressive than jeans and a hoodie for her introduction to the masses, but would the vampires really respect her less if she'd gone with something business casual?)

Standing as she was on Eric's left side as he lounged in the throne positioned directly across from the entrance, Olive was at the center of attention. Everyone looked to Eric as they entered-partly because he was simply in their line of sight, partly because he was their Sheriff, and mostly because his presence commanded the room entirely-and in doing so could hardly fail to notice Olive leaning against his seat of power and carefully projecting an air of comfortable self-assurance, as Eric had coached her on their way to the club.

"It's not usually a good idea for a young vampire to come across as too confident," he had said. "But you're more experienced than the average baby vampire. And more importantly, you're my childe. That means that so long as we're in my Area, you outrank everyone but Pam, myself, or any visiting officials-and nobody like that is going to be at the club tonight. You're an extension of me and of my power, and I'm the only one with any authority over you. Embrace that. Embody it. And don't let anyone forget it."

It wasn't looking like that was going to be a problem. Despite the fact that she was in a room slowly filling with older and stronger vampires, Olive felt pretty secure. There was a low-level feeling of threat emanating from the other vampires that was pinging against Olive's instincts, but it was just a general sort of threat. The kind of uncomfortable pressure that comes from a group of predators assessing a new addition to their number. None of Eric's subjects were an active danger to Olive. Though. . .

Olive eyed the heavily-tattooed Native American vampire who had just entered with a great deal more confidence than any of the others. He slipped behind the bar and started checking the various bottles, testing the tap, and wiping down the counter with the ease of long practice. There was something about him. . . nothing concrete.

Can't trust him, her instincts hissed.

Well, no shit. That didn't exactly make him any different than the other vampires here. Eric and Pam were literally the only vampires she'd ever met (and she'd met more than a couple, even before Turning) who her instincts had insisted she could trust. This guy wasn't special.

Olive resisted the urge to sigh. If she looked closer, she'd probably be able to figure out what was setting her off. Normally she would look closer (so she was paranoid, sue her), but normally she had perfect control over her instincts. Considering what had happened last time she'd tried pulling back the curtain-intense pain, blood pouring out of every orifice in her face, complete inability to snap herself out of it, etc (not to mention how pissed Eric had been about it)-it seemed ill-advised to go poking at anything at the moment. If the tattooed vampire was any kind of immediate threat-or even a distant one, honestly-then her instincts would have warned her. Problem was, people could do a lot of sketchy things that weren't exactly threatening, and unless those actions directly affected Olive, her instincts probably wouldn't give her much to work with other than a general warning to keep an eye on the guy. There was also the possibility that he would do something directly threatening in the future, but hadn't made that decision yet, so there wasn't quite anything for Olive's instincts to properly ping off of just yet.

"That's Longshadow," Eric said, interrupting her thoughts. Obviously he had noticed the direction of her attention and concluded she was getting something off the tattooed vampire, as he sent her a questioning prod across their link that felt a little angry-though not at her. Rather, it felt a bit like Eric was asking, "Should I be mad at him?" Olive waved him away mentally even as he continued speaking to her aloud, his face giving nothing away. "He's the bartender here, and a business partner of mine and Pam's. You'll meet him properly later, as well as our human assistant Ginger."

Olive wrinkled her nose a little against her will, still a bit wary of meeting humans-though as no visions of blood splatters and torn open veins flashed across her mind's eye, she figured Ginger would be safe tonight.

As for meeting Longshadow. . . well obviously she wasn't thrilled about it, since the guy was setting her on edge for some reason, but if he was Eric and Pam's business partner then it was probably a good idea to try getting to the bottom of whatever it was ASAP. Maybe she could convince Eric to let her try working with the tarot deck when they went into the back office later? Food for thought. Plus, she would have to start meeting other vampires one on one eventually, and her Maker's employee seemed like a good place to start. Compared to the average vamp, he'd likely have an even better understanding of what a monumentally stupid idea it would be to mess with her, and even more motivation not to. Not only would Eric cut his tongue out, but he'd also cut the guy's paycheck.

Olive paused. Allowed herself a moment to marvel at how confident she was already that Eric would react violently to a threat against her. Allowed herself a second moment to wonder how she'd feel when that eventually happened for real.

