lazy_but_loyal | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

Eric was away for the evening.

This meant Pam could use his office.

After Fangtasia opened for business and the night's festivities got underway, Pam assigned a bouncer to the door and told Ginger to keep an eye on the bar. Because there was something Pam had to do. Rather, someone.

She pulled Yvetta off her shift -- assuring her that she'd still be paid her usual wages -- and invited her into Eric's office. Clearing some space on the desk, Pam sat her down, reached up the woman's miniskirt, and did away with her panties.

Fairly soon, in addition to the thumping techno music that reverberated throughout nearly the entire building, a crescendo of gasping, keening cries could be heard through the office door.

...Cries that were cut off by a ringing telephone.

Annoyed, Pam got up and out from between Yvetta's legs. She grabbed the receiver and stepped a few paces away from the table while Yvetta remained where she was, leaning back on her hands.

"Fangtasia," Pam answered, "this better be good."

A hesitant, halting voice was on the other end of the line. "Oh, hi, Pam, it's Jessica Hamby. We talked yesterday? I'm the one who-"

"I remember you perfectly," she snapped. "What is it?"

The hesitation was almost palpable. "Um... Well, I really, desperately need your help. I don't know where Bill is, and gosh, you guys are the only other vampires I know-"

"Spit it out, cupcake. I'm in the middle of something."

Behind her, Yvetta snickered.

"Right," Jessica continued, trying to compose herself. "Um... You remember how I was asking how you would- y'know, what you would do if you, like, killed somebody by accident?"

Pam sighed. "Did you call the hypothetical hardware store and buy a theoretical chainsaw?"

"Yes! And that's just the problem! I went to get the chainsaw, and now he's gone."

Okay. That was unexpected.

"What?" she said, one eyebrow arching.

Jessica sounded understandably flustered. "I left for like fifteen minutes and he just disappeared!"

Pam was actually somewhat curious, in that this sort of thing doesn't happen every day, but not so curious to be concerned. Maybe there was a zombie wandering around Bon Temps right now. Who knows? It really is none of her business.

"So the problem you have is that there is no dead body in your house?"

"...Yeah."

"Doesn't sound like a problem to me. Gotta run."

Pam returned to the desk and hung up the phone as Yvetta grinned up at her, eager for her to continue.

"Babies, they're all the same," Pam snorted, smirking. "Now, where were we? Oh, right..."

She placed her cold hands on Yvette's knees and spread them wide.

"Lie back, sweetheart," she purred, sinking lower, "and think of Estonia."

[NOTE: Dialogue taken from True Blood episode 3x03.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Time passed.

Closing time was approaching when Eric returned home. He walked through the door to his office, dropped his keys on a shelf next to the door with an "Evening ladies," and popped a TruBlood in the microwave.

He had the air and swagger of a man returning home from a game and a few ( or more) beers. Which meant one of two things; sex or a fight.
Or a fairy, but that was less likely all things considered.

He was dirty, disheveled, and there was a bullet hole smack in the middle of his tshirt.
And dried blood on his chin.

Edited 2014-09-11 18:45 (UTC)

During the course of the evening, Pam would occasionally leave Yvetta to recover while she checked in on the goings-on in the bar. Ginger didn't come to her with any issues, so it was a fairly mundane night.

Except for that one time when Pam was on her way back to the office when she suddenly felt something that permeated her entire body. It came and went in a flash, but it was enough to unnerve her for a moment. Something had happened to Eric, that much she knew. But he didn't summon her, so...?

He's a big boy. He can take care of himself.

So later that night when Eric walks in, Pam is sitting in Eric's chair with Yvetta on the desk spread eagle in front of her. Both of them look up at him at nearly the same time.

Yvetta gasps -- not one of those high-pitched, breathless ones that Pam has been making her do all night -- but one of shock at the state of Eric's bloody appearance.

Pam just stares. Almost angrily.

She closes Yvetta's legs. Which Yvetta takes as a clear sign that it's time to leave. So she grabs her underwear and hustles out of the room, glancing wide-eyed at Eric as she passes by and shuts the door behind her.

Meanwhile, Pam has stood up, and she approaches Eric, her nostrils flaring delicately at the smell of his blood.

She reaches out with a finger and pokes it through the hole in his t-shirt.

It might have been just a t-shirt. But it was a nice t-shirt. A designer t-shirt, and expensive. Light-colored, too.

God-fucking-dammit.

Glaring, she meets his eyes.

"Seriously?"

"I know," he says, "but it was the only course of action at the time."
One might detect a hint of defensiveness in his tone.

The microwave dings. He takes out the bottle and takes a sip. He's pale too.
He needs it.

"Everything is fine."
Only it's not. Not really. And the few upsides - knowing the home of the fucking weres, having been invited into Sookie's house - are not really accomplishments he feels like telling Pam about.

"I killed a were. Well, I was going to let him live, but he provoked me, so -"

More staring.

She folds her arms, not quite convinced that everything is fine.

"No wonder you smell like dead dog. What the fuck happened?"

