note: To keep you up with the timeline, this is the same night the dead body appears in Andy Bellefleur's car, but Daisy leaves for Fangtasia before that's discovered.

A Southern Story

by Cigarette

Chapter Two: Sophisticated Marguerite

This can't be right. This cannot be right.

Where am I? What is this hideous plush carpet? What …

Oh. I'm on my floor.

Still confused, I push myself up to my knees. Beside me is my laptop, lying flat open and dead. I fell asleep without turning it off? That is so typical of me, but then I realize my arm has a few letters imprinted on it. Ugh. I fell asleep on it. Well, looks like I'm not getting any work done tonight. Too bad.

It's 7:17 pm. Perfect! I can't believe my luck. Usually when I pass out from lack of sleep I sleep through everything I wanted to do that day, but I still have plenty of time to head down to Merlotte's and get to know the locals. And now I'm well-rested to boot. My internal clock did me good, for once.

The bar is much busier now, but Sookie notices me at once and bounds up to greet me. Smiles are exchanged, people are met, I forget half of their names. I'm here mostly to listen in to what interests these people. I'd like to make friends, of course, but with my deadline not far off it's all I can think of.

As it turns out, the little town of Bon Temps is currently obsessed with vampires. The news about the Vermont vampire-human marriage legalization is up on the television, and it's all the talk. Apparently Sookie herself is in a vampire-human relationship. Who'd have thought?

Then it hits me. What's do people love reading about? Controversies. What's a huge controversy right now? Vampires. Oh my god. Yes! That's it! I will write a column about vampire-human relations.

I'm about to broach this with Sookie, when I hear something. "A damn disgrace," a rather plump woman is saying. "That vampire bar so close to home, and now this. Only a matter of time before people lose their minds and legalize that abomination right here in Louisiana."

"Excuse," I cut in, leaning closer over the bar where I'm sitting. The woman is at the other end. "Did you say vampire bar?"

She nods gravely. "Fangtasia!" she huffs. "Can you believe it?"

"No, no, can't believe it," I mutter, shaking my head. On the inside I am gleeful. Vampire bar! Close to home! Why wait for Sookie to introduce me to her vampire (which she said she'd be pleased as pie to do tomorrow night) when I can go meet a whole club full of fangers right now?

I pay my tab ($2.90 for a bottle of water … ridiculous), say a quick goodbye to everyone in hearing distance, and split. Sookie tries to question me but I'm out the door before she has a chance to say a word.

After finding directions online, I contemplate what I should wear. Something cute, pretty, casual, unassuming, out-there, sexy? Hmm. Sexy is probably not a good idea. I don't want to look like I'm there for the wrong reason. Maybe a suit? I almost laugh at myself at that. To a vampire bar? No.

Finally I settle on my favorite dress. It's a goldish color, just above the knee in length, and built in Vintage French-style, with an elasticized waist to show up the form, but a bit of extra body to make you look more curvaceous than you really are. It has a green hem around the bust, and it's embroidered with classy pink and green flowers. Somehow it all comes together to appear trés sophisticated.

I add a little eyeliner for a more suitable night time look, fix my coverup, and consider adding blush but decide against it because I'm never sure whether I should apply it directly to my cheekbones or just below my cheekbones. I take my hair down and add some earrings, and pink heels.

Eh, maybe I am too sophisticated. The heels help though. Kinda funky. Okay, got my purse, got my keys, phone is charged … what am I forgetting? I feel like I'm forgetting something.

I can't think of anything, so I head off. Shreveport isn't terribly far, but once you're halfway there it's kind of too late to turn back, which is why I end up cursing like a fishwife when I remember I don't have my freaking notepad. What an awesome journalist I am.

At the entrance to the club, there's an intimidating blonde woman in a leather corset, checking IDs and turning people away. I swallow, but hold my head up high and march toward the back of the line, trying to look like I know what the fuck I'm doing. There's a woman in front of me in dominatrix attire and thick makeup and bite marks on the back of her neck. I nearly turn around, I feel so out of place. But I remember my story, and stick it out.

The blonde at the entrance looks me up and down, and smiles a wry little smile. "Well, aren't you sweet," she remarks. I think sarcastically. I smile and hand over my ID. She gazes at it a moment.

"22. Virginia. I knew you weren't from around here."

How can everyone tell that? "I haven't got my Louisiana license yet …"

"Why are you here?"

"Um." I didn't expect an interrogation. "I, well I just like the South, so …"

She clicks her tongue, rolls her eyes in apparent exasperation. "I mean here. At Fangtasia."

