Drusilla

furies_child @ 2006-01-01T03:19:00

2006-01-01T03:20:10Z

Muse: Drusilla
Origin: Buffy
Words: 559

Drusilla stood at the window. She pressed her nose to the cold glass and sighed. Her breath didn’t make the window mist.
“I wish it would snow,” she mourned.
The man with her laughed. He’d been introduced but she hadn’t cared so she hadn’t remembered his name. He was Irish, she remembered that, and important. Or he thought so at least.
“My granny always said that a frozen November leads to a slushy December,” he said. He poured himself another glass of whiskey. The bottle was nearly empty. He’d drunk most of it. Drusilla made him nervous. The knowledge tickled her. “Still, it’s Christmas Eve. Perhaps it will snow.”
“It won’t.” Dru stepped back from the window. A wave splashed grey water against it and the ship rocked more violently than usual. The decorations strung around the room, all silver and glitter, swayed and rattled. The Irishman who thought she cared who he was grabbed his whiskey to stop it falling over.
“Rough enough,” he said. “Snow or not.”
He poured himself another drink.
Drusilla sat down next to him and smoothed her dress down over her thighs. His eyes followed her hands.
“Maybe we’ll sink,” Drusilla mused aloud. “Well all go down to the bottom o’ the sea and turn into nothing but bones.”
The Irishman shuddered.
“Don’t be saying that,” he muttered. “It’s bad enough tonight without you ill wishing us.”
Dru turned her head slowly to look at him.
“Wouldn’t you like my bones?” She held out her arm. Her hand draped limply from the tightly buttoned cuff of her sleeve. “They’d be all clean and white from the brine. Little barnacles and fishes would live in me ribs and swim” she stabbed her fingers at his eyes. He didn’t even time to flinch before she pulled her hand back. “in me skull.”
“Bloody fish are already in your skull,” he muttered, staggering to his feet. “If you’ll excuse me? I’m going back to my berth. The company is better.”
He grabbed the bottle of whiskey by the neck and turned to go. Spike put a hand on his chest and pushed him back.
“Now, that ain’t no way to talk to lady,” he growled.
The Irishman stumbled back and then pulled himself up. He still thought he was important.
“If there was a lady here, then I’d mind that rule,” he said. “As there is not, I’ll take my leave. In future, sir, if you wish people to respect your woman then you’ll keep her out of the liquor.”
Spike flattened his hand against the man’s chest and pushed him backwards again.
“Sit down,” he said. Then he turned his attention to Dru. “Drusilla, princess, we talked about this. We can’t play wi’ ‘em till we get to America.”
Drusilla pouted.
“But it’s Christmas,” she said. “And I’m hungry.”
Spike scowled. Then he sighed and caved.
“Well,” he said. “I suppose one won’t hurt. You have fun, baby. I’ll toss him overboard when you’re done.”
Drusilla smiled. Her red lips peeled back to show long, white fangs. She stood up and pulled the Irishman into her arms. He struggled but her twining white arms were stronger than they looked. She held him still and sank her teeth into his neck. It didn’t long for her to drink her fill.

furies_child @ 2005-12-09T16:36:00

2005-12-09T16:36:23Z

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."

furies_child @ 2005-10-07T22:47:00

2005-10-07T21:48:11Z

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…"

furies_child @ 2005-09-30T21:10:00

2005-09-30T20:14:15Z

Character Name: Drusilla
Origin: Buffy
Word Count: 1360
Character LJ: furies_child
Rating: R

Spike walked along the side of the railway tracks. It was dark, the moon fat and heavy overhead. Each step crushed the long grass and weeds underfoot. He was humming absently under his breath and had a sack tossed over his shoulder. Occasionally the sack moved. When he reached the boxcar he pulled the door open and jumped up.

“Drusilla, baby?” he said, swinging the bag over his shoulder. He dropped it to the ground with a thud.

The thing in the sack groaned. Spike gave it a hard kick, sending it rolling over the floor. After that it lay quietly. He turned his attention back to the pale figure standing at the back of the car. “Are yer alright?”

Drusilla ignored him. She was drawing on the splintered, wooden wall with a stub of chalk. She had started the mural on the first day of their journey across country. Now most of the back wall was covered.

“Dru?” Spike prodded. He walked up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. He nuzzled her neck and breathed in the sweet smell of roses and blood. “I’m sorry I left yer alone, baby. I had ter get yer sommat ter eat.”

Chalk covered Drusilla’s slender hands. It was the same colour as her skin. She shook her head.

“I ain’t hung’ry,” she said. “I ‘ave to finish this.”

Spike kissed her neck.

“What is it?” he asked.

A squat, distorted creature was taking form on the wall. Even rendered in chalk it looked vile, beady eyes leering out over a nose and mouth that had been flattened into a muzzle. Spike didn't much like the idea of it being in Dru's head. Once she had finished drawing the creature Drusilla circled it again and again. She pressed the chalk so hard against the wood that it crumbled away in her grip. She opened her fingers and let the dust fall to the ground. Then she turned into Spike’s embrace.