"Well," he says, shrugging off his jacket and settling in his chair. Momentarily distracted by the Beautiful scents.

"I stopped by at Sookie's and the were showed up. She tried to shoot him, but I wanted to ask him a few pointed questions. Anyways, he wasn't talking so I tore out his neck."

Really. Everything's fine.

He empties the bottle and runs the back of his hand across his mouth.

Still more staring.

"Okay. I seem to be missing something between 'she tried to shoot him' and 'I tore out his neck,' because--" She gestures at the large bloodstain on his shirt with a circular motion of her finger. "--all of that is yours."

Vampires could put traditional forensics detectives out of business.

"I had to take the bullet, didn't I? In order to be able to ask him anything."

See? Perfectly reasonable explanation.

Edited 2014-09-11 19:39 (UTC)

Her eyes grow wide.

She opens her mouth and can barely get any words out.

"Oh. My. God. You have got to be fucking kidding me."

"It was just a bullet, Pam," he says. "There's no need to make a fuss about it."

He deposits the empty bottle in the waste paper basket and gets up to get another one.

"That's not the point," she huffs, as she watches him get another bottle.

"I mean, Jesus Christ, was it even worth it? I doubt Sookie would've sucked the bullet out again."

He gives her a look.

"The idea was to either get him talking or thinking, so that she could read his mind. But nothing happened, so I went ahead and killed him instead. Well, we did find out that he is from Jackson."

So there's that.

Edited 2014-09-11 19:54 (UTC)

"Jackson? As in Mississippi? Oh, nice. So now you're going to go Mississippi chasing after these weres who may or may not have Bill?"

He puts the bottle down on the little glass plate inside the microwave, a little harder than he intended. It rattles.

"What I do, is my affair, Pam."

He pushes the button.

"I told her to stay put. And that she couldn't count in me being able to reach her anywhere near Mississippi, should she get in trouble."

So she's asked. And he has considered the answer.

Eric could fly into a rage and it wouldn't faze her, but it's the little things that he does out of irritation that sometimes make her flinch.

She sits on the edge of the desk, arms still folded.

"You sent her a werewolf bodyguard, didn't you? Let him look after her."

"I can't let a pack think that they can cross state lines and make away with a vampire in my area without consequences," he says. Tersely,
There is that.

"And he went for my wound. If they are all V-addicts, we might have a serious issue here."

And he wants to kill them. All of them. But he can't tell her that. Not without having to share things he would rather not.

He's already told Sookie too much.
She does that to him.
Makes him talk.
~~Makes him feel~~.

Edited 2014-09-12 04:35 (UTC)

She knits her brows, glancing uneasily at the stain on his shirt.

"Fuck," she mutters.

"A were on V must be completely psycho."

"They are," he says quietly, as the microwave dings again.
"And they're strong. If they've taken Compton to drain him, we need to know. "

He is almost certain that isn't the case, but it takes the discussion out of Sookie land.

She sighs.

"Seems like the issues are just getting worse every day. Why the hell did Bill have to go get himself kidnapped in the first place?"

It's a rhetorical question posed out of annoyance.

He drinks, a thoughtful look on his face.

"I think Bill Compton has some interesting secrets," he says, slowly.
"He might very well have some standing with the Queen."

"Teacher's pet," she says with an eyeroll.

"Everybody loves a mainstreamer. Did you know he never even taught Jessica how to feed on people? That's just irresponsible parenting."

"Seriously? That's gonna end in tears. Or corpses."

He'd expected better. Then again, with a Maker like Loreena, being fucked up was probably a given.

"It already has," she replies dryly. "Last night she asked me how to get rid of a dead body, so I went with the chainsaw route. Tonight she called me to say that the body disappeared."

She shrugs.

"No more body, no more problem."

He sighs.

"It just goes to prove that the Magister is a fucking nut job. Who assigns making a Progeny as a punishment?"

He may not believe that the blood is sacred. But being a Maker is.

"A sick, twisted asshole who probably hated his Maker for turning him?" she suggests with another nonchalant shrug.

Pam had tried becoming a Maker once, just a year after she herself was made. They...don't really talk about that.

"Likely," Eric agrees.

He blames himself for what happened back then. And he does not like revisiting his own mistakes. So no talking it is.

"I'll stop by Lafayette tomorrow. And then well figure out what to do about those fucking weres."

Pam hadn't fully understood the gravity of becoming a Maker. And by indulging her, perhaps Eric didn't either. After a century together, they both know a lot better now.

She gets up and starts for the door.

"I should announce last call."

She then eyes Eric's t-shirt pointedly as a thought strikes her.

"I hope you came in through the back door and not the front."

Because the humans would've freaked out.

"Did you hear screaming?"

In general. And Ginger-specific.

"Of course, I went through the back door."

"Good point."

She smirks.

"Then again, I did have Yvetta's thighs over my ears at the time, so I might've missed it."

He steps closer and breathes deeply, next to her cheek.
Tasting her scent. And Yvetta's.

