2. LAMBING.

[hismasterpiece]

Tonight, just after sundown, there is a ruckus on one of the farms northeast of the village. When the bleating dies down, several dead lambs might be found in one of the enclosures. The ewes paw and nose at the bodies, dumb terror still fresh in their eyes.

Forest animals just have not been cutting it for Drusilla. But the vampire has been too wary to approach the village and feed there -- not without her Family, those who strengthen her. She stalks the journals during the day when she's not sleeping. Two slayers? A vampire hunter? All sorts of overpowered freaks and heroes and demons? She might be mad, but Dru is not stupid enough to attempt any kills in the village. Yet.

As she tears through the last lamb, the vampire laments to herself how much more fun this would be with Spike. And then she convinces herself in a long, drawn-out argument with a curiously red evening star -- which she quickly names Ethelind -- to spy on the sleeping village. Find out where the sweetest victims lay their heads. Her tattered white new-feather sundress, covered only by a black lace shawl, is stained red with lambs' blood. The dress of her porcelain doll, which she is carrying with her, is also stained. Perhaps she can stop at the shop for a new frock, and one for dolly, too.

When she glides through the village, Drusilla will dare to peek into some windows. She cannot enter any homes without an invitation.

[Dru will not be lingering around anyone she has identified as a threat. She is a powerful vampire but far more bold when working with lackeys or her "family" -- Angel, Spike, Darla. IF YOU WANT YOUR CHARACTER TO DIE OR BE INJURED AT THIS TIME JUST TELL ME IN A SUBJECT LINE, otherwise she won't be killing or hurting anyone in this post.]

Comments

[herotypical]

She slapped the flat of her blade against her palm. The smack resounded.

"Hmm? Nah. I forgot my swimsuit at home. But I do have this handy-dandy scythe." It was dark, but the red flickered in what little light squeezed through high, star-studded windows. The whole building was shadowed but she didn't mind -- like the Spartans, she could fight in the shade.

[bloodwaif]

Unlike the Spartans, Dru preferred to fight in the moonlight. There was a chance of capturing her victims' eyes that way. And with Kendra, there had been the soulless fluorescent lighting of the school library.

Here, her nostrils flared; a growl brewed. There were other ways to reach the minds of her enemies.

"Peaceful, was Seven tonight. All the ladies tucked away with that mouse of a man. I wonder if the seaside will be as peaceful?"

[relictusdeus]

Ah~, yes. I do not believe the two of you have been properly introduced.

[He offers the devil an appraising look full of quiet pride and it returns his gaze, the crystals embedded in its chest pulsing softly.]

His name is Abel. [A pause.] While he... unfortunately lacks the capacity for scintillating conversation, he makes up for it... in other ways.

[thebellthatbinds]

[Aaand that's where all of her doubts of the woman's intentions and mental state get shoved firmly in the direction of dangerous and crazy. That thin line or red across such a pale neck brings unwanted memories to the front of her mind; the bodies of Charter mages sacrificed to break the Charter stones, necks gaping in an eternal scream-

Gritting her teeth Sabriel's will is the only thing keeping her from shuddering at the memories, her disgust and horror at the 'invitation' scrawled across the window showing through in a hardening of her eyes as she firmly shakes her head.

She has a feeling she knows exactly who this woman was, even if the video had been short and her face distorted, the Dead and Free magic creatures could often hide in realistic enough skins.]

I know your face.

[bloodwaif]

[An enraged shriek follows that gunshot. Had it been a little to the left, and had she not dodged it so quickly, it might have partially severed her head. Instead, it nicks Dru's jaw, peeling the skin back to her ear.

This will buy him time, though -- but not much. Her nails are like razors. If he can manage to get out of her reach, he might be alright. Humans can outrun vampires in the world of Sunnydale.

If he doesn't he could very well earn more dangerously deep cuts from her claws. What he should avoid are her attempts to latch onto his neck with her powerful fangs.]

[bloodwaif]

[And helped in! It's all she can do not to just help herself as she enters the room with him. But Dru likes to play, and he might be fun for a little while.]

Thank you! A girl does like a spot of chivalry time and again. Who else lives here, hmm?

[bloodwaif]

"A knife." There is no hint of surprise in Dru's voice. She doesn't stop her slow advance toward Ginia. "If you were like me, milady, you would never need a knife. We are highly convenient animals."

[herotypical]

"Peaceful? Oh, I bet. A whole party of peacefulness. And one that you're oh-so-conveniently not invited to."

The hard, extra-steeled note in her voice was testament enough to the Slayer's protective streak and how adequately Drusilla had just played upon it. Preyed upon it. And the prickling in her thumbs at the prospect of Cullen House coming under any similar scrutiny. Ah, well...

"Besides -- creeping outside houses you're not allowed into? I kinda thought that was more Spike's thing."

[bloodwaif]

Tricks? [She looks pleased.] What sort of tricks have you taught him?

[bloodwaif]

Do you think it pretty? [Her high tones are probably quite muffled by that glass window.] Is it lovely, like your favorite dolly? Or your mummy, safe in her narrow bed? Safe underground?