“I don’ know,” she said, twining her slender arms around his neck. She smiled at him dreamily. “I dream it, sometimes. It’s so pretty. Everyone dies in th’ end.”

“That’s nice,” Spike said. He pushed Drusilla back against the wall, smudging the chalk lines, and kissed her. “Am I in yer dream?”

Drusilla nipped at Spike’s lower lip, hard enough to draw blood. Then she licked the droplets away.

“You’re in all me dreams, Sweet William,” she said.

“Spike,” he corrected.

Drusilla acknowledged the correction absently. He knew he’d have to remind her again. Sometimes changes took a long time to register with her. She wriggled out of his arm and walked over to where the sack lay against the wall. Her long, dark hair was dusty with chalk.

“Did y’ get me a pressie, William?” she asked. Then her eyes widened eagerly. “Did y’ get me a puppy?”

“Dru, I told yer, yer can’t have a dog. Not till we’re settled someplace fer a bit. It’d be to much bloody hassle feeding th’ thing and I ain’t scraping dog shit outta here.”
Dru pouted at him. He sighed and scrubbed his hand through his hair.

“I’m sorry, princess,” he said. He crouched down. The fabric of his trousers pulled tight across his knees. It was nearly threadbare. They had been on the road for a while now. Next time he hunted he’d have to strip the victim. He reached out and rubbed Dru’s back. He could feel the delicate bones of her spine. “I’ll wash me mouth out wi’ soap next time we stop somewhere. Now why don’tcha eat yer dinner?”
She peeked at him through her dark hair. Her blue eyes looked sly.

“And then we can have a puppy?” she asked.

Spike rolled his eyes. Then he nodded. It wasn’t like the dog would last long anyhow. Drusilla loved animals but she forgot sometimes that they weren’t like her and Spike. They needed food and water and air. He hated seeing how upset she got when her latest pet stopped playing with her. But she never remembered long.

“Yeah,” he said. “Then yer can ‘ave yer puppy.”

Her smile was brilliant. She twisted around and flung her arms around him. Then she nuzzled her cold face into his shoulder. Long, dark hair spilled over his shoulder.

“Thank y’, Spike,” she said primly.

“Anything fer yer, love,” he said.

Dru leant back and looked at him, wide-eyed and shocked. She looked like a child who’d been promised a pony for her birthday. Like she hadn't known that already.

“Anything?” she asked.

He nodded. “Anything in th’ world.”

Dru’s eyes turned heavy lidded and her expression darkened into something wicked and knowing. She cupped his face in her hands, sharp nails digging into the skin of his cheekbones.

“My wicked boy,” she said and drew him down for a kiss.

Until his death Spike had never thought passion could be so cold. Dru’s tongue teased along his lower lip and she murmured endearments into his mouth. When she drew back Spike’s cock was hard and aching. They had been together for years but he had never tired of her, his mercurial, fragile Sire.

Drawing away from him Dru crawled over the floor. The trailing skirts of her white gown caught under her knees, pulling the loose shift down from her shoulders. She crawled into the nest of blankets and turned around. The mother of pearl buttons that held her bodice closed had come undone. Her pale breasts were bare. Her frosted pink nipples were hard and puckered.

Spike growled hungrily. But he clenched his fists and shook his head.

“Yer need ter eat first, pet,” he said. “Yer been all caught up in yer mural fer weeks now.”

Drusilla slid her hand down over her stomach. Her long fingers slid down her thigh and then back up to the juncture of her thighs.

“I’ll eat,” she promised. Then she slid her fingers between damp curls. Her head fell back, baring the pale line of her neck, and she sighed happily. “After.”

Spike’s self control shattered. He growled softly, jerked his shirt out of his pants and prowled across the car. Dropping to his knees beside her he caught her hands. He pulled them away from her thighs. She growled but he knew her well enough to know when she was only playing. He pinned her hands to the floor on either side of her head.

“My dark princess,” he said, lowering his body onto her.

Dru curled her fingers in, her nails digging into the back of his hands. Spike slid down her body and kissed her breast. He drew the cold nub of her nipple into his mouth. His teeth scraped over it and she gasped. He let it slide from between his lips. He kissed his way down the curve of her breast. There was no distracting heartbeat beneath his lips. He licked her pale skin and then he bit her, just hard enough to draw blood.

The pain made Drusilla purr throatily. Spike lapped the rich, salty blood from her wound. Then he laid a trail of wet, red kisses up to her throat. He pressed his mouth against hers. She parted her lips accommodatingly. Instead of kissing her again he drew back.

“Do yer miss ‘im?” he asked, jealously a hot thread through his heart. “Angelus. Do yer miss ‘im?”
Drusilla blinked and tilted her head to the side. Her pink tongue dabbed her red lower lip.

