hismasterpiece | 2. LAMBING.

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.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Just up the street this way. [He gestures behind him, examining her closely in the dim light. It's difficult to tell, but she looks pretty pale. He hopes she hasn't been out here long enough to start broaching hypothermia.

...And what is that on her dress? He takes a step forward.]

Are you hurt?

Just...hungry. [Oh dear God setting her loose in a clinic among the injured would just be...a horrible idea. The blood on her dress simply looks very dark in this dim light.]

We cannot be hurt.

[She tries to take a step closer to him.]

[More cryptic answers. Right. He needs to get her into a well-lit place if he's going to be able to tell properly whether that's blood, dirt or something else. He turns, gently nudging her by the shoulder, though she certainly seems willing enough to follow him.]

Okay. Come this way.

What's your name, white knight?

[She is staring almost through him -- reading his aura. A do-gooder, but there is some weakness around the edges.

He will taste delicious.]

Everett Willock. [He deliberately leaves his job title out--for all he knows, she could have been confined in a mental hospital back home. She might be averse to doctors, and he doesn't want to inspire her to run off before he gets her safely indoors.] What's yours?

Drusilla. Is it pretty? Do you think it is beautiful? It reminds me of lemon chiffon.

[He nods.] That is a pretty name. [And a very old-fashioned one--like something out of a gothic novel. According to his memory of the genre, at least. He hasn't picked up a piece of literature like that since his undergrad years.]

I can hear it, you know. [She stops and stares at him; instinct is telling her to wait to get to wherever he is taking her. Cunning is telling her to kill him here where she will not risk being witnessed.]

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

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

[Alright, that creeps him out. A little shiver passes down his spine, his mind swimming with ideas of what horrors might have happened to her back home--then starts running off what he can recall from the DSM. Schizophrenia, it has to be. Delusions, hallucinations, disorganized behavior...she's just a rambling madwoman, that's all. Her statements are probably meaningless.]

...Come along. If you got hurt and lost some blood, I can get you a transfusion. [Kind of an idiotic reply, he thinks, but what do you say to that?]

Why don't you let me do it myself, little wayward boy? Hold still and be good for me, if you please.

[Her features shift into vampire-face and Drusilla smiles evilly as she advances upon the helpful doctor.]

[OH SHIT WHAT IS THAT. Willock backs up a few steps, his eyes widening in terror. Damn Luceti--he should've known better, he should've known she was something inhuman--]

Oh my God, oh my God--!

[And he turns his back and runs.]

Hee hee! [With her bloody and torn sundress flapping around her bare legs, Dru pursues him.] Don't run! Don't run, pet!

[He bolts away from her as fast as he can, staggering as his foot hits an uneven part of the pavement. Even with his corrective shoes, his balance isn't great, and he knows she'll catch him in no time if he doesn't find cover. As he comes upon one of the houses, he frantically tries the door--locked. He scrambles around the building, cutting across the grass. The town square should be that way--there has to be a shop he can duck into there. There has to--

And he goes down, his toe catching on a tree root in the darkness.]

[Now she is simply toying with him, laughing as he falls -- pouncing, trying to land with her knees in the small of his back. Trying to pin him.]

[[OOC: HE MIGHT NEED A SLAYER OR VAMPIRE HUNTER RESCUE?!]

[He rolls away from her, attempting to scramble back to his feet. Her knee manages to come down hard on one of his hands and he yelps, briefly overwhelmed by the pain, just long enough for her to trap him beneath her.]

(YES GO GET BUFFY OVER HERE OR SOMETHING)

((OOC: Not Buffy, but hopefully this guy'll do.))

[Derek had been noticing the animals, of course, when he'd been doing his own hunting. It had led to some concern, and he'd been keeping an eye on the journals since the killing started. But without anyone making any identifiable statements, he'd let it be for the most part. He'd conceded some time ago that not all vampires were like the kind he was used to. And until one crossed the line far enough for him to have a good reason to go after it, he'd let it be, for the overall sake of peace in the village.

It was, of course, the bleating of the lambs that first caught his attention tonight, and he'd headed that way, only to find the grisly slaughter and little else. He'd pressed his lips together thinly though as he studied the corpses. This wasn't good. At all. And it prompted him to start looking for signs, for a trail, for something to track. He found it; the footprints, delicate but adult. The blood droplets on the ground...the path it took. Right into the village.

And now his hunter's training was in full force, making him move faster as he realized the village was being stalked. Reaching for hidden weapons as he heard a scuffle.

He turned the corner just as the man was pinned down. The gun, the one loaded with silver bullets is out and pointed in a second, with his other hand ready to reach for one of the stakes that, even here in Luceti, he kept hidden inside his jacket. When he speaks, he's perfectly calm, quiet. Focused.]

You know, vampire, killing people in the middle of the village isn't the brightest thing you could do.

I am not killing him. [She turns to face Derek -- noting the gun -- but does not release the doctor.] I want him as a playmate. I want to keep him.

[Oh thank God, someone armed. He looks to Derek, trembling, too afraid to say anything but mouthing silent pleas for help.]

2. LAMBING.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

Willock would be the first to die in a horror movie I swear XD

YES. HE WOULD DIE IN THE OPENING CREDITS.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject