#glamfangs

“Good evening,” she giggles softly as she turns in his arms to face him, and he is greeted not only by her bright blue eyes but the kiss she offers as well. He happily accepts it, deepening it before she pushes gently against his chest and he pulls away. Pam’s eyes search his for a moment before they glance around the richly decorated guest room they have been gifted. “When did we make it to the bed?” she asks innocently, arching her brow as Eric’s deep chuckle rings out.

“Right after you fell asleep during your bath,” he explains with a wide smile, “Which means I won our bet.”

“Does not,” Pam says, shaking her head adamantly even as her smile grows.

“I told you that you wouldn’t make it to the bed,” Eric reminds her, his eyes wide, “And you didn’t. You fell asleep in the tub.”

“But I’m in the bed now,” Pam reminds him with a flourish, gesturing to the silk sheets and blankets surrounding them, “So, technically, I won; and you helped me.” She giggles as Eric merely sighs, draping an arm across his eyes; both of them aware that there was never any question of who would win. But Eric eventually peers out from under his arm as she shoves him to his back and climbs to sit astride him. He arches a brow as she pouts down at him and he wonders what he could have possibly done wrong within the first minute of waking this time. “Min prins,” she says softly, her lower lip almost trembling, “You didn’t get me a Valentine’s Day present.”

“I certainly did,” Eric says conversationally, “I got you--”

“Your dick doesn’t count,” Pam interrupts flatly, holding her finger up as if he doesn’t try this at least once a year.

But Eric merely blinks, waiting until she lowers her finger. “It was safely tucked away in this room,” he tells her, “Until someone didn’t want to be fucked in this room and made us leave.” He arches a brow as Pam glares down at him, “You really only have yourself to blame, Pamela.”

“But we came back to the room,” Pam argues, thumping his chest in accusation, “And you didn’t give it to me.”

“I didn’t have time,” Eric says, his eyes twinkling in mirth. Deliberately, he lifts his hand so that Pam turns her head to watch. Wiggling his fingers he places it back on the sheets near his head, sliding it along the bed until it disappears under Pam’s pillow. Pulling it back out, he now has a small, red, velvet box between his fingers, “You did say you’d make it to bed.”

“Gimme,” Pam squeals, reaching for the box that Eric holds over his head, just out of her grasp.

“What was that about?” Nathan asks as he steps into his place beside her, his eyes narrowed in confusion as he stares out across the water.

“You wouldn’t get it,” Diantha whispers, swallowing as she finds her throat oddly hoarse. 

“You could go talk to them, you know,” Nathan reminds her again as he crosses his arms across his chest, a worried expression turning his lips downward, “I don’t understand why--”

“Because it’s not the time,” Diantha says, ending the conversation with the command in her words. And it isn’t the time; not least of all because she is not entirely sure anyone could drag her away again. But it’s certainly not the time to bring her own war to them, her own troubles that she had always expected. Not time to break the delicate bubble of healing they are in; and unwilling to do so. “You’ll make sure they land safely?” she instead asks him, arching her brow as she turns to him.

“Personally,” Nathan assures his sister, “Alric is aware of the...additional security...you will be providing; though he has been warned that they will not interfere directly without your word.” Here Diantha nods her head, a smile twisting her lips; knowing how much they both wanted to go home, and now they finally can.

“Good,” Diantha murmurs, nodding her head again as she inhales the sweet air of the sea, “We should be getting back.”

“Why?” Nathan asks, both of them slipping easily back into their roles as siblings as he makes a kissing sound with his lips, “Do you miss that tall and handsome asshole with the long legs?”

“I’m more worried we’re missing my mother’s dinner,” Diantha drawls with a roll of her eyes as she reaches out to take her brother’s hand with a wink, “And he’s not that handsome.”

“You show him too much favor,” Nathan mumbles, “He’s going to think he’ll have a throne right beside yours.”

“There is one thing, and one thing only that comes before my hatred of having a king beside me,” Diantha hisses, though Nathan only smirks at the fire in her eyes as she does, “And that is my hatred of marrying.”

Before Nathan can respond their attention snaps to the base of the cliff where the vampire they had been watching reappear. There is a clatter and splash; and Diantha can see that the watering can they carried has mysteriously been turned over Bastille’s head. She rolls her eyes as Eric’s innocent whistle, Pam’s laughter, and Bastille string of curses can be heard far and wide. Diantha’s last words before her brother whisks her away, back to the cold winter of North Dakota, are spoken in a fond whisper.