“Sometimes,” she said. “When I remember.”

A tight smile crossed Spike’s lips. It would have been sweet if Drusilla had lied to him. He had known she wouldn’t when he asked. Lost in the shattered, fairy tale fragments of her mind Drusilla rarely lied.

At least not to him. What she told you could, at times, be so obscure as to be misleading. But it was usually the truth.

She touched her fingers to his cheek and turned his head towards her.

“I would miss y’ too,” she said, stroking his hair back form his face. “Y’ shine, my William. I can always see you.”

Spike turned his face into her hand. He kissed her palm.

“Would yer miss me more?” he asked.

“I’d miss y’ like drowning, like death. Like th’ last breath I took before I changed,” she promised him. Then she tightened her fingers in his hair. “And I’d destroy y’ for leavin’ me.”

furies_child @ 2005-09-06T17:33:00

2005-09-06T16:33:29Z

Character Name: Drusilla
Origin: Buffy
Word Count:111
Character LJ: furies_child
Rating: R

Drusilla waited until everyone had left. The cinnamon witch and the one-eyed boy were the last to leave. Not that he was a boy, or she a witch. Age had cored them both.

Once they were all gone she stood up. A hand on her arm stopped her.

"Are you sure?" he asked. She cupped his face gently.

"Such a worry-wart." She kissed his brow, her lips cold enough to make him shiver. "An' all for nowt. Now, go and play with the nurses like a good boy. Mum'll be back soon."

He smiled. She left him talking to a blushing young nurse.

The heels of her shoes clicked against the tiles with each step. Like castanets. A few people glanced up at the noise. But when they saw Drusilla they went back to their work. In her black pants and sweater, a bright gift bag swinging from her hand, she looked like any other young woman visiting a friend in hospital.

When she reached the room she rapped her knuckles on the door.

A cracked voice laughed inside the room.

"Will? Did you forget your glasses again?" the slayer asked. Her voice was clear but breathy. "You'd forget your head if…"

The Slayer's voice trailed away Drusilla stepped into the room. The once blonde and vital slayer was a faded shell of her former self. She lay on the bed, hooked up to machines that beeped and blipped and flickered. If the woman had not been sick before, Drusilla thought, that would drive to illness.

"No," Buffy gasped. Her bony hand groped for the button to call the nurse. Before she could reach it Drusilla darted in and whisked it out of reach. She wagged her finger at the dying old slayer.

"Bad girl, tch." She set the button out of reach on the bedside table. Then she sat down on the edge of the bed. She crossed her long legs neatly. "You'll spoil the surprise."

Buffy wet wrinkled lips with her tongue.

"You're dead," she said.

Drusilla cocked her head to the side. "Yes," she agreed. Then she pouted. "Not tha' you would remember, it was my death-day last month and you never sent a card."

Buffy blinked and shook her head weakly.

"No, you're all dead," she insisted. "All the demons and vampires and werewolves. Dead and gone. The Council killed the last….the last ger'ai demon two years? Yes, two years ago."

Drusilla tapped a sharp, silver painted nail against her lower lip. A frown creased her delicate features.

"I shouldn' really tell you," she mused. "It's a secret. But, I suppose you goin' t' miss my surprise party." She reached out and tidied Buffy's hair. "You're dying, y' see."

"I know," Buffy said.

Drusilla pulled her legs up onto the bed and wrapped her arms around her shins.

"D' you want t' know my secret?" she asked.

Buffy nodded and Drusilla giggled and clapped her hands together. Then she crawled up the bed and bent down to whisper in Buffy's ear.

"Th' council were wrong," she said.

Buffy made a ragged, hurt noise in her throat. She tried to hit Drusilla but she was too weak. Even the Slayer could only fight so long. Drusilla laughed and hopped from the bed.

"So," Buffy asked, turning her head to watch the restless vampire skip around the room. "You're here to kill me? Kinda," she stopped to cough, "pathetic isn't it? You had t' wait till I was…an old, dying woman t' fight me? No wonder…Angel AND Spike preferred me."

Drusilla picked up a picture from the dresser at the bottom of the bed. She rubbed her finger over the frozen faces. It squeaked on the glass.

"Nooo," she said slowly. Her face twisted with anger. "They liked you because you're a dirty whore. Filthy girl, you left your smutty fingerprints on my shining boy. My Sweet William. You made him dull and-"

She stopped pressed the heel of her hand to her hand.

"Getting a'ead o' meself," she said after a moment. Her face was smooth and cheerful again. "Or behind. It don' matter, any'ow. Spike and Angel are gone. And my grandmum Darla. Y' killed all me family, Slayer. Y' left me all on me own."

Buffy laughed. At least, she started too. It turned into a cough halfway through. Drusilla patiently waited for her to control herself.

"Most of us moved out of home before we were hundred," she said.

