Eric Northman and Alice Sharrow
"T-this isn't right!"
Alice didn't even believe the words the second they escaped her lips. Through all her training in what she affectionately called "Slayer Camp," the girl had believed herself capable of managing some minute level of threatening. There was, however, something about being paraded through the halls of a prison viewing room in her high school cheerleading uniform with her hair up in a single, curled ponytail that seemed to completely obliterate any sense of dignity she could've upheld.
"Tell that to every other merchandise on display," the guards snickered at her expense. Apparently, they'd taken her belongings and determined that it would be a fine ensemble to attract those of a particular taste, in spite of her 18 years of age.
As sure as the Slayer was that she could take the mooks, Alice knew to fight back at this point would be, well, pointless. She'd be taken down in a second and possibly earn the title of Slayer with the Shortest Life Span Ever. No, she had to go along with it. And she had to hope whoever purchased her would be easy enough to take down. That was her job after all, wasn't it? Take them down. They were the problem, right? Her thoughts drifted to Aarynn, and miraculously her struggling ceased until the men shoved her into her viewing room.
Aarynn. She hadn't been herself, and Alice had taken her life. She convinced herself she hadn't had a choice. In her bloodlust, Aarynn had killed their parents. Had she not fought back, she would've been the next victim of a newly born vampire who couldn't control her bloodlust. It was what she told herself every day, and every day she could never quite buy it. There was some fault. Something she could've done. Anything. But she was a murderer. She'd killed her own sister, and, vampire or no, she was always her twin sister.
Alone in her glass-walled cage clad in a skimpy little cheerleading costume, Alice paced the length of the room for minutes before leaning against the wall with her head cast downward in deep thought as she waited. She was beyond mortified and about ready to punch the wall in a rare display of anger and frustration.