1,930Disclaimer: I merged my favorite book as a kid with my favorite book as an adult. The basic story is from Elizabeth Cadell's "The Lark Shall Sing," (also known as "The Singing Heart") while the characters and setting are from Charlaine Harris' Southern Vampire Mysteries.
Chapter Seventy-Nine: Everyone Gets What They Effin' Deserve
Inside the Stackhouse farm, Quinn wandered catlike down the hallway before ambling into the living room. Glancing around, he noted that it appeared pretty much unchanged since the last time he'd been inside the house. He figured that would've been maybe five years before. He sat on the recliner.
Oh, yeah, this is comfortable, he thought as he stuck a hand down his pants to rearrange his "junk," and make himself even more comfortable. He kicked the LazyBoy into the recline position, and curled up on his side.
As John, or Quinn as he was more commonly known, laid back in the recliner he thought about Sookie.
Sookie Stackhouse. What a babe. Gorgeous blond hair. Those big blue eyes. He'd really enjoyed the time they'd spent together. He wished they'd had more time together. He could still remember that day she broke things off. They'd spent the day at his circus—E(E)E Circus — and then out to dinner. He loved eating with her. They'd finished eating and, as their table was being cleared, Sookie told him she thought it best that they start to see other people. Quinn could still remember how flabbergasted he'd been. To his mind, things between them were A-OK. He could still remember word for word what he'd said to her back then, trying to convince her to stick it out.
"Babe, I don't know what to say. I care about you, and I love spending time with you. I love going to bed with you. I like eating at the table with you," he gestured at their almost-empty table. "I like cooking together. I like almost everything about you. But I'm not good at sharing."
Recalling the expression on her face as he said that, he'd have to say it almost looked like relief. But Quinn knew it couldn't have been that.
"So, what you're saying, Quinn," Sookie was nodding thoughtfully, "is that if I say I want to see other people, you're not good at sharing. So, it's either we're exclusive or we're broken up? Is that right?"
As heartsick as the idea of breaking up with Sookie made him feel, Quinn knew he couldn't share. He'd be crazy every time he smelled some other guy on her or if he called her up and she said she had a date with someone else. So, their relationship ended. Sadly, Quinn felt it ended before it began since they'd only dated a few months and had only managed to go out on a handful of real dates. Quinn's job as a driver for E(E)E Circus meant he was often on the road back then.
But things were different now. Quinn was much more settled. If ever there was a situation conducive to him and the "babe" being together, his current gig was it. Quinn worked as a bouncer for Hair of the Dog, the toughest bar in Shreveport. Although he'd held a variety of exciting travel-related jobs over the years—such as the gig chauffeuring the circus tigers—he found himself surprisingly content with the current bouncer gig. Quinn's physical size and intimidating presence more than made up for whatever he may have lacked in intelligence or people skills. Despite the fact that he wasn't able to reason with drunkards to get them to calm down, he still was able to keep transgressions at a minimum. Yeah, it was good. He was pretty pleased with things, especially considering how tough of a time he'd been having before landing the bouncer gig.
Quinn had spent the better part of a year and a half attempting to become an Emergency Medical Technician (EMT). He'd gone through two semesters of training, as well as watching a lot of movies and stuff on You Tube. He knew he could do it. But he needed to convince an ambulance company. He wasn't having much success with that, on account of a very bizarre thing that one member of the team had heard.
A friend of this EMT, a Monroe native who dated a Bon Temps resident for a while, said they had seen Quinn at a local football game a couple of years earlier. They claimed that Quinn had spent most of the game focused not on the action on the field but on a bleeding cut on his own leg. It was so bizarre the guy had asked his date, Holly, who the bald leg-licker was and she'd told him the name and it had stuck with him.
The hiring committee confronted Quinn with the allegation and Quinn insisted it was a misunderstanding. Unfortunately, despite Quinn's repeated avowals that he was just "tryin' to help a brother out," the team still refused to take him on. They figured if Quinn did, in fact, have a compulsion to lick blood, the liability for a Parish-run ambulance company was too great. Since they had Holly over in the town saying she was sure she could get footage of the game, with Quinn clearly visible going to town on his leg in the background, they'd staunchly held their position.
