Pam Swynford De Beaufort

The shots that Dr. Ludwig prescribed to Pam were already beginning to work. Thank fuck.

It fell on Ginger to administer them, six shots every four hours as directed. It wasn't an easy task, what with Pam viciously swearing through the pain as those giant needles sunk into her flesh. And her temples. But it was all worth it, because after the third round, a thin film of nearly translucent skin had formed over Pam's body. As she lay resting in her pink satin-lined coffin in the basement of Fangtasia, she whiled away the time thinking of pleasant things, like revenge.

And then came a phone call from Bill. Phone calls from Bill were never a good thing.

Ginger held the cell phone to Pam's regenerating ear as he delivered the news: Marnie had escaped, so vampires must chain themselves down with silver, or else her daywalking spell would force them out into the sunshine.

Well, shit.

Pam had no choice. So after Ginger gave her the latest round of shots before the sun came up, Pam braced herself.

Ginger laid a sheet of silver chainmail over Pam's still-healing face and quickly shut the coffin lid as Pam shrieked like a banshee. The silver burned through her skin, filling the coffin with the stench of it.

It sucked.

It sucked even more when the sun rose and the witch's spell swept over her, making her bang on the locked lid, violently shaking the entire coffin. She couldn't control herself. She screamed to be let out.

But steadfast Ginger did what she could to help. She climbed onto the rattling coffin and rode it like a bucking bronco. All the while screaming in terrified reply.

Dignity, thy name is Ginger.


*****


The spell passed. And all was quiet.

"Get this thing off of me," was Pam's muffled demand. She was fully in control of herself once more.

When Ginger lifted the lid of the coffin, she hesitated.

"Just get it over with!"

It really was best to rip the chainmail off Pam's melted, bloody face in one go. Really. It was.

And in a snarling, blind rage from pain and hunger, Pam grabbed Ginger and nearly pulled her into the coffin as she bit down on her throat.

Pam was desperate. And fucking hungry. She would never speak of this and would glamour Ginger into forgetting it ever happened.


*****


Pam stood in front of a mirror. Eyeing her reflection, she slowly turned her face to the left, and then to the right. She prodded at her chin, her nose, her cheeks, her lips.

Her skin and features had been completely restored. Faint purple veins still showed through the new epidermis, but that could easily be covered up with makeup. She would have to keep up with the regimen of injections (forever) to preserve this look, but, well, she was pleased. Very pleased indeed.

But then her cell phone rang.

It was Bill again.

He, along with Eric, Sookie, the local vampire sheriffs, and his own armed guards, were going to confront Marnie and her coven in the graveyard tonight. Would she be willing to help?

Oh, fuck yeah.

[Continued from here.]

Revenge.

Revenge is a wonderful motivator. Pam had learned this from Eric, who didn't even really have to instill that much into her, she was already of that mindset the moment she was turned. It was something they could bond over.

But that Eric is gone. Pam will never have the same bond with the Eric who exists now.

She'll just have to deal with it.

Revenge therapy is a good start.

Pam flies through the humid Bon Temps night, down its backwoods lanes, through its moonlit forests that reeked of werewolves. She's hunting. Smelling, listening. Her senses draw her toward Merlotte's Bar & Grill. God, she hadn't been to this fucking dump in a long time.

There are two women quietly talking in the parking lot. Tara and her girlfriend. Pam hears their conversation before she even gets within twenty feet of them.

"You are coming home, right?" the other woman asks Tara. "I mean, back to New Orleans?"

"I want to, Naomi..." Tara replies, uncertainty in her voice.

"But...?" Naomi urges, shaking her head. "You hate this place. You said there was nothing left for you here."

Pam steps into the circle of light from a streetlamp.

"Now, that's a rotten thing to say," she quips. Dry as dust.

The two women turn in shock and fright at the sight of her, the shadows on her face accentuating the literal holes in her skin in a ghastly way.

"Rotten. Get it?"

They start to back up, Tara pushing Naomi behind her.

"I had no idea what Marnie was doin'-!"

"Spare me the dyke-in-the-woods routine, Tara," Pam snarls.

Tara warns Naomi, "Get out now."

"But-"

"Get in the car. Drive as fast as you can. This isn't your fight!"

"It isn't yours either!"

Pam is taking her sweet time strolling closer and closer, enjoying the scent of their sweat and adrenaline. The frantic beating of both of their hearts is music to her ears.