[shadedsunlight]

If you were like me. Words to chill anyone, and Ginia quickly realizes her mistake in remaining around. She continues to back away, beginning to plot out her escape. Her other hand moves up to her neck and pulls out her silver cross from under her shirt.

[bloodwaif]

"He always loved ME best," she hissed in reply. Dru didn't want to fight the slayer in here. No, she had to get clear to a place where she could dodge underground if the sunrise caught her out of her lair. The crumbling fort and the tunnel by the shore would do nicely.

[herotypical]

A shrug. Truthfully, Buffy realized only a heartbeat too late that Spike wasn't really her best avenue into this conversation -- not with such a patchwork history and so many still sour memories.

What she could say, however: "How sad for you, then, that you pretty much just missed him. He was here. Now he's gone."

She thought. Believed. Feared. Hoped. Wondered.

[thebellthatbinds]

[How curious, that the woman doesn't try and break into the house to outright attack her...perhaps she is waiting for something. That is not an altogether comforting thought.]

I couldn't say, it's different than I remember.

[But the rhythm of her speech and how it swept childlike playfulness to somewhat morbid was all to familiar to that written conversation she'd had on her first day here.]

[fuckthemission]

[He sucks in a sharp breath, glancing at his partially tattered sleeve in the dark. That hurts like a bitch, and more frighteningly, that was fucking sharp. And judging by the drips of blood rolling down a cut on his cheek and the way she opened her mouth and lunged at him--among other things--he's finally piecing it all together.

Not going to stick around here. He curses under his breath and turns, running as fast as he can with his arm tucked away protectively; lucky him, he's very used to running. Hopefully he'd stunned her just enough to get a break. Just the little break he needs. These things aren't fast, are they? He figures if they are, he's as good as killed. Again. Again. Ugh. What is he, some sort of death beacon?]

even more laster than Buffy??? you can tag this later when you're ready

[iratus]

Drusilla was not easy to read, even with her telepathic powers. He did not pry. In truth, with a mind as fractured as hers, he did not wish to. Yet they had been sharing the house by the lake for some time now and he had begun to get a grasp on her habits, erratic as they often seemed. But tonight she seemed to be missing for longer than usual. It would not be correct to say he worried for her, but there was a level of concern. She was, after all, useful to him.

A night like this, she would be getting herself into trouble. He set aside the book he was studying and rose to his feet. Time to see what his lady had got herself into. So he set himself towards the village, his stun weapon in hand and ready to be used on a moment's notice. He reached out with his mind, searching for that familiar imprint that she left on the world. While he was willing to go to some extent to assist her if necessary, but he was not yet willing to openly be seen as her ally.

[herd_effect]

Hear what? [He slows in his step, glancing back at her.]

[hismasterpiece]

There was a pained groan at that. As a distraction, it is momentarily successful. "Gone? My pretty plaything? She HATES being alone!" There was a stomp of her foot as Drusilla squared off against Buffy once more.

"I require more. I will have more."

[hismasterpiece]

You remember this face? [Her features shift into the horrible twisted mockery of humanity that his vampire face.]

[herotypical]

"Nuh-uh. Sorry, partner. See -- I double as the bartender par excellence in this town and I'm afraid I have to tell you that you've been cut off."

Which meant, of course, that the Slayer was making her approach. Liable to break into a spring at any moment, really.

[hismasterpiece]

Your throbbing veins. Your lovely red flowing life. I want it for my own, duckie.

[relictusdeus]

Ahaha.

[His eyelids lower, his laugh a mirthless one. Over the years, the devils have become like his sons, Abel especially, for lack of a true family of his own.]

Eager for a demonstration, are you, creature? ...Perhaps I shall oblige you someday soon.

[Ah, but he's not looking for a fight now; he's aware of her dark and powerful aura and contemplates how she might be of use in escaping this otherworldly prison. It is too soon to tell.

He scratches absently at his tattooed cheek, his chin at rest in his palm.]

He... has a natural predisposition to violence; there was not any need to teach him how to rip a man apart or to set him aflame.

[bloodwaif]

[Drusilla watches him run. She isn't prepared to attack again -- not now that she's injured and he is probably on his way to rouse the village.

She's had enough of pitchforks and torches in her undead life.

Instead she stands, swaying slightly, for a few moments, tasting what remains of him on her fingertips. Oh. Oh. He is exquisite. Oh, she wants more.

Soon enough.]

Soon enough, Ethelinde. Soon enough soon enough, Ethelinde.

[And she turns to make her way toward the Barracks.]

[thebellthatbinds]

...Yes, that would be the one.

[Suspicions confirmed. With the mask falling away she tenses, ready to attack or whistle, half conjuring Charter marks that aren't there out of habit but instead her fingers curl all the more tightly around her knife.

What she wouldn't give for her sword and her bells.]

[bloodwaif]

THAT stops the vampire. She hates burns. Hates hates hates HATES BURNING.

"A trinket will not stop flashing claws, you know. Not even one from France. Not even one blessed in the holy waters."