![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
( Christmas )
Character Name: Drusilla
Origin: Buffy
Word Count: 959
Character LJ: furies_child
Rating: PG
What do you think of when you hear the word - Fear?
“Is it far?” the little girl asked. Her voice was just an octave away from a whine.
Drusilla looked down at her.
“Oh, it’s not far at all now, sweetpea.” She tightened her fingers around the child’s plump, sticky little hand. “Come on, y’ don’t want t’ lag.”
The little girl gamely tried to keep up. She was only four or thereabouts. A little blonde thing dressed in pink dungarees and Winne the Pooh sneakers. Drusilla had found her in the Christian book shop at the mall. Her mum had left her there to look at the books while she finished her shopping. It had been easy for Dru to convince the little girl to follow her.
They turned left and walked down an alley. The little girl stood on a smear of dog shit on the pavement and got it all over her sneakers. She started to snivel.
“I’m tired,” she whined, her face scrunching up and tears squeezing out from the corners of her eyes. “I want my mummy.”
Drusilla stopped and crouched down. Her long skirts puddled on the ground around her feet. She cupped the little girl’s face in her hands and wiped the tears away with her cold thumbs.
“No tears, sweetling,” she crooned. “It’s not far a’all now and you’ll see such wonders. There’s talkin’ stars and bears and y’ can play wi’ my little one. My precious little girl.”
The little girl sniffed. She wiped the backs of her hands over her face. Her bottom lip wobbled.
“Where’s my mummy?” she asked.
Drusilla thought about the question.
“At my ‘ome,” she said. “I told ‘er to meet us there. If we’re late she’ll be every so angry.”
The little girl chewed her lower lip.
“And I’ll have ice cream?” she asked.
Drusilla smiled sweetly, her wide blue eyes guileless.
“All the ice cream you can eat,” she said.
The little girl wiped her face again and nodded.
“OK,” she said.
Drusilla clapped her hands together softly. “Oh good, everyone is so lookin’ forwards t’ meeting you.”
She stood up and held her hand out again. Then she led the child through the maze of alleyways and dead ends. It took another fifteen minutes for them to reach the old, abandoned warehouse they were using as a lair. Drusilla pushed the door open. The old hinges squeaked in protest.
Inside the warehouse had been partially redecorated as a nursery. A cot sat in the middle of the room, veiled by gauzy sheets of fabric hung from meathooks. There was a veritable court of giant stuffed animals, everything from elephants to stuffed parrots, gathered patiently around it.
“Darla,” Drusilla called. “I brought comp’ny.”
Her voice echoed from the bare, wooden walls. There was no answer. Drusilla frowned and let go off the child’s hands. She ignored the child’s demands for ice cream.
“Darla?” she called again. The heels of her shoes echoed off the dirty concrete floor. “You ‘ave to come out. You’re eatin’ for two now. Th’ baby needs his din dins.”
“Where’s your little girl? Where’s my mum?” the child whined.
Drusilla spun around and slapped her across the face. The child fell down. At first she didn’t even make a noise. Then the shock wore off and she started to sob.
“Hush,” Drusilla hissed. “Children should be seen and not ‘eard.”
She left the child lying there on the ground and started to search the factory. With every minute that passed she got more and more frantic.
Darla had not been herself since she had found out she was pregnant. She’d been angry at first, and afraid. Drusilla had told her not to worry, she had seen that the baby would be fine, but Darla hadn’t listened. In the last few weeks, as her belly got bigger, she had gotten even odder. Enough so that even Dru, who in her quiet moments knew she was not well, had noticed. Darla had not been eating and she had not rested well in days. That is why Drusilla had gone for take-out tonight, something sweet and tender to tempt Darla’s sweet fang.
Finally Drusilla had to accept that Darla was gone. She was alone again.
“Mummy,” the child wailed. “I wannnt my mummmmmy.”
Drusilla walked over and picked the child up.
“Did I ‘urt you?” she asked. The child nodded. There was a bright red handprint on her swollen face. Drusilla smiled, revealing her fangs. “Let me kiss it better.”
