Twitter True Blood Player Backstory and interview with @VampireBill

IN MY LAST POST, I talked about interviewing a number of the True Blood Twitter role players and the challenges posed when an omniscient outsider wreaks havoc on an existing narrative. In preparing my questions, I thought it only apropos that I make like a Bon Temps citizen and develop amnesia, rendering useless any previous knowledge I’d had of their lives. We decided that I would conduct the interviews as a curious writer granted privileged access to the townsfolk leading up to, and after, a serious of dramatic and largely unexplained events. (If you haven’t completed Season Two, there are major SPOILERS contained within these interviews.) I also decided that I would create a backstory, something to set the scene from the perspective of a naive interloper who asks the questions that no one wants to answer. (Some of the players encouraged me to push harder, which was a whole lot of fun!)

With the exception of my interview with @VampireBill, which will appear after my backstory, the remaining interviews will be posted over the course of this week, so check back for updates, or follow me on Twitter @BeccaWilcott.

Becca Wilcott

My name is Rebecca Wilcott. I am a writer living in Toronto, Ontario.

In the late ’90s, I was walking home in the early morning when a group of individuals stepped out from the darkened entrance of a nightclub purported to offer safe haven to vampires. I’d come from a celebration at a nearby rockabilly bar, and while aware of my surroundings, I became confused, suffering from what I first mistook to be drunken hallucinations.

Sounds enveloped me, whispers, thoughts, and something like breath passing over canines. I half-expected to encounter a dog, maybe a pack, as I prepared to act insane, a past self-defense course resurrecting itself in a time of need. A noise grew in my throat, my temples throbbed, a last desperate inhale lodged in my chest for safe keeping. I turned to face them.

(Click the “Read More” link below to read the rest of this entry.)

They stood in a semi-circle around me, the tallest one stepping forward. His skin was luminescent, his eyes as electric as a deep ocean creature. He considered the length of my neck and raised his head, huffing a staccato sniff off the air around me. The one next to him stepped out and grabbed his wrist. Her mouth glistened under street light, her tongue darting past partially concealed fangs, as she uttered something in a language I did not understand. The tall one hissed and stood his ground. My fingers vibrated, my vertebrae strung tight, until I felt the sidewalk float out from beneath me.

Then they were gone, the place where they stood replaced with the dregs of last call and after parties. I was unsure how long I’d been standing there. The growl in my throat idled to a halt.

“She spared you.”

He spoke between a break in the plywood of a boarded construction site. He wore skin tight shorts and an unbuttoned black vest, his long black hair resting loosely on bare shoulders.

“Maybe next time, you’ll join us.” He stepped aside to reveal a small group of men and women at the bottom of the pit, writhing in the aftermath of a communal high.

The construction has long since been completed, but rumour tells that the builders left a pocket in tact, accessed only via a tunnel off the belly of the nightclub. I’ve never returned to the area, but, every so often, I wake after a restless sleep, as if I’ve been listening all night to stories from another time, told in an ancient and disembodied voice. On the nights when I shared my bed with another, I was often told that I’d had occasion to mutter aloud in a foreign, ancient language.

I became a writer so I could keep my own hours, and travel when the mood strikes me, steering myself toward the voices when they haven’t found me in some time. I’d corresponded via email with individuals claiming to be vampires, but it was only upon arriving in Bon Temps, Louisiana, at the height of horrendous circumstances, that I had ultimate confirmation that vampires do exist. One such vampire, William (Bill) Compton, has since been kidnapped. While it would appear that the entire Sheriff’s office, and most of Bon Temps, was under the influence of a now deceased entity, I have been brought as up to date as one could be in a town that doesn’t remember much of anything in recent memory.

What follows now is the entire transcript of my interview with Bill, texted as he waited to meet up with Sookie Stackhouse, a waitress from Merlotte’s, a local bar and grill, and his lover.

Rebecca Wilcott: Bill, you must miss your family. You came home to Bon Temps the instant it was possible. Who do you consider your family now?

Bill Compton: I do miss my family. It has been many years since I thought of them, and lately family has been very much on my mind. After receiving the tintype at the Descendants of the Glorious Dead meeting, I was overcome as I had not been for many years. I am responsible for Jessica, and have no inkling how to manage an unruly teenager, as I was turned before my children came of age. I hope to have Sookie as my family, if she would do me the honor. I believe I could do right by her, if given the chance.

RW: You never planned to become a maker. Now, you have Jessica in your charge, a young woman with needs. There’s also another man on the scene, Hoyt. Do you trust his motives?

BC: My hesitation was never with the Fortenberry boy, but rather with Jessica being newly made Vampire. She is not in control of her hunger and urges and will not be, for quite some time.

RW: Accounts from the night you and Sookie first met at Merlotte’s suggest that you had an almost immediate bond. What’s you’re attraction to Sookie?

BC: *eyes glaze over and tongue darts out to taste my lip* *runs hand across my chest* *turns and looks at you with eyes aglow with the memory as a small hiss escapes my throat* Sookie has re-awakened feelings in me, I never thought to experience again. She brought me my past, present, and future. I do believe that is all a gentleman should say on this particular subject. I am sure you understand.

RW: What’s your relationship to your maker, Lorena? I understand she found you in Dallas, and kept you from helping Sookie when she was held hostage at The Fellowship of the Sun. What place does she have in the world as you’ve come to know it?

BC: *growls deep in throat* *spits the word* Lorena. She is my maker and I will not deny the allure and pull of such a force, or what I did while in her thrall. I am Vampire. The blood lust is strong when one is newly made and I wished to please her. In the end, I could not endure the misery and had to be free or put to my final death. A place in my world? No. Never.

RW: As a Sheriff, Eric has more authority than you, yet you’re honour-bound to him for playing a part in saving Sookie’s life when she was attacked by a forest creature. Eric boasts that he’s in Sookie’s blood. Are there bad things you’d like to do to Eric?

BC: I am honor-bound to him as a vampire in his Area. He is my Sheriff and I am in his debt for helping to save Sookie. Are there bad things I would like to do to him? *smirks……lengthy pause* You do know about Vampire hearing, do you not?

RW: Do you think Sookie’s brother, Jason, is a help or a hindrance in the fight against The Fellowship of the Sun, an evangelist organization determined to rid your kind from the earth? For instance, if you were to think back to the Civil War, would you have wanted Jason by your side in battle?

BC: I believe Jason did, indeed, prove helpful in the church. I find him mentally deficient. I have not commented as Sookie loves him and he is all she has left. In a battle of brawn, I would accept his help eagerly. In a battle of wits, I do believe I would have to pass.

RW: If you could describe your relationship with Sookie in one word, it would be . . .

BC: Unexpected.

RW: You’re such a gentleman to answer all my questions. And it sounds like you have a lovely night ahead of you. While we have a few more moments, is there anything you’d like to ask me?

BC: Have you experience in raising teenage girls?

This is where my correspondence with Bill Compton ended. I sent my last reply, hearing nothing in return. Shortly thereafter, I heard of his disappearance.

Stay tuned for more interviews!

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