Title:Something Funny
Pairing: Pam/Tara
Rating: T
Disclaimer: Read this and Lettie Mae will condemn you to hell. Also? I own nada
Synopsis: Tara's bogged down with work. Pam is growing suspicious.
Psst: Had this sitting on my dummy book for damn near a year so I figured I'd at least post part of it before it fossilizes on my hard drive. Same universe as the others. Takes place in ~the future~ (cue spacey future music) after the last one shot..Business Work. Title jacked from a classic reggae song by the Wailing Souls. Whoever correctly guesses what actress Lark was inspired by gets a…Idk. Nothing, most likely. Eventually I'll put all of these stories in one convenient location somewhere where they can be read chronologically. Until then..
Ambling into what looked more like a small SOHO boutique than a closet, Pamela Swynford de Beaufort stood between two long rows of her meticulously organized clothes, shoes, and accessories. Normally, when faced with the prospect of dressing for a special occasion, the fashion conscious vampire would simply purchase a new outfit. But tonight was more than a special occasion. Tonight she would reunite the man to whom she owed her everlasting life, to whom she owed everything.
It seemed like a lifetime since she'd left her maker to carve out a new life with the young vampire who'd captivated her very soul…what was left of it, anyway. And while it pained Pam to leave, she knew it would hurt her progeny even more to stay. In those tempestuous days of their burgeoning relationship, neither she nor Tara could be certain of where things were headed. On more than one occasion that uncertainty had driven them apart. In most instances their separations proved disastrous.
The memory of how she'd nearly lost her young charge to a silver chain wielding redneck werewolf and his inbred pack of V addicts was still enough to make the worldly vampire seethe. Pam swore to herself back then that she'd never let anyone or anything come between her and Tara. It was an oath she'd upheld until now.
I may be runnin' late.
Pam frowned as she looked down at her mobile timepiece and reread Tara's text message. Although she'd informed Tara of her maker's visit weeks in advance, the younger vampire still ended up stuck at work on the night of their dinner.
Pam knew how seriously Tara took her job and the responsibilities that came along with it. Still she couldn't help but wonder if something else, or rather someone else was occupying the usually devoted vampire's time. She knew from prior experience that nothing was impossible.
An unbidden image of a young Sookie Stackhouse surfaced in Pam's increasingly glum thoughts. Never would she have imagined that her hundred-year old bond with Eric would begin to unravel over a gap-toothed bumpkin with a moronic name, and yet it had.
As much as she loathed the idea, Pam couldn't help but consider the distinct possibility that the woman she loved more than immortality itself may one-day follow in the footsteps of her sire. It was unreasonable, after all, to expect any vampire to want to stay settled down for long. Even more so when the vampire in question was young, beautiful, and turned in the prime of her human life.
Though she scarcely seemed to notice her many admirers, Tara caught the eye of men and women wherever she went. Pam figured it was only a matter of time before someone caught her eye as well. And if she had to wager whom that someone might be, she would have put her money on Lark Stewart.
Tara's latest underling at HMAL, Lark was a born head turner. Curly, sandy brown hair framed her deceptively youthful face while full lips and alluring hazel eyes complimented well-defined cheekbones and an angular jaw line. Her olive complexioned skin completed what was, by all accounts, a very pretty package.
There was something else about Lark; something intrinsic that made the young mortal particularly enticing to vampires - her blood smelled divine. It was a unique smell that Pam had encountered years before and hoped to never encounter again.
She remembered the first time they'd met. It had been the first, and last, time Tara was able to convince her to attend HMAL's annual Christmas party.
"Do They Know it's Christmas Time" had just begun to play as Pam attempted to cross the stuffy Notting Hill pub. So ridiculous were the lyrics that the vampire had to stop short to silently question what she'd done to deserve her stint in holiday hell. It was then that the tall blonde felt a slight figure crash into her from behind and flood her senses with an all too familiar scent.
"Sorry about that."
Pam spun around to assess the contrite creature. She was as diminutive in size as the halfling she'd once known, but that's where the similarities ended.
Spotting Pam's dangerously raised brow from across the crowded room, Tara sped through the maze of partygoers to stand between her maker and her coworker.
"Lark," She exclaimed, flashing a cheerful yet anxious smile.