"Oh." I can't stop myself from blushing now. "Just curiosity. I've never met a vampire before, and it's been two years so I thought … I should get on that."

She raises a cool eyebrow. "Well, now you have, sweetheart." She hands back my ID.

It takes a lot out of me to walk by her as calmly as I do.

Inside it's … kind of emo. A little disappointed, I head over to the bar for some liquid courage, because despite the décor there are clearly vamps here and the people dancing on stage are freaking me out. I'm not really sure what to order, so when the bartender looks at me expectantly I blurt out the first thing to come to mind: "Vodka. Uh, please."

"How do you want it?"

"Um … normal."

The bartender regards me with bemusement, but sets down a glass in front of me and pours the Absolut straight into it. I stare at it in fear. Why did I say vodka? God damn it. I can't back down now.

I hear a woman to my right say, "Can I get a cosmopolitan?"

Oh, damn, why didn't I order one of those instead? The bartender has turned back to me now, obviously amused, gazing at me with a "I-know-you-aren't-going-to-drink-that" expression in his eyes. I take a deep breath, straighten up, and lift my glass with a confident smile. Pumped up on bravado, I take a big gulp.

Bad idea. Bad, bad idea. Burning, fire, rubbing alcohol, spilling all over my tongue and down my throat. My mouth is watering and I know there are tears in my eyes. I hold back a cough and try to grin at the bartender, but it turns out as a grimace. He barks a short laugh and moves off.

I squash down my embarrassment and throw back another gulp of vodka. It's not as bad this time. I can already feel the alcohol buzzing in my head and making my limbs feel light. I finish the rest quickly and gaze around the club, wondering how I'm going to broach my subject and with whom.

There is someone who's rather impossible not to notice, for one big reason: he is on a throne. A throne. Some blond, bored vampire. And there's a (clearly human) woman approaching him, orange with tan and skinny as a stick. Kind of meth-addicty in appearance. She kneels down at the throned vampire's dais (for it's not enough to have a throne, he needs to be raised above the crowd as well) and gazes in awe at him. For his part, he seems completely uninterested, and after a few seconds he kicks her away. I don't mean a light little nudge. I mean she flies across the room. All we humans in the club gape, but the vamps go on as usual.

Well, if there's anyone I should talk to about vampire-human relations, it's this guy. But after that episode, I will first need a shot.

"Bartender," I say, clapping my palm against the bar. Perhaps a little obnoxiously. "A shot of …" I try to think of something other than vodka, and the first thing that comes to mind is, unfortunately, "Whiskey." It's quite clear he can see the remorse on my face when he rolls his eyes.

"Why don't you just have a wine cooler, little girl?" he asks.

Ouch. I try to look indignant. "Excuse me, sir, but I know what I want, and I want a shot of Jack Daniels," I huff.

He shrugs and places the shot before me. I pick it up immediately and throw it back without hesitation, thinking this should be just like jumping in a cold pool. You don't want to test the waters and scare yourself out of it. You want to go for it all at once, without giving yourself a chance to turn back.

My mouth is watering like it does just before I have to throw up, but I set my shot glass down as calmly as possible and force another smile. My head is practically swimming. I'm way too used to beer for this stuff. Why didn't I just order a beer? For god's sake, what was I thinking?

Okay. I'm fine. I'm tipsy, that's all. The perfect condition to go talk to some kind of vampire king in a vampire bar no one knows I'm at. Truly great. I stand up, adjust my dress in what I hope is a delicate way, and stride through the crowd straight to the dais.

His gaze flickers toward me, but he looks just as disinterested as he was with the last woman. I almost blush as I realize he thinks I'm about to offer myself to him, but instead I smile cheerily and say, "Hi, I'm Dai — Marguerite Meyer. I'm a writer for the Bon Temps Observer and I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions?" I was going to say Daisy, but it just seems so unprofessional, and young … I'm among centuries old vampires. I want to seem sophisticated.

This vampire is like the epitome of intimidation. Not looking at me, he deadpans, "Questions about what?"

"Vampire-human relations. A positive take, of course."

"Not interested," he says. It's a clear dismissal, but I'm drunk and I have a goal in mind.

"Are you some kind of vampire leader?"

"I said: not interested." His voice is low, dangerous. I feel a tickle of fright, but how can I expect to get anywhere without perseverance?

"You aren't doing much else," I say, taking an alcohol-induced step closer to the dais. "Would it really be such a waste of time to humor me?"