Drusilla made a scandalized sound and darted over to make sure the door was shut. Then she turned and frowned at Buffy.

"You shouldn' reveal a lady's age," she sniffed. "An' I 'ave a new family now. A secret one." She pressed her finger to her lips. "Shush, don't tell."

"How?" Buffy asked. "The council said…they said…you were all dead. How did they miss you?"

"Little mice in the wainscots, hiding from the cat. Soon nobody will remember they were at all." Drusilla said. She held her arms and turned. "Time, y' see, is on our side. Soon you an' the witch and the one-eyed boy'll be in the ground, the worms going in and worms going out. The council will fade away. But we'll still be here. Do you know what day it is?"

"The day you kill me?"

"No." Drusilla shook her head and then stopped and reconsidered. "Well, yes. It is, but that's not important. The shuttle leaves today. I'm going to be on it. My family and me, we're going to see the stars. I picked one out just for us. But I wanted to see you die before I left. You ruined my Spike, my lucent, glowing boy. You pulled him down into the mud and then you let him die. So, I wanted you to know it was all for nothing. Your life, your fight, your deaths. Now it's time to put out the lights, slayer. There's no one to bring you back this time."

She put a pale hand over Buffy's mouth and nose and held it there until the slayer stopped struggling. The machines went daft, beeping and flashing, and nurses and doctors came pushing into the room. None of them noticed Drusilla.

While they were fussing around the slayer she slipped out.

He left his nurse pouting at the desk and joined her. When they stepped outside he took his jacket off and put it over her shoulders. Not that she felt the cold but he knew she would like the gesture.

"Which one is it?" he asked.

She pointed.

"Tha' one," she said. "Waiting for us. A whole new world, wi' no slayer and no sunlight. We're going t' have such fun."

furies_child @ 2005-09-06T01:05:00

2005-09-06T00:07:22Z

Character Name: Drusilla
Origin: Buffy
Word Count:621
Character LJ: furies_child
Rating: R

Drusilla stood in the middle of the street and spun around and around. Her skirts belled out from her long, slender legs and her hair tangled around her face. The world turned into a curved blur. Finally, she got dizzy and stopped. With a whispery sigh she let her legs fold beneath her. She collapsed to the ground like a puppet with the strings cut.

Her pet stood on the pavement, shuffling from foot to foot. It took him nearly five minutes before he plucked up the courage to approach her.

“Dru,” he said, reaching for her shoulder.

She lashed out at him. Her arm moved so fast that it was a white blur and he stumbled back. One hand covered his face, too late to protect it. Drusilla shook her hair back from her face and hissed at him. Bloody tears stained her pale cheeks.

“Get away. Don’ touch me.” It was the most lucid that she had been since he had known her.

She stared at him until he backed away. Then her tongue darted out to lick her own tears away from the corner of her mouth. He dropped his hand from his face. His cheek was hanging off his face by a flap of skin. Under it were the soft white scales of his true form. An eye opened and blinked at Drusilla.

“Why’d you do that?” he whined.

She sniffed like a child and wiped her face on her sleeve. Her tears left a bright red streak on the white silk.

“We’ve washed our mittens, little kitten, now it’s time f’r bed,” she said, holding out her hand. He hesitated, cringing and rolling the eye in his cheek. Then he gingerly took her hand.

“What do you mean?”

Drusilla smiled and patted his skin back into place.

“It don’ matter,” she said. Then she bobbed him on the nose with her finger. “Not t’ you.”

“Why-“ he started to ask. Drusilla killed him before he could finish the sentence and lowered his body to the ground. She crossed his arms over his chest, closed all four of his eyes and then stood up.

She took a deep breath. The air stunk of brimstone and rotten meat. When she looked around the streets were empty, smoke leaked through cracks in the pavement and the sky was dull red streaked with bile green.
Drusilla lifted the hem of her skirts and walked down the road. She passed a crashed capsule, the silver bullet form of the car ripped open by the claws of something demonic. The only sounds to be heard were her footsteps. Even a few days ago she’d been able to hear humans screaming in the distance and the cackle and roar of the other demons.

Now there was nothing.

With a sigh she stopped and sat down on the kerb beside the skeleton of a child. She took the bony hand in hers and stroked the dry, cracked fingers. She’d lost Miss Edith a few weeks, or months ago. Or had it been years? Sometimes it was hard to keep track.

“I am tired,” she said. “I wan’ t’ come home.”

Her lids fluttered shut, dark lashes casting shadows down her stained cheeks, and she sighed heavily without opening them.

“Always th’ Slayer,” she grumbled. “Nasty, dirty girls. Complicatin’ things.”

Drusilla patted the bony hand one last time and stood up. She spun again, slower this time, and stopped with her face to the East.