"Tara," Lark squeaked in surprise as her face lit up. "What took you so bloody long?"
"We, uh, had some stuff to do around the house," Tara lied awkwardly. It was down to Pam and her ridiculously demanding libido that they nearly missed the party altogether.
Looking from her adorably embarrassed supervisor to the smug blonde beside her, Lark instantly realized what Tara meant by 'stuff'. "Oh, of course," she exclaimed, smiling faintly. "You must be Tara's old lady."
Staring down the mortal with a puckish glint in her chilly eyes, Pam imagined how much livelier the holiday shindig would be if she began to drain her like a glass of eggnog.
"Gather round, lads!"
A distinctly Irish voice bellowed, capturing the attention of everyone in the pub. Stood on top of the bar, a bear of a man with a Santa hat sitting haphazardly on his baldhead and little else on his ruddy body beckoned the men of the pub to him.
"Santa's ready to fulfill all your XXX-mas desires."
"If that ain't a lawsuit waitin' to happen," Tara remarked dryly at the sight of her boss motioning the new human resources guy to sit on his lap. It wasn't long after her she began working at HMAL that Tara discovered the seemingly conservative organization was chock full of closet freaks.
Lark, on the other hand, was still learning about her employers. "I am so recording this," She declared, looking positively scandalized as she grabbed Tara's hand and led her toward the spectacle.
Left standing alone in the middle of the crowded pub, Pam decided that she'd endured enough Christmas cheer. The night was still young and her encounter with the disconcertingly familiar smelling woman left her feeling more than a bit unnerved.
She needed blood, preferably from someone not wearing a tacky holiday sweater. Ducking out of the party unnoticed, she sped off to find a decent meal. In retrospect, Pam wished she'd stuck around to observe her partner's interaction with the colleague she suspected was after more than a working relationship.
Got another EHV. Sorry
Rolling her eyes at Tara's latest text message apology, Pam swapped her mobile watch for a Chanel bracelet and resumed getting ready.
Slumped in the passenger seat of her coworker's moving car, Tara watched as the polished central London cityscape gave way to the subdued sights of working class Gospel Oak. While it was true that she hadn't been particularly moved by word of Eric's impending visit, she had no intention of delibertely snubbing Pam's maker
Staring at her mobile, she wondered if she could convince Pam of that.
"You're doing your job, Tara. You've got nothing to feel guilty for," Lark said quietly, knowing precisely what the vampire was thinking about.
Tara groaned inwardly. Even with a mind reader for a best friend, she never grew used to the idea of someone poking around her thoughts. She was almost relieved when the distinctly rhythmic sound of Jacob Miller's 'Tenement Yard' began to play on Lark's stereo system.
The product of a Scottish, ska loving father and a West Indian mother, the young Londoner worshipped at the altar of reggae music. Tara, on the other hand, hated the genre she associated with a self-centered Jamaican track darling she'd briefly dated in High School.
"Here we are," Lark announced as she pulled the car to a stop in the shadow of a decrepit looking tower block.
Tara glowered at the looming structure, a crumbling testament to all she despised about humanity and its lack thereof.
"Worry not, rich gyal, I shall see you safely to your destination," Lark teased as she read Tara's mind. "This is nothing compared to the council I grew up in."
"I am many things, but rich ain't one of 'em," Tara replied, zipping up her bright red hoodie like a suit of cotton armor.
"You're doing a lovely impression, I must say," Lark ribbed. "The massive house in Mayfair is a particularly artful touch."
"Yeah well, I can't exactly take credit for that," Tara admitted, remembering how Pam had shocked the then owner of their five-story terraced townhouse by casually knocking on his door with an offer to purchase what hadn't even been for sale.
Though the offer was staunchly refused, Pam returned the next night with two antique steamer trunks filled with more money than the adamant man had ever hoped to see. Needless to say, he began singing a very different tune.
It wasn't until sometime during the vampire friendly retrofitting of their new home that Tara discovered the house had been the last known address of Pam's human parents, who'd moved from their family home on Hyde Park Gate soon after they'd effectively exiled their unsuspecting daughter to the United States.
