Sookie Stackhouse

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. ]

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. ]