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]

Over. Her. Dead. Body.

It wasn't a thread that needed to be spoken -- it came over loud and clear enough as she pushed into a run. She knew the length of the barracks well. Had walked it arm-in-arm. Had fought and sparred in it. Had paced its lengths alone.

[hismasterpiece]

Truly, another dead slayer would satisfy Drusilla to no end. Especially this one...she'd begun to smell her on Spike's aura. Just on the edges. Dirty dealings.

This chase would not let up until the two had reached the Western Lake; there, deep under the cold waters, was a cave. Drusilla had dived into it once already in a desperate escape attempt from the morning sun, and had sheltered there til morning on that occasion.

She didn't like the nasty dark cave. She preferred her bedroom filled with pretty things by the other lake. At the edge of the water, she turned at bay.

....thread. sigh.

[herotypical]

Could she deny the slight, thin thrill of the chase? Or even refuse it? Better to embrace it. Buffy did so and hoped that her feet would land squarely with each stride. She didn't want to catch a root and fall and lose the quarry. And she didn't want to lose the clarity of mind she felt just inches outside of her reach. Dirty dealing, indeed.

So Buffy gave such thrilling chase up until the lake's shore. This lake -- so familiar -- used to have a house by it.

What a different time that was.

"End of the line, Drusilla." The Slayer slipped into a steady stance. Unwinded.

: D

[hismasterpiece]

"Do you want to know how I did it? Do you want to know how I bit your nasty slayer friend?"

Dru seemed unperturbed.

[herotypical]

"...Caught the after-show, thanks."

Circling.

[hismasterpiece]

"With my eyes. With my gorgeous eyes. With my nails." The vampire was just standing still, feeling the water lap at her heels.

[herotypical]

"...Yeah. I've heard about the eyes."

And yet -- her own eyes drift there. They shouldn't, but they do. Slayers: ever flirting with death.

[bloodwaif]

"Be in my eyes, slayer. Swim in them. Feel me in yours."

[herotypical]

Rapid blinking. She kept her scythe close -- like a security blanket. But she had never looked into Drusilla's eyes before.

[bloodwaif]

"In mine. In mine, kitten. In mine, sharp-clawed kitten. Be my sister tonight."

[herotypical]

Her back straightened -- dragging her up out of her low, prepped stance. Like strings on a puppet, tugging up up up.

[bloodwaif]

The vampire continued to stare into the slayer's eyes, trying to project something delightfully terrible. An image of Giles, writhing in agony.

[herotypical]

No he's dead no he's dead no he's dead.

She stumbled backwards -- rocked worse by the image simply by knowing the man's fate. It didn't matter that one day, she too would go home only to see him again in the months leading up to his death but...but she still could not shake the feeling of never seeing him again.

Except like this.

"You!" She jabbed blindly with the stake-end of the scythe. "You're the one who does it...?"

[hismasterpiece]

"I cannot wait to do it again and again. And again and again."

As the slayer stumbled, the vampire advanced, smiling. She was wary of the end of that scythe but growing more confident in her own powers of persuasion.

"Or..."

And there: that image might be familiar to Buffy Summers. Derek had chosen something very similar for Jack Sparrow's hypothetical fate, though Dru gave it a bit more of a piratical style: the criminal's body dangling from the limb of a tree, neck broken and torn open. The vampire reclining below, catching red rain in her mouth and on her cheeks and laughing, laughing.

1/2

[herotypical]

"N-no."

Not again. Her steps were staggered and she fought against the vision -- dimly aware that it couldn't be real even as her mind bought the entire picture. Believed the grief and felt the panic. Remembered the pirate's emptied body on her front step. Jack.

2/2

[herotypical]

She jabbed once again -- cut to the quick by this vision and therefore quickly cutting. Willfully fighting back against a sight that was threatening to overwhelm her. But it was hard to know where she was aiming when all she could see was blood and horror.

[bloodwaif]

On the defensive, now, Dru struck out with her nails, seeking to do as much harm as she could to this part-blind slayer. She could still hope to have one good day, as Spike had taught her. Maybe she would even deign to taste this slayer's blood.

[herotypical]

Not today.

When her wild swings turned into misses and as Buffy fought back against the sweat-inspiring, pulse-quickening terrors creeping across her vision, she realized she might have better luck with something a little more...visceral.

She didn't drop the scythe but she did retract it; instead of swinging again, Buffy twisted her body and power behind a high kick. She wanted contact.

[hismasterpiece]

The blow landed directly on the vampire's chest. She went reeling backward, stumbling and falling with a splash into the water.

"AI! My gown is SOILED!" she howled, trying to scramble to her feet again. Furious.

[herotypical]

With the vampire's concentration broken, Buffy's willpower triumphed for the time being and her vision cleared. Mercifully. Wonderfully. But she knew she'd have the sight of his draining body lodged in her mind for weeks. Real, unborrowed nightmares.

"That's what you get for wearing white to a shake-down." Buffy tried to close the gap between them once again.

[hismasterpiece]

"White for all my purity, whore! My lost purity!" Dru snarled. She launched herself at the slayer, not minding that Buffy was on the attack. She wanted blood.

[herotypical]

They grappled. Sharp, claw-like nails caught her in her arms and she was stuck to the vampire. Locked in combat. Buffy spared the pair of them another quip and tried instead to throw Drusilla. Judo-style.

[hismasterpiece]

Thrown, Drusilla found herself in the water once more. She howled in frustration and pain. And then she turned and dove beneath the dark surface.

Time to swim for it. She could meet up with that weak little slayer later. Finish her.