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While it was taking some adjusting to, Sookie found that there was something about her current surroundings that was far better than the change the island underwent only a few months ago. Rather than endless lines of tall buildings, gray in the hazy atmosphere and imposing in their size, the Western scenery took up an endless myriad of color. There were parts of it that Sookie didn't care for, of course. It was too arid, drawing out nosebleeds for the first time in her life, bleeds that she carefully tried to conceal whenever possible, knowing that they could be a trigger to any number of people in her life. The clothing was a bit too gaudy for her taste. The snakes had her pretty much terrified. But color splashed across the sky, and so Sookie settled down and tried to adjust as well as she can, always careful now to lug a hat around, heat stroke a much more common occurrence there than on the island.

Sometimes, she found that the best end to a day was when she got to return inside at last, her temples damp and sweaty from the day's excursions and ready for the cool press of glass and ice to the skin. Today, she didn't quite make it so far, needing to take a break while still about half a mile from the Compound, and so she made a turn to duck inside the horse stables, a few whinnies of surprise sounding as she stepped inside. Sookie remembered having had plenty of the standard dreams as a little girl. Wanted her own pony, wanted to be a ballerina, wanted that perfect house with a white picket fence, and while all of it remained far from her still, the sight of horses was enough to pull a grin to her face, faint and nostalgic. Not sure exactly how to approach any of them, she lingered by the entrance of the open stable regardless, leaning against the beam and watching them with faint curiosity.

Sometimes, Sookie Stackhouse just needed to find some time to herself. She thought that the need would have lessened with thoughts no longer being open to her scrutiny, but the truth was, even the bustle of the island population was sometimes more than she cared to handle. Adding on the setting change was just another push over the edge, stress and frustration aligning to draw her patience thin indeed, and when she found herself unable to put on a sincere smile one evening at the Winchester, she decided that she was past overdue for a walk.

She'd heard murmurs about all the landscapes available on the region, and no one had yet to find the edge of the land newly open to them. The place of most interest to Sookie was the Grand Canyon, or else the best approximation that the island could provide— she hadn't managed to overhear quite that much at the restaurant. Whether or not it was the same as the canyon back in Arizona, Sookie didn't know, but the idea of seeing cliffs around was too tempting to pass on.

Armed with a large bag of flattened blue marbles to mark her trail, Sookie leaves a note on her door to let others know of her whereabouts, and once the trail to the canyon starts, drops marbles down one by one. It takes a good hour for her to make it out to the canyon, and the sun's too high and hot to do anything but stay in the shadows once she's there, and Sookie isn't even anywhere near the peak or ideal vantage spot, but it's beautiful. Unlike anything on the island.

"Wow," she murmurs, leaning to rest her shoulder against the rocky wall.

There's an entirely new color palette that stretches across the sky when dusk settles. That's one of the surprising things to Sookie, that the sky should be able to switch without hardly a second thought, and that it doesn't hold any control of its own. The clouds are able to mar its appearance. The sun chooses when to spread its colors across. And even when they feel so inconsequential in the grand scheme of things, even people are able to affect its color, the dust of coal making the sky look just a little dirtier than it did on the island, and maybe in that, Sookie feels just a little more at home.

A little more like they have some amount of control over their surroundings, even though it's ridiculous, and the sky here is nothing more than painted on by the magic that's inherent in the island.

She sits with her hat lowered over her eyes, the sun still hot where it casts over her skin, legs draping over the edge of the Compound roof. However changed her settings are, there's no doubt that sitting higher up and staring at everything below lends a sense of peace so rarely found on the island.

Gives her time to think.

In spite of the fact that it's completely possible to wear a new outfit every day without ever needing to do the laundry, years of living on a budget have taught Sookie to be smart with her wardrobe. She has something in just about each of the main seven colors of the rainbow, in shirts, cardigans, sundresses, and a wide array of jeans, all capable of being mixed and matched. She likes to think that it helps her waste a little less time on her appearance in the morning, helping her make her classes on time. But these habits backfire occasionally, such as this afternoon, when Sookie brings a pair of pajama pants that have finally split at the seams to the laundry room, dropping them into the clothes box in the hope that recycling will keep the battered little thing in a better mood.