"Girls, no need to squabble," she purrs. "There's plenty of me to go around."

Tara shouts, "Go! Now!"

But it's too late. Fangs bared, and with the blood-curdling screech of an angry leopard, Pam is on them in less than the blink of an eye. She slams Tara to the ground and straddles her, cold fingers wrapped around her throat, while her other hand holds tightly onto Naomi's throat, effortlessly keeping her at arm's length as she struggles.

"I can't decide which of you to kill first," Pam sneers, like a cat playing with her food. "You like your piece of tail?" Tara's eyes dart to Naomi. This is not lost on Pam. "Huh. I'll start with her, then."

Pam throws Naomi backwards, and she lands in a heap on the ground. The moment Pam gets to her feet, Tara draws a gun on her. Pam smacks it away. It's lost in the thick bushes in the dark.

"Play fair, now."

Pam whips around just in time to catch Naomi's leg as she attempts a roundhouse kick. That's so cute, she's a kickboxer. Pam delivers a blow to her chest that sends her flying.

"Run! Run for the bar!" Tara shouts.

As Naomi tries to scramble away, Pam tackles her in a blur, laying her out on her back. Naomi screams. Pam slaps her hard, almost knocking her out.

"Shut up."

She's about to sink her teeth into her throat when Tara comes up behind her and whacks her in the head with a tire iron. A piece of her scalp with long, blonde hair attached splats on a car's windshield several yards away.

Now Pam is just fucking furious.

She spins around on her feet, catching Tara's wrist when she tries to hit her again. Pam knocks the tire iron out of her hand before grabbing her throat and squeezing. Tara gasps for air.

"You wanna die first? Fine by me," Pam growls, lifting Tara clean off her feet. "How does it feel to have your life slippin' outta you?"

Tara gurgles weakly, her eyes rolling back into her head as the air is choked out of her.

"Huh? What? What's that? I can't understand you. Too bad. I'll never know."

Suddenly: there's a flash of light from a camera. Then another, and another, and another.

A whole fucking crowd of people from the bar have gathered, and they've got their phones out.

"I knew it, told you they were killers," someone chatters.

"TMZ's offerin' 10K for a real live vamp-attack video!" says someone else.

"Well, you're gonna have to share it with me."

"What the hell's the matter with her face?"

"Hey! Show us your face!"

"Are you sure she ain't a zombie?"

"Holy crap. Now there's zombies?"

...Is this real life? Is this really happening? What the fuck?

Are they really talking about her her face???

Pam turns her face away from the flashing cameras and phones. Horrified. Completely and utterly horrified. Tara is dying in her unrelenting grip, but she's horrified that these photos and videos will be on the internet within seconds and her disfigured face will most likely be visible. FUCK.

"I... am not... a zombie!" she shouts with indignant rage.

Someone mutters, "That's exactly what a zombie would say: 'I'm not a zombie.'"

"Like she's gonna tell us she's really a zombie..."

Idiots. Holy shit, they're all idiots.

Pam can't risk killing Tara now, not in front of everyone. Revenge was close, so close. She glares at Tara as her consciousness begins to fade, lowering her so that they're face to face.

"It may be ten minutes from now, or ten years," Pam hisses in a voice that only Tara can hear. "The moment you think you're safe, I promise I will hunt you down, and fuckin' shred you like confetti."

She lets go of Tara's throat, and she drops to the ground, wheezing. And Pam takes off into the night, away from the crowd of gawkers, away from this shithole.

Revenge will be hers some day. But right now, as soon as she gets back home to Shreveport, she's going to have to find a way to fix her face.

Because she's got fucking priorities, goddammit.


[Scene and dialogue from True Blood S4E6 & E7.]

[Continued from here.]

Pam opens the Staff Only door onto the main room of Fangtasia. It's empty and quiet, though some of the lights are still on, illuminating the dance poles and the stage.

The stage glows a deep blood red, the throne stands without its sheriff.

Pam drifts toward the edge of the room. She keeps her distance from Eric, knowing that the smell of rotting flesh upsets him as much as it would anyone.

"This is your nightclub, Eric."

[Continued from here]

The room that Bar gives them is as efficient as any hotel room but not entirely dull to look at, because this is Pam, and she gets bored fast.

When Ivan opens the door, Pam stops on the threshold. He booked the room after all, so it's kind of his.

"You need to invite me in," she says, a hand on her hip. "It's a vampire thing."

