What could Godric possibly want my help with, Eric wandered as he packed a few essentials into his bag. Not that I mind at all, but still… Slightly bemused but not at all worried, he shrugged his shoulders. He had been curious about that same thing every evening since the phone conversation with Godric, and was no closer to figuring out this mystery than he was that night. It didn’t matter, of course – anything his beloved if sometimes aggravating Maker wanted, he’d have. And he was decidedly looking forward to making this trip – anywhere his Maker was…was automatically home to him.
He glanced around his spotless resting quarters, then grabbed his bag to head into the rest of the house. If he remembered correctly, and of course he did, he already had what amounted to two full wardrobes at his Master’s estate. He snorted. Most of those clothes were likely still in their plastic sheathing with their tags intact.
Pam did love to shop, and quite a few shelters were thankful for that tendency.
As he shut down the house in preparation for an absence of unknown duration, he drained three bottles of Royalty Blended that would have expired during said absence as he debated between flying over and driving. Both modes of transportation had their own freedoms, and both were, frankly, fun – something he’d enjoyed precious little of during the past few years. Once again he cursed that disgusting television show. Hep-V? Really? If he rolled his eyes any harder they’d have stuck.
Since his feet were already leading him down to the garage anyway, he decided he’d drive. It was a nice evening, so he chose his “Crystal Red Tintcoat” – he loved irritating Pam by constantly repeating that color designation – Stingray convertible for the trip. He lovingly drifted his large hand over the car’s curves as he walked around the vehicle before easing his large frame onto the comfortable seat. After exiting then securing the hidden garage, he quickly lowered the top and set off with an ever-lightening heart.
Three-hour drive my pale ass, he smirked as he slowed down for the first of several stop signs he’d have to ‘honor’ by sometimes vaguely pausing at (more like blowing through) to reach the interstate. Once there, with the help of certain mods to the car’s unimpressive stock engine, he would make that trip in well under two hours. “Neglecting” to turn on the car’s headlights, which were unnecessary for his night vision anyway, saved him from decidedly unwelcome (and pointless) interference by human authorities. He would just glamour the self-important fuckers to go eat some donuts and send them on their way.
For some reason known only to her, Pam still liked to glamour them to do the Macarena while holding a gun in one hand and their billystick in the other. It had been funny the first dozen times but now it was just annoying.
As a vampire, it galled him to have to pretend to care about human authority figures. However, as he himself had been in a position of authority in the vampire world, he had to acknowledge the role cops, sheriffs, and the like played in the containment and control of the human population. But that didn’t mean he had to like them.
Seat shoved back as far as it would go, long legs extended comfortably, Eric settled into the drive with a slight smile lifting his lips as the night breeze blew through his short hair. While he was extremely curious as to what Godric might need, the fact remained that he was always more content when in the presence of his ancient Maker. Together they were far more powerful than either would be apart. Plus, he just plain liked the old guy.
He had truly lucked out by having Godric as a Maker. During his early years as a newborn, Godric had indeed been as a father to him. He had taught him well how to navigate the new world of night; had taught him how to hunt without killing, how to glamour, how to bury himself or hide himself for when his dayrest overcame him. He had provided him with comfort and protection, had pushed and cajoled a sometimes recalcitrant Eric into becoming the vampire he was today.
The ancient vampire would never lower himself to command or force a Child of his to do anything unless it had to do with that Child’s survival. At that point, all bets were off. His love, tolerance, and protective instincts toward his Children were as legendary as his power. To his last drop of precious blood Godric would protect a Child of his, even from the Child’s own self.
It still galled Eric that The Twit had tried to foist on him a Maker such as Appius. To do such a thing was an enormous insult to his true Maker, and it made him wonder even more who or what was behind that bullshit. The glamour should not have allowed such nonsense to have even crossed her obviously deficient mind in the first place.
She must suffer from (or enjoy) some strange sort of mental problem to have even thought to write such disrespectful, atrocious drivel – much less to allow her fingers to type it out for the world to read! The state of a person’s mind shines vividly through the words and content they choose to write. The Twit must have done some serious acid at some point.
Ah, well, he thought as he tried to shrug off the more offensive content of those so-called books…and the vile chemical-saturated taste of hippies in the not-so-fantastic ’60’s and ’70’s. At least that shit didn’t make it onto the show, thank fuck…
Fingers sometimes tapping on the steering wheel in time with whatever music happened to play from the non-standard speakers synced with his iPod, the miles flew by as he sped down the less crowded Sunday-evening roads toward Dallas.
He was going home.
Godric glanced at the clock on the fireplace mantle across the room and smiled slightly. The Maker/Child bond he had with Eric told him that his progeny was en route, and was quite content to be so.
He had missed having his first Child around, and while separations of varying lengths were very common between them as with any Maker and Child, he would be glad to have his Son back home, as it were. No matter how well he had taught, trained and ‘raised’ his Child, he always felt just that much better when his beloved progeny were within his sights. He sighed. A patriarch of any species would feel the same way, he guessed.
Eric had temporarily, meaning for a few decades or so, settled down in Shreveport because his own Child, Pam, had taken a whimsical liking to the place, but he sensed that his Son was more than ready to leave the rather unpleasant atmosphere of the area, and welcomed his return with open arms. He placed a bet with himself over how long it would take for this “visit” to become permanent.
It wasn’t like he didn’t already have his own quarters, and it wasn’t like they weren’t already overflowing with clothing. Bless her MasterCard and Eric’s Visa but that particular grandprogeny surely did love her shopping.
