Blood, Sex, and Cocktails

I glanced down at myself one more time before joining the others in the bar area. Pam had provided me with a dress which was mostly white, covered with a pattern of Hawaiian-looking flowers in black, red, and grey. It was a halter dress, tied behind my neck, and it was maybe an inch longer than my usual bartending outfit. Pam also let me borrow a black choker to wear in addition to my moon necklace. Overall I really liked it, but that didn't mean I didn't feel self conscious.
I took a deep breath, glued on a small, slightly nervous smile, and just hurried in before I could find another reason to wait.

"How did you -...?" I was shocked by what I saw. The bar was sprinkled with red rose pedals and small business cards, the hanging decorations I'd put up had been replaced with glass and origami decorations, and I only then realized that the streamers hanging in the doorway had been replaced with red, white, and black strips of mesh.
"Well," she chuckled, "did you really think Boss-Man would put up with my smart mouth if I wasn't special?"
"You shift things?"
She smirked. "Bingo, baby! Cheaper and less irritating to set up than getting the fancy things in the first place - should last until tomorrow afternoon."
"Good ability for a serial party-planner," I commented.
"You bet!"
I finally noticed that Eric was looking me over...again. Was he going to do that every time he saw me in something new?
"Yay or nay," I asked, doing a quick show-off turn.
"Yay," he replied, the left corner of his lips twitching up slightly.
I finally noticed he was clad in a half-opened black dress shirt and black pants. His hair seemed blonder, his eyes bluer.
Sweet Jesus, shepherd of Judea, was he hot.
I realized I was staring and, being human as I was, blushed. D*mn that vampire for not being plagued by such a human physical reaction.
"I'm gonna get comfy behind the bar - won't be long before people start showing up," I muttered and was gone before I finished. And there, safely behind the bar - my safe spot - I remained.

"Hand it over," I ordered with an exasperated sigh.
The girl - probably in her 20's, with long brunette hair that was, at the moment, mussed, red-white-and-blue eyes, overall pretty good-looking before she started drinking - just shook her head dramatically enough to knock her off balance (She didn't fall. If she had, I would have laughed.), making a sort of 'mm-mm' sound intended as a refusal.
"April," I practically growled. "You should have been cut off two drinks ago. I figured 'it's a party, let it slip,' but, seriously, give me the Caipirina. If you can't pronounce the name of the drink, you're too wasted to drink it."
She still refused. "F*ck you, skank," she slurred.
I took one of the hugest 'calm your ass down, Dez' breaths I've ever taken. All these drunk humans and the vampires, who ranged from sober to buzzed, were making this a stressful atmosphere for me. Usually I can handle the night-to-night guests with no problems. This was different. This was a party - a bar party. You may see how I wouldn't be that used to the atmosphere - not many parties for little Empathetic Dezzy.
I closed my eyes and dug the heels of my hands into them.
"Would you please just set the drink down and find Designated Dick?" I was referring to the community Designated Driver, Richard Deitt.
"Would you please just shut the f-," her profanity was cut short, and I removed my hands from my eyes to see why.
"April," Eric said in a soothing but chiding tone, eyes locked with hers. "The nice lady asked you to give her that drink you have and find your friend Richard. Don't you think you ought to listen to her?"
She slowly nodded her head with a distracted sort of 'mhm' sound. I had to wonder - I never had before - if I could be Glamoured. Sookie couldn't. Barry couldn't. But I wasn't quite the same as them. Could the subtle differences mean the not-so-subtle difference between being able to be put into a trance by a bloodthirsty walking corpse and not being able to?
I wondered this as April set her half-empty glass (you try being an optimistic Empath – har-de-har) before me and strutted unsteadily across the room to the aforementioned Dick.
I sighed. "Why do you keep doing that sort of thing?"
"Most people would say 'thank you'," he noted, "and you're welcome. What 'sort of thing'?"
"I've got a headache, Eric," I replied, exasperated. "Just answer the d*mn question. Why?"
"Working here shouldn't be miserable for you because of your ability."
I sighed. "The real answer, if you please?"
"I live to please," he playfully quoted me. Then he got serious. "I'm not entirely sure."
"Yes, you are," I shot back.
"I'm not sure how to explain it," he amended.
"You're only, what? A thousand at the least, right," I replied sardonically. "Don't suppose I should have assumed you had talked to a female once or twice in your life."
“I’m not -,” he growled. “I don’t have to take this from you.”
He whipped around and strode in the other direction, to his throne – to brood, I assumed. Big, emotionally-stunted, dead baby.
What was I asking from him, really? What did I want?
I wasn’t exactly asking him to drop to his knees and declare an undying love for me or anything. I just wanted him to admit that, yes, he was capable of feeling – caring – and that maybe he did care about me, at least a bit.
Was that so much?
Was that so bad? So selfish?
I needed a drink. I seriously needed a drink.
‘Convenient time to be a bartender.’
I grabbed the nearest glass – hell if I cared what kind it was – and the Cuervo started a’flowing.