Title: 21 Candles
Author: Malanna (with a huge assist from Master Beta and Mistress of Snark, Gallathea)
Support Stacie Auction Winner: Konfetti and S. Meadows
Ficlet Challenge: Write the SVM version of the John Hughes classic film 16 Candles. Warning: major humor and parody ahead! This is definite AU/OOC.
Musical Inspiration: 80's new wave, of course!
Lam Dog Sam had apparently earned enough respect from Sookie's grandparents to merit the all-important status of "trusted car borrower." He and his foxy new girlfriend, Debbie Pelt, dropped Sookie off at home and quickly made their way to what they'd heard would be the hottest after-party in town. Even though Eric's driveway was packed, Dog expertly wedged the front tires of Grandpa's Caddy atop the hood of another car.
Inside the party was in full swing, Eric's nest already suffering the ill effects of blood lusty vampires and drunken frat boys. The floor already had that sticky quality that unrestrained group debauchery lends to even the most expensive decor. Eric wandered from room to room, surveying the damage and considering which sword he'd go postal with, when a very buzzed Pam waved him over.
"Everyone," Pam announced. "This is my boyfriend, Eric. Eric," she waved around at the group gathered. "This is everyone."
Eric seriously considered burning about 85% of the pages from Pam's address book as he sighed heavily and retreated to his bedroom. He flipped open his Mac laptop, perching on his massive California King, and logged in to the Shreveport Community College intranet. Pointing Firefox to the student directory, he typed in his search, and soon found himself staring at a picture and contact information for the buxom blond human who plagued his thoughts. It wasn't the most flattering photo ever taken of Sookie--she appeared to be about half a second away from letting out a massive sneeze--but she was still attractive by any standards. He wished the screen had a scratch and sniff feature. Eric picked up his iPhone and dialed her number, adjusting himself as the phone rang and rang.
Over at the Stackhouse residence, Mitchell and Adele were sound asleep in Sookie's bed when her phone began screeching with the Color Me Badd, 'I Wanna Sex You Up' ringtone. Eric gave up on getting a response just as Mitchell leaned over and picked up the phone - just in time to hear Eric mutter "mother fanger" and hang up.
"Who was that, hon?" Adele asked her husband.
"I think it was the Blood Bank," answered Mitchell, not wanting to alarm his wife.
"The Blood Bank doesn't call at this hour!"
Only among people over the age of 70 would 8:30 pm be considered an 'obscene' time of night, but Adele and Mitchell had embraced their golden years with aplomb.
Out in Eric's front yard, Bill, Andy and Bud had just arrived in their Geek Squad vehicle (Bud had just gotten a promotion at Best Buy,) ready for their first experience with a real college bash. A few of the guests scattered on the lawn wondered what kind of party dilemma required emergency tech support, their minds racing with titillating possibilities.
Pausing in front of the door, Bill examined his two friends, noticing they'd attached mining lamps to their Devo hats, and rolled his eyes. "Take that shit off."
"Bill, this is a frat party. Aren't we gonna get killed if we go in there?" Andy asked.
Bill scoffed, "We've got a case of True Blood and girl's underwear - we're golden!"
"What are you guys, rabbits? Be cool, honey-bunnies, and it'll be just fine. Now, don't embarrass me," Bill commanded, wishing he could glamour them into coolness. "Bud, fix your hair. Andy, close your fly."
Bill rang the doorbell and heard the scratching and barking of a dog. A moment later it swung open, a strange, shaggy man hanging from the top of it. He let out a drunken howl as he greeted the party's newest guests.
Bud and Andy backed up a bit, but Bill quickly grabbed them. "Don't be such wusses. It's a frat party on a full moon, of course it's going to be wild!"
The trio strode into the room with a thinly-veiled air of assumed suaveness, the two humans hoping they'd soon find some liquid courage to soothe their frazzled nerves. After two minutes of avoiding being beaten up or threatened, Bill grinned, "See? Nothing to worry about." And with that, he heard a monumental crash behind him.
Bill found himself looking up into the eyes of two of the town's most confusing beefcakes: Alcide Herveaux, known curiously as both a strong leader and for being chronically pussy-whipped; and John Quinn, mama's boy and vicious pro wrestler. There was also a fallen beer can tower on the table.
"Don't look at me, I'm just here for tech support," said Andy, making a quick get-away to another room.
"I'm here about a virus," added Bud, following his friend.
Bill was screwed and he knew it. He took a long, unnecessary sigh: apparently, girl's underpants were thin armor against the wrath of the muscle-bound.
Up in his room, Eric had just re-dialed the Stackhouse home when he heard his drunken girlfriend calling him from down the hallway. Eric hung up, getting up to shut his door as Pam appeared.
"Don't you want to eat tonight, you big bad Viking? You always love to eat me," she said, sliding down the wall by his door, her drunken legs giving out.