"Yes. You looked lovely together."

Pam has to admit, there are still times that Eric gets to her. Rather, there are still times that she allows herself to feel it, because Eric will always, always get to her.

She turns her head just a fraction, and she purrs into his ear:

"And you... still smell like dead dog."

She steps back, grinning up at him because she is a bitch, and she rubs at the dried blood still caked on his chin.

"Clean yourself up."

He smirks and pulls off the ruined t-shirt.

"I was just going to change and then head back home to the house, take a proper shower. Are you sleeping here tonight?"

She considers this for a moment.

He's just killed someone in a fight; she's just had snatch. So she's in a relatively good mood; he's in a relatively good mood, too.

Not like anything's going to happen between them, but being around each other in troubling times is a welcome thing.

"If you stick around until after I lock up, I can come with you."

Edited 2014-09-13 00:03 (UTC)

"I can do that," he says, rummaging through a drawer to find a clean t-shirt.
He'd like for her to come along. He's in a good mood, despite all the shit that's happening. And he can feel how her body humms. It's nice being near that.
Even when he's not the cause of it.

He should probably wash his face too here. In case they get pulled over.

"I'll wash up at bit here, but I'll still want a shower," he says, without looking up at her.

So she shouldn't take too long.

Oh, she knows him and his showers.

Sure, he may smell of dead werewolf, but she always did like the way he felt after making a kill. There's something very raw and very primal in that victory, and she's drawn to that.

She opens the door and leans on it for a moment, watching him.

"I'll be ready in a few," she says, and she steps out, closing the door behind her.

Out in the bar, once the music is shut off, it's an instantaneous cue for everyone to finish up their drinks, pay their tabs, pick someone to go home with, and leave. The staff clocks out, including Yvetta and Ginger, and Pam collects the cash and the receipts to put in the safe. She can check them tomorrow.

He is leaning on the door to the office, face washed clean.

Waiting for her.

"How was the night?" He asks.
"Apart from Yvetta."

Smirking.

She brushes past him.

"After last night, tonight was mercifully non-eventful, thank fuck," she replies as she keys in the safe code, stashes the evening's earnings, and shuts the door, locking it.

"I don't expect it to last, but I was never that much of an optimist."

Even so, she smirks up at him, her hand sweeping lightly across his chest as she reaches for the light switch to flick it off, before heading back out to the main bar. Her little leather-and-fishnets ensemble is still holding up nicely.

He ambles after her, his eyes gliding slowly down her body.

He likes the little leather and fishnet ensemble.

"Your hair looks nice."
Because he always likes her hair.

She smiles, glancing at him over her shoulder.

"Thank you," she replies, amused. "It usually does."

Walking over to a bank of light switches near the exit, she flips them off one by one. The interior of the bar goes dark one section at a time, the red glow of the stage dimming last.

"It does," he agrees, as he walks over to stand next to her.
Idly twirling a small section of hair around one of his fingers. His fingertips brushing against her neck.

"Cam you handle this place tomorrow as well? I'd better get an early start."
And he finds that being behind the wheel of a car helps him think. Especially if the music is on.

She turns to face him as his fingers brush over her skin.

"Oh, why not," she sighs, as if she were begrudgingly doing him the biggest favor in the world.

"But try to put in an appearance for at least the second half of the night, okay? Some fangbangers don't know what to do with themselves if you're not here to be fawned over." She pats him lightly on the very spot where he'd been shot.

His lips twitch a little at the touch.
He is still sore.

"I'll do that," he says. "It shouldn't take more than a couple of hours. Please tell me that some of them are at least borderline interesting."

He could do with some action tomorrow night.

She lays her palm flat, gently smoothing the fabric of his shirt over his stomach.

"They're fangbangers, Eric," she says dryly. "You know I can't tell them apart even if they tried to be interesting."

"But you know what you like," he purrs, close to her ear.
"And if you like it, there's a chance I might as well."

It's not a given. But it comes close.

"That's true," she murmurs, turning her head slightly toward his lips.

"I'll keep an eye out for anyone who might deserve a little V.I.P. treatment."

"And if someone's interesting enough," he whispers, his lips just a fraction away from her skin, "we could always spoil them. And get Ginger to look after the bar for a little while."

They likely won't.

But it's a nice thought.
And fighting always did leave him - keyed up.

Edited 2014-09-13 16:05 (UTC)

She smiles and breathes out a soft chuckle.

And she manages to step back a little to look up at him without his lips touching her skin.

"We'll see."

It is a nice thought.

"Let's go. We need to get home before dawn if you're going to take that shower."

And if she's going to watch him strip before she goes to coffin.

He reaches past her to push the door open.
"Ladies first. "

It's an old joke. It's still good though.

He keys in the alarm and fishes out his car keys.

If I meet a lady, I'll let her know.

The phrase is on her tongue, but she only smirks, brushing past him through the door.

It may be an old joke but he always did treat her like a lady.

He casts a brief look around the empty and silent room and then he walks through the door as well, letting it shut behind him with a click .

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only