writers_muses Prompt 96
(Based on roleplay with the wonderful swanseer at realityshifted.)
Drusilla was just like Goldilocks. She didn’t have the right hair and she couldn’t abide porridge, but the stories ... oh, yes. She always got the stories right.
Too Hot
It was all Spike’s fault.
Not just because he’d wanted to return to Sunnydale, although that had been a foolish move. Straight into checkmate, without even spotting to see where the queen was. (He was always watching her now. Her and rarely his princess.)
“It’s the Gem of Amara, pet!”
He’d exclaimed it, as if she hadn’t realised. Drusilla had turned over her cards, read the secrets in the eyes of the Hanged Man and shook her head. He hadn’t listened. Caught up in one of his schemes. She’d loved his fire, once. Part of her still did. It had consumed everything - everyone - that came too close. It had allowed him to become one of the most feared vampires in the world. But it hadn’t been able to burn the Slayer, so he’d turned it inward instead. It was going to turn him into the ashes he already tasted like.
In the end, he hadn’t found the gem. He’d trotted all the way to the City of Angels to try and snatch it from Daddy. Drusilla had waited for him, like a patient princess in a tower, snacking on the citizens of Sunnydale and keeping out of the way of the Slayer.
When the Initiative took him, she woke up screaming.
When he staggered back to their little home the next day, she held him close and tried to tell him what they’d done. He didn’t listen then, either.
“Bloody little tin men,” he said, “I’ll rip ‘em to pieces, you see if I don’t. We’ll use their innards as confetti.”
“What about their outtards?”
He laughed, spinning her round.
“Balloon animals, my love. And party favours.”
Drusilla smiled softly, resting her head on Spike’s shoulders. She was glad she wouldn’t be there when he realised he couldn’t snap anymore. Part of her wanted to run away, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t leave her boy yet, not when he needed her so very badly.
She’d always known that he would get his fingers burned one day. He was a careless thing, and too hot for his own good.
Too Cold
“Grandmother? Grandmother? When are we going to go out and play?”
It wasn’t the first time she’d asked, and it wasn’t the first time Darla had ignored her. The older vampire - or younger now, so much younger - was watching the wall with blank eyes. She didn’t even try to count the cracks or swat at the rats that scurried around at their feet. Grandmummy’s scars were healing, but Drusilla knew that she’d find plenty more underneath the skin if she dared to peep a little closer.
She wanted to get back to Sunnydale, and then ...
No. No, that wasn’t right. Princess wanted to get back to her Spike. (He was bound to get himself into trouble, with the chip and the Slayer and no Drusilla to keep an eye on things.) They were almost a family again now. Three out of four, ready to rip the world to pieces and put it back together in their own image. They could coax Daddy back to them. They could do anything now they were together.
It didn’t matter that Spike was broken, with no snap and no bark thanks to the nasty tin soldiers and the glittering threads of the Slayer tangling around his head. It didn’t matter that Grandmummy Darla was sickening with something awful, heavy with grief and motherhood and rage. It didn’t even matter that Drusilla’s head ached with the effort of holding it all together. She had to hold it all together. Their blood was hers, and her blood was theirs, and none of them had anyone else. They were a family.
“Grandmummy?”
“I’ve told you,” Darla growled, turning her head at last. Her eyes flashed like chips of cobalt, and Drusilla caught sight of a sobbing baby boy and a terrible beast and the sun disappearing behind a cloud of smoke. “Don’t call me that.”
“I’m sorry,” Drusilla whimpered. She’d been Darla’s granddaughter before she’d been her mother, and deserved to be chastised. “But it’s so cold here. So dry. Why can’t we go and taste the town? You’ll be well enough to travel soon. Don’t you want to do some painting first?”
Paint the town red, oh yes. Their favourite colour.
“Stupid girl! We can’t leave without Angelus!”
“But we can’t rescue Daddy without Spike.”
“Do you really think Spike will want to help rescue him? They hate each other!”
There was ice in her voice. It cut poor Drusilla, and Darla didn’t care. She spat out her venom, her frost, because it was twisting her inside. She thought spreading her cold around would save her from it.
“They’re a family,” Drusilla whispered. “We’re a family.”
Even if she was the only one who could still see it. Even if she was the only one who could remember the games they’d played in Europe and China, or feel them in her veins, or taste them on her tongue.
With a shake of her head - as if Drusilla was the one missing the point, and not her poor confused baby grandmummy - Darla turned back to the wall. Drusilla wondered if she should go over and try to comfort her, but she decided against it and turned to her dolls instead. Grandmother was so cold. She couldn’t feel, couldn’t care, couldn’t remember.
She’d give Drusilla frostbite.
Just Right
At first, the stars on the Plane told her that she wasn’t allowed to hunt there. They’d be ever so cross if she spoiled their playground, they said, and they’d have to stop her from visiting if she didn’t obey the rules.
Drusilla was no fool. Mad, perhaps - but who decided what madness was, when the pixies spoke their truths to her and her alone? - but not foolish. She didn’t jump on sinking ships or place her neck on bloody blocks, and she wasn’t going to waste her new gift either. A place for her alone, with stars for a carpet and supernovas for a sky.