Fangtasia is closed for the night.

Pam figured that Eric was going to come up with ways to recoup their financial losses thanks to-- well, everything that's been happening that forced them to keep their doors shut until everything was sorted. So now, she's just going to hold down the fort and do her nails while Ginger sweeps up the crusty flakes that Russell left behind.

"Hey, Pam-?" Ginger asks.

"Ah-ah!" Pam snaps. "What did I tell you?"

"Oh," says Ginger, cringing sheepishly. "Sorry. For a second there I forgot about the No Talking To Pam Tonight rule."

"You're still talking to me, Ginger."

"Sorry!"

Ginger resumes sweeping.

And for a moment, Pam pauses what she's doing, as she senses that something is wrong. That Eric might be in trouble. It's a disturbing feeling.

Suddenly the front door, which was supposed to have been locked, bursts open.

Pam whirls around.

Ginger screams and drops the broom.

It's Ruben, and he's got a length of silver chain in his gloved hands.

"Miss De Beaufort," he rumbles.

"Ruben, what the hell are you doing here with that?" Pam demands.

"Mr. Northman's orders," he says plainly, and with vampire speed, he rushes at her, fangs down.

Before Pam can think Oh, you have GOT to be kidding me, she counters the attack by flinging a table at him, sending him flying into, well, the counter.

Ginger is still screaming.

"For fuck's sake, Ginger, get out of here!" Pam yells at her. Tottering and teetering on her platform high heels, Ginger flees into the ladies' room.

Ruben picks himself up from amid the broken glasses and liquor bottles. Pam circles, giving him a wide berth.

"Are you out of your fucking mind?" she snaps at him, her own fangs having dropped out of fury. "Why would Eric order you to come after me?"

"He didn't say," Ruben grunts, picking up the chain.

Really. Really? It's one thing to have mindless minions, but for them to be so dull-witted and incompetent is another. Pam told Eric he should have killed this one when he fucked up trying to track down Bill Compton.

"Oh, you are gonna regret this so hard," she warns him.

He says nothing to that. He only starts swinging the chain, approaching her head-on. Lashing out with the chain like a whip, he aims for her face.

Which is dumb, because Pam will always protect her face in a fight. Touch the face, you die.

She blocks the chain with her arm and it wraps around her wrist (thank goodness she's wearing long sleeves). Giving it a hard pull, she yanks Ruben forward and smashes his nose with her elbow.

He yowls in shock and pain, but grabs her by the shoulders and hurls her to the floor. With the wind knocked out of her, he straddles her and wraps his hands around her throat.

As Pam struggles, her fingers curl around something thin and made of wood. The broom handle that Ginger had dropped. How convenient.

She whacks Ruben on the head with it, and it breaks in half. Dazed, his grip on her throat loosens just enough for her to flip him over onto his back. She pins him down.

"I said you were gonna regret this," she snarls.

And she plunges both halves of the broken broom handle into his chest. He screams.

She darts away at vampire speed, seconds before Ruben's body explodes into a huge mess of blood and goopy entrails. Because she is not getting any of that shit on her.

Some assassin.

She sheathes her fangs.

"Ginger!"

After a moment's silence, the door to the ladies' room creaks open. Ginger tiptoes out. And upon seeing the mess, she promptly starts screaming. Again.

With a frustrated sigh, Pam takes her aside and looks her straight in the eyes. Ginger eventually stops screaming.

"You're going to clean this up," Pam tells her, calmly, almost soothingly, without blinking.

"I am gonna clean this up, no problem," Ginger repeats in a slight monotone as she receives her billionth glamouring.

"And when you're done, you're going to go home."

"I'm'a go home for sure when I'm done."

"And you're not going to remember any of this."

"Nope, not at all."

"Good. Now get to it."

Ginger wafts away to go fetch the cleaning supplies.

Pam then finds a bit of bloody goo on her pant leg.

"Goddammit," she mutters, and she wrinkles her nose as she takes a napkin and tries to wipe the stain off.

[Continued from here.]

The ladies' room is empty, and sparkling clean, possibly the cleanest restroom in existence. (Such is the work of the Oompah Loompahs.)

Pam's heels echo against the tiles as she walks down an aisle between rows of stalls. She then stops and picks one, pushing the door open, and steps inside.

"C'mon in," she purrs at Noriko.

[Continued from here.]

Fangtasia is closed for the night.

