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13 September 2005
Oak Park, Illinois, USA

Dear Darla,

You must excuse the belatedness of this letter. It has been an eventful decade – these last couple of years, particularly. When Eric and I headed to Chicago in the 20s, I had no idea I would stay for so long, nor did I realize how much I had soured on the Continent. As a younger woman, I never thought such a thing could be possible, but it happened. After our dealings with Ocella (which I know Angelus filled you in on at the time), a break was needed – but it turned into much more than that.

Chicago in the 20s was, of course, a sight to behold. It’s hard to believe it was one of the last times in recent memory that I saw you both. The time in Las Vegas during the 60s (the part I can remember) was really much too quick to count.

We were safe from the crash of ’29, since of course we never had our money in the banks. It was amusing to watch the masses go into hysterics. I remember thinking at the time how much Angelus must be enjoying it as well, back in London. I do hope he still loves a good show of human misery.

In the mid-30s, Eric headed back to Europe to tend to his property in Norway and to take advantage of the Second World War. He made a profit from it, as always. I have been making my own profits since around the same time – I own several businesses at the moment, all of which bring me enough money to live more than comfortably.

There was an incident in the 50s that caused many of us in the city to relocate to the suburbs. It was supposed to be temporary – in fact, most moved back after a time – but I grew to like it. When I am up and out, the stupid station wagons and minivans are long parked in double-garages and the shopping malls are practically deserted. I can go into the city whenever I feel like it but don’t have to stay to endure the pitfalls of it.

Oh, and there was a human woman, from the 50s until the 70s, who I was quite fond of. She was a rather pretty (and useful) pet who found the suburbs dull but couldn’t get out. I finally helped her in that regard, but it has been less amusing here since.

I spent much of the 80s in a condominium back in the city, resuming many of my old ways. The decadence of the decade was reminiscent of some of the time I spent in Paris, really, and the house here in Oak Park served only as a place to retreat for recuperation. I moved back here full time about ten years ago, so that I might better oversee my businesses.

Things have changed yet again, as you well know. The Ventrue, like many of our brethren, made the choice to reveal ourselves to the world two years ago. Like any other time where there is potential for catastrophe, Eric has business ventures that he needs assistance with. I will be moving to Shreveport, Louisiana in the next few weeks, to help him open up a bar. Why Shreveport? Because it is where Eric has rooted himself at the moment, having been made the Sheriff of the state’s Area 5 a couple of years ago, at the behest of the Queen, Sophie-Ann LeClerq.

Specifically, the new venture is to be a “vampire bar” that will cater mostly to curious human tourists. Annoying, quite possibly, but lucrative, definitely. It’s not what I had in mind, but a change of scenery will be welcome and I never mind working with him.

I do hope that you can visit the next time you are Stateside. Eric has apparently bought up quite a lair for himself and has said he will pay for my house of choice, too, as part of the relocation inconvenience. Send my regards to Angelus and the others.




mischievous brow raise
Pam Ravenscroft

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