Unintentionally, my "sad face" slips on. This is the face I use when I want something I'm not getting. I'm no mistress of manipulation, but every girl should have a sad face, and mine is perfect. Lips turned down ever so slightly, the bottom one jutting out just a tiny bit, mouth agape, and my eyes wide and woeful, I look like a crestfallen child who's just had Christmas taken away. It's one my few prides.

If anything this only serves to amuse the vampire. His lips twitch up as he continues to watch the gyrating crowd. "Yes, it would be."

My pout is full force now. I can't stop it. "But it's in vampires' best interest. If I can expand on my article and write a book, and get it out to a greater audience, it could really improve the vampire image. There are people out there who only get their information from the news — nothing but talking points. I want to personalize the every day vampire to the every day human, so that we can better understand each other."

He contemplates me, for the first time sparing more than a fleeting glance in my direction. I try not to squirm under his scrutiny, but I find myself wondering Does my hair look okay? "Three questions," he says at last, clasping his hands leisurely. "But in return, I want a taste."

My heart plummets to my stomach. "A taste? Of … my blood?"

"What else?"

I swallow, shift my weight. I may be drunk, but I don't know about that. "I don't know about that," I say aloud.

His lips twitch upward. "Afraid?"

"Yes." No point lying there. I'm sure he can hear my heart, anyway.

"A little pain's nothing to fear."

"It's not that," I say. "I just don't want to end up some kind of … pet."

"You flatter yourself."

My face burns. "Fine, a small taste."

"Sit," he commands, indicating a chair beside his own. Carefully, really really carefully, I step onto the dais. Don't trip, don't trip, please, god, don't let me trip. I make it up without humiliating myself, and manage to take my seat with some amount of grace.

I turn to the vampire, and notice all of a sudden that he's basically wearing sweats. Hmm. I have a feeling he might mess with me, so I ask, "First, do you promise to be truthful?"

He smirks. "That counts as question one. And yes, you have my word."

"That's not fair!"

"Two more questions," he says, holding up two fingers. His tone bars any argument.

Deflated, I think for a moment. "I need your name," I say. "For source references."

He sighs, obviously disappointed I didn't waste another question, but too disinterested to bother making me work for it. I'm feeling quite proud of myself for this clever approach, but then the name spills from his lips in two smooth syllables and my skins crawls. "Eric," he says.

Oh, god. I hate that name. Bad, bad associations with that name. "Is that with a C or a K?" I hear myself asking. "Oh, fuck, forget I asked that!"

"Too late. It's with a C."

At least it's not Erik. Okay, get that out of your head, Daisy. This is Eric with a C, and he's blond. Don't let it remind you. Move on. "Well," I begin uncomfortably, "I guess I just have one more question. Give me a second to think of a good one."

"You're rather unprepared for this, aren't you?"

"I'm prepared," I protest. "I just forgot my notepad."

"Okay, I got one," I begin after a moment. Then pause. Way to sound unprofessional. I got one? Ugh, it sounds like I'm quizzing him. "Do you, or other vampires, believe in a god?"

"We are as diverse as humans on that subject. Now that makes three." He finally looks at me. He stands and beckons for me to do that same. Don't trip, don't trip. I follow him out of the clubroom and into what I assume to be his office. My heart is pounding. I try to soothe it. Just a little … puncture wound. A brief sucking sensation, and he'll have had his taste. Nothing serious. And this isn't bribery, or some weird form of prostitution. It's like … a conference snack table. He answered my questions and now it's time for refreshments. Perfectly normal.

He shuts the door behind me and I look up from my feet. He is way too close.

"Ah!" I step back impulsively. He's smiling at me, mockingly. But I hadn't noticed before — he's huge. I don't mean just tall. He's towering. He's got the broadest shoulders I've ever been this close too, and so much muscle even he weren't vampire he could probably crush me to death. He's just … big. Unbidden, a thought pops into my head, and, to my intense embarrassment, a drunken giggle escapes me. Oh, god, real mature, Daisy. My whole body is on fire.

Eric stops smiling as he backs me against the door. "Now, what's got your blood rushing to the surface like this?" He lifts a hand, and as his cool skin lightly grazes my face the effect is undeniably soothing.

"Nothing," I murmur, as his hand begins to travel down my neck. "Oh! Not my neck. Make it my shoulder or somewhere I can … I can cover easily."

He laughs, and pulls my hair back.

note: thanks for all the reviews so far! I love hearing feedback. Lemme know what you think! And sorry for the cliff hanger. :)