I smiled weekly into myself. I ordered another gin and tonic and waited on his blood. "So what did you want to know?" he asked.
I was gathering my thoughts while trying to maintain my pensieve face. The waitress brought him his blood and he did that mind fuck thing to her again. I lowered my shields and the girl's thoughts were out of sync. Huh. I noticed the vamp break his eye contact and resume staring at my face. Well at least he's not checking out my boobs. "Mr. Northman, if you don't mind my asking, what were you doing to that girl just now?" I swear, I saw his chest puff up a bit.
"I glamoured her into leaving us alone unless asked," he replied.
Glamoured, eh? Game on. "Mr. Northman, could you explain to me what that means?"
"Ms. Stackhouse, is it really necessary for us to remain so formal. I'm not used to being `Mr. Northman' and you've used that name more times tonight than I've heard all year."
Fair enough. "How are you normally addressed?" And the briefest sparks hit his eyes, gone before I could be caught staring. He folded his hands, laid them on the center of his table setting, elbows out, and leaned in to me as if to share a secret. Willing to humor this dead man, I leaned in as well, resting my chin on my own folded hands above my drink.
"People normally refer to me as `Master'," he spoke softly across the space. I felt the faintest pressure in my head at that moment, and I did not like it. If I didn't know any better, and at this point I practically knew nothing, I'd bet that polished corpse across the table was trying to glamour me! I leaned a bit further in, I kept my eyes locked on his, I allowed my bottom lip to fall slightly open as if I was building up for a soft kiss.
He was taking it. He leaned in again and when his nose was inches from mine I tilted my head to the side ever so slightly and whispered, "Mr. Northman works fine by me." Abruptly I leaned back to my normal posture as if waiting on his formal definition of glamour and how it worked as a verb coming from the undead. I pretended not to notice, but the sly smile didn't just erase itself, it flew off with such frenzy you could practically hear his lips slap shut. He sat back and lifted one hand so one finger rubbed his chin as his mind worked frantically trying to figure out what the hell happened. I thought he looked thoughtful and relaxed and you could tell he thought I had believed it. Not for a second, but it's cute when you try.
He shifted and began to explain, "It's a type of hypnosis some supernaturals can perform, including vampire, and it is harmless." He continued, "We can re-enact events in human minds to make them think something else occurred. We can also make them do our bidding this way."
"Is this something you do often?"
"Define," he replied. He was interested again.
"Daily?"
"Yes"
"How many times?"
"However often I need to," he smirked.
"Hourly?"
"Sometimes."
"Only to those you employ?"
"Of course not"
"Should I think that impressive of you?"
He leaned in now, "Do you?"
"Now what do you use this glamour for?" He didn't flinch this time. He saw my set up and he prepared. I bet he thinks he led me into it. How Cute!
"I use it for whatever I see fit. If I get pulled over, I glamour law enforcement to let me go. If a waitress is paying me too much attention, as earlier, I can make her keep her distance. If we have to use violence, we glamour survivors to maintain our secrecy rather than kill them on the spot. It's useful too, not merely some manipulation technique you humans fear us to use on you."
"Mr. Northman, do you use this glamour for non-necessities such as feeding or...," I trailed off.
"Of course. Why should I allow a human to remember having fed me? Why should I allow those whores in leather that flock to us in my club to think they have some status?" he asked.
"I don't know, Mr. Northman. Don't you find manipulating other people's thoughts and memories to be immoral?" His chuckle reverberated throughout the room. It was loud yet unoppressive, and the resulting smile actually reached his eyes. If I hadn't spent so much time interviewing the beautiful people of the world, I would be sucked in. I won't. It's not the first time I've shared a room, let alone a table, with a Mr. I drip-speak-smell like-and-inflict-Sex. But Mr. Frosty here is doing a good job trying.
"Our ideas of morals are very different Miss Stackhouse. I need blood to survive. Why should I not take it? I cause no pain, I erase the memories and heal the evidence. Is this immoral?"
"Mr. Northman, my idea of what is moral or not has no relevance in this interview. I want to know what you think."
His reply came just above a whisper, with his eyes locked on mine. "I want to know what you think so therefore I find it relevant."
Two can play this. "Why is that?"
"Because you interest me." Oh yea, thanks for the mental prowess expended in that pick up line.
"Mr. Northman, I have a deadline. It's nearly midnight, I'm tired and you've answered what.. two questions? It's late. If you're still willing, we can work on this later. I'll email you with my availability." As I stood to gather my things, I reached into my pocket for my cash to cover the $24 tab. Before I could toss a $50 down, Mr. Northman had stood and tossed a $100. My face flushed. "Mr. Northman, that's not necessary. I asked you to come, it's my job to cover the costs."
He stepped to me, not into my space, but close enough for government work. "Miss Stackhouse, allow me the pleasure to upgrade tonight from an informal interview to something... well...." and then he stepped in and smelled me. He fucking smelled me. Focus, Sookie, focus.
Throwing caution to the wind, I stepped forward. Thanks to my heels, my eyes rested at about his chin. I looked up into his baby blues and he looked down at mine. He thought he was glamouring me again. I leaned in and whispered into his ear, standing on tip toe on one foot to do so, "Fine, then we both pay." With that, I tossed down two $50's and walked away, smiling straight ahead and knowing I just did something very bad, and very good. Game On, Mr. Northman.