3. Bite

[hismasterpiece]

[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!

Comments

[hismasterpiece]

She'd fed, and she'd turned. Warriors were going to encounter vamped third party soldiers, for certain -- unless their own side took care of that problem.

She simply smiled at deluded lunatic before sending Buffy an image of Jilly with fangs, feeding on the dead body of Archie Kennedy.

[herotypical]

Although it had fooled her twice before -- once with Derek and once with Drusilla -- the mental manipulation was tougher to believe, this time around. It still made her blood curdle and her heart stop; it shivered her down to her core. But it didn't distract her.

There was that insistent sliver of her brain, though, that had to wonder whether she'd been too late. Whether Drusilla had indeed managed to take her housemate and turn her. For a moment, Buffy glanced back at the darkened house.

No. If it had happened, it would have to be dealt with later. Priorities. And right now, hers was the vampire she knew and not the vampire that might only potentially be.

So she struck. Fast and hard, the red blade cut the air and sought her foe's gut.

[hismasterpiece]

Her foe was too quick this time; the vampire dodged that blow, running toward the house instead and trying to fling up another deadly image between them -- this of Jack Sparrow unconscious in a burning Cullen House, with James Norrington lying beside him.

[herotypical]

Fire. Her nose wrinkled because she could practically smell it -- so fierce was the illusion and so strong her imagination. Later, Buffy would even swear that her vision had grown blurry and clouded from the ersatz smoke. But instead of giving in, she filled her lungs and her mouth with the taste of fire. She breathed deep and even. Forced herself to confront the truth: it was just her and Drusilla. Focus on that, Summers. Try not to be overwhelmed. Try.

She twisted on her heel and gave chase -- back towards the building.

[hismasterpiece]

Dru was brought up momentarily by the protections of the home -- of Seven. It startled her and she drew back from it, unhappily for her in the direction of the pursuing slayer.

"Your family should be MY family!" she snarled.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vSkb0kDacjs

[herotypical]

Pinned. She had her pinned. Perfect. Perfect. Or almost pinned and almost perfect. There were still some feet left between the Slayer and the vampire. Just some feet. And feet were easily crossed.

Buffy charged -- aiming for the proper pin -- with her blade between herself and the demon. Its sharp edge slipped behind guards and nails and the Slayer shoved upwards as well as backwards, slamming Drusilla into the house's simple siding. Forcing her against those protections even without an opening to make them apparent.

"Don't you know what they say?" She practically spat. "You don't get to choose them. Your family."

It was a lie and she knew it. Buffy had done little else but choose her family for years, now. But the slow burn and careful construction of trust and love never felt like a choice. It felt natural. It was nothing like stealing a life and forcing an unlife onto a chosen childe.

The blade was against Drusilla's throat, now. Buffy brought a violent knee up to subdue the vampire. It wouldn't knock any non-existent wind out of her, but it would hurt.

"They choose you."

One last push. The scythe -- fabled and mystical and purpose-built for this very job -- cut into the vampire's neck and at first the work was ragged and tough and Buffy's arms jerked with a clumsy sawing motion. But soon, all was dust. The wind caught a handful of it and danced it up to the sky. The rest settled on the grass. On Buffy's arms. On her clothing.

She dropped her forehead against the house with a sigh. Done.