She remembered the syrupy, wondrous feeling that had crept over the back of her mind when her mother had called on the forces of the dead to defend her from her father and Amélie Laroux that night all those years ago. How part of her had shivered with unfamiliar warmth at the knowledge that her mother would risk life, limb, and sanity if it meant keeping Olive safe. She remembered the sheer dread that had overwhelmed her a moment later, when she finally realized what her instincts had been telling her all night-that defending her would be what killed her mother. Did she really want Eric risking the same thing?

Eric squeezed her knee. He disguised the comforting motion as a sensual one, wrapping an arm around her waist and rubbing her thigh from hip to knee before tugging her up onto the arm of his chair and holding her there. The emotions wafting from his side of the bond were concerned, but mildly admonishing.

Olive took the point (don't get distracted in the middle of the lion's den, got it), and dismissed her thoughts of the past in favor of focusing on the present.

As the clock inched closer to 7 o'clock, a final pair of vampires slunk through the door, drawing Olive's attention immediately-not through any quirk of her instincts, but by sheer familiarity.

Well well well. If it wasn't Big Guy and Little Guy.

Olive saw the exact moment they clocked her sitting at Eric's side, in his arms and clearly a new vampire. They blanched rather impressively, considering blood couldn't actually rush in or out of their cheeks. She allowed herself a small smirk, but suppressed a wider, more genuine grin.

Honestly, she didn't really harbor any hard feelings for either of them. Sure, they'd beaten the shit out of her that night-and fuck if it hadn't hurt-but all things considered, Olive had undoubtedly gotten the better end of the stick. Not only had Big Guy and Little Guy lost their nest mate and been humiliated at the hands of a 20 year old human, but then that human had been rescued and Turned by the Sheriff of the Area that they'd been illegally hunting in without even announcing themselves. Speaking of. . .

Big Guy and Little Guy twitched as Eric followed her eyes to the spot where they'd been hovering, probably wondering whether it might be better to flee after all.

Obviously not. Olive had only known Eric for maybe a day, cumulatively (oof, weird thought alert; it felt like it had been a lot longer), and could already say with confidence that running would only encourage him to chase. Sort of like a very large dog. She squashed another smile at the mental image of Eric whipping Little Guy back and forth in his jaws like a giant, deadly golden retriever with a rope toy.

The clock struck seven, and any miniscule, ill-advised chance the unfortunate vampires may have had to flee vanished as Eric stood, causing a hush to fall over the crowd.

And it was quite the crowd. Olive had never seen so many vampires in one place before.

All told, 17 vampires (not counting Olive, her nestmates, or the sketchy bartender) had arrived for the pre-opening "discussion hours" at Fangtasia. A dozen of them were the vampires "on-duty" at the club tonight as what essentially amounted to tourist/fangbanger bait. The local vampire population could volunteer for slots working at the club to help bring in business, and in exchange they got their pick of extremely willing sex and blood donors. Other vampires could come to the club during operating hours if they wanted, but had to defer to on-duty vampires in regards to which humans were up for grabs. Olive's vestigial human sensibilities found the system a little strange, but as long as everything was consensual it wasn't really any skin off her back.

The remaining five vampires in the headcount were all there to talk to Eric for one reason or another. They were also the only people in the crowd dressed in normal clothes, the lucky bastards.
Or maybe not so lucky, as two of them were Big Guy and Little Guy, who were obviously there to formally announce themselves to Eric and receive their punishment for failing to do so earlier, not to mention hunting illegally in Eric's territory. Another pair were the representatives of two nests who lived in the same general area and were apparently feuding over feeding rights or bad behavior or some-such. Eric had known they were coming tonight and filled Olive in on the way to the club earlier in the evening. He'd seemed pretty frustrated with them, so Olive got the sense neither of them would be leaving Fangtasia feeling particularly fortunate either.

The seventeenth vampire, however, was both casually dressed, and in need of no punishment as far as Olive was aware. Godspeed to that lucky son of a bitch. Olive was jealous (but not too jealous, seeing as the guy was wearing a cowboy hat of all things).

So all in all there were 21 vampires in the club-by far a greater number than most people would see in their entire lives-20 of whom turned attentively to the 21st as he stood from his throne and took command of the room with ease.