“Those assholes.”

As the blood turns in the small window of the microwave Eric strides across the kitchen, his sweatpants that he donned when he rose hanging dangerously low on his hips. But he makes his way to the front door all the same, opening it and allowing a burst of the chilly air into the house. He hums to himself as he walks, barefoot, through the light dusting of snow on the walkway, all the way to the mailbox by the front gate. He can feel the instant that he passes through Diantha’s wards; the temperature dropping a few degrees and the sounds of a neighborhood preparing to settle in for the night amplifying. He doesn’t look up as he reaches inside the metal box, swiftly pulling out the few envelopes; but as he always does the moment he steps out of the wards that protect the house, he can feel eyes on him. Each and every time he does try to look for the watchers, he sees nothing; but he’s sure they report back to the demon who put the wards, and security, in place. He closes the mailbox with a snap before returning to the warmth of their home.

Eric tosses the bills that are in his name onto the counter as he reenters the kitchen, knowing that his credit cards will no doubt cover whatever Pam decided she desperately needed for her wardrobe, or his. But there is one thick envelope that stands out from the others; it’s heavy, glossed paper drawing his attention. He smiles down at the elegant script gracing the front, wondering if he will ever lose the wonder he sees at his and Pam’s names together.

It’s only a few minutes later that Eric is climbing the stairs to their bedroom, the mugs and envelope safely in his hands. He returns to their bed, perfectly on time to watch Pam’s eyes open for the fist time. “Good evening, prinsessa,” he murmurs as she sits up, leaning over to press a kiss against her lips. She returns the greeting, accepting the steaming mug of blood with eager hands. He waits until she takes a sip, and only then does he toss the heavy envelope, unopened, into her hands. He has an accurate suspicion of who sent it; in fact, has been waiting for such a thing since they landed in Alric’s territory.

Though he knows Pam will miss her friend, there is no doubting the excitement that he can feel buzzing in their blood bond; a feeling that he is echoing as well. Still, her lips are turned down in a worried frown as she and Bastille remain with their heads bent together, already making plans for when his banishment is over. “Six months,” Eric growls as he still adds to the pile of luggage, causing Bastille to glare at him with dark eyes. But Eric merely arches his brow, pointing at him in warning as he makes another trip to the car, “Or I’ll have you deported.”

Sniffing regally, Bastille waves away Eric’s threat. “You cannot have a king deported, savage,” he says in a way that Eric is sure he has not been the first to threaten such a thing, “Think of the war that could create.”

Rolling his eyes Eric takes the last item, Marilyn’s carrier, out of the car and sets it down on the sidewalk. Even Marilyn seems excited at the prospect of returning to his homeland as he merely blinks his blue eyes up at Eric instead of hissing. “Pam,” he calls, holding up the carrier as she leaves her friend’s side to collect her cat. She takes Marilyn out, cuddling him in her arms as Eric hands the carrier to another airport attendant. “It’s time to say goodbye,” he murmurs softly as Pam looks up at him, caught between sorrow and joy, “For real this time.”

Pam nods her head, smiling up at him as Marilyn but his head against her chin. Rolling his eyes Eric finally whispers, just loud enough for her to hear him, “Take your time. The plane isn’t going anywhere until we’re on it.” Her brow furrowing, Pam begins to shake her head; no doubt to remind Eric that he does not exactly own an airline. Eric arches a brow, still speaking quietly as Bastille confers with his guards about his own travel plans. “I didn’t buy all of the tickets on the flight,” he admits, “It’s a private plane.” 

“We were carrying the boxes!” Bastille tosses over his shoulder, not even bothering to look at Eric as he comes into the room. 

“Box,” Eric corrects as he pointedly sets down the two bags stuffed with even more boxes of decorations that he had been left to carry, “You each took one box.”

“You’re welcome,” Bastille says dramatically as he turns to face Eric, a length of garland in his hands before he laughs at what Eric assumes is a very good comeback and strides from the room with his nose in the air.

Eric’s sigh as he turns toward Pam ends in a smirk as he catches sight of her smiling up at him from her spot on the fur rug before the fireplace. His smirk softens into a smile as he sees the mirth and excitement that any gift-giving holiday instills in her, though he rolls his eyes since it is not lost on him that any holiday, or any day for that matter, is a reason for showering her in presents. “Where do you want this?” he asks in their brief respite from the French vampire who has been as annoying and as ornery as a bee in the past weeks he has stayed with them.