She soon discovers that it might be in too good of a mood. The garments start out as simple nightgowns, the hems slightly too high for her taste, and with copious amounts of lace that threatens to chafe. But each subsequent gown that she pulls out of the box only gets worse, seemingly offering less and less actual fabric, until the box decides to go all the way and starts coughing up fishnet gowns.

Her nose wrinkles.

"Y'know," she muses to herself, shaking her head as she curiously lays the dress against her chest. "I'm all for people embracing their fashion sense, but if you're gonna let yourself wear holes this big, what's the point of wearing anything at all?"

Life hadn't been what Sookie would call normal as of late, but it was getting there. A month into the new year, and she was on decent terms with her boyfriend, and nothing catastrophic had yet to happen for her. A gift of a shotgun had seemed a bit questionable at the time, but so long as the island didn't give her much cause to use it, she tried to look on the bright side of things, seeing it as a safeguard more than anything else. Shifts at the Winchester kept her busy and allowed her to continue meeting new people, familiarizing herself with new faces. It was all of the things that she liked about the island rolled into one, even if unease still occasionally settled in her stomach, the product of just being hit by hurdle after hurdle in recent years.

Something would eventually come to disturb her calm, but she had to make the most of it while it lasted.

Right then, that meant greeting all of the customers at the Winchester with a smile. There were times when she wondered how she was able to pour so much effort into a job that didn't have any concrete returns, but there was more to be said for routine than some people realized.

"Well hey there," she grins, bringing over a glass of cool water to set on the table. "Can I get you anything to drink? Ready to order? Or would you prefer for me to give way, way too much advice about today's specials?"

With the gun laying right out in the open for all to see, Sookie Stackhouse was almost surprised that no one had taken it into their possession earlier. Wrapped in a length of pale lavender ribbon, it was a lighter model than the one that had graced the Stackhouse parlor, easily balanced in Sookie's arms as she picked it up from where it leaned against the side of her hut, several boxes of rounds resting by its base. The amount of detail on its side made it almost a piece of art, however morbid Sookie felt at the thought. She hadn't held a shotgun in her hands since the day Rene attacked— Sam had been the one to replace the shotgun she'd abandoned in her desperation to escape. It felt so long ago, now.

"Well," she breathed, practically speaking at the weapon as she leaned down to pull it away from where it rested, feeling the weight with a toss or two. "I may not be a member of the NRA, but with all the stuff that happens 'round here, it'd be ungrateful if I didn't take you in, wouldn't it?" Her brow furrowed as an eggshell-colored tag revealed itself, her name written in fine gold script. Ripping both it and the ribbon off, Sookie checked the barrel of the gun, leaning her back against the wall of her hut as she cracked open a box of ammo and loaded it in record time.

Her lips curved into a wry grin, mirthless, if firm. "Still got it."

[ This post is dated January 23rd, but will be linked to the main comm in February. ST/LT welcome, no limit on tags, open to all. ]

There are days when Sookie Stackhouse doesn't care to think about her emotions, doesn't bother to try to sort out her place in her relationships, and can't simply can't muster the wherewithal to do anything but lounge about. Lazy Sundays, she referred to them as, back when she still lived in Bon Temps, and although today may not be a Sunday, still she finds herself curled in one of the plush armchairs in the rec room, a few books laying about. Unable to quite focus enough on a single one, Sookie draws herself up, letting her legs (in trousers for ease of movement) slip back down from the armrest.

If her focus doesn't come back soon, she thinks, either this means she's due for a long round of sleep, or the Winchester gets an extra pair of hands that evening. Still, a mind full of white noise seems to be better than letting herself mire in panic, as she has so often lately.

[ continued from here ]

Aidan thought that Sookie was being a bit serious about the whole thing, but he knew that she'd gone through a lot of stuff lately so maybe humor wasn't the best thing to try right now.

