Sookie Stackhouse (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
justsookie) wrote2011-10-14 01:52 am
justsookie) wrote2011-10-14 01:52 am
Entry tags:
like killing cops and reading kerouac
Seventh. It was the seventh time that Sookie Stackhouse had decided to look in the folder of Bill's that the island had left for her. An exercise that would only be marginally beneficial at best, she'd thought to herself. But after the first few days, she had to admit that limiting herself to a look every other day had been helpful, giving her the time and space needed to focus on her job, her classes, and on her personal life, rather than asking after a man who wasn't even a ghost on Tabula Rasa. Halfway through the month, and she was hoping to limit herself even further, to take an active step away from everything that existed back in Bon Temps, if only because she was beginning to learn that it was hard, nearly impossible to keep a decent handle on both at once. And for all that she missed Tara, for all that she missed Sam, Lafayette, Arlene, and the rest of them, if given the choice right then of where to stay, Sookie couldn't have said for certain that she would have chosen to go back.
They were just two different places. And frankly, the island was starting to show her that a calmer way of life wasn't necessarily the inferior one, and that a job mostly involving paperwork left her in far better shape than waitressing in an establishment where vampires zoomed in and out without a care for her or passerby.
It was the seventh time that Sookie Stackhouse had decided to look in the folder of Bill's, only to find that Bon Temps wasn't the only place in the equation. That Bill's secrets weren't the only ones she had to deal with. Confusion set in her features at first, at the strange notebook stuffed away among the other papers, the folder itself struggling to hold everything inside. But from the very first article pasted within, the city of Bristol standing out to her eyes at once, she knew that the island was far from done in turning her life on its side. Half an hour, she'd allowed herself, poring through page after page of horrific details, stories about loved ones who'd died in a massacre, seemingly without rhyme or reason.
Thirty minutes after the first article, and Sookie stepped into his hut, for once glad that Annie had moved out, and that George kept such a precise schedule. The book remained held tightly in her hand, slightly obscured from view.
"Mitchell?" she called out, voice soft, but cold.
They were just two different places. And frankly, the island was starting to show her that a calmer way of life wasn't necessarily the inferior one, and that a job mostly involving paperwork left her in far better shape than waitressing in an establishment where vampires zoomed in and out without a care for her or passerby.
It was the seventh time that Sookie Stackhouse had decided to look in the folder of Bill's, only to find that Bon Temps wasn't the only place in the equation. That Bill's secrets weren't the only ones she had to deal with. Confusion set in her features at first, at the strange notebook stuffed away among the other papers, the folder itself struggling to hold everything inside. But from the very first article pasted within, the city of Bristol standing out to her eyes at once, she knew that the island was far from done in turning her life on its side. Half an hour, she'd allowed herself, poring through page after page of horrific details, stories about loved ones who'd died in a massacre, seemingly without rhyme or reason.
Thirty minutes after the first article, and Sookie stepped into his hut, for once glad that Annie had moved out, and that George kept such a precise schedule. The book remained held tightly in her hand, slightly obscured from view.
"Mitchell?" she called out, voice soft, but cold.