so this is what you meant when you said that you were spent

There's shit that can kill you in Darrow.

Maybe it ain't quite the same as it was back in Bon Temps, but Lafayette no longer feels like Darrow is a calm reprieve from all the bullshit. The bullshit ain't so personal anymore -- no Eric, no fucking Pam, none of that other crap. No Debbie Pelt, no vampire Tara, no dead lovers. But it still ain't safe.

The creeping realization just pisses Lafayette off, sends him to the gun shops to pick up a handgun, a shotgun, to hardware stores for extra locks for his door, for an axe with a good strong handle. Shit he might need.

He isn't afraid to hold a gun, or to shoot somebody with it, but he's not nearly as good a shot as Jason Stackhouse, and he knows he can do better with practice. He looks up where the local range is, drives out in his shitty hooptie to plunk down his license and cash and head out. The air is pretty bitterly cold, but Lafayette feels it less as he concentrates, hands gripping around the pistol as he aims and fires. Not good enough.

He licks nervously at his lips, drying out in the cold until the start to crack. It's his patience that starts to go, next It isn't like him, to lose his patience, and not keep his cool. The frustration only sends his aim even more down the toilet, and he curses under his breath, ripping the soft mufflers off of his head.

simmer down, keep your head down low

Getting the short end of it again. That fucking figures.

Should've known that there would be more surprises waiting for his ass in Darrow. Why stop at regular fucking vampires that suck your blood, when you could have crazy weird fucking psychic vampires that do their best to scare the fuck out of you and then eat your emotions?

It's happening, and it's happening to Lafayette. The bitch had him pinned, grinding the soft skin of his cheek against the grain of the brick wall at his side in the alley as she shoved him against it roughly with a strength he should expect by now. It still scares the liuving fuck out of him.

"Bitch," he grinds out. "I told you, I ain't fuckin' interested in women, so go fuck wif' someone else." He takes a shuddering breath. It's cold as hell and has been for a few days, and the air burns Lafayette's lungs and makes raising his voice to shout for help nearly impossible after his struggle. Though as she laughs and shoves him harder, trying to meet his eyes so she can dig in his brain for whatever his greatest fear or whatever the hell she'd said was, he finds at least the renewed strength to struggle, kneeing her in the kidneys.

Maybe it won't do shit, but he'll be damned if he's gonna make being someone's dinner enjoyable. "Get off, bitch."