"Well, since you're stuck here for the moment would you like something to drink?" he asked.

"I'm fine," Sookie replied in turn, shaking her head slightly and raising her chin in an airy motion, one which tried to emphasize just how perfect things were, bar none. (It was a lie, of course, but one made to herself, and perhaps more forgivable in that sense. If Sookie wasn't feeling fine, she was having trouble recognizing it that night, convinced as she was that everything was better than it'd been in weeks. No need for emotional turmoil.) "I don't want to start downing beer again, at any rate, because we definitely do not need a repeat of that other night."

Resting her chin in her hand, she shrugged. "So, tell me what you've been up to! Your plans for the holidays."

[ continued from here ]

She remembers, again, the fact that children born on the island have come to expect the annual downfall of snow, of white blanketing their land momentarily in a way so pristine and pure. There's no need to worry about the snow lasting longer than kids might like, because there are only so many days, easily counted down even by the youngest of children. Smile broadening, Sookie tilts her head in Sam's direction, taking in the color of her eyes, brighter now for all her excitement. "Do you now? Guess that makes you a winter kind of girl," Sookie grins, leaning forward to rest her chin in her palm. "I'm more of a summer girl. I love the sun too much to give it up for anything."

Pressing her lips together at the thought of a certain vampire who would be all too invested in her turning back that admission, Sookie glances up in Mathias' direction again. "Should we set a time? Just so that I make sure I can beg out of a shift if I have to," she smiles, cheeks flushed at the thought. (She wonders, briefly, what Neil would even think, were he to know about any of this.)

[ continued from here ]

There's a laugh that falls from her lips when the two of them turn, shadows falling over his face where before, there'd only been moonlight, a paleness that washed out color that now returns to her eyes, if mostly brushed in deep blues and hesitant violet. But the sight all fades into shadow and sensation as his lips press against her neck, almost brushing by her collarbone, and Sookie inhales sharp— almost a gasp, surprised, shy, delighted all at once. Normally, this is where all the other words should fall. Endearment and love, and the sheer expression of wonder at having found someone else with whom to share such a moment. Although Sookie finds that she's not there, not just yet, still her fingers snake around the back of Mathias' neck, encouraging.

"Yes," she breathes, so softly that it might as well be that silent prayer, leaning forward to press her lips by his temple. She muffles another giggle, hoping that it doesn't ruin the moment, hoping that he doesn't mind. It's hard, she thinks, to hold back when happiness seems to be playing at her fingertips again. It's been out of her reach too often these days. And any hint of it is one she's hesitant to let go of.

Words from weeks ago continued to ring in the back of Sookie's mind as she rushed through the whole of London, a heavy woolen cape wrapped closely around her shoulders as she suppressed a shiver. Already, she was beginning to regret the hasty decision she'd made to rush out into the streets directly after having stopped to visit Nina and George at the clinic, her skirt hardly long enough to block the sudden gusts of sharp wintry air— but at the very least, she reminded herself, it allowed for the ease of movement that she needed now, wandering the city with nothing more than a tiny map clutched in her hands. She hadn't the slightest idea where Mitchell was staying, only that she needed to find him. For all that George had kept his lips pressed shut on the matter, the birth of a child was an event that should have been shared with family.

And no matter what had happened, Sookie was sure that Mitchell was still that to George.

With a slight yelp as her heel slid on the street, Sookie quickly gripped the nearest lamp post, avoiding the questioning gazes of passerby before she turned down the block to hear to the nearest pub. For hours, she'd been checking every drinking establishment she could find, one after the other, to the point where when she spotted that familiar mass of curls at last, nothing seemed to outweigh the sudden sense of relief. Sighing heavily, she slid onto the empty stool next to Mitchell, quickly directing a sharp gaze at the tender.

"Coffee, please, in... whatever the biggest size you have is. And sugar, if you have it," she instructed with a quick smile. "I don't care if it's coffee that you usually only share with employees, I just need something warm and nonalcoholic. Thanks."