The smell coming from Pam nearly knocked him over: it was an odd combination of mint, hops, and... was that moonshine? "I want some real sustenance," Eric growled, slamming the door shut.
Pam was too inebriated to notice her hair had been trapped inside the door until she tried to crawl away. "Eric," she whined, knocking weakly at the door.
Getting no response, she called out weakly to her friends down the hall. An equally drunk Felicia and Indira stumbled down the hallway to her. "What's the matter, Pamikins?" Indira slurred.
Pam groaned, pointing to her hair, and the other two girls snorted with laughter. "Come on, you guys, help me. I'm your sorority president."
"Right now, you're the president of the hair club for doors," Felicia giggled.
"Okay, okay," Indira grinned, digging through her purse and producing a nail file (hey, they must be sharp enough if they don't let you take them on a plane.) "Promise you won't get mad?"
"I promise," Pam said with a hazy smile, totally oblivious.
As Indira subjected Pam to the back-of-the-head version of Operation Britney, Eric once again tried to reach Sookie on the phone.
After the first two crank calls, Mitchell was ready, snatching up the phone. "Hello?"
Eric was confused for a moment by the voice on the other end, staring at the phone number on the screen to be sure he dialed right. "Yes, hello," he finally said.
"Are you the young man who's been calling here and hanging up all night?" Mitchell immediately cut him off and asked in an aggressive tone.
"We don't want to donate blood," Adele added sleepily.
"No, sir," Eric replied, though it galled him to be this polite. "I'm calling looking for a classmate of mine, Sookie Stackhouse. If she is there, may I please converse with her briefly?"
"He wants Sookie," Mitchell confided to Adele in a hushed tone.
"She doesn't want to donate blood, either," Adele responded protectively.
Eric, who could of course hear the grandparents' conversation, was beyond frustrated at this point. These people were worse than his friend Bubba, who had the voice of an angel and a knack for walking in on situations that were just about to get good. "If they weren't Sookie's family, I'd have to drain these cockblockers," Eric muttered quietly. What he hadn't counted on was the fact that the old man had surprisingly keen hearing.
"Adele... he's not from the Blood Bank. I think he wants a blowjob."
"Give me that," Adele said, grabbing the phone. "Listen to me, you little pervert. Our granddaughter is not available, and even if she were, she'd have more sense than to involve herself with a rude boy like you!" With that, Adele slammed the phone down. "Sookie is so lucky to have us."
"Even if she still doesn't appreciate us," Mitchell added.
Later that night, Eric roamed his house, surveying the copious amount of damage with disgust. It looked as though there had been some sort of epic battle between the crews of Girls Gone Wild and MTV's Spring break. Why the hell was there coconut suntan oil on his end table?
He flopped on his couch, plucking a half-empty bottle of True Blood from the coffee table. He thought everyone had left, so immediately dropped his fangs when he noticed an eyeball blinking back at him under the empty spot on the glass table. The tellingly brooding eye pleaded for help, and clearing the rest of the detritus unceremoniously, Eric stared at his fellow vampire.
Bill pulled himself out of his former coffee table coffin, relieved.
"Why didn't you just get out yourself?" Eric asked. "Seriously, Bill. You do realize you're a vampire, right?"
"They trapped me with silver bullets," Bill said, still recovering from his terror.
"Bill," Eric returned reproachfully. "Those were Coors Light cans. They have absolutely zero silver content. This is American beer, for fuck's sake."
Bill pulled a piece of fabric from his pocket, wiping the imaginary sweat from his brow. Eric cocked a brow at the odd, lacy... handkerchief?
"Bill," Eric began, sniffing the air. "Why do you have a sky-blue, lace hanky that smells like..." he sniffed again, his eyes widening.
The Geek, having calmed down a bit, looked at the piece of fabric in his hand with a grin. "Oh, that." He spread out the thong, showing it off triumphantly. "It's Sookie's."
"Did you glamour her out of them, or did you actually..." Eric gestured suggestively.
"Glamour doesn't seem to work on her," Bill said, omitting the fact that he was a glamour virgin. "She just gave them to me to be nice. We had a bonding moment in auto shop, and she helped a brother out. Besides," he added, "half that time, we were talking about you. She's really into you, I swear."
"You better not be dicking me around," Eric said, leaning into the fledgling with a warning glare.
Bill, feeling the elder's tweaks of power, cowered. "I know what happens if I dick with you, man. In the bad sense, that is." There was one sense of gracious plenty trouble Bill didn't think he'd mind being in, but thought better of mentioning it. "I feel compelled to say, however, that if you're just looking for a feed, I'll call my buddy Felipe to kick your ass."