"Good evening, everyone," Eric began, cool but relatively genial. "I hope you're all making the most of the longer nights." A general rumble of agreement and appreciation for the length of winter nights rippled across the crowd. Obligatory greeting complete, Eric's expression shifted to something a little more predatory and excited, his eyes locked on Big Guy and Little Guy. "We will begin, as usual, with Area matters."

He paused there, letting that linger for a moment in the renewed silence, staring intently at Olive's attackers, allowing the tension to build and build to the point that Big Guy and Little Guy's hearts must have been metaphorically hammering out of their chests-and then he abruptly switched his attention to Vamp Number 17. The tension rushed out of the room like air from a popped balloon.

Olive pressed her lips together to avoid snickering. On the opposite arm of Eric's chair, Pam's face was as stone cold as ever, but Olive got the feeling she was amused too.

Eric beckoned Number 17 forward. "You look like you're going to give me the least amount of trouble, so you can go first."

Number 17 obligingly stepped up to the platform, taking off his hat as he went and pressing it to his chest to give Eric a brief, respectful nod. "Good evenin' Sheriff Northman," he said in a deep Texan drawl. "My name is Jasper Whitlock. My Maker is Maria Moreno. I'm a resident of Texas Area 9, passing through your Area on my way to visit my sister and her new progeny in Alabama Area 2." Eric and Pam both twitched very slightly, Pam's mouth curling upwards minisculely as a bizarre mix of joy, anticipation, and ohshit leaked through to Olive from Eric's side of the bond. "I arrived here in Area 5 about two hours ago and haven't fed. I intend to continue on my way tomorrow night, and should be out of your Area and into Mississippi before sunrise."

Olive took that to mean the sunrise taking place after tomorrow night, not the one that would be happening in approximately 12 hours. Words like "tomorrow" were difficult for vampires, since their "day" technically took place over the course of two days. Sometimes they meant "tomorrow" literally, sometimes they used it to refer to the next cycle of wakefulness. Context clues were key.

"Area 9, huh," Eric said somewhat ruefully. "You told your Sheriff you were coming here?"

Jasper smiled slightly. Bizarrely, so did a few of the other vampires in the crowd. "Yessir."

"I imagine he had something to say about that."

Pam snorted, and Eric shot her a fondly admonishing look. Olive tried very hard not to wonder too much about just what was going on here, lest she collapse and start leaking blood out of her face in front of 20 other vampires.

Jasper's grin widened. "Yes indeed sir, but I won't repeat it here. He asked me to pass this along to you." He reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a sealed envelope made of old, thick paper. A number of very old looking runes were penned on the face of it, and Eric grimaced slightly at the sight of them, still with that incongruous feeling of happiness running through him.

He cleared his throat and took the letter, nodding to Jasper in thanks. "Right. You are welcome in my Area, Mr. Whitlock, and I thank you for your delivery services. You are of course welcome to feed here, so long as you follow the laws and do not feed in excess. If you'd like to grab a bite here at Fangtasia, we would be happy to have you, just note that feeding privileges go first to those on duty here tonight."

Jasper placed his hat back on his head and tipped it. "Thank you kindly, Sheriff. I may take you up on that offer."

"Excellent," Eric said, tucking the envelope into the inner pocket of his jacket. "Now onto the fun stuff." Again, he allowed that statement to hover threateningly for a minute, before he turned and beckoned Olive forward with a conspiratorial smile.

Ah, so the moment had arrived. Perhaps Olive should have felt nervous-this was her big introduction, after all-but as she stepped forward into Eric's open arm, finally letting her lips curl into a true schadenfreude-tinged smile, all she could really think was that this was going to be supremely satisfying.

"As I'm sure all of you have noticed, I brought someone to introduce this evening," Eric said pleasantly, guiding Olive up to the edge of the stage with him by the hand at the small of her back. His thumb traced minute circles against her spine, pulsing reassurance and confidence through their bond. Olive could tell he was trying to make her feel more comfortable under the eyes of almost two dozen vampires, but all he was really doing was agitating her further, albeit in a. . . fun sort of way. Olive fought the urge to rub her thighs together. A room full of vampires would definitely notice.