Pam arrived in San Francisco four weeks before her thirtieth birthday with two Louis Vuitton steamer trunks full of clothes and just enough money for a carriage ride to a fake address. After that, it was only a matter of time before she was forced to the transition from socialite to streetwalker.
Tara bristled with contempt as she exited Lark's car and walked purposefully toward the entrance of the high-rise building. It was people like Pam's parents that made her job so hellish.
"Hey, wait up," Lark yelled from behind.
"It's an emergency visit," Tara called over her shoulder. "The key word being emergency."
"So why don't you just use your super spectacular vamp powers and fly us up?" Lark teased. "We can skip waiting for the smelly lift and get there in a f-"
Lark never finished her sentence as Tara suddenly took her advice and raced them up ten stories in three seconds flat.
"Fuck me! A little warning next time, yeah?"
Ignoring the mortal's complaint, Tara immediately caught sight of a young man pacing nervously back and forth. Tell tale signs of vampire bite marks and recently healed keloid scars marred his dark arms.
"You Moses?" Lark asked in a concerned tone as she took a cautious step toward him.
"It ain't workin'. It ain't workin'," the human muttered as if in shock.
"What ain't workin'?" Tara asked apprehensively, her gaze darting over his shoulder to the apartment behind him where she could hear an almighty commotion taking place.
"The TB," He started frantically. "She won't drink. She just went off it alluva sudden and I don't know what-"
The blood-curdling wail of a child sounded and in the blink of an eye Tara was gone.
In over six years working for the HMAL, she'd dealt with human-vampire adoptions gone sour, discarded baby vamps, forcibly turned runaways, and pretty much everything one could imagine. Never before, however, had she encountered anything like this.
She was a two and a half-foot tall, pink swaddled blur, smashing everything she could get her tiny hands on in the already ransacked apartment.
"What's wrong?" Lark asked in a panic as she came up behind Tara. It was only a matter of milliseconds before the child was upon her.
"Fucking 'ell," she hollered as she felt a small set of razor sharp toddler sized vampire teeth pierced the flesh of her thigh. The painful attack ended almost as soon as it began.
Quickly prying the tiny attacker off her coworker, Tara struggled to maintain her hold on the thirty pounds of pure baby vampire strength kicking, thrashing and wailing in her arms. Though her tiny face was streaked with bloody tears, it was plain to see that she couldn't have been more than three-years-old in human years.
"See," The hysterical man shrieked. "She's well outta control."
If Tara hadn't been holding the child in that moment she would have choked the life out of him. "Who did this," She asked menacingly.
The man raked a shaky hand through his kinky hair.
"Who. Fucking. Did. This" Tara shouted furiously, causing both Lark and Moses to flinch.
"My mate," Moses stammered. "I asked him as a favor."
"Jesus," Tara whispered, not fully comprehending the admission she'd just heard.
"She was ill," He continued. "For a long time and they-they told me they couldn't do nothin' else for her. They told me I should prepare to lose my baby girl," He finished, wiping an errant tear from his youthful face.
"What's her name?" Lark inquired kindly, placing a hand on the distraught father's shoulder to calm him.
"Beyoncé," Moses replied with a sniffle. "Her mum was a big fan," he explained, peering helplessly at his child. "I just call her Yon."
"Yon's mum? Is she…no longer with us," Lark inquired tactfully.
"Oh no, she's alive. Been banged up since she got caught nickin' sucker sludge at Tesco," Moses clarified.
"I hate to break up the chit chat, but your daughter needs blood. Now," Tara spoke frankly, her eyes now looking upon the father with pity rather than rage.
Lark quickly rolled up her sleeve and offered her wrist to the child, surprising both Tara and the Yon's father.
"No," Tara said, swiftly rejecting the mortal's offer. She wasn't at all convinced she could show a vampire turned so young to properly feed. "She's small, but she could drain you in a minute if she's hungry enough."
"What other choice do we have?" Lark questioned. "She's gone off the premium stuff and we haven't even got that."
As per HMAL policy, all case workers were only allowed to dispense generic synthetic blood in cases of emergency. Fortunately for the kids she served, Tara never made a habit of abiding by anyone's rules.
I know Sookeh can't read vampire minds but I've decided Lark can because...because...
*drops smoke bomb and disappears*