Quinn had no means for recourse. This was largely due to the fact that, despite Quinn's denials, the assertions were, in fact, true. Since childhood, Quinn had been afflicted with a very rare, very odd abnormality.
If John Quinn was in proximity to a wound of any kind—open, festering scrapes, cuts, abrasions, bad rashes —the Mr. Clean lookalike experienced an overwhelming compulsion to lick it. The condition, called sanguinarianism, was still a medical mystery. Sadly, although he attempted to mask it as best he could, this compulsion to lick blood from wounds remained a major force guiding much of Quinn's adult life.
Content with the idea that soon he'd be seeing his former girlfriend, Quinn settled himself into his favorite sleeping position. Once so arranged, he promptly fell asleep.
Nearly a half hour later, Bill finally emerged from his "constitutional" feeling lighter, if not better. Bill gently eased his way into the living room to find, instead of the wiry shaggy-haired bartender he'd left there, a large bald-headed man asleep on one of the recliners.
Who's this? He wondered. He looks like a giant bald-headed baby.
Indeed, Quinn, with his bald head, curled on his side in the fetal position, did look very much like an oversized baby. Bill noted that the man even, oddly enough, seemed to be sucking on his thumb.
Bill leaned down in front on the man, putting his head up close to the giant's bulbous head.
"Excuse me. Excuse me." Bill shook the man's shoulder several times.
"Rrr," Quinn awoke with a start. His eyes—a unique purple pansy color— flew open and darted wildly around the room before settling on the figure before him. Once focused, they were quick to spy on something very special indeed: a band-aid. Quinn could not look away.
Bill, oblivious to the effect his band-aid was having, continued in his attempts to get Quinn's attention.
"Excuse, me. Uh, sir," Bill continued to poke at Quinn's shoulder. "Who are you? What are you doing here?"
Quinn, awake, removed his thumb—with its deliciously torn cuticle—from his mouth.
With Bill's face so enticingly close to his own, Quinn had a hard time focusing on anything other than that band-aid. Band-aids above the lip usually meant one thing: razor cuts. Quinn loved razor cuts. Maybe it was because they were usually the neatest and cleanest of all cuts. Other types of abrasions were often dirty or messy. A tumble on a sidewalk would result in some bloodletting, but often the abrasion would have sand and tiny pebbles from the concrete embedded under the skin. Not always the most enjoyable of licks.
Still Quinn needed to know what was going on underneath Bill's band-aid. Without warning, he yanked the band-aid from Bill's face.
"Ow, ow, ow!" Bill's hand shot up to his face. He gingerly touched the raw flesh above his lip. "What is the matter with you, sir? I don't even know who you are and you are accosting me."
Bill's words, however, fell on deaf ears. Quinn was, at that moment, incapable of hearing anything. Truthfully, the man was not seeing anything other than the delectable abrasions on Bill's upper lip. His gaze fixated on Bill's torn flesh, Quinn unconsciously began licking his lips.
Bill, meanwhile, had gone from wondering who the gigantic buffoon on the Lazy Boy was to being somewhat concerned by the man's rather eerie, hungry look.
He is staring at my face like I am a piece of filet mignon, Bill thought.
Bill's self-preservation instincts kicking into gear, he started to back away from Quinn. Unfortunately, still feeling rather poorly from his severe bout of diarrhea, Bill was not up to snuff. His movements were slow and jerky.
Quinn wanted nothing more than to lick the blood off Bill's facial wound. But he figured he ought to respond to Bill's questions. It also penetrated Quinn's sleep-addled consciousness that the guy was wearing a Peter Pan costume.
"Sorry 'bout that, man," Quinn pulled the LazyBoy up. "I wake up a bit confused sometimes. I just saw your face in front of me and ...uh...your costume...and I...uh figured I needed to remove the band-aid."
Bill just stared at the man.
"Well," Bill's tone was a combination of disbelief and disgust, "you accosted me and you still have yet to explain who you are."
The bald man leapt up then and was surprisingly agile in his big man harem skinny jeans.
"Name's John Quinn," Quinn put a hand out to Bill. "I'm an old friend of Sookie's. I guess you could say I'm the one who got away." Quinn winked, to indicate his comment was, in fact, a joke.
Bill, however, was not in the mood for jokes.
"Yes, well, hello," Bill frowned. "I am Bill Compton. I am Sookie's fiancé. Is there some reason for your visit and for your attack on my person?"
"I already explained, man." Quinn nodded his head. His first instinct to be apologetic was falling by the wayside. He was getting a bad feeling about this Compton guy. "I'm a friend," he emphasized this word, "of Sookie's. I heard she was in town and stopped by for a visit. Sam let me in."
"Yes." Bill knew he didn't care for that shifty long-haired bartender. This action confirmed it for him. "Sookie is not at home right at present. She is out with her" Bill sneered as he spat out the word, "young siblings."
Quinn's gaze shot to Bill. The venom was so transparent in the man's voice even Quinn could discern it. "What? You don't like the kids?"
Bill, comfortable in the notion that he had no cause to rein in his true feelings on this matter with this complete stranger—who obviously meant little to Sookie as she had never mentioned him, opted to be honest.
"I can't stand those juvenile delinquents," Bill snarled. "It's a good thing her older siblings came home when they did. If those three vicious, evil demons moved to Dallas to be near Sookie, I would have no alternative but to insist that they all be placed in boarding school."
Meeting his gaze full on, Quinn stared at Bill. He was really not liking this guy. Although he and Sook hadn't been an item very long and it was a long time ago, they'd remained friendly. She was always nice to him when they would bump into one another –at the football games or at the Wal-Mart or even at Merlotte's once in a blue moon. She certainly deserved someone better than this hateful jerk.
"Ah, man," Quinn shook his head. "That's not right. Sookie's the nearest thing to a mom those kids have. You can't do that to her. You can't make someone choose you over their family. It ain't right, man."
Bill just looked at Quinn. Taking a good look, his glance captured the man's strange jeans. A hippie, no doubt, he thought to himself. The two men stood, in an increasingly heated stare down, less than a foot from one another.
Finally, Quinn, realizing he was standing too close to the LazyBoy and was at risk of losing his balance, made a motion to step forward.
Bill, his neurological response system reading the baldheaded man's approach as a threat, promptly—and without thought—kneed Quinn as hard as he could.
"AH! AH! OW! OW!" Quinn could barely speak. Doubled over in pain, he could only manage to sputter out a few words. "Dude! My junk! My junk! Aw, man!" He winced and sighed deeply. "Why'd you kick me in my junk, man?" He looked up at Bill, anger visible in his eyes.
Bill, staring at Quinn, finally realized the error of his ways. It was beginning to dawn on him how unwise it had been to kick Quinn, who had practically been foaming at the mouth like some kind of rabid animal before Bill had kicked him. Now he really looked as though he wanted to kill Bill. Unfortunately, the man seemed to be quickly recovering from the kick to his "junk."
Bill, seeing the tenuousness of his predicament, began to move away from Quinn. He'd only made it a few feet when Quinn tackled him to the floor. The two men landed in a heap.
Afraid, Bill began to scream. "Ah, no! No! No! AAAAWWWWW!" He thrashed around on the floor.
Quinn's giant hands, like an animal's paws, reached out to Bill. With one meaty paw on either side of Bill's head, Quinn brought Bill's face closer to him. His tongue hung out of his mouth, as if in anticipation.
Bill managed another sucker kick and kneed Quinn a second time in his much cared for "junk." Quinn emitted a bloodcurdling scream.
"OOOOWWWWWWEEEEEEHHHHH!"
Bill took advantage of this opportunity to roll away from Quinn and position himself behind the coffee table, which he turned on its side like a fort.
Quinn, lying curled up in the fetal position again, whimpered on the other side of the table. Finally he quieted down.
Bill, taking comfort in the fact that the other man was quiet, got up on his hands and knees and attempted to crawl to safety. His plan was to crawl out to the hallway and then make a run for his car. He just needed to make sure he had his keys. Peering upward, he saw that his keys were where he left them on top of the table. He slowly got up on his knees and stretched over to grab the keys from the table.
With a catlike grace and precision, Quinn maneuvered himself behind Bill without Bill realizing.
"Gotcha!" Quinn growled before leaping on top of Bill once more. This time the two landed hard on the coffee table, causing several legs to crack and break under their weight. Together, the two men rolled around on the floor. Bill attempted to hold Quinn's oversized head away from his own by placing a hand on either side and pushing back.
Quinn, however, was determined.
