lazy_but_loyal | OOM

Entry tags:

OOM - Fangtasia

[Continued from here.]

Fangtasia is closed for the night.

The red neon sign in the window is still on, the door still unlocked, but the place is empty except for Ginger in the kitchen and Pam in Eric's office.

Pam is changing out of her leather bustier and miniskirt into more comfortable clothes that she'd brought along. Hot pink cropped leggings and matching Uggs for starters.

She takes her time as she slips off her top, revealing a leopard-print bra. She thinks of nothing in particular, only that she hopes to hear from Eric before dawn.

[Dialog lifted from True Blood season 3, episode 9.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"I'm sorry, Miss Flanagan. The bar is closed," Eric says, placing himself between Nan (and the SWAT team) and Pam.

And Ginger.

She looks just as pissed as she did in Dallas.

And in France.

To his own ears, his voice sounds almost thin.

Is there ever a time when Nan doesn't look pissed?

"Thank you, I already ate," she says. "TruBlood only, of course."

Pam can't help an eye-roll at this, even as Nan glances at her. No vampire can truly sustain one's self on that fake shit.

But it's Eric that Nan is here for. It's been too soon since she's last seen him.

"Can't stay out of trouble, can you?" she sneers at him. "The VRA is two states away from ratification. I should be kissing asses in Oregon, not cleaning up after you in fucking Louisiana."

Pam barely restrains another roll of her eyes, because it's not like she and Eric had any choice to end up in fucking Louisiana in the first place. The Vampire Rights Amendment, her ass.

"Oh, I promise you there is nothing amiss in my area," Eric lies, but it's not terribly convincing.
Not that it matters.

She'd never believe him anyway.

But this way, she'll turn her wrath on him alone.

"Shut up," Nan hisses impatiently. "You're making my head hurt."

She looks over at a couple of the V-Feds, standing at the ready to obey her every command.

"Officer -- silver him."

One of the uniformed men marches up behind Eric. Silver cuffs folded in his gloved hand, he presses it firmly to the exposed skin between Eric's neck and shoulder.

He groans and sinks to his knees. Not resisting in the least.
They're too many.

He dimly feels Pam. And hears Ginger scream.

Nan...actually smiles as Eric is subdued.

Pam inhales sharply and swallows, every ounce of her wanting to say something, to do something, but she can't.

Ginger's hysterical scream, however, says it all.

Nan aims a look at her.

"Shut her up," she snaps at Pam.

Then she turns to the other V-Feds, with a wordless nod toward Eric.

With the one man still holding the silver to him, two others grab him under the arms and haul him up onto a chair. They stand on either side of him, their rifles pointed down, but ready to use.

Nan stands in front of Eric.

"Not that I want to, but I can make it a lot easier on you if you agree to answer a few questions. The main one being, where's the Magister?"

Eric doesn't resist being moved about.

"I have no idea," he replies. "Not here."
Ignoring her clear enjoyment of this.
And ignoring Pam, because he has to.

Nan drags a chair over and sits down, facing him directly.

"Thing is," she says, "we have reports that he was in Shreveport just before he disappeared. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

Pam watches silently from the bar, wishing that guard would take the silver off of him already.

Ginger is trying to keep from hyperventilating.

"Oh, he was here," Eric replies, visibly relaxing his jaw.
The silver fucking hurts.

"As you are well aware. But he isn't here now."

Nan gives him a flat expression.

"So you wouldn't mind if I had a little look around."

It's not a question.

"Of course not. I wouldn't dream of standing in the way of truth and justice," Eric says, acidly.

"Eric Northman, model vampire citizen," she snorts.

As she gets up, she addresses the V-Fed. "That's enough."

The man unceremoniously removes his hand from Eric's shoulder, and the silver rips at his melted flesh.

Pam winces at the sight. Ginger cringes and puts her hands to her mouth in horror (and also possibly to keep herself from screaming).

Nan walks over to the Staff Only door.

"You," she says to Ginger, who looks at her like a startled chicken, "why don't you give me a tour?"

Pam meets Ginger's terrified gaze. Remember, you know nothing, she tries to remind her through sheer will.

Ginger hastily makes her way over to Nan and they both disappear through the door.

And Eric and Pam are left in a room of silent, anonymous armed men.

He groans again, louder this time, as the silver tears at his skin and flesh, and as he gently touches the wound he cannot suppress a hiss.

Fucking cunt.

He shifts a little in his seat and the barrels that had been pointed at him in a general sort of way are suddenly trained on his head.

"Relax," he mutters. Not looking at Pam.

They won't find anything. But he can't keep them in the dark forever.

Or for long.

Pam desperately wants to go to Eric, but she'd only get guns pointed at her head as well. So she waits, arms folded tightly around her.

"Are you all right?" she asks quietly, and flatly enough, keeping her emotions in check.

"I'm fine," he replies.
Even if the healing is a little slow.

Hie casts a quick glance at her. "I'm fine, it'll be fine."

I'll protect you.
Thinking it so hard he hopes it carries through their bond somehow.

She knows that he will. Even if he doesn't say the words, she knows it's a given.

The wait is excruciating.

Finally, Nan returns, without Ginger, having confined her to Eric's office. From here on out, it's vampire business only.

"The downstairs is clean," Nan announces.

Pam exhales a silent sigh of relief. Those clean-up guys worked a miracle.

"Well, I told you there was nothing," Eric says, looking up at her.

Thank fuck,

He is ignoring the guns trained at him.

Nan arches an eyebrow.

'Clean' as in,

"It's been wiped."

There's a difference.

"Well, I'm a Virgo," Eric replies, face impassive.
"I like to be neat."

He spent time in Haight-Ashbury in the Seventies. He knows his sign.

Very funny.

"Your screeching fang-cushion of a barmaid, who's been glamoured so much she can't even remember her own last name, does know that no one ever goes down there with so much as a mop and a promise," Nan says, deeply skeptical and suspicious.

"Suddenly, it's as sterile as an operating room."

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
"It doesn't prove - anything," he says, slowly, not looking away.

No corpse. No case.

Or in this case, no goo and no witnesses, no case.

"If only we had a magister to decide that," she says.

Almost teasing. And pointedly so.

She huffs a laugh, cracking a rather wicked smile.

"Relax. It's not like you killed someone."

He realizes that he has tensed up and tries to relax.

Fuck.

She is toying with him.

He could give the, Edgington. It'd be treason, but this time it's not about blood. It's about their power, the power of The Authority. That might be a different story.

But if he does that - he might loose his revenge. And they might still hurt him. Kill him. Kill -

Fuck it

Pam exchanges a tense glance with Eric before looking away. There are so many layers to this case that it's making her head spin. One confession might have to lead to another.

Nan sits down on the chair in front of Eric.

"Just need your official statement, that's all," she says casually, as she inserts a wireless earpiece and two V-Feds quickly set up cameras on either side of her.

"Webcams for the Authority," she explains.

The cameras swivel toward her. Somewhere, in an undisclosed location, a board of Very Important Vampires are watching the proceedings on a giant screen.

"Members of the Authority, it's Nan. Can you hear me? ...Good. As regards to the matter of the disappearance of our Magister, last known whereabouts, this dump in Shreveport, Louisiana, you have before you Eric Northman, Sheriff of Area 5."

The cameras swivel toward Eric, focusing on him.

"Smile for the cameras, Eric."

Eric looks up.

He's not smiling, but he is managing to keep the fact that his mind is racing off of his face.

"I find it difficult to find something to smile about in this situation," he says, blandly.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject