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Karma's Muse	By : xXxDaydreamJunkiexXx Category: S through Z > True Blood Views: 5882 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do NOT own, profit, or pretend to originate True Blood or its characters. All rights belong to Charlaine Harris and Alan Ball.

Chapter List
- 1-Karma's Muse
- 2-Two
- 3-Three
- 4-Four
- 5-Five
- 6-Six
- 7-Seven
- 8-Eight
- 9-Nine
- 10-Ten
- 11-Eleven
- 12-Twelve
- 13-Thirteen
- 14-Fourteen
- 15-Fifteen
- 16-Sixteen
- 17-Seventeen
- 18-Eighteen
- 19-Nineteen
- 20-Twenty
- 10
- 11
- 12
Fangtasia was jam packed and crawling with fang-bangers and vamps alike. The sultry beats, smoke machines, and drab décor; china red paint with black trim on the walls, patched and peeling in spots; cheesy posters of stereotypical vampires in Hollywood, the sign that stated 'No Biting On Premises'; all setting the stage for the human clientele to experience something dark and dangerous. They all came with a thrill in mind, some made it home to brag and exaggerate about their escapades over the water cooler at their normal day jobs; some didn't. Those poor bastards found out the hard way, that the fangs were not only real but the appetite behind them deadly; now they were in pieces floating down the Mississippi…oh well for that.
It all failed to capture his attention more than that damn woman-the telepath.
It didn't matter that there was more willing and attractive women practically throwing themselves at his feet. He wanted what he couldn't have and that was Sookie; only for the simple fact that no-one had ever denied him before and there was a certain something about her that was off-different…a puzzle to be solved.
Eric so loved a challenge. After a millennium of finding amusement with wars, business, and eventually meeting his Pamela and making a Child; very little was left to excite him. That was the case up until she walked into his club, sashaying was more like it, and for the first time in a long time…he was interested.
He was in his usual spot up on stage, black tank and black jeans, elbows propped and hands making a steeple, sitting on his throne overlooking the vermin; as Pamela so loving referred them, and trying to recapture their last encounter; the ghost of her delicious scent making him see red with lust. The woman would be his, he had already decided as much, even with obstacles of that pussy Compton and his deranged Queen pulling all their puppet strings; she would be his.
Eric had plans, he always had plans for that matter; but in this particular case, things needed to be handled with patience and precise calculation.
Sookie when she succumbed to him would do so willingly; she would beg. He internally sighed at the thought, but grinned uncharacteristically too, knowing full well…she would hardly ever be considered submissive.
One of the dancers he had hired, the one with the short spiked black hair and the piercings all over her tanned lithe compact body; Eric didn't believe her name was really Poppy but could care less. She was arguing with one of his patrons and from the looks of it, had been stiffed payment for a private show. Her rapid slew of Spanglish, spouting more loudly from her mouth; offending not only his delicate ears but interrupting his thoughts of something more important-Sookie.
Eric sighed to himself and pointed to Pam; standing by the bar hitting on an older woman; drinking Ciroc double fisted and barely staying steady on her barstool. Easy pickings, she would tell him, if he even bothered to ask why she preferred the aging soccer moms to the more fresh budding youths; using their obviously fake ID's to get in.
He knew it was something more than that, but had never wanted to call her out on it; she was allowed to have her little indulgences, all with the denial that she wasn't seeking out to kill her mother-over and over again.
"Hantera detta." Eric barely made a sound, but Pam heard him loud and clear; rolling her eyes and fixing that signature bored look of hers in place.
"Ohyra." She muttered more to herself, but it made Eric give a raspy laugh anyway; she pulled herself away from Mrs. Liz Claiborne reluctantly, making her way over to the angry dancer and the stupid cheapskate; who thought he could get a freebie.
Pam shot Eric one last icy glare before completely turning her attentions to Poppy and the corn fed mama's boy; he looked to be in his upper twenties, with an unkempt brown crop of hair and shabby goatee, but from the heavily laced Cajun drawl and slack jawed demeanor, she quickly surmised his IQ to be no more than a toddlers.
Her purposeful strides brought her rather quickly to the small black wooden bistro table; her red spandex sleeveless bodysuit, fitting her like a second skin and leaving nothing to the imagination; soft curves against an otherwise rock hard physique, being in all the right places as well as plentiful. Pam high blonde pony braid whipped to the side while she snapped her neck to wink at Poppy; who slyly winked back, before addressing the dim witted redneck.
"Pay her NOW." Pam deadpanned, emphasizing the last word with a click of her fangs, which in most cases inspired cooperation.
Only this overgrown country boy lacked the smarts to heed the warning of the proposed threat. He petulantly crossed his arms; his head turned upwards towards her with defiance, chin and jaw set in ignorant determination.
"Nah-Uh." He said while shaking his head from side to side. "She-" He pointed a meaty hand in a shooing motion towards Poppy, "didn't put out and I ain't payin for no cock tease."
He rolled the cud he was sucking on from one side of his lip to the other; from the odor and stench offending Pam's nose, it was wintergreen long cut chewing tobacco; for dramatic effect he spit, and the slimy brown tinged sputum flew to land unceremoniously at Poppy’s feet.
Pam cocked up an eyebrow and Poppy started up again with her ranting; saying things like "Maricon" and "Pendejo". The full figured dancer had her hands on her hips and her neck was working on a whiplash.
Pam raised a hand to silence her, while giving Mr. Bumpkin a full watt smile.
Her pillow plump lips glistened from the cherry red sparkly gloss, and had pulled back like a curtain away from her white teeth; the sharp and pointy incisors setting off her face- just so. The gleam in her violet blue eyes would have made the Devil himself nervous; yet still he continued.
"Now if she wants to do what she was 'posed to do-"
He never had a chance to finish his sentence. Pam had moved faster than could be registered by the human eye, to grab the 'Mouth of the South' by the front of his shirt; lifting him up with one hand, to dangle his worn and tattered work boots over three feet in the air.
Poppy standing behind Pam with a satisfied that's right bitch look on her face, snapped her fingers and exclaimed "Not so fucking big time now- you inbred, fat, slimy…"
"That's quite enough-" Pam sighed in a fashion to suggest the dancer was turning her on. "Let mama take it from here sweetheart."
Poppy made a kiss-kiss sound to Pam but decided to hold her peace, the vampire chick was cool to her and she trusted her to put it down on this asshole.
Pam was giving the guy her full attention now; making him squirm, his look of surprise and shock, quickly morphing into fear.
The rest of the club went on like nothing, with only a few vamp groupies stalling for a minute to watch; but losing interest fast as their goal was to find a vampire of their own to give them individualized consideration-not to see some other lucky bastard get abused.
Pam's muscles didn't even look strained or flexed with holding up the boy more than three times her size; a fact not lost to him, as the obvious stain of his weak bladder control swiftly turned his light stonewash denim into something dark.
"Now," She breathed out in slow enjoyment, "What were you saying?"
Eric was watching from the stage, in amusement over the little show, when suddenly, a gut wrenching sensation tingled through his spine; the eye searing pain radiating and striking his body with acute force, causing him to jump up from his throne and call out to her. "Avsluta med detta nu och kom till mitt kontor!"
Pam looked to her maker in surprise, but heeded his command and went to work glamouring the 'Good 'ol Boy'; setting him down to empty out his wallet, much to Poppy’s delight.
She blurred to Eric's office quickly after him, knowing something must be seriously wrong.
Pam burst through his door to find Eric bent over his desk; clutching at his head while grinding his teeth. She became frantic and concerned, rushing to his side to take his arm with one hand while placing the other on his back.
"Vad har hant med dig…vad ar fel?" Her worry was growing as she had never seen her sire in this much distress before.
Eric made a great effort; finally being able to straighten himself to stand and look her in the eye. "I have to leave immediately-you know what to do…take care of the club."
Pam's confusion was evident; displayed plainly by her expression, as her guard was down and the usually harsh features of her face seemed softer.
"Eric!" She called to his back as he walked away from her and strode to the door. "Where are you going-what is it?"
Eric stopped but didn't turn around; only one word was spoken before he left her standing alone in the room, leaning against his desk shell-shocked.
"Godric."

"…So, you see, I can't allow this to continue." Felipe's slick brown straight hair and tailored gray Calvin Klein suit was just as smooth as his tone.
He had moved the captured Sheriff, with a little help of his guards of course; to be in the dungeons of his palace, where he intended to end his competition once and for all.
The high security Brentwood estate boasted several gardens, over twenty bedrooms and fifteen baths, two kitchens, Olympic sized swimming pool, and a gloriously stocked torture room; amidst the many light tight holding cells, lining the tunnels of the underground compound.
Godric was strung up and spread out in the air by two inch thick silver chains; arms and legs bobbing as if making a snow angel, his struggles surprising Felipe; the silver should have zapped all his strength. Yet another reason for him to hate him, he thought with jealousy, his age and power would always be more than his own.
"Do you have any idea how absolutely embarrassing it is to have other vampires- The goddamn Authority as well- question my decisions; practically insisting I run my affairs over with a mere Sheriff- no of course you wouldn't." Felipe was pacing while thinking out loud. "Just because you happen to be so old, and in their opinion, the better choice, who should have my job."
Felipe stopped mid stride to leer at Godric who was shooting eye daggers back to the King; each of them equally disgusted and with murder in their hearts.
"Then further humiliation," Felipe's voice was rising with each word, "You fucking disappear and blow ME OFF." The king was waving his arm and doing half jumps, losing his cool and causing his heavily greased hair to un ruffle a bit. "As if I- ME- BEING YOUR KING- am nothing, a nobody, A FUCKING JOKE."
Godric had ceased in his movements and then had a look overcome his countenance of mocking and absoluteness. He spoke with serenity as if merely stating a fact; removing all doubt.
"But, Felipe- you are a joke."
The King roared and motioned to his guards; the two Norwegian vampires were formidable and towering behind the ancient, their big muscles and fair features reminiscent of something akin to professional wrestlers. The one holding the silver laced whip, struck the Sheriff's back with five rapid lashes; Godric made no sound or gave nothing away in his expression, to indicate if the already healing marks hurt or not. His eyes held only contempt and Felipe was spiraling even more out of control when Godric smirked at him.
"I will end this- end you…NOW." Felipe shouted, while grabbing a wooden stake he'd had waiting for just this moment; amongst other various pain inflicting devices, lined in a row on the small portable table. "Prepare for your final death- Godric."
Felipe spat out the name, like it was the most vile and offensive word in his vocabulary. As he moved to make his verbal threat an active reality, Godric said something to stop him short in his tracks.
"You have miscalculated one thing…perhaps you should have sought my council in this matter as well, assassinations after all, are better executed by someone such as myself- having had more experience." Godric wiggled his eyebrows with the last, truly taunting him.
The King considered a moment, gripping the stake tighter; his vehemence a palpable thing. "You are bluffing; trying to delay the inevitable. I already have minions engaged in tracking down your lieutenants- no-one will be coming to your rescue-"
Godric cut him off, being truly amused for the first time throughout this whole ordeal. "Stan and Isobel will take care of themselves, in this- I have no doubt. However, that is not with which I am referring."
Godric stopped suddenly, a genuine smile playing at his lips; he closed his eyes in joy; anticipating a long overdue and welcome reunion. His boyish features looked excited and his voice rang out into the now quiet cell like a seraphim.
"I am here my Child."
Godric opened his deep cerulean eyes slowly; casting a knowing look to Felipe, his triumph and condescending arrogance facing off now to the King's confusion and then understanding.
"I am not the only vampire alive who is older than you Felipe, and more deadly…"
For the first time since deciding to accomplish his plans on taking Godric down; Felipe realized he had made a grievous error. He had only wanted to rule absolute and now it would seem he wouldn't be ruling at all.
Godric's maniacal laughter danced on the air making the guards behind him grow nervous; casting glances to their master as if asking what's going on.
Felipe could give them no answers quick enough and had a chill set into his very bones; the door swung open with a wood splintering kick; an old Viking battle cry was sounding off behind him, like some Pagan God's wrath being given life through sound. Fear filled his black soul for the first time in a long time.
He wasn't swift enough in a defense and realized his defeat too late; looking down to the heirloom broadsword from an age gone past, protruding suddenly through the front of his chest; blood fast and freely flowing from the newly made hole in his heart and trickling out of his nose and mouth.
He looked up to Godric in shock; whose sapphire orbs mirrored back nothing but unmerciful satisfaction.
This was the last thing seen- before the great and mighty King…exploded like an overfilled water balloon and was no more.

"Give me your hand, you beautiful and tender form. I am a friend, and come not to punish. Be of good cheer. I am not fierce; softly shall you sleep in my arms."
Isobel looked to Stan in disbelief who was cryptically quoting 'Death and the Maiden'; as they navigated their steps over a fresh grave.
"What?" He said, after catching the reproachful look Isobel was giving him. "It seems appropriate don't it-"
"Stan, this is a very serious situation," Isobel scolded, "Alana is in bad shape and I'm not entirely convinced that the change will take hold-if Godric's blood isn't helping her, then what might my younger essence accomplish?" She sighed loudly before continuing. "Then there is the matter of our Sheriff being arrested by the King- and I'm," Her voice faltered a little, "I'm to do something I had sworn to never do again…" She let her sentence drop off softly.
Stan stopped next to a monument of an Angel weeping over a grave, appraising Isobel who was carrying Alana through the necropolis; there was a defeated and tired look in her eyes that he didn't like seeing there.
"What is it Belle?" The concern in his voice was heavily laced with curiosity. "If you want me to do it-"
Isobel interrupted him before he could finish, having stopped as well, her voice resigned. "NO, Godric will not tolerate Alana's sire being another male and we both know it…he is jealous and possessive of her in a way that I've never seen from him before."
"Then why do you sound so- so-," Stan's hand was waving at the length of her, "unhappy about it then?"
Isobel's stoic expression seemed to be fighting an internal battle with her heart; as a red tinge could be seen, causing her brown irises to look auburn against the pink hues of her sclera; she answered him anyway, wanting to purge to him, for a reason unknown; her greatest failure.