The child screamed once before Drusilla’s fangs ripped out her throat. In this neighbourhood it didn’t matter. Even if anyone heard, they’d not come looking.
Drusilla tangled her fingers in the child’s hair and pulled her head back. She drank greedily, gulping down mouthfuls of sugar sweetened blood. When she finished she carried the child over to the court of stuffed animals. She tucked her in between a polar bear and a lion. It was harder to pose the little corpse than it had been the stuffed animals.
The cot was lying on its side. It had been overturned during Dru’s frantic search. She picked it up and put the blankets back in it. It had to be nice for the baby.
A drop of blood fell onto the back of Dru’s hand. She raised her hand and held it, perfectly still, in front of her face.
“Ladybird, ladybird, fly away ‘ome,” she singsonged. “Your ‘ouse is on fire and your children are gone. All gone.”
Dru’s face crumpled on the last words. She collapsed onto the ground and covered her face with her hands. Everyone had left her. She was alone. There was nothing she hated more than being alone. After a few minutes she lifted her head and cocked it to the side. She listened intently and nodded.
"Tha's right," she said, wiping her bloody face on the gauzy drapery. "Spike allus took care o' me."
Origin: Buffy
Word Count: 959
Character LJ: furies_child
Rating: PG
What do you think of when you hear the word - Fear?
“Is it far?” the little girl asked. Her voice was just an octave away from a whine.
Drusilla looked down at her.
“Oh, it’s not far at all now, sweetpea.” She tightened her fingers around the child’s plump, sticky little hand. “Come on, y’ don’t want t’ lag.”
The little girl gamely tried to keep up. She was only four or thereabouts. A little blonde thing dressed in pink dungarees and Winne the Pooh sneakers. Drusilla had found her in the Christian book shop at the mall. Her mum had left her there to look at the books while she finished her shopping. It had been easy for Dru to convince the little girl to follow her.
They turned left and walked down an alley. The little girl stood on a smear of dog shit on the pavement and got it all over her sneakers. She started to snivel.
“I’m tired,” she whined, her face scrunching up and tears squeezing out from the corners of her eyes. “I want my mummy.”
Drusilla stopped and crouched down. Her long skirts puddled on the ground around her feet. She cupped the little girl’s face in her hands and wiped the tears away with her cold thumbs.
“No tears, sweetling,” she crooned. “It’s not far a’all now and you’ll see such wonders. There’s talkin’ stars and bears and y’ can play wi’ my little one. My precious little girl.”
The little girl sniffed. She wiped the backs of her hands over her face. Her bottom lip wobbled.
“Where’s my mummy?” she asked.
Drusilla thought about the question.
“At my ‘ome,” she said. “I told ‘er to meet us there. If we’re late she’ll be every so angry.”
The little girl chewed her lower lip.
“And I’ll have ice cream?” she asked.
Drusilla smiled sweetly, her wide blue eyes guileless.
“All the ice cream you can eat,” she said.
The little girl wiped her face again and nodded.
“OK,” she said.
Drusilla clapped her hands together softly. “Oh good, everyone is so lookin’ forwards t’ meeting you.”
She stood up and held her hand out again. Then she led the child through the maze of alleyways and dead ends. It took another fifteen minutes for them to reach the old, abandoned warehouse they were using as a lair. Drusilla pushed the door open. The old hinges squeaked in protest.
Inside the warehouse had been partially redecorated as a nursery. A cot sat in the middle of the room, veiled by gauzy sheets of fabric hung from meathooks. There was a veritable court of giant stuffed animals, everything from elephants to stuffed parrots, gathered patiently around it.
“Darla,” Drusilla called. “I brought comp’ny.”
Her voice echoed from the bare, wooden walls. There was no answer. Drusilla frowned and let go off the child’s hands. She ignored the child’s demands for ice cream.
“Darla?” she called again. The heels of her shoes echoed off the dirty concrete floor. “You ‘ave to come out. You’re eatin’ for two now. Th’ baby needs his din dins.”
