Sookie Stackhouse

[ 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.

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. ]