Flash of Inspiration
by Bangfangs
As Pam's 80th Deathday approaches, Eric struggles to find the perfect gift.
(~this is a break because thinks my stars shouldn't be in my stories~)
Eric was not a vampire prone to sentimentality. Though few knew it, he was not hard-hearted- not even a little- but he was also extremely practical. While that trait had helped him live so very long, it also meant that when it came to gift giving, Eric was somewhat clueless.
There were only two vampires Eric would admit any particular attachment to- his Maker, Godric, and his progeny, Pamela. And when he needed a gift for Godric, he sought Pam's counsel. But Godric was no help when it came to selecting things for Pam, since he was born long before the notion of romantic love and was mostly lost when it came to matters concerning the fairer sex.
So Eric was on his own that evening in 1986. His dear child was soon to be 80 years dead, turned just after the turn of the century, and this milestone was one that befitted a large gift. She'd be expecting something unique and extravagant, unforgettable. He grimaced, remembering his offering of a hastily procured AB- human with a bow around his neck for her 75th Deathday. She'd scowled and pouted at his "righteous fucking thoughtlessness" for almost a year.
No, he didn't want to deal with that again. He needed something remarkable this time around. They'd separated for a short time about a month ago; she'd wanted to stay in Paris for the spring fashion season, since it was easy for her to watch the runway from the rafters at night, and he wanted to go to LA for the award shows and tasty young starlets who attended. There were many parties with inebriated and lovely bloodbags just waiting to be sampled, so they'd agreed to meet up in three months for her Deathday in New York. He had some time to consider his gift, though as one might imagine, a few months was nothing to a nearly thousand year old vampire.
He considered kidnapping one of her favorite screen stars and bedecking her in her favorite designers, ready for Pam to play with, but it was too similar to his 75th debacle, so he quickly dismissed the idea. He broke into jewelry stores, disabling the alarms with ease and looking over their finest jewels, but nothing really caught his eye. He even went out to one of the horse farms- when alive and sometimes now, Pamela adored horses- but the impracticality of transporting and caring for the beast kept him from taking one. He considered real estate, pets, purring Persian kittens and fine Persian rugs alike. He bought half a dozen pairs of heels and stashed them away while he considered more gifts. Having granted her immortality, he didn't really know what else he could do for her.
He even sought the advice of one of his meals, though naturally, he altered the question quite a bit. They were lounging in her bed, dressed in silk sheets with a cool breeze that wafted the scent of gardenias into her bedroom through the open window. Heather was a minor soap opera star, and she thought his name was Leif and that he was a producer. She was sort of easy.
"I need to get a gift for my daughter. Do you have any suggestions?" he purred, as he traced the line of her hip and circled his palm around her waist. She was actually rather pretty, though he preferred blondes, naturally.
"How old is she?"
He paused, considering for a moment. "She's sixteen." That seemed accurate, at least mentally, at times. Especially the times when Pamela was acting like a spoiled brat.
"You have a sixteen year old?" Heather exclaimed, and he sighed. "I was only sixteen when she was born," he lied easily.
"Oh," she replied, sinking back onto the pillows, letting the lies cover her like a quilt. "Well, does she like music? Maybe you could buy her some records, or tapes. Or maybe spring for some of those compact discs and a player! She would think that was rad. My kid sister would totally go for it." She tossed her crimped hair over her shoulder and curled closer into his easy embrace.
It was a silly idea, but in the end, it inspired him.
(~this is a break because thinks my stars shouldn't be in my stories~)
Once the idea took hold in his mind, the actual act itself was almost too easy. The musicians did a lot of drugs; they were almost too easy to glamour. And the words came naturally; he didn't put pen to paper, he just expressed what was in his heart.
He just needed to find the opportune time, and he found it near the Sunset Strip. There was a run-down old two story house crawling with groupies, drugs, and one of the more popular musical acts of the day. He was just drifting by when he heard the notes galloping by…they sounded juvenile, and reminded him of the old travelling circuses they'd sometimes hidden amongst back in Europe. The guitarist was just playing them over and over, instantly drawing him closer.
He flew in the open window and instantly glamoured both men, drawing them into his influence. He got the blond one with the bandanna to grab a pen and paper, and told him the words very precisely.