Turning her gaze to Mitchell, Sookie steeled her nerves as best she could, smoothing her knit brow with the pad of her thumb. "I know I'm probably the last person that you wanna see right now, and I promise I'll get out of your hair soon, but you need to head on over to the clinic tonight. Because Nina's had her baby. And I think George could really use his best friend."

For all that her eyes were round as saucers for the first few hours after the change, Sookie Stackhouse all too quickly learns that there are some aspects of this new, tired city that are harder to adjust to than others. Last year, snow was nothing short of novel, beautiful as it fell from the sky and blanketed everything in a pristine layer of white. This year, a close glance shows that it's all grayed, suffering from soot and grime that mars the perfection of the flakes. People trip left and right, no matter how hard they try to hold to their canes— the ones rich enough to have them in the first place, at least. Occasionally, people loiter on the streets, some of them looking cold, miserable, pulling their coats as closely as possible around her necks. If she had the means, Sookie would drag all of them into the nearest shelter, but there seems to be something about the populace. They're not altogether there. Not reachable, notihng but smoke under her fingers.

Somehow, that gets under her skin as much as the rest of it.

Hauling damp skirts to the Compound is no small task, either, and when Sookie finally manages to close the front door of the new building, she heaves a heavy sigh, shivering and quickly rubbing her arms down as she steps further inside. Dressed in a muted gold gown, Sookie heaves a sigh as she makes her way to the box, hoping to find a heavier shawl to protect her from the cold.

Suddenly finding ourselves transported a couple hundred years back to Victorian London isn't a change that most people have found that easy, but there's a part of me that can't help but totally marvel at how wholly the island's changed. Last year's Whoville was definitely a fun little break, but the feel of London is completely different, and instead of just being about decorations or roaring fireplaces, I actually feel like I've traveled. I feel like I'm somewhere that isn't just the tropical island of everyone's dreams. Granted, it's a little gray and dreary, and the corsets are just impossible to breathe in, but when twelve months of the year are just sheer tropical perfection, I can't complain about something that breaks away from the usual. Besides, while it's kind of creepy that there are all these strangers wandering around to help give us taxi rides or find the right corner grocery store like nothing's wrong or changed at all, the fact that we don't even need money to pick up certain conveniences that we never have on the island doesn't hurt my appreciation of the place.

I find some pretty glass ornaments when I'm just walking around the market one day, painted all sorts of colors and textured like broken pieces of glass pressed together in a mosaic. Not everyone on the island celebrates Christmas, and even less people are religious in general, but I've always found decorating the tree to be one of the most enjoyable parts of the season, and it doesn't take me long before I know just the two girls (and a guy) who might appreciate the offering most. Bundling myself with scarves and blankets, I rush over to Neil's apartment with my hands laden with ornaments and freshly baked cookies that I hope won't go hard in the cold. I barely manage to get my hand free to knock.

"Hello? Anyone there to open the door for Aunt Sookie?"

Although everything has taken a slower turn as of late, gradually, Sookie's starting to feel that she's reclaiming her life at last. Certain decisions have come less easily than others— while the Council nominees collected signatures, she felt a slight pang of loss, irrational though it was to be so attached to a position she only held for a year, no more. She's lucked out this week with the Island Radio, the normally empty Thursday evening filled with an impromptu music show held by one James Ford, full of oldies and country, and with a small Pomeranian randomly having joined her that evening for an hour or two, the spontaneous dance party certainly helped her relax into a deep sleep that evening. Waking up, the sun hanging overhead was enough of an impetus to push Sookie out of bed, and she stepped out feeling freer than she'd been in weeks.

Ready to start again.

There are a few perks to being in the Council offices, she has to admit to herself. And while normally, she'd never use them for her own purposes, she doesn't think anyone will much mind if she looks for a certain address, thumbing quickly through the latest maps before she takes off in the direction of someone she's wanted to see, ever since that evening at the Winchester. The morning hasn't hit noon yet when she knocks on the door, feeling her heart flutter in her chest directly after. She hopes this isn't a mistake.

"Anyone home?" she calls out, hopeful.

She'd read it all in articles before. How being single was nothing to lament, but instead something to be celebrated; how the end of a relationship was better viewed as the chance to start fresh, start new, to find something better than the last, to remember oneself again. And it was the hope that she could hinge herself to such a mindset that had Sookie setting out for the Winchester that evening, wearing a strapless, little black dress, one which hugged her frame, the sort that drew eyes. Would have, at least, back in Shreveport, had she decided to step into Fangtasia. (On the island, Sookie wouldn't have been surprised if she wasn't an eye-turner at all, and often wondered how it was that anyone was able to maintain their self-confidence when so many folks who walked the beaches looked like they hopped right off the silver screen.) Her feet were strapped into a pair of sandals, golden in color, heels at least four inches in height. And for once, she could understand why Arlene lamented time after time about how the only place she ever went for fun was Merlotte's.

But she didn't have anywhere else to go.

Hooking her heel onto the footrest of a stool by the bar, Sookie immediately downed three shots, one after the other, enjoying the burn which spread down her throat as her eyes fell to a close, cheeks already seeming to light, as though kept close to a fire. Briefly, the chance that Mitchell would show up in the bar crossed her mind, but she couldn't seem to bring herself to care, eyes lighting up, almost defiant and daring him to show up in a place that was more hers than it'd ever been his. She waited tables here. She cooked here. Neil was one of her best friends, not just on Tabula Rasa, but that she'd ever had at all. And she wasn't about to give any of that up.

Yet, for all the confidence that her outfit was meant to exude, Sookie found herself filling with doubt as she turned to look around, her movements already a touch slower than they'd been when she entered the bar. She gave the first person who crossed her path a smile, one that, if nothing else, invited them to sit and talk.

She needed a talk.

[ open to all, private to account for preplay! set to roughly the evening of the 21st, but feel free to say it's another day if your pup has schedule conflicts; this will be sookie's status quo from the 20th forward. find her in varying stages of drunk. no thread limit, no problem with st/lt/etc. ]

Somewhere between Mitchell's hut and Nina's, Sookie had dropped her heart.

The pounding in her ears was gone. The rush of blood to her head, halted. In some ways, she experienced greater clarity in those few minutes than she had in weeks, able to step forward, one foot in front of the other, her arms resting gently at her sides, although the occasional ball of one into a fist gave away the tension which still existed underneath, and had not yet had the opportunity to work itself out fully. Somewhere along the way, Sookie had lost the entire foundation she'd built herself on while living on Tabula Rasa, and she felt herself as though in a freefall, frantically grabbing for whatever she could hold onto, even as betrayal bled into confusion. She knew now, that Mitchell had played a direct hand in the massacre of humans. Knew that he'd been hiding it from her, from everyone, but instead of rushing around and spreading the news, she could only remember one thing then: the way Nina had looked upon discovering that Sookie was dating John Mitchell.

Had she known? Was there more that Sookie hadn't heard of, more that Mitchell had somehow managed to keep from her?

Before Sookie realized it, she was standing in front of Nina and Annie's hut, shifting her weight from one foot to the other before she raised her hand to knock. "Nina?" she called out, pausing. "Nina, it's Sookie. You home right now? I know this door's unlocked much of the time, so if it's too much trouble, I can let myself in, I just... I really need to talk to you."

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.

When the last, lingering traces of sleep were reluctantly tugged away in the morning, Sookie's first instinct was no longer to pull the sheets over her head, or to stubbornly bury her nose into her pillow. Instead, she reached over to the other side of the bed, feeling around with her hands as her eyes remained tightly shut. On luckier days, she'd find Mitchell there and allow herself to sleep in an extra fifteen minutes, only to wind up late for her first class, or for a shift at the office, stumbling out of the hut with flyaway hair and shoes hooked on her fingers as she ran barefoot through the grass. That morning, Sookie found herself pressing a faint smile against Mitchell's shoulder, dropping a kiss as she snuck her arm around his waist, pulling herself closer to him.