Eric grinned (the smug fucker), but obligingly ceased his ministrations. "My progeny, Olive Ward," he announced proudly, "to be trained as the third in command of Louisiana Area 5."

Olive very resolutely didn't twitch, even though no mention of that had been made to her at any point. She did, however, shoot a bolt of very peeved excusemeasshole? toward Eric through the bond. His only response was an unsatisfying rumble of amusement, which only increased in intensity as Olive actually did twitch faintly at the sight of the Area 5 vampires bowing their heads to her in a brief, respectful movement.

She noticed it was, unsurprisingly, a shallower motion than Jasper Whitlock had given Eric, and got the distinct feeling that Pam would be given a nod a precise degree shallower than Eric's, but deeper than the one Olive had just received. Ugh, vampire politics. Apparently she'd have to learn about them.

"I was drawn to Olive by the Maker's Call two nights ago," Eric continued, throwing a quelling glance at the crowd when an outbreak of whispers overtook them at his words. "Eager as I was to meet my fated childe, I left immediately to find her. Only when I did, I also found something else that was. . . most interesting." Eric's tone trailed off to a near hiss at the end, and the predatory smile had returned with a vengeance. He pointed to Big Guy and Little Guy sharply, and crooked his finger at them. "You two."

The crowd parted before them, and the two unfortunate vampires stepped forward with the air of men going to the gallows. Big Guy was in the midst of an intense staring contest with the floor, but Little Guy kept his eyes grimly up. For a brief moment, they locked with Olive's. He raised an eyebrow briefly at her, as if to say "huh-fair enough" before turning his full attention back to Eric.

Well, good to know it was nothing personal.

"I found these two vampires, feeding on Olive in an alleyway, in full view of the street," Eric said, faux-cheerful. "The place looked like a murder scene, blood splattered everywhere, a vampire dead on the ground where my childe had killed in self-defense. It was very difficult to clean up. If anyone had seen it, they would have known at once what had happened there."

Olive half expected the assembled vampires to be angry at the mention of her killing the female vampire. Even though it was a pretty clear cut case of self-defense, Olive knew most vampires were rightly irritated by the fact humans regularly got away with killing vampires, even though getting caught killing a human was a death sentence for vamps. Not to mention the fact that a lot of vampires had major superiority complexes, and the thought of a human besting one of them wouldn't sit well. Surprisingly, however, most of the vampires present seemed impressed, if not a little skeptical. Olive caught more than one of them shooting her an appraising, newly-appreciative look.

Eric noticed as well, of course, and gave Olive's ass a proud, approving pat, no doubt pleased with the impression she was making. "Isn't that interesting," he continued, not allowing the crowd to get too hung up on the details of Olive's fight, "given the increasing harshness with which the Authority has insisted Sheriffs punish public feeding since the Great Revelation. It's especially interesting given that I found them feeding on a human under my claim, in a public part of my city, in my Area. . . and yet, I had never seen either of them before in my life."

The crowd stilled, tensing up. This, it seemed, was a greater offense than nearly committing (very) bloody murder in an alleyway, though Olive didn't quite understand why. It was true that the AVL had seriously cracked down on public feeding offenses recently-apparently at the Authority's behest (Olive only loosely knew what the Authority even was)-so she would have thought that was considered a worse crime than failing to announce yourself to the Sheriff.

Disrespect, her instincts whispered. Understand eating, but not disrespect. Images flashed through her mind-faces, ranging from tense to downright enraged, snarling at her, or at Pam, even at Eric. Some of the faces were familiar-the queen of Louisiana, and the vampire with the young face who had burst into flames-some were not. One face, she realized, wasn't part of a vision at all, but a memory from just last night, brought to the forefront by her instincts.

Eric, looming over her with a tight grip on her chin. "Don't ever disobey me the way you did earlier in public. Not only would that be incredibly dangerous, but it would also be very disrespectful. And while I might enjoy your attitude, I don't tolerate disrespect."

Olive's vampire instincts chimed in too. Good way to get killed, they rattled disapprovingly at Big Guy and Little Guy. Stupid.