And the people! Oh, the people. There was the Doctor with storms in his veins and lies - even his name was a lie! - in his strange double pulse. There was the Master, ready to claim it all but gripping at nothingness. The doll, the warrior, the singer, the liar, the thief. It was more than enough to distract her from Sunnydale and Spike, who was drawing closer to the Slayer as the wires planted by the Initiative tightened in his head. Drusilla couldn’t keep her deadly boy safe forever. He would lose himself soon. She would lose him soon.
(The pixies had whispered it to her long ago. That was why she’d ran away from him in South America, and why she should have said no when he tracked her down again. She should have known that she couldn’t fight against the pictures in her head. They were the only things that ever told the truth. Spike had said “eternity”. Spike had lied.)
At least she had her Swan. There were no wings for her Juni bird, no feathers to catch between Drusilla’s teeth and no heavy secrets to spoil their games. She saw it too. The future, spread out like a patchwork quilt on a broken mattress. This future and that future, drawing together to make one twisting tangle of truth. She understood.
The visions, the voices, the pixies. They were spider’s webs for Juni, but she understood just the same.
As soon as the stars told her that she was allowed one little treat, as a present for her good behaviour, Drusilla pounced.
***
The soil on the fresh grave was rich and brown. Drusilla had brought it over from Sunnydale specially. It had the secrets of the ages in its grains. Hundreds of vampires had been born again - and many had died again, at the hands of the Slayer - here. A fitting birthplace for her new baby girl. Her new baby Swan.
Signet. That was her new name. Her sweet baby Signet.
(Juni Bird was prettier, but she would have to grow into that again, just as she’d had to change into a new Drusilla after Daddy built her afresh. She’d be signet for now and a princess forever.)
The girl who climbed out of the soil had loam in her hair and dirt under her nails. She had crimson lips, curled into a pout.
“I’m hungry,” she said, shaking the mud out of her hair. Drusilla kissed her frowns away. Promised her the earth and the sky and everything in between. Held her close, like a mother and a lover and a friend all at once.
They weren’t the right number for a family. They were two instead of four, and it wouldn’t be easy to find the balance, but, when they did, it would be perfect. There’d be no one to steal her new girl away. No one. Just the two of them and an eternity and all the best games to play.
Juni wasn’t too hot. Her lips didn’t burn. They didn’t peel Drusilla’s face away until the bone was exposed and screaming. She wasn’t too cold, either. Her touch didn’t freeze or make Drusilla shudder with frostbite and disappointments.
She was just right, and the two of them were going to have the whole world.
Prompt: "We are alone, you and I. How unusual."
Word Count: 1,592
Drusilla was just like Goldilocks. She didn’t have the right hair and she couldn’t abide porridge, but the stories ... oh, yes. She always got the stories right.
Too Hot
It was all Spike’s fault.
Not just because he’d wanted to return to Sunnydale, although that had been a foolish move. Straight into checkmate, without even spotting to see where the queen was. (He was always watching her now. Her and rarely his princess.)
“It’s the Gem of Amara, pet!”
He’d exclaimed it, as if she hadn’t realised. Drusilla had turned over her cards, read the secrets in the eyes of the Hanged Man and shook her head. He hadn’t listened. Caught up in one of his schemes. She’d loved his fire, once. Part of her still did. It had consumed everything - everyone - that came too close. It had allowed him to become one of the most feared vampires in the world. But it hadn’t been able to burn the Slayer, so he’d turned it inward instead. It was going to turn him into the ashes he already tasted like.
In the end, he hadn’t found the gem. He’d trotted all the way to the City of Angels to try and snatch it from Daddy. Drusilla had waited for him, like a patient princess in a tower, snacking on the citizens of Sunnydale and keeping out of the way of the Slayer.
When the Initiative took him, she woke up screaming.
When he staggered back to their little home the next day, she held him close and tried to tell him what they’d done. He didn’t listen then, either.
“Bloody little tin men,” he said, “I’ll rip ‘em to pieces, you see if I don’t. We’ll use their innards as confetti.”
“What about their outtards?”
He laughed, spinning her round.
“Balloon animals, my love. And party favours.”
Drusilla smiled softly, resting her head on Spike’s shoulders. She was glad she wouldn’t be there when he realised he couldn’t snap anymore. Part of her wanted to run away, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t leave her boy yet, not when he needed her so very badly.
She’d always known that he would get his fingers burned one day. He was a careless thing, and too hot for his own good.
Too Cold
“Grandmother? Grandmother? When are we going to go out and play?”
It wasn’t the first time she’d asked, and it wasn’t the first time Darla had ignored her. The older vampire - or younger now, so much younger - was watching the wall with blank eyes. She didn’t even try to count the cracks or swat at the rats that scurried around at their feet. Grandmummy’s scars were healing, but Drusilla knew that she’d find plenty more underneath the skin if she dared to peep a little closer.
She wanted to get back to Sunnydale, and then ...
No. No, that wasn’t right. Princess wanted to get back to her Spike. (He was bound to get himself into trouble, with the chip and the Slayer and no Drusilla to keep an eye on things.) They were almost a family again now. Three out of four, ready to rip the world to pieces and put it back together in their own image. They could coax Daddy back to them. They could do anything now they were together.
