Pam Swynford De Beaufort (
lazy_but_loyal) wrote2014-10-15 10:23 am
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OOM - Pam's room
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.
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.
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"That's..." She blinks slowly, sighing and nearly losing track of her train of thought.
The correct answer is probably 'a bad idea', or 'something I'll do when I get home', but instead she nods. "That's probably a good thought."
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Was it really necessary for Eric to lick Jemma's wounds closed? No. No, it was not. And this is the look that Pam is giving him that conveys such a sentiment without her having to say anything.
She shoos Eric off the bed so that she herself can get up.
"C'mere, sugar," she murmurs at Jemma, urging her to lie down.
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"Just a moment or two, that's all..." She agrees, curling into the empty space at Pam's side like a drowsy kitten.
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What?
He was just being practical.
That's all.
He goes into the bathroom and returns with a glass of water for Jemma.
He's also wiped his face clean.
His in-control exterior is beginning to wear a little thin.
He'll have to go back. Sit in the car with the two of them, the Queen and the King.
Smile at Edginton. When all he wants to do is kill him.
"I'm sorry it took so long," he says to Pam.
Eric never apologizes.
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Pam takes the glass of water from Eric and sets it on the nightstand.
And then looks up at him at his apology, her brows knitted.
"Don't be. I'm sure you did what you had to."
She gets to her feet, taking a few steps toward him, reaching up to touch his shoulders, his face. Goddamn, how she missed that face. It was all she wanted to see these past two nights, and finally she has it back again. She chuckles softly to herself.
They're not alone. But Jemma is out of it, so she doesn't matter.
With a sigh, she runs her hands down Eric's arms to cling at his fingers.
"But you still can't wear light colors."
She arches an eyebrow at him.
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"And I fed on Sookie's cousin. She's Sophie-Ann's pet."
What a tiny world they live in.
"I did try though."
Resting his face against the top of her head. Breathing in the scent of her hair.
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It's nice feeling no more pain between them. But the worry is still there, lingering like a shadow.
Sh grows quiet.
"You don't have to go back yet."
Please don't go back yet.
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"But I have to go back to Mississippi with Edgington. Just for a couple of nights."
And he doesn't know what to do. He can't kill a 3,000 year old vampire in a fight. And he has to. He has to kill him.
And he can't tell her.
"Now the revenue from Fangtasia will end up in his accounts I doubt he'll want to keep me away for too long."
Unless the sly looks mean something.
In which case, -
No.
He will do whatever it takes to get his revenge. Now that Pam is free.
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Mostly because she's too mentally exhausted to deal with anything.
"Oh, god," she mutters, as a pang of dread strikes her. "What the fuck are we going to do about the Magister?"
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And rubs her back. Soothingly. One large hand moving slowly from the back of her skull and down to the curve of her ass.
"We'll have him mopped up and if The Authorithy shows up, we give them Edgington."
This is a lie. He wants his death for himself.
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No, she is not going to cry.
After a moment, she gently pulls back, rubbing the inner corner of her eye with a fingertip. It comes away smudged with makeup
and maybe a little bit of blood."I need to take a shower. Wash off the Magister's funk."
She glances over at Jemma.
"Keep an eye on her? And don't try anything funny."
She punctuates this with a poke to his chest.
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And then she is poking him and he says, "Like what?" All out upon innocence.
As if he has ever done anything untoward to a sleeping woman.
Well, he hasn't done it recently. Or frequently.
"You should keep wine here, you know," he says, settling down on the bed. "It often comes in very handy." He would know.
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At his suggestion, she shrugs. She sees the act of inviting someone to her room as a business transaction more than a social call and doesn't usually keep humans around longer than necessary. Nor does she give humans the impression that she's social. But she'll consider it.
"I'll stock up on a bottle or two."
And she heads for the bathroom and disappears inside, leaving the door open just a crack.
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He keeps his shoes on. It's not like Pam can see him.
He looks down at Jemma lying beside him. Curled up and pale.
And for the briefest of moments, she is a bleeding child, torn apart and crushed - and he blinks and shakes his head and she is Jemma again.
Edgington will suffer for this.
He pushes a stray lock of hair out of Jemma's face.
He owes her for this.
She's a brave little thing.
And stupid.
SookieHumans often are.He sighs and rubs his hands over his face.