And then he said, quite seriously, "You will get this song onto your next album. It will be released to the radio."
"We'll record it," the men agreed, slack-jawed. "Next time we're in the studio."
"Good boys." Eric patted them on the head, each in turn. "Now, you wrote it about your girlfriend. Remember that. You don't remember me."
"Who?"
"Exactly." And with that, Eric left.
All in all, he was pretty pleased with himself. It was perfect.
(~this is a break because thinks my stars shouldn't be in my stories~)
"So, what have you got planned?" Pam demanded eagerly. "And so help me God, Eric, if it's another lame human or a pair of shoes-"
"Pam, you think so little of me," he defended quickly while he simultaneously chucked the gift bag behind his back into a nearby trash can. It contained the shoes, of course, his backup gift in case the band wasn't compliant tonight. She caught his lightning-quick moment and rolled her eyes. Hopefully the homeless person who found them could wear a size 8. Though the stiletto heels were hardly practical in this New York winter.
"In fact, I've got a completely unique gift planned for you. No one has ever done this. Well, not that I'm aware of, anyway." It had taken a while for the band to finally get the song released, so instead of an 80th gift, it was actually an 82nd. He told her as much as they walked through the winding paths of Central Park.
"I remember that year- more shoes! You'd better have done something right this year, Eric!"
"Just follow me, dear progeny." He grabbed her hand and then took to the sky, lifting her up into his arms. She looped her wrists around his neck and squealed like a young girl as they climbed up ever-higher. Then he spotted the stadium and descended again gracefully, landing on the outskirts just beyond the concert fence. The band was in the middle of their set, and Pam impatiently tapped her foot and demanded just what they were doing from time to time. Just when Eric was about to give up, afraid they'd already played the hit, the iconic first few notes began to stream from the huge concert speakers, the guitarist hunched over his instrument and playing that lilting calliope melody.
Her eyes went to Eric's, her right eyebrow lifting quizzically. Then her face broke out in a huge grin as he began to quietly sing along with the front man on stage, the lyrics he'd written just for her:
"She's got a smile that seems to me, reminds me of childhood memories, where everything was as fresh as the bright blue sky…"
She did remind him of the days when the world was pure and clean, when human blood wasn't filled with chemicals and toxins…before everything was industrialized, back when he'd played on the pristine shoreline as a child.
"Now and then when I see her face, she takes me away to that special place, and if I stare too long, I'd probably break down and cry..."
Pam smiled even more brightly and he saw rare tears shimmering at the edges of her eyes, threatening to spill red down her cheeks. Yes, he'd gotten it right this time- a famous song, a hit that no one but they would ever know was about her. This was his love song to her.
"Oh, sweet child of mine…Oh, oh, oh, sweet love of mine."
(~this is a break because thinks my stars shouldn't be in my stories~)
Ten minutes later, she was pulling her mostly shredded panties back on- mostly out of habit- and fixing her lipstick as he buttoned his jeans back up and smoothed his hair.
"That, my dearly devious departed Maker, was a lovely Deathday gift. Though it did kind of fall apart at the end…'Where do we go now?'"
"I didn't write that part," he retorted, reaching over to wipe a smudge of dirt from her cheek. They'd ended up rolling around in the grass quite a bit before the song was quite over, covering each other in kisses. And quickly that had lead to other things as the concert played on, oblivious. "Evidently the song I gave them wasn't long enough."
"It was perfect." She stood on tiptoe and kissed his chin, and he smiled back down at her before dropping his lips to brush her forehead. "And I meant every word."
(~this is a break because thinks my stars shouldn't be in my stories~)
Guns N' Roses- Sweet Child O'Mine (1986)
She's got a smile it seems to me Oh, oh, oh She's got eyes of the bluest skies Oh, oh, oh
Reminds me of childhood memories
Where everything
Was as fresh as the bright blue sky
Now and then when I see her face
She takes me away to that special place
And if I'd stare too long
I'd probably break down and cry
Sweet child o' mine
Oh, oh, oh, oh
Sweet love of mine
As if they thought of rain
I hate to look into those eyes
And see an ounce of pain
Her hair reminds me of a warm safe place
Where as a child I'd hide
And pray for the thunder
And the rain
To quietly pass me by
Sweet child o' mine
Oh, oh, oh, oh
Sweet love of mine