It didn’t matter that Spike was broken, with no snap and no bark thanks to the nasty tin soldiers and the glittering threads of the Slayer tangling around his head. It didn’t matter that Grandmummy Darla was sickening with something awful, heavy with grief and motherhood and rage. It didn’t even matter that Drusilla’s head ached with the effort of holding it all together. She had to hold it all together. Their blood was hers, and her blood was theirs, and none of them had anyone else. They were a family.
“Grandmummy?”
“I’ve told you,” Darla growled, turning her head at last. Her eyes flashed like chips of cobalt, and Drusilla caught sight of a sobbing baby boy and a terrible beast and the sun disappearing behind a cloud of smoke. “Don’t call me that.”
“I’m sorry,” Drusilla whimpered. She’d been Darla’s granddaughter before she’d been her mother, and deserved to be chastised. “But it’s so cold here. So dry. Why can’t we go and taste the town? You’ll be well enough to travel soon. Don’t you want to do some painting first?”
Paint the town red, oh yes. Their favourite colour.
“Stupid girl! We can’t leave without Angelus!”
“But we can’t rescue Daddy without Spike.”
“Do you really think Spike will want to help rescue him? They hate each other!”
There was ice in her voice. It cut poor Drusilla, and Darla didn’t care. She spat out her venom, her frost, because it was twisting her inside. She thought spreading her cold around would save her from it.
“They’re a family,” Drusilla whispered. “We’re a family.”
Even if she was the only one who could still see it. Even if she was the only one who could remember the games they’d played in Europe and China, or feel them in her veins, or taste them on her tongue.
With a shake of her head - as if Drusilla was the one missing the point, and not her poor confused baby grandmummy - Darla turned back to the wall. Drusilla wondered if she should go over and try to comfort her, but she decided against it and turned to her dolls instead. Grandmother was so cold. She couldn’t feel, couldn’t care, couldn’t remember.
She’d give Drusilla frostbite.
Just Right
At first, the stars on the Plane told her that she wasn’t allowed to hunt there. They’d be ever so cross if she spoiled their playground, they said, and they’d have to stop her from visiting if she didn’t obey the rules.
Drusilla was no fool. Mad, perhaps - but who decided what madness was, when the pixies spoke their truths to her and her alone? - but not foolish. She didn’t jump on sinking ships or place her neck on bloody blocks, and she wasn’t going to waste her new gift either. A place for her alone, with stars for a carpet and supernovas for a sky.
And the people! Oh, the people. There was the Doctor with storms in his veins and lies - even his name was a lie! - in his strange double pulse. There was the Master, ready to claim it all but gripping at nothingness. The doll, the warrior, the singer, the liar, the thief. It was more than enough to distract her from Sunnydale and Spike, who was drawing closer to the Slayer as the wires planted by the Initiative tightened in his head. Drusilla couldn’t keep her deadly boy safe forever. He would lose himself soon. She would lose him soon.
(The pixies had whispered it to her long ago. That was why she’d ran away from him in South America, and why she should have said no when he tracked her down again. She should have known that she couldn’t fight against the pictures in her head. They were the only things that ever told the truth. Spike had said “eternity”. Spike had lied.)
At least she had her Swan. There were no wings for her Juni bird, no feathers to catch between Drusilla’s teeth and no heavy secrets to spoil their games. She saw it too. The future, spread out like a patchwork quilt on a broken mattress. This future and that future, drawing together to make one twisting tangle of truth. She understood.
The visions, the voices, the pixies. They were spider’s webs for Juni, but she understood just the same.
As soon as the stars told her that she was allowed one little treat, as a present for her good behaviour, Drusilla pounced.
***
The soil on the fresh grave was rich and brown. Drusilla had brought it over from Sunnydale specially. It had the secrets of the ages in its grains. Hundreds of vampires had been born again - and many had died again, at the hands of the Slayer - here. A fitting birthplace for her new baby girl. Her new baby Swan.
Signet. That was her new name. Her sweet baby Signet.
(Juni Bird was prettier, but she would have to grow into that again, just as she’d had to change into a new Drusilla after Daddy built her afresh. She’d be signet for now and a princess forever.)
The girl who climbed out of the soil had loam in her hair and dirt under her nails. She had crimson lips, curled into a pout.
“I’m hungry,” she said, shaking the mud out of her hair. Drusilla kissed her frowns away. Promised her the earth and the sky and everything in between. Held her close, like a mother and a lover and a friend all at once.
They weren’t the right number for a family. They were two instead of four, and it wouldn’t be easy to find the balance, but, when they did, it would be perfect. There’d be no one to steal her new girl away. No one. Just the two of them and an eternity and all the best games to play.
Juni wasn’t too hot. Her lips didn’t burn. They didn’t peel Drusilla’s face away until the bone was exposed and screaming. She wasn’t too cold, either. Her touch didn’t freeze or make Drusilla shudder with frostbite and disappointments.
She was just right, and the two of them were going to have the whole world.
Prompt: "We are alone, you and I. How unusual."
Word Count: 1,592