“Where’s your little girl? Where’s my mum?” the child whined.
Drusilla spun around and slapped her across the face. The child fell down. At first she didn’t even make a noise. Then the shock wore off and she started to sob.
“Hush,” Drusilla hissed. “Children should be seen and not ‘eard.”
She left the child lying there on the ground and started to search the factory. With every minute that passed she got more and more frantic.
Darla had not been herself since she had found out she was pregnant. She’d been angry at first, and afraid. Drusilla had told her not to worry, she had seen that the baby would be fine, but Darla hadn’t listened. In the last few weeks, as her belly got bigger, she had gotten even odder. Enough so that even Dru, who in her quiet moments knew she was not well, had noticed. Darla had not been eating and she had not rested well in days. That is why Drusilla had gone for take-out tonight, something sweet and tender to tempt Darla’s sweet fang.
Finally Drusilla had to accept that Darla was gone. She was alone again.
“Mummy,” the child wailed. “I wannnt my mummmmmy.”
Drusilla walked over and picked the child up.
“Did I ‘urt you?” she asked. The child nodded. There was a bright red handprint on her swollen face. Drusilla smiled, revealing her fangs. “Let me kiss it better.”
The child screamed once before Drusilla’s fangs ripped out her throat. In this neighbourhood it didn’t matter. Even if anyone heard, they’d not come looking.
Drusilla tangled her fingers in the child’s hair and pulled her head back. She drank greedily, gulping down mouthfuls of sugar sweetened blood. When she finished she carried the child over to the court of stuffed animals. She tucked her in between a polar bear and a lion. It was harder to pose the little corpse than it had been the stuffed animals.
The cot was lying on its side. It had been overturned during Dru’s frantic search. She picked it up and put the blankets back in it. It had to be nice for the baby.
A drop of blood fell onto the back of Dru’s hand. She raised her hand and held it, perfectly still, in front of her face.
“Ladybird, ladybird, fly away ‘ome,” she singsonged. “Your ‘ouse is on fire and your children are gone. All gone.”
Dru’s face crumpled on the last words. She collapsed onto the ground and covered her face with her hands. Everyone had left her. She was alone. There was nothing she hated more than being alone. After a few minutes she lifted her head and cocked it to the side. She listened intently and nodded.
"Tha's right," she said, wiping her bloody face on the gauzy drapery. "Spike allus took care o' me."
Character Name: Drusilla
Origin: Buffy
Word Count: 1352
Character LJ: furies_child
Rating: PG
Conor stood on the balcony of the hotel. He braced his hands on the metal and stared out over Paris. The cool breeze ruffled his dark hair. He could see the Eiffel Tower from here.
He had woken up the old, private jet the night after his sister had tried to kill him. The windows had been blacked out and most of the seats had been torn out to leave room for large, anonymous crates. Other than him and Drusilla the only other passengers were a nervous, gaunt couple who clutched hands tightly.
Halfway through the flight the door of a cockpit opened. The pilot had to bend nearly double to get through the door. He had clumped down the aisle on splintered hooves. The nervous couple chattered to him frantically in a strange, guttural tongue. He waved them off impatiently and walked past them. The man got up to go after him but his companion pulled him back down.
When the demon reached Conor and Drusilla's seats he stopped and looked down at them. Black lips wrinkled back from flat teeth and he snuffled the air over Conor's head.
"I want no troubles," he said gruffly.
Conor had started to stand up. Drusilla had put a cold hand on his arm and forced him back into his seat.
"We ain't going t' make trouble, S'laigue. Be off an' leave us be."
The pilot snorted again but when Drusilla narrowed her eyes at him he quailed. Conor had been surprised that the great beast had backed down from Drusilla. Vampire or no, she looked slighter made than Fred.
He'd asked where they were going. She told him that they were going to Paris.
"Every young gentleman should do a tour of the continent," she told him.