Bill was getting incensed. Whereas Quinn definitely had a size advantage over Bill, Bill knew he was smarter.
"Yeah, yeah, oh yeah. You think you're such an animal, don't you? A real animal? Huh, tiger?"
Finally it occurred to Bill to use his legs to keep Quinn away from him. Bringing his knees to his chest he tried to use his marginally stronger than a fifth grader's leg muscles to push Quinn away.
Suddenly they heard a sound. Pffft. Uh oh, thought Bill. Quinn was shaken out of his rage stupor. Smelling something, he made a face. "Pee-ew! What smells like shit around here!"
"Ah...ah...ah. I seem to have had an accident. In my pants."
"Oh. Ew. That's pretty fucking disgusting, man."
So engrossed were the two men in their melee, that they hadn't heard the cars approach. They failed to hear the door open, and they were oblivious to the fact that a dozen people had stomped into the house and were now avidly watching them from the entrance of the living room.
Eric and Sookie stood front and center, flanked by the two reporters. Pam, Maxine, Godric, and the remaining Stackhouses brought up the rear.
Dead silence filled the air. Everyone was so still—barely breathing— a pin hitting the floor would have sounded like a death knell.
Finally, Eric Northman cleared his throat. Looking up, Quinn saw Sookie. His eyes lit up at the sight of his former girlfriend. "Hey Babe." He smiled.
"Uh, hi Quinn." Crazy Sookie smile in place. She knew there were questions she ought to be asking but she couldn't think of them if her life depended on it. She turned to look at Eric, whose eyes were still focused on the scene before them. She turned her attention back to Quinn and Bill.
Bill, too, was happy to see Sookie, but for an altogether different reason.
"Sookie, thank goodness." Bill opened his eyes wide as he turned to face Sookie. "Obviously, I've imposed myself upon your hospitality long enough. I really ought," his eyes opened wide again, "to be getting back to Dallas."
Hmm, Sookie thought, did I just hear the jackass say he was finally ready to leave? Maybe I'm hearing things because I'm in shock?
Hunter, being the youngest and the smallest, couldn't see what was going on from where he stood in the back of the troop. Deciding he wanted a better view, the boy transformed himself into the artful dodger and slinked around his brothers and sisters and other honorary family members until he finally secured himself a spot in the front.
Looking at the spectacle on the floor, Hunter made a face. Quinn's tongue was hanging outside his mouth —big surprise there, thought Hunter. Quinn's hands were on the floor, on either side of Bill's chest. Meanwhile, the Douche Bag—wearing a Peter Pan costume—had one of his hands placed on either side of Quinn's head. Together in a huddle, the two kinda looked like they were about to kiss. Suddenly, the smell hit Hunter.
As he watched the scene in front of him, Hunter was reminded of something. He turned around to face Eric and Sookie and pose his question to them.
"Hey Sookie." He tugged his sister's arm to get her attention. "Is that bukaki?"
Sookie, her face switching from shock to silent horror, turned to her youngest brother and opened her mouth as if to scream. But no sound came forth. Only silence. She opened and closed her mouth several times before finally stuttering a question.
"Hunter Stackhouse," she bent down to face him, "where the hell did you hear that word?" As soon as the question hung in the air, she knew the answer: Felipe De Castro.
Sure enough, Hunter's response confirmed her suspicions.
"Aw, that Felipe! He's got a special movie collection. He doesn't tell us what's in it but he gives hints and lets us guess for fun sometimes."
Suddenly Weiss and Lattesta got over their shock and switched into gear. Lattesta grabbed his camera and started snapping photos of the two man caught up in a huddle. Weiss, meanwhile, turned to Sookie and Eric and began her interview.
"Sookie," she said. "You seem to know both the men engaged in a sexual act on the floor of your living room. Do you have a comment?"
Sookie's eyes looked as though they were going to roll to the back in her head. Pandemonium broke out as all the Stackhouses started talking at once.
"Hey, you got your story! That ain't fair—"
"We just walked in here same as you—"
"Sex? You think that's sex? For fucks sake, you need to look at some different magazines!"
"Lattesta. Weiss." Finally Pam weighed in. "This man, in the Peter Pan costume, is a would-be actor I invited to interview for a part I am helping to cast. I left him here when I realized I needed to get Eric's guardian papers to the hospital so that they'd release the boy into Eric's custody. I do not know who the bald man is, but he is obviously a simpleton—"
"Hey, bitch!" Quinn interrupted. "I can hear you!"