“It’s th’ last party, Slayer,” she said. “Y’ can’t sit out the dance.”
It wasn’t her Slayer, of course. The bad, wicked little doll of a Slayer who made her Spike all dirty and spoilt him. Still, it would do.

furies_child @ 2005-08-24T23:56:00

2005-08-24T22:57:38Z

Character Name: Drusilla
Origin: Buffy
Word Count:1585
Character LJ: furies_child
Rating: R

The downdraft from the dragon’s wings blew Lilah’s hair over her face. She sighed irritably and reached up to push it back behind her ear. When she did so it revealed the black earpiece plugged into her ear, the wire trailing down her pale cheek.

“Like it’s not hard enough to get your hair sitting right in hell,” she muttered to herself.

She walked over to the edge of the roof, her heels catching in the melting tarmac, and looked down. Angel was there, of course. For someone who was already dead he had an annoying habit of coming back to life. The others were there too. The smurf-god, the peroxide rip-off of Angel and the young black guy that the Senior Partners had conned into thinking he was a lawyer.

Lilah snorted. As if Wolfram and Hart would give out so many scholarships to promising young sociopaths if they could just programme the knowledge into any Tom, Dick or Harry.

There was only one missing.

Well, two if you counted Lindsey but Lilah didn’t. He’d signed the same contract she had. Death didn’t get you out of that. No, the only real casualty on their side so far was Wesley.

“Oh lover,” she breathed. “I told you all this do-gooding would bring you to a bad end. I hope you read your contract carefully.”

For a moment the lawyer’s lovely face looked sad but then she took a deep breath and shook her head. She reached up to tap the earpiece. The senior partners had offered to set up a telepathic link but she preferred to rely on technology. You didn’t have to listen to the head of the extraction team daydreaming about killing you, for a start.

“People?” she said, her voice lightly chiding. “You’re all being very quiet. After all the planning I did I don’t expect anything to go wrong now.”

There was a brief silence and then a voice crackled in her ear.

“No problems, ma’am.” The man said. They’d had to import him from the New York. Angel’s tenure as head of the LA branch had put a terrible dent in staffing levels. There were even lawsuits pending from the Gyoorgh cultists he had decapitated for practicing their religion. “The boy has just driven up the road.”

“Good,” Lilah said. “Proceed with mission. And remember. We want scorched earth. Take no chances with the target, he’s more dangerous than he looks.

“Yes, ma’am.”

The man had that note in his voice. The ‘teach your granny to suck eggs’ tone of the professional dealing with amateur management. It was annoying but Lilah refrained from calling him on it. There was no time to replace him tonight and, anyhow, if he was underestimating the boy then natural selection should take care of the reprimand for her.

She took the earpiece from her ear and let it dangle against the lapel of her suit. Below her Angel tilted his head back and for a moment she thought he’d seen her. Dead or not, the thought made her heart skip a beat. But he was watching the dragon.

“Oh, Angel,” she said. “Did you forget that just who it was who arranged Conner’s nice new family? Or did you just think we’d acted in good faith? No, even you couldn’t be that stupid. Not that it matters now. Evil Overlord Rule Number Thirty Eight, never leave the hero’s offspring alive.”

Conner drove into the driveway, parked in front of the front door and got out. Instead of going into the house he just stood, staring back the way he had come. The sky over LA was black tonight and he knew it wasn’t natural. He should go back.

But Angel, his father, had told him to leave. And his other family were here, and vulnerable. The thought of them being hurt twisted like a knife in his chest. He knew his memories of them weren’t real but they felt real. Things had been simpler back in the demon dimension.

So he just stood and watched the sky.

“Conner?”

He turned and frowned at his little sister, standing at the front door in her bare feet. She was wearing a pair of spotty pyjamas and clutching the teddy bear that she insisted she didn’t sleep with any more. Her small face looked solemn.

“Pamela, go back inside. It's cold,” he said.

“I can’t,” she said, stepping onto the drive.

The gravel must have been digging into her bare feet but she didn’t flinch when she walked over it. The closer she got the more Conner felt that something was wrong. Pamela slept like the dead. If he had woken her up driving in he would have woken his parents too. Those weren’t spots on her pyjamas either. It was blood splatter.

He dropped his keys to the ground and stepped towards her. The other Conner, the one who had survived the demon dimension, screamed that he was being stupid. But this was Pamela, his little sister. If something was wrong he had to help her.

“Pamela,” he said, holding his hand out. “What’s the matter? Did something happen?”

She stared at him and then her small face crumpled with grief.

“They’re dead,” she said. “Mom and Dad. The…the men came and killed them. I hid.”

“What? No,” Conner gasped and looked towards the house.

It nearly killed him. His sister dropped her bear to the ground. She had been hiding a huge, bloody knife behind the stuffed, plush toy and she slashed at his stomach. The point of the knife cut his stomach open from hip to hip. Where his blood touched the knife it glowed, sigils twisting along the blade from hilt to tip.

Conner felt suddenly weak.

“Pamela, don’t,” he said, stumbling backwards. He looked around desperately. He felt so tired that he could hardly stay on his feet. “Pammy, listen to me, this isn’t you. You have to fight it.”

Pamela rolled her blue eyes. The expression was so exasperated little sister that it made Conner’s stomach hurt. He had seen do that before. He had seen her do it thousand times. It was Pamela.

“No, Conner,” she told him. His legs gave and he fell to the ground. She cut him again, across his chest this time. Blood soaked his t-shirt and puddled on the ground under him. “This is me. There’s no one in here,” she tapped the point of the dagger against her forehead, “but little old Pammy. I am sorry about this, you know. This has been one of the best families I’ve ever had. But needs must when the devils drive so…hold still and let me kill you, ok?”

She clutched the knife in both hands and lifted it over her head. There were any number of ways that Conner knew to disarm, or kill, her but he couldn’t even lift his hand to ward her off.

“Don’t,” he begged.

“Sorry,” she said. “It’s just orders.”

Then two pale hands appeared on either side of Pamela’s face and twisted it around. There was a sharp cracking sound. It took Conner a moment to realize he was staring at the back of Pamela’s head.

“Such a naughty little girl,” the woman commented, letting Pamela’s body collapse to the ground. “Jus’ for tha’ she won’t be allowed any cake with her tea.”

“You killed her,” Conner said blankly.

The woman cocked her head to the side and tapped a finger against her scarlet painted lower lip. Her delicate features were intent while she considered his statement.

“Yes,” she said at last. “I did. She was going to hurt you, my beautiful boy. I couldn’t have tha’ could I?”

Then she lifted her skirts up, revealing laced up black ankle boots and pale legs, and turned her back on him. He watched her walk away. She’d killed Pamela, his little sister, but she’d saved him. And he felt weak, still. The knife, whatever it was, was still working on him.

“Where are you going?” he asked, using the car to pull himself to his feet.
She looked back at him, her face all white skin and dark hollows.

“All the grand old duke’s men are coming,” she said. “They want to take you down the hill with them. You should come with me.”

She held her hand out towards him.

“Who are you?”

“Drusilla,” she said. “I’m your grandmum, precious boy. The moon told me all about you, how special you are, how sweet. I couldn’t let the nasty old men from the Wolf, Ram and Hart take you away from me.”
For a minute Conner stared at the fey woman. She was evil. She was crazy. He didn’t have a choice.

“OK,” he said. He tried to take a step towards her and stumbled.
Drusilla caught him before he hit the ground. Despite her frail appearance she picked him up easily.

“Poor baby,” she crooned, pressing a cold kiss to his forehead. “You’re overtired, all worn out. Don’ worry. Grandmum will take care of you. When you wake up everything will be alright again. We’ll ‘ave each other and we’ll ‘ave so much fun.”

“I don’t…” Conner struggled. “I don’t wanna be a vampire.”

Drusilla tched. She looked up into the hills and then started walking quickly.

“Don’t worry, precious boy,” she said. “Grandmum loves you, she’d not do anything to hurt you. Trust me.”

furies_child @ 2005-08-03T00:29:00

2005-08-02T23:29:46Z

Character Name: Drusilla
Origin: Buffy
Word Count:1207
Character LJ: furies_child
Rating: R

You fucking bitch," Jamie screamed into the phone, tears and mascara running down her cheeks. She sniffed, snorting back snot, and wiped her nose on the back of her wrist. "You were meant to be my friend! My best friend! How could you do this to me?"

She stopped talking, although she was still making little breathless, sobbing sounds, to listen to what Naomi had to say for herself. The sparse excuse didn't make her feel any better.

"Bitch!" she screamed into the phone and then she smashed the handset against the phone. By the time she finished the handset was shattered, the earpiece hanging from a tangle of wires, and the metal payphone was tempted. She still didn't feel any better.

She rubbed her hand over her eyes, smearing her makeup more, and walked over to the only bench in the bus station that wasn't occupied by a drunken, stinking hobo. The broken heel of her pretty pink sandal, bought just for her hen party, made her sway drunkenly from side to side.

When she reached the bench she hesitated, giving the miniskirt of her nurses uniform a tug, and looked at the woman already sitting there. She was a thin, dark haired woman in a black skirt that reached her calves and an oversized red sweater. Her outfit was too warm for the weather, Jamie was sweating so much in her scanty plastic outfit that she felt like a steamed hot dog, but other she looked normal enough. At least, more normal than the bearded man sitting on the next bench along. He was wearing a belly shirt and had his hand stuck down his trousers so he could scratch himself.

At least, Jamie hoped he was just scratching himself.

"Do you mind if I sit down?" she sniffled.

The woman tilted her head back and regarded Jamie solemnly. She had a delicate face, an English rose with a dash of something more exotic thrown in, and eyes that looked nearly black the pupils were so blown.

"Are you a' angel?" she asked dreamily.