That had been a week ago. He had tried to call home the first day he was here. Someone had answered the phone and claimed to be a police officer. He'd asked to speak to his parents and she said she'd get them to call back. He'd hung up then. They were dead.
Conor's hands tightened around the balcony. The metal crimped under his fingers. He didn't cry. The Destroyer didn't cry.
He didn't hear Drusilla walking towards him. The first warning he had of her presence was the cold touch of her fingers on his neck. He tensed.
"My mum died t'," she said. She wrapped her arms around him and laid her face against his back. "She were little and pretty, my mum. Allus said I'd come t' a bad end if I didn't keep things t' myself. Tush, Drusilla, shush, she'd say."
Conor hunched his shoulder.
"What's that got to do with me?" he asked sullenly.
Drusilla stopped hugging him and slapped the back of his head.
"Bold boy," she said.
He turned and grabbed her by the throat. His finger dug into her soft skin.
"I should kill you," he growled, shoving her back into the wall. "You're a vampire, you're evil. Just like Wolfram and Hart. I should kill you."
Drusilla smiled. She patted his cheek gently.
"Then y'd be all on yer own, my dark knight," she said. "Wot would y' do then?"
He stared at her, his mouth trembling. Then he let her go and stormed back into the suite. He collapsed on the bed, throwing his arm over his face. After a moment Drusilla followed him in. She closed the balcony doors behind her.
"I 'ave t' go out," she said.
He moved his arm enough to look at her.
"To eat," he said.
She smiled dreamily at him and put her long, leather coat on.
"Mais naturellement."
He put his arm back over his face.
"Saying it in French doesn't make it any better," he said.
The next thing he heard was the door opening and when he looked again she was gone. He sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.
He should go. Without Drusilla here to stop him he could disappear so she'd never find him. Go to England, or something. Maybe he could contact the Watchers Council? They could put him in touch with Faith or the slayers. He could help them fight demons.
Like Drusilla.
Conor stood up, but he didn't go to the door. He grabbed the TV remote and flopped bonelessly onto the couch. Then he turned the TV on and started surfing for a site in English.
After watching Magnum in French he glanced at his watch. He shrugged and turned back to the TV. Three channels up from magnum he found an episode of Desperate Housewives in English with French subtitles. He watched that and glanced at his watch again.
She was late.
By the time Dru finally came back, damp and minutes ahead of the sunrise, he was nearly frantic. The minute he came into the room he grabbed her arms and shook her.
"Where were you?" he demanded. "Do you know it's nearly dawn?"
Drusilla blinked at him through a tangle of dark hair.
"It's allus nearly dawn somewhere," she said dreamily. Then she held up the bag she was carrying. "I got y' a prezzie."
It was purple and made of paper. There was an embossed initial on the front of it. Conor eyed it suspiciously.
"What is it?" he asked. Drusilla tutted.
"I can't tell y tha'" she sighed. "Tha'd spoil th' surprise.
She wriggled out of his grip, leaving her coat hanging in his hands like a shed skin.
"Drusilla," he tossed the coat over the chair. "I don't want your presents. You need to be more careful. If the sun had come up you would have fried. Not that you don't deserve it."
He turned around. Drusilla was sitting on the bed, bouncing up and down with excitement. She patted the bed beside her.
"Come an' sit down. Y'll like y' present. I promise."
Conor clenched his teeth. Then he gave a ragged sigh. He walked over to the bed and sat down. The mattress dipped beneath him.
"What is it?" he asked.
Drusilla gave him the bag. Then she clapped her hands together.
"Open it, open it," she chanted eagerly.
He braced him and opened the bag. He wasn't sure what he was expecting. A heart, eyeballs or someone's face maybe. Instead it was a book. He lifted it out and turned it cover page up.
"Peter Pan," he read from the cover.
"It's my favourite book," Drusilla said. She laid her head on Conor's shoulder. "I used t' read it t' y'."
Conor opened the book. He looked over the first page.
"We only met a week ago," he said absently.
Drusilla made a rude noise.
