So, this is my multi-chapter promo fic for the I Write the Songs Contest hosted by my wonderful beta, Northwoman - who beta'd this story! So thanks, woman!

And as for the contest, I'm gonna be a judge! How cool is that?

Anyway, what began as an idea for a one-shot grew into a multi-chapter fic, just two days ago. Who'da thunk sticking to a 12,000 word limit would be difficult! LOL! But, like I told Northwoman, I love words and I was finding it increasingly difficult to tell the story I wanted to tell in so few of them.

She twisted my arm (she really didn't) and talked me into turning my one-shot into a multi-chapter story.

So, that said, you'll be getting one chapter of this each Tuesday till it's finished. I'll give you a guestimate of about 10-12 chapters. I'm currently almost done with chapter 7. I'll also tease the chapters each week before posting them, on my blog. I think I'll do that on Tuesdays as well, so I'll post a snippet from chapter two, tonight. Watch out for that.

For those that don't follow it, there's a link on my fanfiction(dot)net profile.

So now, back to the contest ...

The contest is not just accepting one-shot entries this year. It's accepting multi-chapter entries as well - hence this promo-fic!

So, this is the time where I say, if you are inspired by a song to write, you should enter this contest. If you aren't, then turn on your radio and I bet you will be, and then you can enter too ...

Check out the contest profile page http : / www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net/u/2491610/I_Write_The_Songs.

There you'll find other great promo fics and a list of the rules.

I really hope you all enjoy my story, but before we get to it, I gotta say Charlaine Harris owns SVM, not me. I'm just having a little fun with her characters. Also, the song Changes belongs to David Bowie! It's a great song, so if you don't know it, go check it out! Also, this is a mature story. If you can't handle recreational drug use or what I'll call functioning alcoholism, this may not be the story for you, although there's a lot more to it than that ... (hint ... it's called Changes)


Part 1: Changes Come When You Least Expect Them

It was a sunny, summer morning in the Garden District, when music erupted from the alarm, which sat on a bedside table, in the home of Eric Northman. At the very same time, in a loft a few blocks over in the Warehouse District, the same exact song unwelcomely jarred Sookie Stackhouse out of an Ambien induced stupor.

Little did either of them realize at the time, the significance of the song which woke them, or the fact their lives were about to become intertwined, forever.

*s*S*s*

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes

Eric rolled over, groaning at the pounding in his head – which the annoying song roaring from his clock radio only made worse. He fucking hated David Bowie.

Turn and face the strange

He'd barely slept at all; hence the fact he felt like complete and utter shit.

He was in complete denial.

Neither finishing an entire bottle of scotch on his own, nor the fact he was laying his only friend to rest today had anything to do with the way he felt, though; at least not as far as he was concerned.

Ch-ch-chan –

He slipped his hand out from under the covers, reaching over to turn off the alarm, kicked the covers from his legs, and then swung his legs around, sitting up on the edge of the bed. As he stretched and yawned, he knew it was too early to be up and he'd be paying for that later, but he also had no choice but to get up and face the day.

"Come back to bed," a sleepy, yet seductive voice purred, as a slender and dainty, tattooed arm reached out and wrapped around his waist.

Ginger.

He'd almost forgotten about his head waitress, whom he'd finally yielded to last night. She'd been on his nuts, trying to fuck him, since they'd first met and she was about as hot as they came – all tatted up, and as he'd just discovered, pierced too - but he didn't make a habit out of fucking employees.

That is until last night.

Pam was so going to kill him.

But wait.

She couldn't, now, could she.

He didn't remember much after the bar closed. He'd spent the majority of the night in his office, kept company by Excel spreadsheets and the obscenely expensive bottle of scotch Pam, his late business partner and dearest friend, had given him for his last birthday. Once the bar closed and he'd thought sure he was alone, he'd made his way out to the bar, only to be interrupted and very surprised by Ginger and as they say, the rest was history.

History he'd rather forget.

He never should have fucked her in the first place, but he'd been in a bad way with everything that had happened and between haste and inebriation, he'd made a really bad decision. He also realized his failure to send her home directly afterward, had been just as bad. He needed to take a page from the book of the guys on "Jersey Shore," he thought. He should have called a cab a few hours ago before either of them had fallen asleep.

He stood up and strode to his bathroom, ignoring Ginger completely, aside from tossing her arm away as he stood, in hopes she'd take the hint.

She did.

When he emerged from the bathroom, showered and shaved, she was gone and he was very, very glad. He preferred to live his life in solitude and needed that this morning more than anything.

*s*S*s*

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes

Turn and face the strange

Ch –ch- changes

Just gonna have -

"Fuck me," Sookie mumbled as her hand flew over and slammed down onto the clock so hard it flew off the side of the nightstand, landing between it and the bed. Her eyes never even opened, she didn't feel rested, nor did she want to get up. In fact, she felt like shit, so it was no surprise when she rolled right back over; almost immediately falling right back to sleep.

Until over an hour later.

"Wake up, Bitch! We got places to be!" Lafayette called out as he ripped the covers off her body. He couldn't help laughing over the fact she was wearing only paint splatters and one sock.

He'd truly seen it all, now.

She didn't budge.

"Sookie, wake up!" he all but shouted. "We're gonna be late!"

Still nothing.

He'd noticed the pill bottle on the nightstand by the bed and initially, hadn't thought anything of it. Although she partook socially, it wasn't like her to overdo it on anything other than alcohol – which she'd definitely done last night - but now he was seriously debating if he should be concerned.

"Sookie … Sookie," he shouted, nudging her far from gently. "Get up, girl. I don't need this shit today!"

The nudging and shouting did it. After a moment, she roused slightly; her eyes opening, just barely. "Don't wanna," she mumbled.

He rolled his eyes and shook his head. "You have to," he informed her matter-of-factly, waving his finger at her. He picked up the bottle of pills from her nightstand and shook it. "How many of these did you take?"

They hadn't been prescribed to her, but he'd figured that much already. Claude Crane, the name on the label read. Figures, he thought. Claude had been over when he'd left the night before and he had prescriptions for everything and was always more than willing to share. Ironically, he didn't really even need any of it.

"I don't know," she slurred, still not quite all there. "Two … maybe three." She wiped at her eyes and yawned then very slowly, attempted to sit up.

"No wonder you're a fucking zombie right now," he mumbled under his breath, shaking his head, as he sat the pill bottle back down on the nightstand then took a seat on the bed beside her. "Look, you gotta get moving. We got a funeral to go to and if we're late Pammie'll haunt our asses."

Sookie just sat there, slumped against her headboard, wearing her sock, completely immodest and way too fucked up to care. "I can't go like this," she managed.

"No shit, baby girl. Not with those big ole fun bags hanging out." Lafayette chuckled. "They may be spectacular, but that don't mean I wanna look at'em all day, so let's get you up and dressed." He nodded.

Lafayette's point was valid, but that wasn't what Sookie had meant. She was aware she needed to put clothes on, but she'd actually been talking about the fact she was about to fall over and she felt like she wanted to puke. There was no way she'd make it into the shower, much less take one. "I don't think I can." She couldn't even hold her head up. In fact, as she spoke, she'd tried to shake it, but that didn't even work right.

"Sure you can," he encouraged, nodding. "I got a little treat for us." He pulled out a tiny, powder-filled zip lock baggie from his pants pocket and shook it in the air, smiling wide. "I figured we'd need us a little somethin'-somethin' today." He winked. "Guess I was right."