Eric smirked, amused by the notion, but appreciative of the young vampire's protective nature. "If all I wanted was a feed and a fuck, Pam's passed out in my bed upstairs. I could make her yield like mini Cooper versus a Mack truck, but maybe I'm sick of that. She's completely insensitive. I mean, look at this place," he said, pointing to the wasteland of his house.
"Pam's in your bed right now?" Bill said thoughtfully, feeling a certain tightness in his Dillard's gear. "Then what the hell are you waiting for?" Bill gaped, confused why any vampire wouldn't take advantage of that.
"I've been alive for a thousand years, Compton," Eric pointed out. "Maybe I'm ready to move on. Maybe I don't want a pet anymore. Maybe I want... a partner."
Bill had no idea what Eric was talking about, but he nodded encouragingly.
"I'm just tired of the fangbanging scene, Bill. I want a real relationship, maybe even a blood bond. The sex has to be good, of course, but I can turn anyone into Dr. Ruth in a matter of weeks. Maybe sometimes, I want to just lie down with someone I love in front of the fireplace while we talk about our scars and shit."
"It takes a lot of balls to admit that, Eric. I bet a lot of vampires feel that way," Bill said, not really believing it.
"You think?" Eric asked.
"I'm a geek," Bill shot back. "I do more thinking than anything else."
"Tell you what, Compton. Hand over the thong, and I'll let you borrow Pam for tonight."
"Didn't you say she's passed out?"
"Like she gives a shit. Go ahead, really. I'll even let you borrow my room, since the sun is only a few hours away."
Bill wondered why he'd need more than fifteen minutes, but happily agreed and tossed over the thong. He zipped up the stairs with his vampire speed, ready to claim his first real meal!
Eric smirked at the younger vampire and, after snacking on a drunk, shaggy looking man he found in his driveway, retired to the basement, plotting his own mission: Operation Seduce Sookie Stackhouse.
The entire Stackhouse family slept late into the afternoon the next day to be ready for the late night wedding (apparently the Norrises had some vampire... associates.) By 5pm the residence was a-bustle with activity as the family prepared to attend their beloved Jason's wedding, with one notable exception.
"Yes, Lam Dog Sam," Grandpa Mitchell said into the phone, the local Sheriff on the other end. "What was he wearing? Let's see... he had on a pair of overalls... *pause* No, no shirt... *pause* No, he's not a member of Dexy's Midnight Runners, whoever they are... *pause* No! He's not a Deliverance variety redneck, either. He mows the lawn and plays musical instruments... *pause* No, no, I don't think banjo is one of them."
Sookie headed up the stairs after spending the night on the couch, and was met on her way to her room by Corbett.
"Sookie," her Dad said in an apologetic tone, "I feel like such a jerk. We forgot your birthday."
Sookie smiled, "It's okay, Dad. I'm not that upset about it anymore."
"Your brother's wedding has turned this house inside out. I'm really sorry, kiddo."
Sookie hugged her father, feeling mildly better, and headed into her room. She flopped on her bed, picking up the phone to call Amelia.
"Hey, Sook," Amelia answered, knowing who was on the other end when the 'Oops, I Did It Again' ringtone sounded.
"Hey. I'm just getting ready for this wedding. Ugh, you should see this horrid bridesmaid dress I have to wear," Sookie groaned, looking at the tight-bodiced dress with flared prairie skirt hanging on her closet door. A pair of bright red cowboy boots sat on the floor below. "At least I'm all set if we ever go to a hoedown," she snorted.
"Oh shit, speaking of dances..." Amelia hesitated.
Amelia took a deep breath, "My little brother paid twenty bucks at the dance last night to see your underwear."
Sookie's horrified scream echoed through the house just as Mitchell was hanging up with the police officer. "Damn kids and their rock and roll," he grumbled to Henry.
"Unfortunately, it's here to stay," Henry replied. "Although, I must say I'm rather fond of that Elvis."
"He's still alive, you know," Ethel said.
"No!" Mitchell gasped incredulously.
Ethel nodded, "Yes! I actually spotted him at the animal shelter! Sweet boy was rescuing a bunch of cats."
An hour later the family was piling into the Hummer stretch limo they'd rented, ready to leave for the church. As they packed themselves in like passengers on a Japanese subway, they caught a whiff of something decidedly pungent... it smelled like stale beer and wet... Dog? Indeed, Lam Dog Sam had wrapped himself around a tree almost amorously, and had pieces of bark implanted deep in his cheek.
Grandpa Mitchell, after a moment of being impressed that anyone could pass out against a tree while standing up, noticed that while Dog had parked himself on the tree, one other item was conspicuously not parked. He strode over purposefully, whistling to get the exchange student's attention. "Dog," he intoned ominously, "Where is my Cadillac?"
"Caddy Shack," replied Dog, still thoroughly plied with alcohol.