"Before, silly boy," she said. "When y' were in grandmum's tummy. I used t' wait till y' were asleep an' then I'd read t' yer through grandmum's bellybutton."
Conor ran his finger down the page. The ink smudged slightly against his fingertips.
"You did?" he asked
"Of course," Drusilla said, she smoothed his hair back from his face. "Y' were my pretty, wicked little boy. My little prince."
Conor closed the book. He bent forwards, dark hair falling in front of his face. His hands tightened around the book.
"You should be careful," he said. Setting the book down on the bed he got up to pull the curtains, making sure there was no chink of light. The fabric was thick. The velvet soft against his fingers but it wasn't enough. He'd tell reception tomorrow that Drusilla had migraines and get lined curtains. "Next time you go out, I'll come with you. You need someone to take care of you."
Drusilla smiled and lay back on the bed, curling her legs up. Her head was propped on her arm. She smiled at him dreamily.
"Will y' read t' me?" she asked. "Till I go to sleep?"
Conor walked over and sat down on the bed. He picked up the book and lent back against the headboard. Then he cleared his throat and started to read.
"All children, except one, grow up…"
Origin: Buffy
Word Count: 1352
Character LJ: furies_child
Rating: PG
Conor stood on the balcony of the hotel. He braced his hands on the metal and stared out over Paris. The cool breeze ruffled his dark hair. He could see the Eiffel Tower from here.
He had woken up the old, private jet the night after his sister had tried to kill him. The windows had been blacked out and most of the seats had been torn out to leave room for large, anonymous crates. Other than him and Drusilla the only other passengers were a nervous, gaunt couple who clutched hands tightly.
Halfway through the flight the door of a cockpit opened. The pilot had to bend nearly double to get through the door. He had clumped down the aisle on splintered hooves. The nervous couple chattered to him frantically in a strange, guttural tongue. He waved them off impatiently and walked past them. The man got up to go after him but his companion pulled him back down.
When the demon reached Conor and Drusilla's seats he stopped and looked down at them. Black lips wrinkled back from flat teeth and he snuffled the air over Conor's head.
"I want no troubles," he said gruffly.
Conor had started to stand up. Drusilla had put a cold hand on his arm and forced him back into his seat.
"We ain't going t' make trouble, S'laigue. Be off an' leave us be."
The pilot snorted again but when Drusilla narrowed her eyes at him he quailed. Conor had been surprised that the great beast had backed down from Drusilla. Vampire or no, she looked slighter made than Fred.
He'd asked where they were going. She told him that they were going to Paris.
"Every young gentleman should do a tour of the continent," she told him.
That had been a week ago. He had tried to call home the first day he was here. Someone had answered the phone and claimed to be a police officer. He'd asked to speak to his parents and she said she'd get them to call back. He'd hung up then. They were dead.
Conor's hands tightened around the balcony. The metal crimped under his fingers. He didn't cry. The Destroyer didn't cry.
He didn't hear Drusilla walking towards him. The first warning he had of her presence was the cold touch of her fingers on his neck. He tensed.
"My mum died t'," she said. She wrapped her arms around him and laid her face against his back. "She were little and pretty, my mum. Allus said I'd come t' a bad end if I didn't keep things t' myself. Tush, Drusilla, shush, she'd say."
Conor hunched his shoulder.
"What's that got to do with me?" he asked sullenly.
Drusilla stopped hugging him and slapped the back of his head.
"Bold boy," she said.
He turned and grabbed her by the throat. His finger dug into her soft skin.
"I should kill you," he growled, shoving her back into the wall. "You're a vampire, you're evil. Just like Wolfram and Hart. I should kill you."
Drusilla smiled. She patted his cheek gently.
"Then y'd be all on yer own, my dark knight," she said. "Wot would y' do then?"
He stared at her, his mouth trembling. Then he let her go and stormed back into the suite. He collapsed on the bed, throwing his arm over his face. After a moment Drusilla followed him in. She closed the balcony doors behind her.
"I 'ave t' go out," she said.
He moved his arm enough to look at her.
"To eat," he said.