Jamie gave a ragged snort. It was just her luck. She came to Vegas for her hen party with eight of her best friends and she ended up sitting in a bus station, all on her except for a choice selection of drunks and addicts. At least, the woman looked clean.

"Yeah," she said, sitting down. "Yeah I am."

She bent over, bracing her elbows on her knee, and stared at the ground. There was a piece of chewing gum there that looked like a heart. The world was just intent on pooping on her today.

"I knew an angel once," the woman mused aloud, her English accent soft and burred. "Such a bad, dull boy he was. Quite spoilt my fun."

"Yeah, well, he was a man," Jamie kicked at the piece of chewing gum with her toe, scrubbing at it till it was just a wad of goo. "Men are all bastards."

"Cads," the woman agreed and reached out to stroke Jamie's hair, twisting a blonde curl around her finger. "Did a man stamp on yer heart," she asked sympathetically and then stamped her own small, booted foot on a ground to demonstrate. "Smash smash smash."

The question made Jamie suck in a ragged, sobbing breath and then she twisted her mouth in a bitter smile.

"My fiancé," she said. "He's screwing my best friend. My best friend, for god's sake, I've known Naomi since we were in school. How could he do that? How could SHE do that?"

"Dogs in heat," the other woman said with an air of disapproval. "Nasty dirty things. Sluts tempting my shining love, my wicked Spike away from me."

"You too, huh?" Jamie asked and twisted around, sticking her hand out. "I'm Jamie."

Instead of shaking Jamie's hand the woman took it and stroked long red, white tipped fingers from the wrist, over the knuckles and down to the tips of her fingers.

"Drusilla," she introduced herself and tapped her finger against Jamie's ring. "Such a cold, 'ard, sharp thing to seal a troth, isn't it. Yet fitting, love 'urts. 'ere." She let go of Jamie's hand and touched her chest. Long fingers flattened against the wool. "Lyk rats nibbling at yer ribs."

Jamie laughed once and clasped her hands together, tucking them into the crease of her thighs. A heavy sigh hefted her shoulders.

"Life goes on though," she said. "I suppose."

Drusilla cocked her head to the side and widened her blue eye.

"No," she said.

"What?"

"Life doesn' go on. Not for you," Drusilla reached out to cup Jamie's face, blue eyes holding Jamie's. "You have t' die."
Jamie's mouth moved silently for a moment.

"Wh…Why?" she finally forced out.

A swipe of razor sharp nails opened Jamie's throat from ear to ear. Drusilla blinked, once, when the spray of blood hit her face. The tip of her tongue darted out to lick droplets from her lower lip.

The slight vampiress hummed to herself while she dragged Jamie from the bench and into the middle of the carpark.

"Hush little baby," she sang softly, crouching down and pulling open Jamie's nurse's outfit to reveal pale breasts in a lacy, pink rose embroidered bra. It didn't take Drusilla long to open the woman's chest cavity and pull out the bloody, slippery muscle from inside her ribcage. "Don't you cry. Mamma's gonna sing you a lullaby."

She stood up gracefully and turned to walk away. Then she paused, mercurial expressions flickering lover her face, and turned back to fetch Jamie's ring from her finger. The diamond was covered with blood.

Jamie had gone to high school with Buffy Summers. They hadn't been friends but they had been on the cheerleading squad together.

Still humming to herself Drusilla walked out of the bus station, still holding the heart in her hands. She'd send it to the Watchers tomorrow. It needed to be properly wrapped, in pretty paper and ribbon, first. This was the eighth package she had sent. Not all of them had been friends of Buffy's, or even known her. She wondered if the Watchers had told Buffy yet?

After she had sent the sixth package someone, she didn't remember who and it didn't matter since she had killed him, had asked her when she was going after Buffy herself. It had annoyed Dru that he didn't understand. That was why she had killed him.

The wicked slayer had broken Drusilla's heart when she had stolen her sweet and precious Spike away, filling his mind with naughty images of sugar sweet slayers. So Drusilla was going to break Buffy's heart, one gift at a time.

Killing her would be too easy. Buffy had to understand what heartbreak was first. Of course, the slayer wasn't very clever. Not the sharpest knife in the drawer, Dru's mama would have said.

But that was ok, too. If the gifts didn't work Drusilla still had her rats. One way or another, Buffy would understand what it felt like.

"Rats," Dru whimpered, pressing a bloody hand to her heart. "Nibblin' away."

furies_child @ 2005-07-30T18:30:00

2005-07-30T17:30:44Z

Character Name: Drusilla
Origin: Buffy
Word Count:1017
Character LJ: furies_child
Rating: R

Drusilla woke up when she felt the car change direction. She opened her eyes and lifted her head from where it had been resting against the window.

“Spike?” she whimpered, brushing her hair out of her eyes with pale fingers. “Wot’s wrong?”

The car jolted over the speed bump on the road into the garage and Drusilla whimpered again. Her bones felt too loose in her skin and every jolt made her fear she would fall apart.

