If I didn't love my master, I'd never step foot in Louisiana. The humans here seem even worse than the humans in Minnesota. I'm comprising a list to present to Eric in hopes of convincing him to move. I ignore the fang-banger wiggling her ID in my face so that I can finish item number 8.
Why You Should Listen To Your Child and Move Out of this God-Forsaken State: By. Pam
1) At least 5 out of 10 humans here are obese. I don't do any pushin, so I don't need the extra cushion.
2) Everyone acts like Wal-Mart is an acceptable place to buy clothes. Its not.
3) The food they cook here smells especially disgusting. Even if you happen upon someone decent to snack on, when you get closer you realize they smell like fried chicken.
4) In addition to 3, Cajun seasoning makes blood taste rancid.
5) There are fewer lesbians here.
6) The lesbians that are here are generally stupid, as all smart lesbians have moved north.
7) People here sweat more. Not only can't they take they heat, but they also can't get out of the kitchen (see point 1).
8) The teenage pregnancy rate is so high that it's hard to find a 20-year-old without stretch marks.
I look over the list, proud I found a way to include two silly human phrases. Eric and I have a contest going to see who can use the most and I'm determined to win. So far Eric says he's winning, but I don't think he's even saying them right. Last night, when a potential meal turned me down because she was "straight" (I darken the period on number 5), he shouted something across the bar about "crashing and burning" and then told me to "get up on my horse and dust off, because there are other fish in the sea."
I'm almost certain that he got the phrase wrong, but I mistakenly agreed to let Ginger be the judge and she always just goes along with whatever "master" says. I'm about to work myself up about how stupid Ginger is again, when I'm distracted from my mental ramblings by the sound of disgruntled vermin and a delicious smell.
I look up, and am surprised to see a tiny human child making her way up the line. Her hair is blonde, the exact same shade as Eric's I notice, and she is barefoot and wearing wet pajamas. The pajamas have cats on them, I think; it's hard to tell because the majority of her is covered in mud. Despite this, she seems to be the source of the tasty smell.
"Excuse me mister," she says, as she passes a lanky Goth in a dog collar.
"Pardon me ma'am," she states, as she scoots past a brunette wearing a pleather mini skirt and nipple tassels.
As she gets closer, I notice that she's got a very pretty face for a mini-human. She has a cute little nose with a few light freckles running over the bridge, pink lips, round cheeks, and bright blue eyes. I also notice that her eyes and nose are red from crying.
"You," I point at a bleach-blonde in fishnets that is deliberately blocking the girl's path, "let the micro-human through."
I'm excited, but I can't even explain to myself why. While its true we never get little humans at Fangtasia, I normally hate them, so the novelty doesn't explain my improved mood. I credit the mouth-watering smell with my good spirits, and begin to devise a way to get Eric to let me break the "no biting small humans" rule.
"Hello there little girl," I say, flashing fang. "I'm going to go out on a limb here (Ha! Another phrase… I nod to the human bouncer so he can make note of it) and say that you are not 21."
"No ma'am," she says, in a rather sweet southern accent, "I'm 7."
"Well, little girl, this is not the place for you," I state, and I'm surprised to find that my voice actually sounds gentle. "Feel free to come back when you're 21 and practice safe-sex in the meantime" (I lightly trace over the last item on my list with my pen).
"Please don't say the S word, my Gran says its naughty. And I can't come back later," she pauses and looks me in the eye, "I need to see Mr. Eric."
I'm taken off-guard for the second time tonight. How does she know Eric? I'm going through likely scenarios in my head and get nothing. If I were going on hair color alone, I'd say that we were in for a live version of Maury in which Eric finds out that, yes, he is the father. However, Eric is a vampire so, no…Then I remember the bar started running TV commercials last week. Maybe she saw Eric in one of the ads and developed a crush on him. Is my maker the new Justin Bieber?
"I'm sorry, Eric is very busy. Perhaps you could find someone a little shorter to like?" Then, after I glance around again, "Where are your parents?"
I immediately know I've made some sort of mistake when the girl starts leaking.
"That's why I need to talk to Mr. Eric. Please just let me talk to him!" She's sobbing now and the fragrant smell of her delectable tears is somewhat marred by the river of snot running out of her nose. Lovely.
"Now little human," I stop and thwack her on the shoulder, "You need to stop leaking. I'll let you talk to Eric, but first you need to tell me who you are and why you need him."
She looks up at me again, wiping her tears away and rubbing her runny nose on her hand. "I'm Sookie Stackhouse ma'am. And I'm…" her eyes dart to the floor and her face takes on a crimson shade. "Well, I need Eric cause I'm gonna be his lover."
I burst out laughing, startling the vermin who have never even seen me crack a smile. This little scenario will not only provide ammunition against my maker for weeks, but it also gives me plenty of applicable human phrases to use. "Robbing the cradle" is already on the tip of my tongue and I know there will be others. So with a wicked gleam in my eye I allow the girl, Sookie, to pass and I regally state, "Follow me, mistress."
I'm sure Eric can hear my cackling all the way back in his office.