“In the corner,” Pam instructs him as she rises fluidly to her now bare feet, pointing to the corner closest to the fireplace. She watches from just behind him as Eric sets it into the holder they had purchased; and wordlessly Eric holds his hand out behind him for her to hand him the tree skirt she had picked out, not rising until the task is complete.

Though he is in short sleeves and Pam is wearing yet another sundress that seems to float around her, Eric cannot help but feel a bit nostalgic for the winter holiday. He lifts his arm as Pam comes to his side, tucking her beside him as she wraps her arms around his waist. “I still wish it was bigger,” she pouts, looking up at him with wide eyes.

“For the fifth time, Pamela,” Eric begins with a grin, “Evergreen trees aren’t exactly local around here.”

“Doesn’t matter,” she whines, just as she has the other times Eric told her the exact same thing; though thankfully this time Bastille is not around to join in on the whining, “I wanted a bigger tree.”

“Does it help if I assure you that the size of the tree will not affect the amount of presents beneath it?” Eric offers with a chuckle as Pam pretends to contemplate it. 

“More presents,” she tells him, causing him to laugh as he leans over, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, “To make up for the tree.”

“Don’t you have enough presents?” Eric asks, gesturing around the room where some of those gifts still are. “We’ve been celebrating your birthday for a month; you’ve gotten presents from the demon almost every day. You even got…” Eric swallows here, having to force himself to gesture toward the golden-wrought framed portrait that he has been explicitly banned from touching, “You even received a portrait…of Bastille…from Bastille.”

“You’re welcome, mon beau petit ange,” Bastille calls from where he has retreated to the kitchen, clearly under the impression that the portrait will following Eric and Pam when they leave.

Pam places her hand over her mouth at the look Eric gives her; and he hopes he conveys his misery at their house guest with his eyes alone. “Pam,” he whines in a whisper as he clasps her hands, holding them to his chest where he covers them with his own, “I would even trade him for the she-devil right now.” But even as he says this, his eyes are pulled from Pam’s amused expression to the mantle over the fireplace. Immediately, his eyes narrow at he recognizes the flash of red that shouldn’t be there. Keeping Pam’s hand in his he strides closer, reaching out to pick up the small ornament. The tiny little devil winks back at him in the light; though he’s quite sure the last place he ever saw it was in Iceland. Too late, and perhaps because over the years he had just been used to her, he can smell the spicy sent that Diantha always had; lingering lightly in the air. And while he’s quite certain there is no one else in the villa now, it seems she took it upon herself to deliver what she deemed the most important ornament. He rolls his eyes as he hands it over to Pam, knowing that the demon did not at least allow anyone else to follow her inside, no matter who actually brought her here. “See?” Eric asks, “At least she knows enough to annoy me from across the world.”

“If you truly will do nothing to help our plight...” Sophie-Anne begins, having to be held down in her seat by the hand of her only slightly older husband; both of them glaring at the demon they once spoke down to.

“I think you knew what my answer would be the moment you asked the question,” Diantha cuts across smoothly, her eyes rising to look blatantly at the ancient vampire who keeps to the shadows behind the desk. “In for a penny, in for a pound,” she murmurs, watching as Cassius’ dark eyes flash with anger; though he doesn’t dare open his mouth, “Isn’t that the saying, Sophie-Anne?”

The queen’s lips are pressed into a nearly invisible line as she holds back her anger; and if Diantha is right to assume, her humiliation at having one of the most hated criminals still in her household. “Very well,” she says tightly, gesturing toward one of the guards that line the back wall, “Show her out.”

“I can show myself out,” Diantha reminds her, halting the guard with a single finger in the air, “After I’m done. There are some things I need to collect from my old room.”

“Then he will show you there--” Sophie-Anne growls, gripping the desk with both hands in a way that Diantha is sure will cause the wood to crack.

“Again,” Diantha counters, “I know the way.” But there is a slight whisper, within her mind, that causes her to become silent for a moment.

“Take Xavier with you,” Nathan whispers mentally to her, “They’ll think you’re up to something.”

“I am up to something,” Diantha whispers back, her lips unmoving.

