saturday night and the moon is out

[feel_human]

Tucked away off the road in Bon Temps, there's a road house. Warm light spills from its windows, and the sound of a jukebox playing drifts out into the muggy Louisiana night. The regular assortment of trucks and Hail-Mary-please-keep-this-lemon-goin'-just-a-little-longer cars sit in the dirt parking lot; what amounts to about half the town's small population... or, at least, of those of the 'drinking age and above' persuasion.

Inside, it's a bar of the type scattered all across the American South: homey, no-nonsense. Booths and tables. A man in a plaid flannel shirt wiping the bar; a crossdresser in the kitchen singing Gospel hymns and rolling his hips in time with the words just to scandalize the prep cook. A handful of waitresses, bustling about.

Sookie makes her way briskly through it all, a tray balanced on her palm and her eyes kept stubbornly front, as voices swarm around her. Aloud, and... less so.

...I’m just going to have one beer tonight Jesus one beer that’s all...

...better not gripe about me eating fries not after what I did for him last night...

...I cannot wait to get the hell out of this podunk town...

 

 "Well, make sure you do, and before it’s too late," she responds, thoughtless, to the young man. "Because every year you wait? You just get more and more stuck here. Believe me, I know."

He stares at her. So do his parents.

So does the other table. And she realizes, too little too late, that he hadn't said that out loud, not at all. She laughs, uncomfortable. "I’ll get y'all some ketchup," she says, brightly, and flees, ponytail swinging against the nape of her neck as she goes.

Stupid, Sookie, she chides herself. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

 

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[feel_human]

She takes the glass with a nod. "Okay. Help yourself to the shower, or anythin' else. I'll meet up with you when I'm finished."

With a little wave, she heads back up to the house, empty glass in hand and her mind resolutely focused on the few chores she has left to do. No sense in worrying about anything else just yet.

[gavemea_45]

He looks after her for a second before he starts the mower again and gets back to work.

Damn that bloodsucker, anyway.

It doesn’t take long to finish. Sam wheels the mower back to the shed and ducks inside to clean up. A quick shower, a change of clothes, and he’ll be all set.

[feel_human]

She's out back, hanging clothes and sheets on the lines when he comes to put the mower away, and waves to him with one hand holding a clothespin, the other keeping a corner of a sheet from flying off the line, another clothespin awaiting its turn for service in her mouth. The clothes will all smell so sweet, drying out here in the sun with the scent of a fresh-mowed lawn around them, and she's satisfied with the neat line of laundry ruffling in the breeze when she's finished.

Then it's whisking herself back in for a glass of water and a shower, before she rough-dries her hair and brushes it into sleek waves that she can braid loosely back. If they're just walking over to the old Compton place first, she decides, she won't get all dressed up. She chooses a little denim skirt and white floral tank top and slips her feet into her light sneakers before running lightly down the stairs.

[gavemea_45]

He looks up as she starts down the stairs, and his eyes light with appreciation.

“Hey.”

[feel_human]

"Hi."

She takes the last few steps, her hand lingering on the stair rail, and smiles at him. "Ready?"

[gavemea_45]

He knows she’s just been working too, so how can it be that she looks so fresh and pretty? Sam glances down at himself. The best thing he can say about his t-shirt-plus-long-sleeved shirt and jeans is that it’s all clean and covers the knife on his arm.

“Ready when you are.”

[feel_human]

Her smile warms, and she ducks her head into the living room, where Adele is looking through the morning paper. "Gran, Sam 'n I are goin' for a walk. We'll be back before lunch, okay?"

"Okay, honey," comes the reply. "You two have fun, now."

Straightening, Sookie looks back at Sam and tips her head toward the front door, then leads him out over the porch and into the bright morning air. "We'll go along the path, 'stead of driving," she says, practical. "I guess if he was out last night, he probably didn't take a car."

[gavemea_45]

“Probably not,” Sam agrees. “If he’s there, he should be asleep, but be careful anyway.”

He glances over at her as they start in the direction of the path. “Some lore says that some of them can be aware in the day, if they’re strong enough. I always thought that was kind of like a hunter’s ghost story, but it doesn’t hurt to keep an eye out.”

[feel_human]

She leads him over the freshly mown grass of the side lawn to a path between the trees that leads to the old churchyard, and glances up at him as they step into the dappled light under the leaves.

"What makes 'em stronger or not?"

