hismasterpiece | 3. Bite

[Drusilla has been away on a combat mission in the mountains. She loves those types of missions; this was her second, and it was a long one. She fed; oh, she fed. Gorged herself on the blood of the fallen enemies that littered the steep, rocky terrain around her.

Turned a few Third Party warriors who seemed attractive enough to turn. She had plans to create her own demon army on the Outside. These fell through when the Organization shipped her back to the enclosure.]

[Voice|Video]

Jilly? I know you from through the window. I've made a doll.

[The video clicks on, and a horrid picture appears: a likeness similar to Jilly, with dark pits instead of eyes and a mouth stitched shut mid-scream. Beside it is a scratched-in number Seven.]

I want you all in my belly.

[/Voice|Video]

[Tonight Drusilla is on a quest to kill whomever she can and to turn whomever she can into vampires. The last thread, chronologically, will go to Buffy (together, possibly, with Faith if Aly and Kyra feel like doing that).]

****SORRY this is forward-dated to AFTER the event ends!

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No. I'm making sure no one lets her in. The baby's here.

[Which is reason enough to risk telling Vash, who would be the most likely of them to go outside and try and be the hero. But also Wolfwood and Milly; Amelia has to be sure, has to do what she can to protect them.]

And Buffy can handle her?

It was her job, back home.

From what she's told me, vampires from her home can't come in unless they're invited. As long as no one welcomes her in, it doesn't even matter if the door is open.

...I'm not testing that theory, by the way.

Don't go. She can't do anything to us in here.

[She's certain she doesn't need to tell Jilly this. But Drusilla's hypnosis is still largely a mystery to Willow (would it even work over the journals? Likely not, right?), and better safe than sorry.]

Buffy's going to kill you.

[Juuuust in case there were any doubts about this point, Dru.]

[she could speak up, or even go in search of the Witch. But somehow, it felt safer to stay still and quiet...even if Buffy was right about her not being able to come in]

I'm not. But if Buffy looks, at least she'll know where she's at.

Buffy decided to interpret that statement rather...liberally.

"Having a tough time settling, huh?" For a moment, she wanted to ask how different this place was from real prison.

[Castiel probably looks like exactly the kind of hapless midnight wanderer that makes a delicious snack, walking on the outskirts of town and peering about in a seemingly aimless way.

He's alert, though. Weakened thanks to Luceti and his Fall, but alert.]

If Buffy was wondering where Drusilla was, her spidey-senses should start tingling more forcefully the closer she gets to Seven. Drusilla was in the backyard where she'd been calling to Jilly through a window. Still there. Still waiting.

Smiling.

Hello tasty raspberry tart! [Dru is exceedingly pleased to see her former snack.] Would you like to bubble in my crust tonight?

You are her red-headed magical treasure. I want you for my collection. I could wear you round my neck.

[Barefoot, Drew is making her own rounds of the outskirts. She has found a snake to play with. The poor thing doesn't like the cold feeling of her skin, and is trying to slither away from her, but she simply draws it back and drapes it round her shoulders again. When she speaks, her voice is pert and not right-off indicative of how nutters she is.]

Hello, good sir; are you enjoying the night?

[Neither is Dru; she will, for the most part and with one or two exceptions, be waiting. Waiting for Buffy to come home.]

Um...

[Yeah, he's not that anxious to let her get close to him again.]

I'll...have to pass on that...

Buffy ducked under a low-hanging branch. Spring was fragrant; it would almost almost be a shame to leave the night and head back inside. But...perhaps she could leave her window open, after she climbed in. Perhaps another window-climber would join her. Eventually.

But Seven was just coming into sight when her birthright kicked into top gear. Her steps picked up; Buffy began to jog her way around the house. Backyard. Something discouraged her from the front door. She turned the odd-shaped corner only to spy the vampire standing on the spot.

Waiting?

Her grip tightened on the scythe's haft. Wordless, she stepped into the pale lighting provided by the moon and its stars.

"How rude. Showing up here, unasked for." But in the pit of her chest, Buffy felt gratitude. Yes. She wanted this.

Got it.

[...Ew. Well. Okay. Maybe we try to keep her occupied.]

Well, I'm not on the market.

[Castiel glances at her, and his eyes narrow.

She doesn't look right. His vision's been spotty ever since he got here, but she does not look right. Not demonic, but definitely not human. He just can't tell what.]

[She had spent most of the day at the lake, safe in the treehouse. Returned home sometime in the afternoon, just to scribble the note that she had forgotten to leave that morning. So Peeta wouldn't worry too much. She feels bad enough. Having woken up beside him only to run. Run away from the house and away from the memories of the Malnosso's latest game.

But the time spent out there hadn't been enough. She wasn't ready to face him yet. Seconds after writing the note, she ran out again - bow and arrows the only company wanted. Knowing Clove was still out to the west, she followed the river south.

It's dark by the time she returns to the village, following the river back to her house. Her footsteps are light and quiet as she enters the town proper. In the dim light, she notices the woman wandering. But she makes no attempt to approach.]

No, I am not. I'm on duty tonight.

"Settling into Sleepy Hollow? No thanks."

She gave a small shrug of her shoulders. "Not really my thing, anyway."

"And here I was, expecting the lack of orange jumpsuits to be entirely your thing."

"Hey, joint's got points for free fashion, but that doesn't mean I feel like callin' it home."

"...How's the food?"

"Not one of the perks."

She raised an eyebrow. "You lookin' for something specific?"

"From you?" Mock-innocence. "No. Nothing specific. Just..."

A loose swing of the scythe, passing it through the empty air. "Never mind. Nix the casual chats about the slammer. Got it."

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3. Bite

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