Fic: To the waters and the wild (True Blood)
Title: To the waters and the wild
Fandom: True Blood
Characters: Jessica, Pam, Eric
Rating: PG
Summary: "For he comes, the human child! To the waters and the wild." (W.B. Yeats)
To the waters and the wild
He watches her and doesn't smile.
He doesn't hold back a smile, either.
She is vibrant with the new life they have bestowed upon her, in death, every one of her gestures a challenge: to life, to science, to death, to humans, to her mortal parents, to her maker, to herself, and to him.
The latter must be seen to.
"Child," he says, and she freezes. The protest - I am no child - is on the tip of her tongue; he can see it in her eyes, in the twitch of her lips. But his gaze holds her in place, arrested, caught out, and she pushes a strand of hair behind her ear. "Come."
"Where are we going?" she asks, impertinently. Being in motion has unlocked her tongue. "Are we going to kill some humans? I want to kill some humans. The dick made me taste some Tru Blood, it's vile. It's fuckin' vile."
She delights in the shape of the curse words; his best guess is that they, too, are novel to her.
"He is your maker," is all he answers, impassive, lengthening his stride. She has to hasten to keep up, shoes squeaking on the floor of the hallway.
"He's a dick."
"He is your maker and you will show proper respect," he says, authority striking hard within every word, and he looks at her, lets the corner of his lips raise. Barely perceptible. "Even though he is a dick."
"Ha!" she exclaims, her smile a wild, genuinely amused thing. He remembers Pam at her beginning. He likes her better for the reserve she has learned in her sense of humour. This one is too untamed; but one night old, and already too much for Bill. "I knew it. He is such a dick."
He has backed her up against the wall in a matter of seconds. No need to hit her, no need to even touch her, towering over her; her eyes are wide and her lips parted. She breathes out in quiet, frightened pants, a reflex kept from her past life. "You will show proper respect, Jessica." He says her name like a promise, and sees acknowledgement and recognition dawn in her eyes. "I do not like to repeat myself," he adds, a casual warning, and then he is walking again.
She catches up with him in a few hurried steps. "Where are we going?" she asks, and now it is a genuine question.
"If you're going to stay here," he makes it sound (on purpose, like everything he does) as if that is still up in the air. It is. "You'll need to meet the staff."
The club is closed; no patrons, vampire or otherwise. Only the staff, vampire and otherwise. It's the otherwise that he's looking for now, following Ginger's scent. There is already too little left of her beyond the shell of her body. All humans are disposable, but she is even more so. He will take every necessary precaution, and see to it that her body is never found.
"Ginger," he says, and the woman looks up from rearranging the list of cocktails. "I would like you to meet a newcomer. Jessica."
"Hi," Ginger answers perkily, with a smile.
Jessica licks her lips, and Eric knows the look in her eyes, the way she is staring at Ginger's neck. His fingers close vice-tight around her wrist right when she would have leapt on Ginger. She pulls on her arm; he barely notices.
"Not like this," he says, and turns his head to look from Ginger to Jessica. A long, measuring look, and she stops struggling.
"What's her trauma?" Ginger asks with a snort.
"Dying has that effect on people," Eric answers, and looks back at Ginger. The connection is established, as easily as batting eyelashes, and the glamour is on. "This is a glamour. It will come to you later." There is a lot for her to learn first, and his fingers unwind from around her wrist. "Now you may feed."
Her fangs have dropped, her eyes are showing. She steps forward, predatory instinct clear in her movements, and looks at her prey. Just a second, as much as she can bear with the hunger inside her. She moves vampire-fast, a hand on the back of Ginger's neck, another on her waist, bending her to her will in a physical way that aptly reflects the glamour. She shows promise; Eric will see whether she fulfills it.
The scent of blood is strong in the club. Fangs have pierced skin, messily, and Eric lets her struggle not to spill the precious fluid. He knows Pam is behind him before she comes up to his side, and they exchange a look. Her lips are twisted in a sardonic smile, and he doesn't need to say a word.
"Jessica," he snaps, authority like a snake coiling around the sound of her name.
She looks up, mouth bloody and more beside.
"Stop."
A lesson in obedience. Jessica looks about to protest, question, demand, but catches Eric's look, wisely keeps quiet. Looks at Pam, and drops the unconscious Ginger. Her head hits the floor with a dull thud. "Who's she?"
Eric watches the newly made vampire and his first daughter look at each other. Defiance, again, in Jessica's stance; no such thing in Pam's. Worlds apart yesterday; standing together tonight.
He watches Pam's perfect painted lips shape the words around a smile. "I,", she says, "am Pam." She lifts an eyebrow, tilts her head towards Eric without taking her eyes off of Jessica. "I like her."
"What's not to like," he answers, his own brand of dry humour.
Pam flashes him a smile, one that means everything; Jessica scowls, a scowl that means very little. He watches them, impassive, and knows better than to have expectations for the future. He is merely looking forward to seeing how things pan out. It's a dangerous thing to think, but things might become interesting.