The red neon sign in the window is still on, the door still unlocked, but the place is empty except for Ginger in the kitchen and Pam in Eric's office.

Pam is changing out of her leather bustier and miniskirt into more comfortable clothes that she'd brought along. Hot pink cropped leggings and matching Uggs for starters.

She takes her time as she slips off her top, revealing a leopard-print bra. She thinks of nothing in particular, only that she hopes to hear from Eric before dawn.


[Dialog lifted from True Blood season 3, episode 9.]

Pam would've objected to being carried.

But, ah, what the hell. She'd earned it.

And she wouldn't have been able to do anything about it anyway, because the moment Eric wrapped his arms around her, her body just gave out. It didn't want to be upright anymore. It didn't want to move on its own. It didn't want to lift a thing.

Besides, Eric is comfortable.

She didn't care where he was carrying her, just as long as it was away.

And then, even though Pam's eyes were closed and her senses were nearly shutting down from sheer exhaustion, she knew that they'd stepped into Milliways. Somewhere at the back of her foggy mind, she thought, Perfect. She'd never wanted to be here more than right now.


She smells Jemma, and she hears her voice. She would say hello, but, meh, too tired.


They arrive in her room.

[Continued from here.]


"Come out, come out, wherever you are," the Magister sings out, his voice an oozing echo in the semi-darkness of the dungeon.

Pam shoves her phone into her pocket and turns to look up at him as he and several of his vampire henchmen descend the stairs.

"Magister!" she says with a smile. "What a pleasant surprise."

The Magister is not amused.

"Oh, there's nothing pleasant about this."

One of his men is holding a cooler filled with large glass tubes containing vampire blood. The Magister takes one of them out and holds it up.

"This...is blasphemy," he hisses. "Take her!"

Two men grab Pam by the arms and drag her away, and the Magister follows, his cane tapping on the damp concrete floor.

( cut for descriptions of torture )

Eric was away for the evening.

This meant Pam could use his office.

After Fangtasia opened for business and the night's festivities got underway, Pam assigned a bouncer to the door and told Ginger to keep an eye on the bar. Because there was something Pam had to do. Rather, someone.

She pulled Yvetta off her shift -- assuring her that she'd still be paid her usual wages -- and invited her into Eric's office. Clearing some space on the desk, Pam sat her down, reached up the woman's miniskirt, and did away with her panties.

Fairly soon, in addition to the thumping techno music that reverberated throughout nearly the entire building, a crescendo of gasping, keening cries could be heard through the office door.

...Cries that were cut off by a ringing telephone.

Annoyed, Pam got up and out from between Yvetta's legs. She grabbed the receiver and stepped a few paces away from the table while Yvetta remained where she was, leaning back on her hands.

"Fangtasia," Pam answered, "this better be good."

A hesitant, halting voice was on the other end of the line. "Oh, hi, Pam, it's Jessica Hamby. We talked yesterday? I'm the one who-"

"I remember you perfectly," she snapped. "What is it?"

The hesitation was almost palpable. "Um... Well, I really, desperately need your help. I don't know where Bill is, and gosh, you guys are the only other vampires I know-"

"Spit it out, cupcake. I'm in the middle of something."

Behind her, Yvetta snickered.

"Right," Jessica continued, trying to compose herself. "Um... You remember how I was asking how you would- y'know, what you would do if you, like, killed somebody by accident?"

Pam sighed. "Did you call the hypothetical hardware store and buy a theoretical chainsaw?"

"Yes! And that's just the problem! I went to get the chainsaw, and now he's gone."

Okay. That was unexpected.

"What?" she said, one eyebrow arching.

Jessica sounded understandably flustered. "I left for like fifteen minutes and he just disappeared!"

Pam was actually somewhat curious, in that this sort of thing doesn't happen every day, but not so curious to be concerned. Maybe there was a zombie wandering around Bon Temps right now. Who knows? It really is none of her business.

"So the problem you have is that there is no dead body in your house?"

"...Yeah."

"Doesn't sound like a problem to me. Gotta run."

Pam returned to the desk and hung up the phone as Yvetta grinned up at her, eager for her to continue.

"Babies, they're all the same," Pam snorted, smirking. "Now, where were we? Oh, right..."

She placed her cold hands on Yvette's knees and spread them wide.

"Lie back, sweetheart," she purred, sinking lower, "and think of Estonia."


[NOTE: Dialogue taken from True Blood episode 3x03.]