She smiled dreamily at him and put her long, leather coat on.
"Mais naturellement."
He put his arm back over his face.
"Saying it in French doesn't make it any better," he said.
The next thing he heard was the door opening and when he looked again she was gone. He sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.
He should go. Without Drusilla here to stop him he could disappear so she'd never find him. Go to England, or something. Maybe he could contact the Watchers Council? They could put him in touch with Faith or the slayers. He could help them fight demons.
Like Drusilla.
Conor stood up, but he didn't go to the door. He grabbed the TV remote and flopped bonelessly onto the couch. Then he turned the TV on and started surfing for a site in English.
After watching Magnum in French he glanced at his watch. He shrugged and turned back to the TV. Three channels up from magnum he found an episode of Desperate Housewives in English with French subtitles. He watched that and glanced at his watch again.
She was late.
By the time Dru finally came back, damp and minutes ahead of the sunrise, he was nearly frantic. The minute he came into the room he grabbed her arms and shook her.
"Where were you?" he demanded. "Do you know it's nearly dawn?"
Drusilla blinked at him through a tangle of dark hair.
"It's allus nearly dawn somewhere," she said dreamily. Then she held up the bag she was carrying. "I got y' a prezzie."
It was purple and made of paper. There was an embossed initial on the front of it. Conor eyed it suspiciously.
"What is it?" he asked. Drusilla tutted.
"I can't tell y tha'" she sighed. "Tha'd spoil th' surprise.
She wriggled out of his grip, leaving her coat hanging in his hands like a shed skin.
"Drusilla," he tossed the coat over the chair. "I don't want your presents. You need to be more careful. If the sun had come up you would have fried. Not that you don't deserve it."
He turned around. Drusilla was sitting on the bed, bouncing up and down with excitement. She patted the bed beside her.
"Come an' sit down. Y'll like y' present. I promise."
Conor clenched his teeth. Then he gave a ragged sigh. He walked over to the bed and sat down. The mattress dipped beneath him.
"What is it?" he asked.
Drusilla gave him the bag. Then she clapped her hands together.
"Open it, open it," she chanted eagerly.
He braced him and opened the bag. He wasn't sure what he was expecting. A heart, eyeballs or someone's face maybe. Instead it was a book. He lifted it out and turned it cover page up.
"Peter Pan," he read from the cover.
"It's my favourite book," Drusilla said. She laid her head on Conor's shoulder. "I used t' read it t' y'."
Conor opened the book. He looked over the first page.
"We only met a week ago," he said absently.
Drusilla made a rude noise.
"Before, silly boy," she said. "When y' were in grandmum's tummy. I used t' wait till y' were asleep an' then I'd read t' yer through grandmum's bellybutton."
Conor ran his finger down the page. The ink smudged slightly against his fingertips.
"You did?" he asked
"Of course," Drusilla said, she smoothed his hair back from his face. "Y' were my pretty, wicked little boy. My little prince."
Conor closed the book. He bent forwards, dark hair falling in front of his face. His hands tightened around the book.
"You should be careful," he said. Setting the book down on the bed he got up to pull the curtains, making sure there was no chink of light. The fabric was thick. The velvet soft against his fingers but it wasn't enough. He'd tell reception tomorrow that Drusilla had migraines and get lined curtains. "Next time you go out, I'll come with you. You need someone to take care of you."
Drusilla smiled and lay back on the bed, curling her legs up. Her head was propped on her arm. She smiled at him dreamily.
"Will y' read t' me?" she asked. "Till I go to sleep?"
Conor walked over and sat down on the bed. He picked up the book and lent back against the headboard. Then he cleared his throat and started to read.
"All children, except one, grow up…"
Current Mood:
cold
Character Name: Drusilla
Origin: Buffy
Word Count: 1360
Character LJ: furies_child
Rating: R
( Who do you miss? )
Origin: Buffy
Word Count: 1360
Character LJ: furies_child
Rating: R
( Who do you miss? )
Character Name: Drusilla
Origin: Buffy
Word Count:111
Character LJ: furies_child
Rating: R
( Who haven't you told how you feel and how would you tell them. )
Origin: Buffy
Word Count:111
Character LJ: furies_child
Rating: R
( Who haven't you told how you feel and how would you tell them. )
Character Name: Drusilla
Origin: Buffy
Word Count:621
Character LJ: furies_child
Rating: R
( If the world was going to end, what would you do with your last hour? )
Origin: Buffy
Word Count:621
Character LJ: furies_child
Rating: R
( If the world was going to end, what would you do with your last hour? )
Current Mood:
exanimate
Character Name: Drusilla
Origin: Buffy
Word Count:1585
Character LJ: furies_child
Rating: R
( If someone you loved was dying, would you kill someone else to buy back their life? )
Origin: Buffy
Word Count:1585
Character LJ: furies_child
Rating: R
( If someone you loved was dying, would you kill someone else to buy back their life? )
Character Name: Drusilla
Origin: Buffy
Word Count:1207
Character LJ: furies_child
Rating: R
( If you could kill anyone, and be sure not to get caught, who would you kill? )
Origin: Buffy
Word Count:1207
Character LJ: furies_child
Rating: R
( If you could kill anyone, and be sure not to get caught, who would you kill? )
Current Mood:
chipper
Character Name: Drusilla
Origin: Buffy
Word Count:1017
Character LJ: furies_child
Rating: R
( If you saw a quarter on the sidewalk what would you do with it? )
Origin: Buffy
Word Count:1017
Character LJ: furies_child
Rating: R
( If you saw a quarter on the sidewalk what would you do with it? )
Current Mood:
cheerful
Drusilla hummed to herself, a strange little tune that went in and over and around, on her way through the garden. The pebbles dug into her bare feet, cutting the soft, pale skin, and she left bloody footprints behind her.
“Y’ should put yer shoes on, pet,” Spike told her, following behind her.
Dru turned and smiled at her beautiful boy, holding out her hand.
“Come and dance wi’ me, William,” she pled.
“Spike,” he corrected her absently. There was blood on his shirt front and his hair was hanging over his face. He had always been a messy eater. “If y’ want to dance we could back inside.” His smile was white and wicked and made Drusilla feel something inside, like she had eaten a sparrow alive and it was pecking at her heart. “It ain’t like the Grahame-bloody-Princes are going t’ be doing much dancing. Poncy bastards.”
Despite what he said he threw her coat over a rosebush and held his arms out to her. She laughed and danced over to him, twining her arms around her neck and stepping onto his feet. He wrapped his arms around her narrow waist and waltzed her in a slow circle like a child.
It made her laugh and she tossed her head back, baring the pale line of her throat.
“They should have jus’ given us their tickets,” she said. “It were rude o’ them t’ refuse. I’m so excited, William.” She kissed his mouth, he tasted of Annabelle Grahame-Price. “We get to travel on the Titanic.”
“Y’ should put yer shoes on, pet,” Spike told her, following behind her.
Dru turned and smiled at her beautiful boy, holding out her hand.
“Come and dance wi’ me, William,” she pled.
“Spike,” he corrected her absently. There was blood on his shirt front and his hair was hanging over his face. He had always been a messy eater. “If y’ want to dance we could back inside.” His smile was white and wicked and made Drusilla feel something inside, like she had eaten a sparrow alive and it was pecking at her heart. “It ain’t like the Grahame-bloody-Princes are going t’ be doing much dancing. Poncy bastards.”
Despite what he said he threw her coat over a rosebush and held his arms out to her. She laughed and danced over to him, twining her arms around her neck and stepping onto his feet. He wrapped his arms around her narrow waist and waltzed her in a slow circle like a child.
It made her laugh and she tossed her head back, baring the pale line of her throat.
“They should have jus’ given us their tickets,” she said. “It were rude o’ them t’ refuse. I’m so excited, William.” She kissed his mouth, he tasted of Annabelle Grahame-Price. “We get to travel on the Titanic.”