Fic: Sans Souci (Sookie Stackhouse; Eric)
Set right after From Dead to Worse.
Eric (/Sookie). PG. The key was knowing when to disappear.
That wells will leap up,
That the dream will open,
That one morning we'll slip in
To a harbor that we've never known.
- Olav H. Hauge, 'It Is That Dream'
Sans Souci
The new entry on Nevada, Louisiana and Arkansas ran to three brisk paragraphs, two hundred words of forgettable biographical details, haughty PR, and thin-gloved intimidation.
'What did you do?' Bill Compton demanded as he stormed Eric's office, the beta disc brandished. 'This isn't what I wrote. Most of it isn't even true.'
As usual, Eric found his patience sorely tried. He wondered how Bill could be so naive about what he was doing. Knowledge was power, but knowledge that was withheld, now that was surely an even greater power, in far more concentrated hands.
Eric had vehemently opposed the vampire database ever since he found out about the project. Now the cursed thing was both the reason that he'd survived Nevada's take over, and, judging by what he'd seen of Sophie-Anne's financial records, the most likely cause of his near-future demise. He firmly wished both it and its creator were at the bottom of the ocean, where he would never have to see either again.
'I cannot take credit,' he answered Bill coldly, 'Victor Madden was good enough to provide editorial advice on your coverage of our King.' He emphasised the last two words, in case Bill failed to get the message.
Maybe Sophie-Anne had been content with mere omission, but Felipe de Castro clearly was not afraid to be a little more creative in his censorship. And that was the least of Eric's worries.
It was only a matter of time before someone from the new regime put two and two together, and realised that the bulk of the revenue from the database did not come from sales at all, but from selective extortion. Eric had always had his suspicions, but they were only confirmed after the former Queen was incapacitated by the bombing at Rhodes, and he had taken charge of her accounts. It didn't surprise him that certain vampires had been willing to pay enormous sums in order to keep their details out of the database; a cultivated paranoia generally served their kind well. What Eric hadn't expected, though, was that Sophie-Anne would knowingly take such a huge risk.
She had not been completely reckless. The files on her rivals and colleagues, the other North American kings and queens, were all dutifully discreet, even though Eric knew not a single one of them had been blackmailed. Her targets had mostly been foreigners, ancients who valued their privacy and preferred to keep out of vampire politics - at all costs.
Sophie-Anne had not let greed get the better of her. Given the same weapon, Eric was not sure that Victor Madden or Felipe de Castro would be equally conscientious, especially when any potential reprisal would be targeted at the figureheads of the enterprise. Eric was starting to see another reason why de Castro would want to keep him in place.
The first basic rule of survival was this: never get trapped with anything or anyone that you were not prepared to leave behind. Avoid attachments. Everything was expendable, nothing was irreplaceable, with the single exception of your life. The key was knowing when to disappear.
If this was happening three years ago, Eric would be doing just that. A warning to Pam, a quick scope of the exits; then he would be gone. Rootless and without responsibilities, once again. No Fangtasia, no vampire hierarchy reining him in, and no Sookie Stackhouse.
Three years was nothing to a vampire. But ever since their people had begun to integrate with the prey, it was as if time moved faster for them as well. Three years had changed everything. They had all been infected by human time: the awareness of seasons; the anxiety of never having quite enough time; the habit of living in the present, or in the short-term, without care for the consequences; the desire for more, again, and now.
Time was a trap. So was de Castro's avarice. Either one would probably end up killing him. Three years ago, he would have fled already. Now it was not so easy.
A woman - one woman, with her intensely human life, her day-to-day burdens, he realised, was a trap that he could live with.
THE END
24 October 2008
Eric (/Sookie). PG. The key was knowing when to disappear.
That wells will leap up,
That the dream will open,
That one morning we'll slip in
To a harbor that we've never known.
- Olav H. Hauge, 'It Is That Dream'
Sans Souci
The new entry on Nevada, Louisiana and Arkansas ran to three brisk paragraphs, two hundred words of forgettable biographical details, haughty PR, and thin-gloved intimidation.
'What did you do?' Bill Compton demanded as he stormed Eric's office, the beta disc brandished. 'This isn't what I wrote. Most of it isn't even true.'
As usual, Eric found his patience sorely tried. He wondered how Bill could be so naive about what he was doing. Knowledge was power, but knowledge that was withheld, now that was surely an even greater power, in far more concentrated hands.
Eric had vehemently opposed the vampire database ever since he found out about the project. Now the cursed thing was both the reason that he'd survived Nevada's take over, and, judging by what he'd seen of Sophie-Anne's financial records, the most likely cause of his near-future demise. He firmly wished both it and its creator were at the bottom of the ocean, where he would never have to see either again.
'I cannot take credit,' he answered Bill coldly, 'Victor Madden was good enough to provide editorial advice on your coverage of our King.' He emphasised the last two words, in case Bill failed to get the message.
Maybe Sophie-Anne had been content with mere omission, but Felipe de Castro clearly was not afraid to be a little more creative in his censorship. And that was the least of Eric's worries.
It was only a matter of time before someone from the new regime put two and two together, and realised that the bulk of the revenue from the database did not come from sales at all, but from selective extortion. Eric had always had his suspicions, but they were only confirmed after the former Queen was incapacitated by the bombing at Rhodes, and he had taken charge of her accounts. It didn't surprise him that certain vampires had been willing to pay enormous sums in order to keep their details out of the database; a cultivated paranoia generally served their kind well. What Eric hadn't expected, though, was that Sophie-Anne would knowingly take such a huge risk.
She had not been completely reckless. The files on her rivals and colleagues, the other North American kings and queens, were all dutifully discreet, even though Eric knew not a single one of them had been blackmailed. Her targets had mostly been foreigners, ancients who valued their privacy and preferred to keep out of vampire politics - at all costs.
Sophie-Anne had not let greed get the better of her. Given the same weapon, Eric was not sure that Victor Madden or Felipe de Castro would be equally conscientious, especially when any potential reprisal would be targeted at the figureheads of the enterprise. Eric was starting to see another reason why de Castro would want to keep him in place.
The first basic rule of survival was this: never get trapped with anything or anyone that you were not prepared to leave behind. Avoid attachments. Everything was expendable, nothing was irreplaceable, with the single exception of your life. The key was knowing when to disappear.
If this was happening three years ago, Eric would be doing just that. A warning to Pam, a quick scope of the exits; then he would be gone. Rootless and without responsibilities, once again. No Fangtasia, no vampire hierarchy reining him in, and no Sookie Stackhouse.
Three years was nothing to a vampire. But ever since their people had begun to integrate with the prey, it was as if time moved faster for them as well. Three years had changed everything. They had all been infected by human time: the awareness of seasons; the anxiety of never having quite enough time; the habit of living in the present, or in the short-term, without care for the consequences; the desire for more, again, and now.
Time was a trap. So was de Castro's avarice. Either one would probably end up killing him. Three years ago, he would have fled already. Now it was not so easy.
A woman - one woman, with her intensely human life, her day-to-day burdens, he realised, was a trap that he could live with.
THE END
24 October 2008