“They don’t need to know that,” comes Nathan’s voice, his exasperation evident, “I’ll stay here...your goodwill ambassador.” Diantha doesn’t answer, which only causes Nathan to sigh loudly in her mind. “Give them something to think they have some control,” he says, “Glad is still here.”

The reminder of her sister, the obvious person she is looking for to everyone but the vampires, steadies her. “Nathan will remain here until we leave,” she tells the vampires, slapping her hand against his chest, “My goodwill ambassador; and a promise that I’m not going to pull any shit.”

It’s only a minute later that Diantha is walking down the hallway that she knows like the back of her hand; Xavier following silently behind her. She’s unsurprised when a figure steps out of the shadows; welcoming it even. “Glad,” she whispers as her sister steps into view; though her once sweet face is warped with anger and malice, “Gladiola?”

“You dare to come here? After everything you’ve done?” Gladiola hisses, her hands curling into fists. A smile, a twisted version of one at least, crosses her lips. “Oh I see,” her sister growls, “You thought you’d come and collect me? That I’d come skipping out of here with you?”

“Glad--”

“Fuck you, Diantha,” Gladiola hisses, taking another step forward, “You killed him. Murdered him.” A hysterical laugh bubbles out, and she shakes her head from side to side. “And you were his favorite,” she reminds Diantha, “Out of all of us, you knew you were his favorite. It would have been yours eventually. But you had to take it; not let anyone else have a chance. You fucking traitor.”

“I’m not--”

“You married a vampire,” Gladiola spits, her eyes flashing black, “Do your little minions know that?” For the first time, Diantha’s heart clenches in her chest. “Where is he, Di?” she presses her, “Did you kill him, too? Did he have to die so you can play make-believe in Hell?”

“He’s safe,” Diantha murmurs, knowing it to be true. That it was necessary; and that a piece of her heart has been carved out, never to be returned. “He’s safe,” she repeats, “I want to keep you safe; please, Glad, you’re my sister.”

“No, I’m not,” Gladiola says, shaking her head, “And I’m not Nathan’s sister. And I have no uncle.” Smirking she crosses her arms over her chest, “And I have plenty of siblings to replace you with; worthier siblings.”

“Glad, please,” Diantha tries one last time, “I can keep you safe--”

“You’ll kill me, too!” Gladiola explodes; and in what seems like slow motion she launches herself even as Diantha doesn’t so much as raise her hands to block her.

“That’s enough,” comes the snarled hiss of Xavier as he catches Gladiola around the neck, easily tossing her away. The smaller demon skids across the floor, growling as she rises to her feet again. But she only snarls in Diantha’s direction once more before she disappears back into the shadows. 

Diantha doesn’t move, watching her little sister, whom she taught to walk in this very hallway, leave her. Swallowing, Diantha realizes she may have to cut another piece of her heart out; tossing it away to the safety of the abyss. She turns on her heel, not so much as looking at Xavier as she makes her way back to the main foyer.

“Didn’t you need to get something?” he asks softly as he falls into step behind her, allowing her as much privacy as he can. Suddenly, Diantha pulls up short, causing him to turn and look at her in alarm. The realization crashes down on her as she stares up at him; the real reason Nathan sent him along with her. Nathan knew that Gladiola would react in such a way, had been telling her for weeks. And he also knew that if she attacked, Diantha would have let her; that she would never attack her sister, even in defense. Blinking, Diantha shakes her head, swallowing thickly before she speaks and turns away from her past life.

“There’s nothing left here of mine.”

Pulling the door open, Eric is unsurprised to see yet another package, complete with the faint scent of sulfur, sitting inconspicuously on the front stoop of the villa. Marilyn sits atop this package as well, his tail curled around him as he stares up expectantly at Eric. But Eric can already see the name on the tag, and with a chuckle he bats the cat away. "This one isn't for you, fleabag," he mutters as Marilyn hisses; though still chooses to follow him back inside the house.

Carrying the package beneath his arm, Eric makes his way back through the villa, pausing by the double doors that lead to one of the balconies. With a deep breath, he pushes them open; letting the fresh sea air fill his lungs as he steps outside. The night is still warm, the stucco of the villa retaining the heat from the sun that has only just set. He swallows thickly, but the sadness that usually threatens to overwhelm him remains at bay; allowing him to drink in the beauty that his own maker once saw when he lived here over two thousand years ago.