"Yes, you can hear me." Pam looked at him coldly. "You are attacking a much smaller man who has soiled himself for fear of you. An entire family has just returned home, including young children. Yet you have made no effort to halt your aggression."
A confused look came over Quinn's face as he struggled to understand what Pam said.
"Oh, uh." He pushed himself off of Bill and jumped to his feet. "Yeah, I guess that makes sense." Truthfully, he wasn't really sure what she said, but he figured the fight was over. He continued to look at Pam, who stood with a half sneer/half smile on her face. Hot, he thought. "I don't think we've met, babe." He offered his hand to her. "My name's John Quinn."
Pam just glared at him. "Well, if I did not prefer the company of women before today, I certainly do now."
Suddenly there was a throat being cleared. Pam glanced behind her. Jason was giving her a wide-eyed look and nodding his head.
Right. Stackhouse, she thought.
"And Jason," she corrected her statement for the benefit of the reporters. "I enjoy women and Jason."
"Uh, thanks a lot, Pam." Jason gave her a strange look.
Pam, meanwhile, just shrugged and gave Jason her "Who Me" look.
Sookie, calmer and more collected following the few moments' respite she'd had while Pam was in charge, suddenly woke up. Rather, Barracuda Sookie suddenly woke up.
"Everyone," she paused to give those around her a moment to hear her. Not satisfied, she tried again, louder. "EVERYONE whose last name is not Stackhouse, Northman, Ravenscroft, Fortenberry, or, "she stopped at Godric — what the heck is this kid's last name again? —"Godric, needs to get the hell out of my house. RIGHT. THIS. MINUTE." She turned to look at the reporters. "I don't care. You've got plenty of crap on us. You're gonna write whatever fucked up shit you wanna write anyway!" Eric winced while Pam's face was thoughtful. "I think we've been more than accommodating. We let you come with us to the hospital for crissakes! Enough! Get out! Get out! Get out!"
Weiss and Lattesta, shocked into submission, scrambled to collect their belongings and make their way out to their car. Pam followed them.
Eric hadn't taken his eyes off of Sookie. An interplay of dueling emotions was evident on his face. Annoyed and concerned at the way she summarily dismissed the reporters, he couldn't help but also feel proud of her.
Maxine watched the unfolding drama with her characteristic "O," while Godric just stared silently, his eyes open wide. Finally he leaned over to Amelia and asked her a question.
"Elle est toujours en colère?" [Is she always angry?]
"Aucune. Elle est en situation de stress. Elle est généralement agréable. N'ayez pas peur."
[No. She's under stress. She's generally pleasant. Don't be afraid."]
Amelia took Godric's hand and gave it a slight squeeze. Reassured by her words, he nodded and smiled at her.
The Stackhouse siblings knew better than to interrupt. This wasn't just Sookie being upset. This was Sookie being upset after holding it in for days.
Next Sookie turned to Quinn.
"Quinn," her voice was an icy calm. "I'm glad you're not dead or in jail. Really. I am. However, I gotta say the last thing I expected to find coming home tonight—and believe me, it's been a long friggin' day and I've learned to be ready for anything—but I gotta say, coming home to find you mounting my ex-fiance, ready to kick his ass was STILL AT THE BOTTOM OF THE LIST OF THINGS I EXPECTED TO FIND."
"Aw, Babe." Quinn tried to win her over by using his old nickname for her. It didn't work.
"Oh, yeah, Quinn? About that. I FUCKING HATE IT WHEN YOU CALL ME THAT! What the hell is wrong with you? That's not sweet! Or endearing! It's just lame-brained is what it is! You threatened a guest in my home. I need you to leave."
"But, Babe..." Quinn knew if he could just explain, she'd get it. "I—"
"Quinn, I know you're a bouncer at a club in Shreveport. Probably wouldn't be good for you if you're arrested, right?"
"Uh, yeah," he replied. "I mean no. It wouldn't be good."
"Well, that's what'll happen if I call the Sheriff."
"Uh," he shook his head. "No. No need to do that. I'll get going."
"Thank you," Sookie nodded.