"The one and only time I'd made a Child- I was freshly turned myself and had defied my maker; having snuck out to find my best friend. I couldn't face an eternity of darkness without her- her name was Margarita, and I loved her like a sister." Isobel spoke now with flat affect, like stating facts that held no personal attachments. "The turning had complications as I wasn't entirely schooled on the process; she went mad…she attacked humans and vampires alike carelessly, risking our exposure, and was never the same girl again." She turned to resume walking and Stan had to hurry after her, in order to hear the rest. "I had to kill her, as I couldn't control her; she insulted a Queen who was visiting the area- I wasn't given a choice…I was commanded to. I swore to never bestow the curse again."
The stony set of Isobel's jaw relayed to him loud and clear, the subject was closed; so he decided to change topics, being truly sorry for her to have such a painful memory. Losing a Child he'd heard was one of the worst things imaginable; newfound respect for Belle swelled in his chest.
She was strong- willing to compromise her own convictions, by breaking her promise; in order to aid in their Sheriff's happiness.
"How is Little Miss holding up?" He made a gesture towards Alana's tiny sleeping form, loosely clutched bridal style in Isobel's arms. "She seems grayer but I can't tell if it's just the moonlight playin tricks." Stan pondered his own question aloud, his Texas drawl practically purring his affection.
"Her heartbeat is faint but still there and her body temperature is dropping-we must pick a spot soon." Her reply stressed urgency and was as heavy as her spirit at the moment.
It didn't take Stan long to find a secluded spot within the cemetery that would suit their pressing needs. It was a newly developed area, set off and away from the general mausoleums, above ground tombs, and stone slab walls containing the cremated; the owners had decided to expand their profit margins by expanding their plot availability.
The orange plastic chicken fencing was marking the parameter; indicating that is was a construction site. Stan presumed since it was a weekend that they would be safe for a couple days without disturbance. The backhoe and the large piles of loose dirt surrounding them were exposing a large gaping crevice already dug out; providing their own little 'turning' spot-like the place had known they would need it.
"This will do," Stan's hazel eyes were warm and his short brown beard was quirked with the lopsided grin he was now sporting, "Never thought, when I slept with you for the first time-it would be like this."
He had taken her off guard with his playful remark. "Stan!" She exclaimed, while suddenly returning his smile; being a little tickled by his innuendo. "In your dreams!"
"You always are Belle…" Stan looked all too serious now, his rich baritone caressing her ears with its tenderness.
Isobel internally softened with his admission but realized, regretfully so, that this was neither the time nor place for such confessions. They stared at each other a moment; her clearing her throat loudly to break the tension. "Right-well…you know I'm with Hugo…"
He looked up to the sky as if counting the stars, stopping her short by avoiding to acknowledge, that she was even speaking at all. He couldn't bear the way she was looking at him, with something akin to pity or rejection; he didn't care much for either one.
"Just wanted you to know is all- in case something happens." Stan returned his gaze to her briefly, before jumping down the ten feet or so, into the pit.
Isobel just stood there, wondering when this had happened; she'd never noticed anything but arrogance and bad temperament from Stan. Now it would seem she had missed his intentions entirely. She tucked it safely to the back of her mind, to be dealt with later, and followed suit behind him.
They all laid out side by side, making an Alana sandwich; Isobel stroked a finger down the young girl's face, feeling strongly for her in just a short span of time; thinking of the Sheriff and even Stan, she supposed that it was just an effect she had on their kind.
Stan placed a hand on her arm, applying slight pressure, while whispering. "I'll cover us up after you complete the ritual-I'll be with you both…you won't be alone in this-no matter how it turns out."
She nodded gratefully to him and with a click protracted her fangs, turning Alana a little to expose her neck for easy access. There was a prayer she remembered from her childhood, that she silently chanted in her mind; praying that she wouldn't fail her newfound friend or her beloved Sheriff.
"Angel de Dios, eres mi custodio, a quien su amor me confia aqua, cada vez esta noche a mi lado a la luz y la proteccion, a rle y guia."
Isobel's teeth pierced the tender flesh and carotid artery, sinking into Alana with ease, beginning to suck and drink the sweet blood wine; drawing the girl's weakened life force into herself, sealing her fate with finality. She hoped against hope, that somehow-someway…it would be enough.

Translations:
Hantera detta- Handle this
Ohyra- Vermin
Avsluta med detta nu och kom till mitt kontor- End this now and come to my office
Vad har hant med dig…Vad ar fel- What has happened to you…What is wrong
Pendejo- Stupid
Maricon- Faggot
Angel de Dios, eres mi custodio, a quien su amor me confia aqua, cada vez esta noche a mi lado a la luz y la proteccion, a rle y guia-
Angel of God, my guardian dear, to whom His love entrusts me here, ever this night be at my side to light and guard, to rule and guide
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Karma's Muse