He shifted as his thoughts wandered. Not that Texas was in any way their true home; however, it would do for now. At least the area was safe. His youngest Child, Richard d’Alsace – aka: Stan Davis – was and had been King of Texas for a while now. Godric had helped him establish himself, but no matter how often Rich…Stan raised the subject, he kept refusing to take the state from him.
Godric relished his personal freedom, and no promise of any amount of power or wealth could entice him into putting down permanent roots, and certainly not in this over-grown baby of a country. However, his own sense of obligation to his Children would, and, somewhat to his annoyance, did…which explained how the book’s Stan Davis was so inexplicably odd and nerdy…and how the show’s ‘Stan’ was such a blundering, boastful brat.
He had debated whether or not to allow The Twit, as Eric called her, to use Stan’s name just as he had with Eric, and in the end decided that it would provide a sort of comforting familiarity for the humans whenever vampires did reveal themselves.
He cursed to himself – he had never understood why Rich…Stan had insisted on changing his perfectly fine name to Stan Davis upon relocation to the United States, but whatever – he never could remember to call him by that ugly name he’d chosen. The ancient vampire snickered. Rich…Stan – whoever – held attributes of both the book and show version of his namesake, but of course since he was neither completely nerd nor brat, the joke was all the funnier. It was amazing what a little glamour on a Twit or a “honcho” could do.
For the nonce, his base of operations, and he smirked at that description, was indeed in Dallas fucking Texas. Why couldn’t Richard have chosen a cooler, more temperate clime to conquer, he groused to himself. He was much, much more accustomed to higher latitudes and cooler temperatures, and found the unnecessary Texas heat annoying.
It also tended to make his evening meals smell funky on those rare occasions he chose to partake of a spare neck or groin. Bagged blood was so much less of a hassle.
He shook his head and reached into his desk drawer for the blood spritzer he had received as a tester from a local blood products company. Just because vampires hadn’t yet come out of some coffin or other didn’t mean that their existence was unknown by all humans. The undead simply glamoured the hell out of them and went on their fangy-bangy way.
Two pumps of the spray ejected one swallow’s worth of blood from the hermetically sealed container, and he smiled as the refined fluid cleansed the putrid ‘natural’ blood from his mouth. Much better.
He couldn’t wait for them to perfect their blood-based mints, but still wasn’t entirely sold on the premise of pre-filled snack packs. Some things just needed a bottle made of glass.
The mint-scented mouthwash that supposedly tasted and responded like blood that they had threatened to create sounded like a total bust already.
Once again forcing himself to focus on the papers resting on the desk before him, he glanced down and grimaced. He detested dealing with Niall Brigant Prince of the Sky Fae, he mentally mocked the man’s self-important tone, but of all the fairies he had ever met and/or eaten, at least the old geezer had a good head on his shoulders.
Unfortunately, dealing with the tasty old goat was a necessary evil. At least he could keep his delicious scent to himself – always a plus. Since the show had dealt with Fairies, the Fairies naturally wanted their (unnecessary, arbitrary, unwanted, annoying, meddling…) input heard, too, and for some reason known only to themselves the idiots at the WVL had allowed it.
He highly suspected blood bribery, but thus far had no proof.
Not many vampires knew of the continued existence of fae-kind, and to the very youngest vamps, Fairies were only a myth. Only a few of the oldest in the upper crust of the WVL, sadly himself included, had dealt with them in the past and therefore had to deal with them during the course of planning what they could of the show.
Just as shifty and wily as any average fae, the old man nevertheless was actually trustworthy in his own way. He smirked as he considered that the old Prince most likely felt the same way about him. They each held the same goals, and worked toward the same ends – prevention of not only war between the Vampires and Fairies, but between supes and humans, too.
It was understood that most Fairies did not want the vampires to reveal themselves. Brigant was one of the few, however, who understood that with the advent of modern technology and all the problems associated with it, a reveal was becoming mandatory. Naturally the Fairies weren’t going to be announcing their presence, but also naturally they wanted their bright and shining noses right in the middle of everyone else’s business anyway.
And they were still bitching about how they’d been “misrepresented” on the show.
Somewhere in Los Angeles a certain actress slept restlessly in bed with her somewhat beloved husband of several years. Of late she had been having odd dreams which, while not scary, were definitely disturbing. She knew the character of “fairy hybrid” she’d been playing on that silly vampire show was just that, a part, but her dreams of such were so real! Now that the entire show was finally over, she had hopes that the strange dreams would stop.
The longer the show had gone on, the more genuine her part had seemed, and oddly it had felt the most realistic when she was filming scenes opposite her tall, blond co-star. There was something…different about him. Back when they were still doing daytime appearances together for publicity (before her dear darling hubby had let his jealousy run riot and just about fucked everything up for them), it had even seemed like he was two different people! But, when they were doing their usual filming at night, there was a part of her, a weird part of her head, that had seemed drawn to him, and she didn’t understand it.
She had had to forcefully remind herself several times in the past that she was mildly – sometimes even moderately – happy in her Hollywood marriage to her other co-star even if she did hide her laughter at his representation of an ‘old southern gentleman’. She might be from another country but even she could tell that his version of a southern accent sucked! For the past couple of seasons, though, even her husband had noticed the weird way she had been drawn to her night-time co-star, and it had caused some problems between them. Now that filming was over, though, everything should be fine.
And she wouldn’t have to hear dear hubby’s pitiful version of a southern accent any more, either.
With a sigh to cover the giggle that had slipped out in her drowsy state, she turned over onto her back and drifted off into a dreamless sleep. The human actress never noticed when the soft golden light gently departed from the body it no longer needed to inhabit.
**A/N: THIS SPACE INTENTIONALLY LEFT BLANK. Oh, wait, no: I hope you enjoyed it! 😀 **