Ginger looks up at Eric in earnest. "Don't worry, Eric, I don't know nothin' 'bout anythin'!" she assures him.
Pam, meanwhile, stays silent and only nods, checking him over to see if he'd missed any bloodspatters. He hasn't, he's clean.
Then, with overwhelming dread and uncertainty, she and Ginger follow Eric out into the main bar.
The SWAT team is a little much, isn't it? The armed and helmeted officers line the room, stone still and menacing.
And then, a figure stalks toward Eric out of the shadows. High heels, short leather coat. She removes her sunglasses, revealing a very pale, very angled, very severe face. And she gives Eric a very severe glare.
Pam scowls. She never liked Nan Flanagan. Great sense of style, but such a bitch.
no subject
Pam, meanwhile, stays silent and only nods, checking him over to see if he'd missed any bloodspatters. He hasn't, he's clean.
Then, with overwhelming dread and uncertainty, she and Ginger follow Eric out into the main bar.
The SWAT team is a little much, isn't it? The armed and helmeted officers line the room, stone still and menacing.
And then, a figure stalks toward Eric out of the shadows. High heels, short leather coat. She removes her sunglasses, revealing a very pale, very angled, very severe face. And she gives Eric a very severe glare.
Pam scowls. She never liked Nan Flanagan. Great sense of style, but such a bitch.