Eric released Olive's waist and leapt soundlessly off the platform. He had scarcely landed before he began circling the two stupid vampires in question. "Hunting in public in my territory. Feeding in public in my territory. All without ever announcing to me that you were in my territory at all." Big Guy was officially shaking. Little Guy kept his head lowered deferentially, but seemed more resigned than scared. "The violations may be relatively minor when taken separately, but all together? The disrespect to our laws and to my authority is. . . immense. And I do not tolerate disrespect."

And if those words had been terrifying when directed at Olive-someone Eric actually cared about-she could only imagine how much worse they felt to those poor assholes.

There was another long pause. Olive got the impression Eric was waiting for one of them to say something idiotic so he could punish them for that too. Wisely, they both stayed silent.

"Instead of just skipping right to the punishment, I'll give you a chance to properly present yourselves," Eric eventually said, with an air of great generosity. No one was fooled. Was this what people called giving someone enough rope to hang themselves with? "Go on."

Big Guy appeared to be beyond speech. Little Guy glanced at him, exhaled sharply, and got to it. He dipped into a bow a few degrees deeper than the one Jasper had given Eric, and nudged his nestmate until he followed suit. Whether this bow was different because Eric wasn't Jasper's Sheriff, or because Little Guy figured they were in deep enough shit that a little extra groveling wouldn't go amiss, Olive didn't know. "My name is Richard Palmer. This is my brother Nick Davis. Our Maker was Emily Robinson. We're former residents of Mississippi Area 1, seeking residence in your Area, Sheriff Northman."

Eric surveyed them blandly. "And exactly how long have you been seeking residence in my Area?"

A long beat. "Three weeks, Sheriff."

"Are you sure?" Eric pressed, not allowing the mutters that had begun at that to take root.

"Yes, Sheriff."

Eric continued to examine them both, obviously searching for signs of a lie. After a moment, Olive felt a little jolt of realization run through him, followed by a questioning tug at their bond. What was he-?

Oh.

Olive drew in a shaky breath, oddly affected, and sent back a ping of affirmation.

Little Guy-Richard Palmer-was telling the truth. And Eric had thought to ask her about it. Olive's chest felt strangely warm.

"Alright," Eric said. "Pamela, get the pliers would you. Oh, and the chalice."

"Of course," Pam said cooly, and Olive heard the click of her stilettos across the stage as she moved towards the stairs to the basement. Though she could have made the trip in just a few short seconds, she took her time, letting Palmer and Davis stew in their anxiety even as anticipation built in the crowd.

Olive was surprised to find herself looking forward to what was coming as well. She'd dealt out her fair share of violence in her time, and even enjoyed it on occasion, but never in a situation like this. Sure, she could hold a grudge like a motherfucker, but she didn't usually condone violence as a punishment for anything but the most heinous of crimes.

Then again, these two had viciously attacked her in an alleyway and nearly killed her. Just because it had turned out okay for her and she wasn't all that upset about it didn't mean that was an okay thing to do. And it wasn't like jail would be a meaningful consequence for a vampire, so what else was Eric supposed to do?

Then again again, it wasn't like they were even really getting punished for attacking her, just for how and where they'd done it-and for the mostly unrelated fact that they'd breached some serious code of etiquette by failing to announce themselves to Eric. If they had killed her, that would be a crime technically punishable by the True Death, but Olive knew that as long as no one had kicked up a fuss about it (which no one would have), they probably wouldn't have gotten in trouble at all.

That didn't feel great to think about, but it also didn't help Olive pin down why she was suddenly down with torture as a valid method of punishment. Technically, the crime that was being punished here was just feeding in public. Sure it hadn't been consensual in her case, but what if Palmer and Davis had just been safely snacking on a perfectly happy fangbanger instead? Would doing that publicly really merit torture as a punishment?

No, but thinking about it logically still didn't stifle the little part of Olive that was clamoring to witness violence. Obviously it was some sort of vampire thing, and Olive could think around it if she tried, but it was still unsettling to have a part of her moral code messed with so intrinsically. She wasn't a saint by any means, but she didn't typically enjoy hurting people, and she didn't really want to start. Ugh, this was probably going to cause some serious cognitive dissonance, but there was nothing she could do about it at the moment.