[gavemea_45]

“Age, mostly. They’re pretty damn strong to start with, but the older they get, the tougher they are.” He keeps pace at her side, scanning the forest around them.

“Silver weakens them, like I said before. Most of what we know comes from the hunters who’ve come up against them and lived. And the records of those who didn’t.”

[feel_human]

"I wonder how old Bill is," she muses, watching with interest as he looks around them, unsure what signs he might be seeing or looking for.

"He looked kinda old-fashioned, I guess, but it's hard to tell. Some people dress that way on purpose."

[gavemea_45]

“You said there was a history center of some kind in town?” Sam looks around again, then at her. “Library records maybe? If he’s really from around here we might find him that way.”

[feel_human]

"I wouldn't say history center, exactly," she tells him. "But there is a library, and plenty of records, there and at the town hall."

The path gives way to the field she'd mentioned to Bill the night before, and she angles their walk across it, towards the moody, moss-draped cemetery beyond. "Actually, Gran might be a help. She belongs to this club... they call themselves the 'Descendants of the Glorious Dead."

She glances at him, aware of her own thoughts on the club and its name, but wary of judgment from an outsider. "And they're real interested in the town history. If Bill really is a Compton, and from here, I'm sure they'd be able to find it out."

[gavemea_45]

Sam stares at her in confusion for a second. “Why are they glorious?”

He shakes his head a little, returning to the bigger question. “Maybe they could. People know all kinds of things.” He gives her a sideways look. “Would your grandmother… would she believe us if we told her?”

[feel_human]

She shakes her head, uncomfortable. "People around here get kinda... romantic about the war," she tells him. "And I don't mean any of the recent ones. I mean the Civil War."

The one even Gran still calls 'The war for Southern Independence,' much to Tara's annoyance. "The club's a whole bunch of Bon Temps folk who had ancestors who fought in it."

His other question is harder, and she gives it some real thought as they walk through the summer-green field toward the murky shade of the churchyard. "Maybe," she says, finally. "She knows about what I can do, and that's at least as weird as vampires. And you know that quote, about there bein' more things in heaven and earth? She's always sort of lived by it. And she knows I wouldn't tell her such a story without there bein' some truth to it."

[gavemea_45]

“Oh.” He takes a second to absorb that, then says, practically, “Well, then they might be a good source of information.”

Sam pauses before they reach the churchyard, catching at her arm to stop her as well as he looks for signs of disturbance.

“And it might not be a bad thing for her to know not to invite him in.”

[feel_human]

She comes to a halt at the light touch of his hand and looks up at him.

"You're right," she agrees, and looks a little rueful. "You may have noticed Gran's real hospitable. And I couldn't see anythin' wrong with Bill's manners last night. You know... before. If he came by there's no doubt but that she'd invite him in."

[gavemea_45]

“She’s amazing. But yeah, we want you to be safe there. If something happens - if she did - you can revoke the invitation and it’s supposed to make them leave. I’ve never seen it, though, so it’s better for him not to get in to start.”

Sam looks the churchyard over carefully. Nothing stands out, but better safe than sorry.

[feel_human]

She looks from him to the quiet graveyard and back again. "You think it's safe to go through?"

[gavemea_45]

“It looks okay,” he says. “I just wanted to see if there were any disturbances.” He looks a little uncomfortable, but continues gamely, “Unexplained new graves. Old ones dug up. That kind of thing.”

[feel_human]

"If there were a new, unexplained grave, we probably woulda heard about it already," she tells him, and heads into the graveyard. "It'd be a whole sensation. Not much gets missed around here."

[gavemea_45]

“Gossip spreads pretty fast, huh?”

He looks down at her as they walk.

[feel_human]

"It's a better source of news than the paper," she confirms, and takes him along the pretty grass-lined path through the churchyard, the trees all hung with moss around them. "Sometimes seems people here don't have a lot to do besides be nosy about their neighbors. Believe me, as the town crazy girl, I know."

[gavemea_45]

“I believe you.” It’s a pretty path, and one of the nicer graveyards he’s seen.

“Do people bother you a lot? Like that jerk last night?”

[feel_human]

"Which one?" she asks, honestly unsure, which probably answers his question. After a second of reflection, her mouth makes a soft o of understanding. "Oh, Mack. Well – "

It's awkward, talking about this. She doesn't want his pity, but he may as well know, seeing as he's hitched himself to her cart. "I try not to let it bother me. I know I make people uncomfortable. My own mother was scared of me."