Drusilla
Title: Delicious
Prompt #054-Colorless
Character: Drusilla of Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Rating: PG-a disturbing, vampiric comparison
Word Count: 210
Part one in the “Sensation” sequence
--
rest, your pretty head, you pretty head
(just rest, just rest, just rest your pretty head)
don’t trouble your pretty head, your pretty head
“Sex,” The Pipettes
The world just looks delicious from here. Delicious. Drusilla perches high above the rest, the house’s roof ledge firm beneath her feet.
She looms, stretches to her tiptoes, arms thrust outward, tasting her last meal on her lips still, chicken and rice, wine. Vinegar. It’s been years since Drusilla has had a solid meal, but the memory lingers like the sound of her Sisters screaming at the convent; red, greasy kissmarks of sound and color. Even the color is washed out and bland, nothing to the vision of soldiers that came upon her late last night.
Somewhere, distantly, deeply inside, she knows that she would have regretted her current life, but even that fails to evoke any response. Everything outside of her insides is blasé and flavorless.
With a flagrant, flamboyant bow, she steps down from the ledge, licks her lips slowly. Sways. Each meal in her life is colored by her last-nothing will ever hold up to the melt of fluffy white rice in her mouth, to the vision of bloody soldiers marching, little girls waltzing down the street in filmy, stained nightgowns, crying for a mama that will never come home.
Drusilla is so sad that she can never tell the girls that their mama was delicious.
------
Title: Toys
Prompt #011-Jealousy
Characters: Drusilla
Rating: PG, funky imagery
Word Count: 384
Part two in the “Sensation” sequence
--
We spent a winter and a spring, just listening not talking,
come weather, rain or shine,
no-one ever told you then,
but conversations in my head helped me to pass the time
-“Sex,” The Pipettes
Jealousy tastes like acid. Not that Dru has ever tasted acid, but she imagines that is what it would taste like. Acid bitter and bucking against your throat; acid itching the palms, burning through the thin veneer of respect that keeps you from ripping that whore bitch apart.
Drusilla cannot stand Angelus’s flirtation, cannot take the rippling acid effect that jealousy has on her tongue. She’s become bitter and upset; no amount of jewelry or baubles can keep her distracted from the twisting black bite of hurt inside. It’s begun to color her visions.
She’s not jealous of anyone in particular, but every woman in general. Darla or the cheap whore down the street that smiles and winks every time Angelus walks past; they are all the same to Dru.
Angelus simply thinks that she is bored. She needs a toy, he says to Darla one night, laughing into her neck, kisses spattering down her flesh. He hasn’t done that to Dru in weeks, hasn’t touched her. She’s come to seduce the boys down the street and feeds on then at night after they try to bring her bucking against them and instead only make her bitter and hungry.
She needs a toy, Angelus says. She needs a toy. She needs a toy. ‘She is driving me to distraction,’ Dru reads. ‘She needs someone that’s hers,’ Dru reads.
Oh, she does. Angelus is hers. But there could be other boys, she realizes on afternoon, hunched like a pretty gargoyle over the slackening flesh of an innkeeper’s youngest son. Drusilla realizes quite suddenly, as if a little birdie whispered in her ear, that she needs to make more things that are her own.
So she goes out late that night. Goes out and spits out acid, gets rid of the bile and ache in her throat. Goes out and finds a young, pretty, blonde boy, glasses askew and panic sweet on her lips.
Goes out and makes herself a toy, makes herself a beautiful, devoted toy.
Angelus approves, and yet, yet… Drusilla occasionally finds herself whispering in her sleep, listening to the canaries chant An-gel, An-gel when she is moaning Spi-ike, Spi-ike. While she is slowly falling into pretty William’s arms.
It’s so hard to let go of acid. It just eats right through you.
Prompt #054-Colorless
Character: Drusilla of Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Rating: PG-a disturbing, vampiric comparison
Word Count: 210
Part one in the “Sensation” sequence
--
rest, your pretty head, you pretty head
(just rest, just rest, just rest your pretty head)
don’t trouble your pretty head, your pretty head
“Sex,” The Pipettes
The world just looks delicious from here. Delicious. Drusilla perches high above the rest, the house’s roof ledge firm beneath her feet.
She looms, stretches to her tiptoes, arms thrust outward, tasting her last meal on her lips still, chicken and rice, wine. Vinegar. It’s been years since Drusilla has had a solid meal, but the memory lingers like the sound of her Sisters screaming at the convent; red, greasy kissmarks of sound and color. Even the color is washed out and bland, nothing to the vision of soldiers that came upon her late last night.
Somewhere, distantly, deeply inside, she knows that she would have regretted her current life, but even that fails to evoke any response. Everything outside of her insides is blasé and flavorless.
With a flagrant, flamboyant bow, she steps down from the ledge, licks her lips slowly. Sways. Each meal in her life is colored by her last-nothing will ever hold up to the melt of fluffy white rice in her mouth, to the vision of bloody soldiers marching, little girls waltzing down the street in filmy, stained nightgowns, crying for a mama that will never come home.
Drusilla is so sad that she can never tell the girls that their mama was delicious.
------
Title: Toys
Prompt #011-Jealousy
Characters: Drusilla
Rating: PG, funky imagery
Word Count: 384
Part two in the “Sensation” sequence
--
We spent a winter and a spring, just listening not talking,
come weather, rain or shine,
no-one ever told you then,
but conversations in my head helped me to pass the time
-“Sex,” The Pipettes
Jealousy tastes like acid. Not that Dru has ever tasted acid, but she imagines that is what it would taste like. Acid bitter and bucking against your throat; acid itching the palms, burning through the thin veneer of respect that keeps you from ripping that whore bitch apart.
Drusilla cannot stand Angelus’s flirtation, cannot take the rippling acid effect that jealousy has on her tongue. She’s become bitter and upset; no amount of jewelry or baubles can keep her distracted from the twisting black bite of hurt inside. It’s begun to color her visions.
She’s not jealous of anyone in particular, but every woman in general. Darla or the cheap whore down the street that smiles and winks every time Angelus walks past; they are all the same to Dru.
Angelus simply thinks that she is bored. She needs a toy, he says to Darla one night, laughing into her neck, kisses spattering down her flesh. He hasn’t done that to Dru in weeks, hasn’t touched her. She’s come to seduce the boys down the street and feeds on then at night after they try to bring her bucking against them and instead only make her bitter and hungry.
She needs a toy, Angelus says. She needs a toy. She needs a toy. ‘She is driving me to distraction,’ Dru reads. ‘She needs someone that’s hers,’ Dru reads.
Oh, she does. Angelus is hers. But there could be other boys, she realizes on afternoon, hunched like a pretty gargoyle over the slackening flesh of an innkeeper’s youngest son. Drusilla realizes quite suddenly, as if a little birdie whispered in her ear, that she needs to make more things that are her own.
So she goes out late that night. Goes out and spits out acid, gets rid of the bile and ache in her throat. Goes out and finds a young, pretty, blonde boy, glasses askew and panic sweet on her lips.
Goes out and makes herself a toy, makes herself a beautiful, devoted toy.
Angelus approves, and yet, yet… Drusilla occasionally finds herself whispering in her sleep, listening to the canaries chant An-gel, An-gel when she is moaning Spi-ike, Spi-ike. While she is slowly falling into pretty William’s arms.
It’s so hard to let go of acid. It just eats right through you.