On the floor, human blood is spreading in a small pool.
Fandom: True Blood
Characters: Jessica, Pam, Eric
Rating: PG
Summary: "For he comes, the human child! To the waters and the wild." (W.B. Yeats)
To the waters and the wild
He watches her and doesn't smile.
He doesn't hold back a smile, either.
She is vibrant with the new life they have bestowed upon her, in death, every one of her gestures a challenge: to life, to science, to death, to humans, to her mortal parents, to her maker, to herself, and to him.
The latter must be seen to.
"Child," he says, and she freezes. The protest - I am no child - is on the tip of her tongue; he can see it in her eyes, in the twitch of her lips. But his gaze holds her in place, arrested, caught out, and she pushes a strand of hair behind her ear. "Come."
"Where are we going?" she asks, impertinently. Being in motion has unlocked her tongue. "Are we going to kill some humans? I want to kill some humans. The dick made me taste some Tru Blood, it's vile. It's fuckin' vile."
She delights in the shape of the curse words; his best guess is that they, too, are novel to her.
"He is your maker," is all he answers, impassive, lengthening his stride. She has to hasten to keep up, shoes squeaking on the floor of the hallway.
"He's a dick."
"He is your maker and you will show proper respect," he says, authority striking hard within every word, and he looks at her, lets the corner of his lips raise. Barely perceptible. "Even though he is a dick."
"Ha!" she exclaims, her smile a wild, genuinely amused thing. He remembers Pam at her beginning. He likes her better for the reserve she has learned in her sense of humour. This one is too untamed; but one night old, and already too much for Bill. "I knew it. He is such a dick."
He has backed her up against the wall in a matter of seconds. No need to hit her, no need to even touch her, towering over her; her eyes are wide and her lips parted. She breathes out in quiet, frightened pants, a reflex kept from her past life. "You will show proper respect, Jessica." He says her name like a promise, and sees acknowledgement and recognition dawn in her eyes. "I do not like to repeat myself," he adds, a casual warning, and then he is walking again.
She catches up with him in a few hurried steps. "Where are we going?" she asks, and now it is a genuine question.
"If you're going to stay here," he makes it sound (on purpose, like everything he does) as if that is still up in the air. It is. "You'll need to meet the staff."
The club is closed; no patrons, vampire or otherwise. Only the staff, vampire and otherwise. It's the otherwise that he's looking for now, following Ginger's scent. There is already too little left of her beyond the shell of her body. All humans are disposable, but she is even more so. He will take every necessary precaution, and see to it that her body is never found.
"Ginger," he says, and the woman looks up from rearranging the list of cocktails. "I would like you to meet a newcomer. Jessica."
"Hi," Ginger answers perkily, with a smile.
Jessica licks her lips, and Eric knows the look in her eyes, the way she is staring at Ginger's neck. His fingers close vice-tight around her wrist right when she would have leapt on Ginger. She pulls on her arm; he barely notices.
"Not like this," he says, and turns his head to look from Ginger to Jessica. A long, measuring look, and she stops struggling.
"What's her trauma?" Ginger asks with a snort.
"Dying has that effect on people," Eric answers, and looks back at Ginger. The connection is established, as easily as batting eyelashes, and the glamour is on. "This is a glamour. It will come to you later." There is a lot for her to learn first, and his fingers unwind from around her wrist. "Now you may feed."
Her fangs have dropped, her eyes are showing. She steps forward, predatory instinct clear in her movements, and looks at her prey. Just a second, as much as she can bear with the hunger inside her. She moves vampire-fast, a hand on the back of Ginger's neck, another on her waist, bending her to her will in a physical way that aptly reflects the glamour. She shows promise; Eric will see whether she fulfills it.
The scent of blood is strong in the club. Fangs have pierced skin, messily, and Eric lets her struggle not to spill the precious fluid. He knows Pam is behind him before she comes up to his side, and they exchange a look. Her lips are twisted in a sardonic smile, and he doesn't need to say a word.
"Jessica," he snaps, authority like a snake coiling around the sound of her name.
She looks up, mouth bloody and more beside.
"Stop."
A lesson in obedience. Jessica looks about to protest, question, demand, but catches Eric's look, wisely keeps quiet. Looks at Pam, and drops the unconscious Ginger. Her head hits the floor with a dull thud. "Who's she?"
Eric watches the newly made vampire and his first daughter look at each other. Defiance, again, in Jessica's stance; no such thing in Pam's. Worlds apart yesterday; standing together tonight.
He watches Pam's perfect painted lips shape the words around a smile. "I,", she says, "am Pam." She lifts an eyebrow, tilts her head towards Eric without taking her eyes off of Jessica. "I like her."
"What's not to like," he answers, his own brand of dry humour.
Pam flashes him a smile, one that means everything; Jessica scowls, a scowl that means very little. He watches them, impassive, and knows better than to have expectations for the future. He is merely looking forward to seeing how things pan out. It's a dangerous thing to think, but things might become interesting.
On the floor, human blood is spreading in a small pool.