“Nothing’s wrong, princess,” Spike said, swinging the steering wheel around and guiding the big, black car in to one of the pumps. “We’ve just ran outta gas.”

“Oh.” Drusilla blinked sleepily out the blacked out windows at the garage. A sign over the door declared it to be ‘Milton’s Lot’, although the O in Milton had burned out, and there were two huge trucks parked on the far side of the forecourt. “I ha’ a horrible dream. They wanted t’ burn me all up, lyk Guy Fawkes only nobody gave me a penny. I don’ wan’ t’ burn, Spike.”

Spike turned the car engine off and leaned over to cup Drusilla’s face in his hand, callused finger stroking the pale curve of her cheek.

“Tha’ were in Prague, Princess,” he said.

Drusilla blinked slowly. “It was?” she asked doubtfully.

“Yeah,” Spike said, leaning forwards to kiss her. His fangs scored her lower lip and she purred, a pale hand rising to curl around Spike’s neck, when she tasted her own blood. When Spike drew away from her his lips were stained with blood. “They hurt yer but they’re all dead now. We’re going ter Sunnydale, remember, gonna get yer all fixed up again.”

Drusilla held on to Spike’s collar.

“You killed ‘em,” she said, her blue eyes finally coming into focus and a small smile touching her full, red lips. “You killed ‘em all for me.”

“That’s right.” He kissed her again, pressing her back into her seat. “So y’ don’t have ter worry about anyone burning yer, Dru. I ain’t gonna let that happen.”

Her hand stroked his cheek and then fell back into her lap. Bruises mottled the pale, thin length of her arm, darkest against the soft skin of her inner wrist and elbow. She had been frail since Prague, weak no matter how much blood Spike brought for her to drink, but the fever only made her blue eyes brighter.

“My beautiful Spike,” she sighed.

He kissed her hand, an antique gesture he’d have let no one but her see, and then slid out of the car. His black duster fell limply around his long, black clad legs and he smoothed his white blonde hair back from his face.

“Wait in th’ car,” he said and she nodded.

While he filled the car Drusilla dozed again, her mind drifting from the here to the then and back again. This time it was the sound of tires squealing on wet concrete when one of the two trucks left that woke her.

She turned around but Spike wasn’t at the back of the car.

The car door creaked when she pushed it open and slipped out of the car. She left the door open and walked towards the shop. Halfway across the forecourt, between the pumps and the shops, she stopped and crouched down. The lace skirts of her dress draped the floor, soaking up the oil, and she used her long, red nails to pick up the grimy coin lying on the ground.

She tilted the coin, watching it glimmer in the moonlight, and then stood up and walked into the shop. The woman behind the counter, forty, frowzy and with a fading black eye, looked up from counting her money and scowled.

“Hey,” she called. Drusilla glanced around at her, strands of soft, dark hair falling across her delicately lovely face. “Do you want something?”

The question made Drusilla giggle, a silvery, sweet but still wrong sound. “I wan’ lots of things,” she said breathily, walking over to the counter. “Blood an’ death and sweet little babies on sticks and all th’ demons dancing in th’ ruins.”

The woman’s lips compressed into a thin line, her orange-red lipstick bleeding out into the cracks around her mouth, and snorted down her nose.

“Fuckin’ junkie,” she muttered. “Look, either buy something or get out. We’re closing up soon, I need to get home.”

Dru put the coin down on the counter and pushed it towards the woman with her finger. “ome is where the ‘eart is.”

“Yeah,” the woman rolled her eyes and came around the counter, grabbing Dru’s arm and hustling her towards the door. “Come on, get out. We don’t want your kind round here.”

At the back of the shop the door to the men’s toilets was kicked open and Spike sauntered out. His hands and shirt were covered with blood and he was counting the notes in a bloodstained canvas wallet. When he saw the woman manhandling Dru he scowled, his face reforming and fangs extending, and stuck the wallet into the back pocket of his jeans.

Long legs carried him over the shop and he grabbed the woman by the hair.

“Take yer fuckin’ ‘ands off Dru,” he snarled, yanking her head back far enough that he could see her terrified eyes and gaping mouth. He sank his fangs into her throat before she could voice the scream building in her chest. Blood spurted into his mouth and then he clenched his draw and ripped her throat out. Still holding the woman he frowned at Dru.

“I though I tol’ yer ter stay in the car,” he said, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

“I found a sixpence,” Drusilla gave him her coin. “I wanted some blackbird pies, wi’ the feathers still on so I could feel ‘em fluttering in my stomach.”

“That’s a quarter, luv,” Spike corrected her, pocketing the coin. He passed the whimpering woman over to her. “’ere, you eat up while I get a packet o’ fags. And when we get ter Sunnydale I’ll make yer a Slayer Pie.”

furies_child @ 2005-07-28T20:32:00

2005-07-28T19:33:13Z

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.”