He doesn't like it. Being stared at, being sounded. "Aren't you afraid to be out here alone with a hungry vampire?" Her answer is a simple "no." He points out that, colloquially, "vampires often turn on those who trust them," because they don't have "human values." She grins, because nobody turns on each other like humans, with their values. She wraps the silver chain around her neck, like a scarf, and finds his eyes again: "I'm not a total fool." The vamp pushes it, trying to get back control of the situation, find that easy sexy intimidation that's gotten him through the last few centuries; the sex beast that's given men the upper hand since people were invented: "But you have other very juicy arteries," he says, eyes traveling. "There's one in the groin that's a particular favorite of mine..." More Sookie greatness follows. "Just shut your nasty mouth, mister. You might be a vampire, but when you talk to me, you will talk to me like the lady that I am." The vampire is undone, charmed, defeated, impressed. She's of him, of his people: courtly and rulebound.
The vampire sits back and offers her the blood the Rattrays drained off him, which of course disgusts her totally. "I understand it makes humans feel more healthy. Improves their sex life." She assures him she's healthy as a horse, "And I have no sex life to speak of, so..." He meets her eyes, just the tiniest glint of laughter behind them, and her eyes slide away. She laughs at herself, caught in a game she's never played before. He offers she could sell it, now that it's drained, and she swears she'd never touch it. Suddenly, he is next to her, staring into her eyes, afraid of what she is and the mystery she holds: "What are you?" he asks, in a new voice. She shrinks back. "Well, I'm... I'm Sookie Stackhouse. And I'm a waitress." Still a bit wary, but polite as ever, she asks his name. It is Bill. She cracks up, never dropping his gaze. "Bill? I thought it might be Antoine, or Basil, or... Or, heh... or like Langford, maybe. Vampire Bill. Oh, my." He's none too impressed, so she changes the subject again. "So. Silver, huh? I thought that only affected werewolves..." (Was that racist? Is she calling him a mythical thing and otherizing him or something? What are the rules? She starts to stutter.) "I... I... I'm not implying that werewolves exist." (He grins, as though they totally do and he knows it.) "I mean, that's just what you always see in the movies."
Bill nods at her, inclining his head seriously, manipulatively, telling her in word and manner that she is now a part of the elite, responsible, special. A very special girl. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't share this information with anyone. We don't like for our weaknesses to be made public knowledge." She nods seriously, worthy of this secret, and puts her hair absent-mindedly behind the ear. She stands slowly, and he stands with her, and she excuses herself to go back to work. Walking away, smiling to herself and at herself, glorying in the silence, loosing the silver cord from her throat. He stands in the darkness; he watches her go into the light.