"Dog, answer me: where is my Cadillac?"
"Gotta yak," giggled the shaggy one.
"Fond du Lac."
"You're saying my vehicle is in Wisconsin, Dog?"
"Caddy went skinny dipping," laughed Dog, and that was about all Mitchell could get out of him. Dog promptly passed out, face down in the dirt.
Determined not to waste the five grand he'd spent on this wedding, Corbett quickly rushed everyone back into the limo, and they sped off to the church.
As the ushers saw the wedding guests to their seats, one couldn't help but notice the difference between the bride's side and the groom's side of the pews. On the groom's side were a number of proper Southern families, genteel members of groups like the Descendants of the Glorious Dead. On the bride's side were a number of people who looked as though they used their broken televisions as stands for their working televisions, and who thought toothbrushes were novelty items.
Once this motley congregation was settled, the town drunk, Jane Bodehouse, began displaying her talents with the organ. As the crowd hushed, anticipating the appearance of the bride, the guests became aware of a commotion in the preparation room. As the commotion continued, Sookie scurried down the aisle to take her place. She noticed Jason's best man, Dove Beck, conspicuously adjusting himself as Jane broke into 'Here Comes the Bride.'
Crystal began clomping out while Calvin desperately tried to hold her back and get her a little more pulled together, but his efforts were hampered by the splint that immobilized his recently broken hand. The guests couldn't help but notice that Crystal seemed a little... off. She had adopted a wide stance that would put Larry Craig to shame, and she was walking like the love child of Clint Eastwood and Annie Oakley.
"Crystal, pull yourself together!" hissed Calvin.
"Calvin, everyone can HEAR you," spat Maryelizabeth furiously. "Do you really want everyone to know about her Brazilian wax disaster?"
Well, everyone knew now. Indeed, poor Crystal had been determined to pamper herself before the big day with a massage, mani, pedi, facial, and a professional wax job. Unfortunately, she discovered that she was allergic to the wax preparation, which made walking uncomfortable, to say the least. With the aid of modern pharmaceuticals, she'd decided she'd just make the best of the situation.
"I know what you're thinking!" Crystal shouted as she John Wayned her way down the aisle. "Did she take three muscle relaxants, or did she take four? Well, to tell you the truth, in the hubbub, I kind of lost track myself!"
The crowd laughed, and Jason grinned broadly as his bride-to-be approached to exchange vows with him.
"That's my Crystal!" he beamed, holding out his hand proudly.
"Do you feel lucky, punk?" she asked him. And apparently, he did.
After the ceremony, Jason and Crystal made their way through the cheering crowd outside. The groom's side threw the traditional rice, while the bride's shot off six-shooters.
Eric, who'd set out the moment the sun went down to track Sookie (with the aid of her lusciously scented panties,) honed in on the noise which was coming from the same direction. Reaching the church, he zipped his red Corvette into a parallel parking space Blues Brothers style. Sookie's scent was close, and he was keyed up, ready to claim his din... er, prize.
As the cars began peeling away from the church, Sookie, who'd smartly stayed inside the vestibule to avoid stray bullets, stared in awe as she spotted the blond Viking of her dreams, leaning against the Corvette. Eric crooked a finger toward her, waggling his eyebrows.
"Me?" Sookie mouthed incredulously.
Eric smirked, "Oh yes, lover. You."
In a perfect Scarlett moment, Sookie promptly fainted. Luckily for her, Eric's vampire speed allowed for him to catch her, sweeping her up Rhett style.
Sookie's father shot the Viking a knowing look as Eric nodded in his direction. The reception was about to have one fewer guest.
"Thanks for getting my undies back," Sookie said, smiling at Eric as they sat, cross-legged, on top of his dining room table.
"Thanks for coming over," Eric returned.
"Thanks for coming to get me," Sookie blushed.
Eric looked down at the cake sitting between them, "Happy Birthday, Sookie."
Sookie dipped her finger into the frosting, moaning softly as she licked it from her finger. "How did you know what flavor I liked?"
"I took a guess that you'd be a lemon girl," Eric smoldered.
"I do love a good lemon."
Eric's fangs ran down a little. "Make a wish," he said, gesturing to the lone birthday candle.
Sookie paused for a moment, pondering, then bit shyly at her lower lip. "Do you... have a nice shower?"
Eric grinned, "Oh, yes."
A huge smile spread across Sookie's face... and she blew out the candle.
All her wishes came true.
A/N: This ficlet was written as part of the Support Stacie auction, in which fanfic authors offered stories written to the winning bidder's personal specifications. The auction raised over $25,000 in total to help support a fellow author battling cancer. To learn more about this cause and about future auctions, please visit:
supportstacie (DOT) net
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or stories from the Southern Vampire Mysteries – they belong solely to Charlaine Harris. No infringement is intended.