Sookie, what have we done? And to whom?" "I killed a chicken. And I cooked it." "Sookie, Sookie. My bullshit meter is reading that as a false." -Eric Northman, Sookie Stackhouse

Eric was incensed, to use a good entry from my word of the day Calender. In fact his eyes were almost throwing sparks he was so angry. "This woman has been mine, and she will be mine" he said in tones so definite I thought about checking my rear end for a brand.

By the way, I haven't heard an 'I'm sorry' from you yet." My sense of grievance had overwhelmed my sense of self-preservation. I am sorry that the maenad picked on you." I glared at him. "Not enough," I said. I was trying hard to hang on to this conversation. Angelic Sookie, vision of love and beauty, I am prostrate that the wicked evil maenad violated your smooth and voluptuous body, in an attempt to deliver a message to me." That's more like it.

Oh, God, puppy dog eyes. From a six-foot-five ancient Viking vampire.

It was somehow degrading, craving someone so... voraciously - another good calendar word - just because he was physically beautiful. I hadn't thought that was something women did, either.

Could I tell them I was sorry their loved one was dead, when he’d tried to kill me? There was no rule of etiquette for this; even my grandmother would have been stymied.

If it pleases you and you can write at all, it's gonna please somebody else.