"Think we should get up?" she asked, voice hoarse with sleep as she opened a single eye. When met with indistinct mumbling as ever, Sookie huffed a laugh, shaking her head and yawning. "Didn't think so."

Rolling over, Sookie allowed her arm to hang limp for a moment before pushing herself up to lean against the headboard, yawning again and running her fingers through her hair absently as she peered over at her nightstand. Next to the usual glass of water was a folder that she couldn't remember having ever seen before, dark in color, deeper than any of the Council records. Glancing over at Mitchell again, Sookie pursed her lips before reaching out to haul the folder onto her lap, shifting and beginning to flip through its contents. Slowly, the furrow under her brow began to grow deeper as she rifled through photographs, receipts, newspaper clippings— everything, it seemed, centering around her as its subject.

Normally, she might have assumed that it was the workings of a memoir compiled by her grandmother, but it was the neat scrawl of Bill's handwriting that told her otherwise, one which laid out her family tree as far back as Sookie herself knew, and then some. Occasional relatives were marked, as was her own name. Photographs of her at Merlotte's were scattered. Even contact information from the Rattrays was hidden among everything else. Sookie felt her face blanch, her cheeks tingling, and she shot Mitchell a worried look, wondering if it would be best if she kept it to— no. She shook her head to herself, sighing through her teeth. No, she'd continue sitting in bed until he woke, with the folder in her hands, see what he had to make of it.

And until he woke up, she could spend an hour or so alone with the folder, trying to make out the purpose of it before handing it off to anyone else.

Laying on the beach, ears simply open to the sound of crashing waves and the call of seagulls in the distance, wasn't a luxury that Sookie Stackhouse allowed herself very often anymore. Although she'd been nothing but ecstatic upon learning that she'd secured herself a Council seat for the second time, it had the effect of only renewing her resolve to offer to the collective everything she could, to protect them, to provide for them— to the point where taking time for herself was only something Sookie turned to when it was necessary, feeling irresponsible otherwise. She was good at knowing when she approached her limit, had yet to snap at anyone on the Council itself (it helped that they were all equally as or even more responsible than she, not prone to leaving one another with negative surprises). And that was why Sookie decided that afternoon to take just an hour off, between class and Council work. Just an hour.

A weekend of honesty had apparently been harder on the island population than she expected.

After slathering herself with copious amounts of sunscreen, Sookie laid a large towel out over the beach, smoothing it out with a few sweeps of her hand, At the end, she dropped a pillow, stuffed with dried grasses and the cover made of the thinnest bamboo reeds, constructed to make sand easy to beat out. There were so many ways, she thought to herself, that her life had changed on the island. Sometimes, she wondered if her past self would even recognize the woman she'd become, largely hopeful, ambitious, responsible in a way she'd never had to be before.

But thinking on the way her lips quirked as she felt the sun's rays on her, Sookie couldn't help but think that ultimately, some things would always remain the same.

Please sign here to support Sookie Stackhouse's Council bid for May 2011.

Thank you!

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Sookie Stackhouse

breathing whisper, what is this

that had me believing

whatever you want is fine by me

so does she want me to buy her things?

all your life, you were only waiting

sometimes, it's hard to see what's right in front of our eyes

makes the beautiful world that you see in the morning

doesn't stop me from feeling the loss

travelers traveling and on, like the wheel that will take you home

so struck down by you, I didn't know what to do; I started on breaking my own heart

take a bite of my heart tonight

you called me sugar, you called me sugar

close your eyes and trust it, just trust it

travelers traveling and on, like the wheel that will take you home

so struck down by you, I didn't know what to do; I started on breaking my own heart

heard it on the wire, you've been telling me lies

like killing cops and reading kerouac

i would like to hold your hand as we're shifted through this twisted abandon

your eyes like sea glass, so weathered and worn

i could be good for you

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