His eyes slowly rise to the mountain that looms across the cove they are on the edge of; able to pick up the footpaths and humans that are even now walking upon them. His lips curls into a smile as he steps back inside the villa, leaving the doors wide open so that the fresh air flows through the house. Eric sets the package from the demon at the foot of the bed before he turns to delve into the shopping bags that line one of the walls, picking through the many dresses for the few articles he managed to hide from Pam.

"What the fuck are those?" Pam greets him as she awakens and sees him laying out an outfit beside her on the bed.

"Jeans," Eric answers innocently, "You certainly can't go hiking up Mount Lycabettus in a dress, sweetheart." He turns his face toward her with a grin, easily waylaying her from what seems to be a confused outburst by gesturing toward the edge of the bed and simply saying the magic words.

"That's enough," Diantha finally says, barely raising her voice and yet the table falls silent as Dana sweeps into the room, holding a plate of food as she all but ignores the creatures gathered at her table. At once, the demons gathered rise to their feet, plucking up the papers that litter the table before they take their leave; already used to the drill and the silent change in the room. Only Diantha, her uncle, and Nathan remain; the three of them rising to their feet and setting the table just as they have nearly every night since they returned to North Dakota.

With Hank joining them at the table, the strange family dinner begins; although at anyone looking in from the outside, it would seem horribly normal. There is the usual chatter, even laughter, as food is served and consumed; sounds that are soothing to Diantha as she slips back into her role of a daughter, sitting happily beside her mother.

"New Orleans?" she asks during a pause in the conversation, her eyes shifting to where Nathan sits across from her.

Shrugging, he wipes his mouth before he speaks. "He hasn't stepped foot out of the building, as far as we can see," Nathan reports in a bored tone, speaking of the many demon guards Diantha had sent with specific orders not to allow Cassius to step foot off the property of the royal estate there, "Although William Compton tried to ask us nicely to leave...and then had to send out reinforcements when he was laughed at."

"Reinforcements?" Diantha asks, her eyebrow arching before she takes another bite from her fork, "What reinforcements do they have against demons?" But even as she speaks the words, she knows exactly who they have.

Nathan nods his head, affirming what she already knows. "Gladiola picked a fight when she was ignored," he says softly, speaking quickly when he sees the alarm in Diantha's eyes, "She was not harmed, just as you ordered; the demon merely defended himself. She has nothing but a bruised ego, Di."

"You shouldn't care," her uncle says bluntly, causing both Diantha and Dana to narrow their eyes at the rotund man.

"Of course I care," Diantha hisses, ignoring the warning hand of her mother on hers, "She's my baby sister. She's your niece. Of course I fucking care." Breathing deeply, Diantha falls back into her chair, pushing away her still full plate of food. "Was she told I was asking for her?" she questions Nathan after a few moments, "Did you tell her that her place is by my side?"

Nathan nods his head quickly, and Diantha instantly recognizes that she will not like his next words. "She...she's stubborn," he begins, smirking as Diantha merely blinks at this statement, "She's not coming, Di. She's angry. She's confused."

"What did she say?" Diantha asks, wanting to know every detail.

Nathan shakes his head again, but with a sigh he knows he won't win with silence. "She said...she said her place is beside her father...and that your place should be six feet in the dirt," he finally says, his lips twisting into a grimace as he knows the pain he is inflicting, "As any loyal daughter would know."

A silence falls over the table, and Diantha finds that for once she has no words. It is Dana who speaks up after several minutes, patting her daughter's warm hand. "She'll come around," she says softly, "She's still grieving."

Diantha merely nods her head, knowing that there is something deeper at play but not wanting to truly think about it just yet. She pushes her chair away from the table, and while just minutes before she was the one calling the shots, she turns toward her mother to ask, "May Nathan and I be excused?" She grins as her mother nods her head, swooping down to kiss her cheek before she crooks her finger at Nathan.

"Why do I have to be excused?" Nathan grumbles, following his younger sister down the hallway and into her room, "I wasn't done...and that's the best meatloaf I've ever tasted."

"She'll make it again," Diantha assures him, "And I need you to bring another package to Athens." She grins as Nathan rolls his eyes, but he doesn't argue over a task that literally takes him under a minute to accomplish. "This one is for Pam," Diantha informs him, handing him the pink wrapped box before she dissolves into laughter, almost missing her almost friend.

"She was probably so fucking pissed I only sent cat food last time."