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The rest is reminding her that falling asleep around a pair of vampires, no matter how favorably inclined, wasn't her brightest move. It's something she's going to neglect to mention to... well. Much of anyone.
"Mrph. I'm up, I'm up." She mutters, entirely unconvincingly, given how she fails to suit action to words.
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He likes hair.
For a dangerous predator, Eric has surprisingly calming hands. They're also quite cold of course.
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And that feels nice.
She'll just... gather her strength, for a moment. Make a mental list of the things she needs to get done before going back to the lab.
...
She gets through two things (Item 1: Get new notepads. Item 2: Write a note to Fitz about the spiderbot she saw up in the rafters.) before she's drowsing again.
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After two days of being subjected to the Magister's icky creepiness (and of course, the torture), this feels like heaven. Nothing to think about, nothing to worry about. She would stay in here for hours if she didn't have a scientist and a Viking in her bed.
She stays long enough.
After stepping out into the steam-filled room and wrapping herself in a pink terrycloth robe, she wipes away the condensation on the mirror and starts blow-drying her hair.
Time for a little self-pampering. She'll be in the bathroom for just a little while longer.
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Not until he felt himself relax, just a little, at the sound of the blowdryer.
She was okay.
He didn't really notice he was still stroking Jemma's hair,p. soothingly.
And not really for her benefit.
The talons of the fear of losing Pam were slow to let go.
The deepest sorrow, to loose a child.
To loose a child.
He found himself nodding. Yes. That would be where he would start. Russell Edgington would feel that sorrow and pain. To loose a child.
All he had to do was make sure he was alone with soft, pretty, preening Talbot. Just long enough.
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...
Combined with the fuzzy-headedness of bloodloss, it's giving her a distinct feeling of being lost in Wonderland at the moment, unable to quite get her bearings.
Bed.
Right. Dratted ridiculously comfortable bed that will be her downfall and possibly swallow her whole. That one.
...
She should get up. Or. Uppish. Make an effort, as it were.
The petting's nice.
Up, Simmons.
"This thing should come with a warning label." Jemma mutters as she works on the whole 'sitting up' thing. It's a process, where the distinct woozy feeling is not helping things one tiny bit.
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Then, out comes the makeup bag. She goes for a more subdued look, with lavender eyeshadow and a soft pink shade of lipstick.
She isn't doing this for Eric, or even for Jemma. She does it for herself, because this is how she restores normalcy to whatever situation she's in. When she can make herself look pretty and feel fabulous, then she is in control. And lately too much chaos has been fucking things up, so pardon her while she applies some goddamned mascara.
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"I didn't ask." She notes, after some owl-eyed observation of Eric and his graphically-decorated attire. "Are you alright?"
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He's not. And the lie may not be as smooth as it normally is.
Then he looks at the bathroom door and says, softly, "She's alright," and the emotion in his voice is no lie at all.
He gets up from the bed.
"I'll have some food sent up for you. You should eat, "he says to Jemma.
He'll need to look into getting a will drawn up. When he gets back from the King's.
'And Jemma?"
He does not like to be beholden. But he acknowledges when he is.
"Thank you. "
He raises his voice. Even though he doesn't have to.
"I'm going downstairs, Pam. I'll be back later."
Not leaving her before he's said goodbye.
But he needs space. And blood.
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She doesn't get very far (this is becoming a somewhat tiresome theme) before there's a tiny rattattat on the door.
Jemma's just fine with ignoring it, but it gets repeated before too long.
"Um. Pam?" But evidently someone gave the waitrats door keys, because the door swings open to admit two hard-working rats. They trundle past with the heavily laden tray, and after setting it up to their satisfaction, take themselves away again.
"... I'm not sure if I would be more or less reassured if that was a hallucination."
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Her hand pauses in the middle of applying lip liner, and she glances toward the bathroom door, frowning slightly. She hopes he's not going to go brood. She really doesn't want to have to snap him out of it.
As she finishes up and packs away her makeup, she hears the soft tapping on the door and is intent to ignore it as well. But when Jemma calls her, she exhales a little sigh, and steps out of the bathroom in time to see the rats leaving.
She blinks.
"Mmmnope, not a hallucination."
That's really taking room service to a new level.
Barefoot and smelling of lavender soap, she ambles over to the bed.
"Enjoy your catnap?" she asks, cupping Jemma's cheek and lifting her chin to look at her eyes. As gentle as her touch is, it's not so much a gesture of affection, but one of practical concern.
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