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Pam is getting restless.

She and Eric haven't gone back home in a while, but now she's feeling the itch, even if she's not looking forward to what awaits them. A giant pain in the ass, is what.

But she isn't leaving without Eric. When he says it's time to go, then they'll go together. She just hopes he's had enough time to come up with a plan. And it's not like she's been completely idle, she's been wracking her brain trying to think of something, too, but how to kill a 3,000 year old vampire isn't in her field of expertise.

So what else can you do but sit at a table with a laptop and compose a very long and detailed email to your personal shopper in Chicago about overhauling your entire wardrobe.

She's not very botherable and never really has been, ever. But she won't bite your face off. This time. Probably.

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"You hit the letters on that table, and they appear on the -- computer, you say?" the woman says. "Like instant type-setting? How very useful!"

"Instant type-setting is a good way to put it. Whatever you see on the screen, you can also print it out on paper."

Pam remembers when personal computers first came out, but she didn't find them quite as fascinating.

"When are you from?"

"I was on Earth last in the year 1782," she says.

Her phrasing gets a slightly raised eyebrow.

"Oh. Okay. So, what does that mean, exactly? That you're-- dead?"

Long silence.

"To be quite frank, I do not know."

Well. That sucks.

"How can you not know? I mean, so you don't remember if you died or not?"

"Indeed," she says. "I have been in purgatory so long, my memory how I got there is lost in the mist between the trees."

Edited 2015-01-24 21:04 (UTC)

Well. That's poetic.

"Purgatory? That's the place that's neither heaven nor hell, right? Or so they say."

"Indeed," she says. "A place of trees in the mist, endless, and lost souls wandering about in the middle distance -- or at least so it seems to me."

So purgatory is a foggy forest. Okay. Not that Pam is skeptical or anything.

"Well, at least you've got a way to get here."

"Sometimes, that forest will lead to the forest here," she says. "And sometimes, I find ways to reach my husband in the time where he is now."

"Oh, you have a husband."

Not that that's ever stopped Pam before.

"He must be worried about you."

To say the least?

"He comes here, also," she says. "Ichabod Crane. Have you met him?"

"Haven't had the pleasure."

There might be a slight purr in her voice.

"I didn't catch your name...?"

"Oh, my apologies, my manners are atrocious today," she says. "I'm Katrina Crane."

She offers her hand to the other woman.

Pam smiles and slips her hand, just as elegant and ladylike, into hers.

The only difference is that her skin is cool. Not because of a chill, but it's innately cool. Cadaver-like cool.

"Pam." She smirks a little and nods to the laptop screen where she'd typed her name. "Nice to meet you, Katrina."

"So it really is your name, .. Pam," Katrina says, as if unused to calling a stranger by their first name immediately after meeting them, but trying to adapt.

"Pam De Beaufort," she says with a nod, though she's moved on far beyond the old-world courtesies. "Nobody calls me Pamela except my Maker."

"Your -- maker, Miss De Beaufort?"

Katrina seems puzzled.

"You hear your God speaking to you when you pray?"

Pam utters a short chuckle.

"Now that would be really something, wouldn't it?" she says wryly. "No, I mean the vampire who made me."

She raises her eyebrows at her in a get it? expression.

"Vampire made you -- into another vampire?" Katrina asks, shocked.

"Yes, honey, I'm a vampire," she replies, unfazed by Katrina's reaction.

"Don't worry, I'm not gonna bite you. Unless you want me to."

Those 18th century dresses expose such a lovely amount of neck and throat on a woman.

"I very much doubt so," Katrina says. "Whoever would want such a strange thing?"

"Oh, you'd be surprised. There are people out there who find the idea of vampires very alluring. And erotic."

"They take pleasure in being prey?" Katrina asks.