Pam finally returned, holding a lumpy velvet bag in one hand and a pair of blood-splattered, heavy-duty pliers in the other. She handed the pliers to Eric, then stepped back to stand in front of the stage. At a slight signal from Eric, she held her now empty hand out to Olive, who grasped it and leapt off the platform to join her sister and their Maker on ground level. It wasn't a big jump. Olive could have made it easily, even as a human, but part of her still marveled at how effortless it was now-and in stupidly high heels, to boot.

Now down amongst the throng of vampires, Olive automatically stuck close to Pam, but couldn't help but wrinkle her nose at the smell the bag was emitting. It was a difficult odor to describe, not really like anything Olive had ever smelled as a human, but the stinging sensation it produced in her nose and mouth was similar to that of bleach or ammonia.

Poison! her vampire instincts hissed.

Silver, her gut agreed.

Huh, Olive mused. There was something sort of weird about that. . .

Eric suddenly clacked the pliers together loudly, breaking Olive from her thoughts. "I won't keep you in suspense any longer," he said sweetly. "For the feeding offense, the standard punishment." Little Guy swallowed, but seemed unsurprised. "I will remove your fangs. Should they grow back before the end of your punishment, they will be removed again."

Olive repressed a shudder, her vampiric instincts cringing back at the very thought of losing her fangs. Vulnerable, shameful, vulnerable. Wrong wrong wrong.

"Once upon a time, the removal of fangs might have meant starvation," Eric carried on, voice still kind and reassuring. "But we are not savages anymore. Of course, we'll make sure you're well-fed for the duration of your stay with us. In fact you'll feed every day!" This sounded rather more like a threat than a comfort, quite frankly. "Naturally, without your fangs, you'll need to drink from a glass." Here, he gestured to Pam, who carefully removed the object inside the velvet bag without touching it directly. Gingerly, she placed the ornate silver chalice on the edge of the stage. Big Guy groaned quietly. "And in this day and age of civility, what better to drink than our favorite ethically-sourced blood substitute. Longshadow?" The vampires in the crowd tittered loudly as the bartender tossed over a bottle of Tru Blood, and Eric finally allowed his facade of benevolence to crack in favor of an amused smirk as he set the disgusting beverage down next to the chalice. Olive didn't bother resisting a grin of her own. Whatever her conflicted feelings about the nature of this punishment, the thought of her attackers drinking nothing but Tru Blood for however long was definitely funny.

"And how long will our guests be with us, Master?" Pam asked maliciously, a cold smile creeping along her lovely face.

"Let's see," Eric mused, tapping the pliers against the palm of his opposite hand. "Three weeks you've been living and feeding in my Area. . . I think we'll need at least that long to convince you that you're better off enjoying our hospitality from the beginning next time, don't you agree?" he consulted Palmer in what might have been his most sadistic move yet. How the hell was the poor bastard supposed to answer that one?

Little Guy swallowed heavily. "Whatever you decide, Sheriff." His brother whimpered.

Eric's smirk widened sadistically. "Good answer," he said, one hand snapping out to grab hold of Palmer's jaw and pry it open, as the other lifted the pliers threateningly. "Now, open up!" Olive's conflicted feelings of excitement and disgust swelled, and Eric paused. "Oh, Olive," he called, demeanor shifting back to pleasant. "Would you pour that into the chalice please? Be careful not to touch it. Thank you, darling."

"Of course," Olive said smoothly, thanking him internally for the opportunity to turn her back. She'd have to learn to stomach it eventually, but tonight didn't have to be that night.

She picked up the bottle of Tru Blood as the sounds of jeering, struggling, and metal scraping against enamel started up behind her, and caught a glimpse of the "flavor" listed on the label. B-positive.

Now really, Olive thought to herself as she cracked open the lid and carefully poured the drink into the chalice. That's just adding insult to injury.

A/N: A brief Twilight reference, because I couldn't help myself. And is that. . . a hint of Godric I smell on the horizon? Hmm. . .

I hope it was at least a little bit worth the wait, for those of you who've been waiting. For those of you who are just finding this fic, congrats! You just dodged a year and half long update gap! I can't promise this won't happen again. I'm a real adult now (or so they tell me), so you know how that goes.

Thanks for reading, and let me know what you think!