Quinn nodded to Eric, Maxine, Tara and Jason and gave a small smile to the kids. Hunter shot a shit-eating grin at Quinn and mouthed "bye" to him while waving with both hands.
Finally Sookie turned her attention to Bill. Bill, who continued to lie on the floor in his now-soiled Peter Pan costume.
"Bill," she started.
"Yes, Sookie," his voice was wary.
"I did hear you right, didn't I? You're anxious to get back to Dallas?" She paused giving him an opportunity to reply. He was silent. "Bill, all I gotta do is call Quinn, say I'm sorry, and he'll be back here in five minutes to finish you off." She waited a few seconds. "So?"
"Yes, I'm ready to leave. I want to get out of this little corner of hell on earth, believe me. But—" He broke off his words.
"But what, Bill? What more is there possibly left to say?"
"I don't feel very well." Everyone stood and stared as the sound of Bill's stomach growling could be heard. "I think I may need to see a doctor or something."
"Ah, fuck," Sookie muttered. Looking up, her eyes met Eric's. For the first time since her meltdown began, it occurred to her that Eric might be angry about her throwing the reporters out of the house. Seeing his expressionless face, she felt her heart drop.
Seeing worry lines gradually appearing on Sookie's otherwise relieved face shook Eric out of his reverie. Suddenly he let out a snort of laughter. He continued laughing. He pulled Sookie into his arms and buried his face into her neck still laughing. Sookie started to laugh too.
"Wait a minute." She had to ask. "You're not angry with me? You're okay with me throwing the reporters out?"
"Sookie, you're too amusing when you're like that. As long as its not directed at me, I can handle it." He shrugged. "And technically, you're right. The reporters had more than their due with us today. Pam—" he glanced around and noted his friend's presence, "caught up with them." He directed his next words to Pam. "Did you smooth things over?"
"Yes," Pam nodded. "I received a text from Russell's husband, Talbot. Apparently Russell tasked him with finding something for you to do with the kids tomorrow. You're going to something called" she paused and looked at her cell phone, "Splash Kingdom."
"Splash Kingdom! Splash Kingdom! Splash Kingdom!" The three Teacup Stackhouses screamed.
Pam, disconcerted, stopped speaking.
"You three, hush," scolded Sookie. "Let Pam finish."
"Thank you, Sookie. Talbot sent along links to reviews of the place." Pam hit a few keys on her phone. "Someone named Francisco reports:
I DIDNT LIKE THE POOLS. ALL OF THEM WERE DIRTY AND MY FAMILY GOT SICK THE NEXT DAY. THERE WERE DEAD FROGS IN THE WATER."
Pam looked up with a smile. "This is no doubt more of Talbot's fairy intrigue," Pam continued. "He is always looking to make mischief."
Eric sighed. Sookie threw Pam a WTF look. Maxine nodded as if agreeing with Pam. The kids exchanged looks with each other. Then erupted once more.
"Splash Kingdom! Woohoo! We're going to Splash Kingdom!" Hunter and Hoyt exchanged high-fives.
"Awesome!" Amelia jumped up and down. Noticing Godric's blank stare, she stopped. Finally she realized she had no idea how to say "amusement park" in French. Looking at him she said the only thing she could think of that might get the message across.
"Il est semblable à Euro Disney." [It is similar to Euro Disney.] Godric nodded his head and clapped his hands in understanding. "We are going to Disney World!" Amelia burst out laughing.
Sookie nodded hear head. All right, that was settled. They were taking the kids to Splash Kingdom, where they might encounter dead frogs. She couldn't say she cared. As long as they could have their day out, and the reporters weren't on top of them, she'd agree to go anywhere.
"Fine." She looked at the kids. "So, tomorrow we're going to Splash Kingdom. You three—four need to get some sleep. Amelia, Godric can take Bill's room." She turned to Bill, who was still lying prone on the floor. "Bill, shall we call you an ambulance? Or do you think you can drive yourself to the hospital?"
AN: Whew! I mean Pew! Was it the bran muffins or did someone actually put the diarrhea spell on him? Anyway, really only the Epilogue chapters after this. If you think, "what about?" Well, I really did set it up for a sequel, which will become especially evident with Chapter 81.
Thanks for reading/reviewing/PMing/feeding me ideas. It's been a lot of fun. Thank you.
:D