"KISSES FROM DRU"
BY DJANGO
18th June 2002 - Creepy Crawl, St Louis.
The nocturnal creature who called himself Spike sat in a corner of the Creepy Crawl club venue, occasionally sipping from a bottled beer or dragging a cigarette to it's last. He retained Spike's arrogance, despite the soul that festered within him, like a new born baby cradling mother's milk. Despite his defiant clinging to "The Big Bad", he had seemed such a worn out, drab form of late. This was his attempt to cut loose and live the Spike life again.
He had come to the city of St Louis, in his distracted wanderings, in order to be unknown and sort out his confused feelings. It was too soon, much too soon for him to return so confused and undecided to Sunnydale. Return indeed he would, Spike had so often mused these past few weeks, but first let them wonder, while he steeled himself for what lay ahead. "Slow burn, baby..." Spike whispered, his lips to the cigarette butt. He reached into his pockets for another "fag", dimly musing that tonight's "entertainment" appeared to be starting.
Beginning to take his surroundings in more, Spike almost laughed. There were a large number of bikers (vampires, he dimly surmised) in the bar and he didn't think this was what they were looking for. The group were called Rasputina and consisted of three young women cello players in tight Victorian corsets and a male drummer. The music was familiar, Spike noted. Familiar but bizarre in it's way. A meeting of baroque chamber music within a dark rock structure. But not exactly biker paradise, even if music wasn't their only reason to be here. Goths would probably lap it all up though.
Spike groaned with annoyance at the cosmic joke being played with him. If he'd taken more notice of the bleedin' name on the posters around this dive, he probably wouldn't have come here tonight. Or perhaps, this was why he'd chosen to come to Creepy Crawl of all places. Maybe he valued that connection to simpler days (and nights, of course).
Drusilla had usually been content to listen to the whispers in her head or rock out with him to the Pistols. But somehow, with that enticing way of hers; part innocence, part delicious deviance fluttering in her head, Drusilla had fallen in love with the sound of Rasputina. She'd coo him to play their album, over and over. Although, Drusilla inevitably tired of everything and Rasputina seemed no exception, still part of her devotion lingered and out of the dark limbo stylings of her mind she'd ask for them again, just every so often. Even played their songs at her birthday party in Sunnydale...just before...
Spike slammed the bottle down and almost vamped despite himself at the memory. Then he tried to regain his focus and shrugged. That was nothing to him now. He wanted to be with someone else now and whatever that bitch got up to with her poncey sire...well, they were welcome to each other. Happy memories, a century of them. But Spike wanted Buffy now and Drusilla was dead to him. Dead, like William. He'd never even known the sweet, dutiful Catholic girl. Only what Angelus had made her into. And if breaking up had broken them both free of Angelus's spell on their lives, so much the better.
Kick back! The old Spike, of mayhem and no consequences, told him. Another beer and forget the past. Being all girly and foppish about his past was fine as far as it went, but he needed to be "The Big Bad" if he was going to return to Sunnydale. He needed to obliviate his past and make clear plans to win Buffy back. The soul was the key, Spike told himself, but William's dithering would just hold him back from doing... well, anything if it gained a foothold.
As he was at the bar, getting in another beer, the main singer of the trio announced that there was going to be a guest performer this night. Spike got the sense of something very wrong. It wasn't just the proliferation of other vampires, or the fact that something was definetly off with the group too. Something more wrapped around Spike's long dead spine and filled him with dread....
The sweet, lilting voice came out of the darkness, from beyond the curtains. A soothing lullaby, but to Spike's ears it was something far more ominous. The girl's cellos played slow yet discordantly and the girls hummed as if in a morbid trance.
"Did you ever see such a Broken Doll Cranberries and custard in such a Broken Doll Never be alone to be this Broken Doll All her family here for this Broken Doll."
Drusilla emerged from the shadows, as Spike knew she would. Rapturous applause greeted her as she emerged into the spotlight. She looked simply ravishing of course, in her black low cut evening dress. The few living, breathing humans scattered around here and there in the club venue never suspected that it was their bringer of death that they were so enraptured by. Once upon a time such things may have inspired him, but Spike now had no taste for what was going to happen. Walk away Dru, he almost urged, play the little rock star and just walk away. "Eyes, like plucky cherries All of them surround you You glazed little doll What will mummy sing to you When I'm far gone How will she comfort her Broken Doll."
Spike wanted to leave. This was just too much for him. His experience of her told him that it was her long dead, murdered family she sang to. Don't bring up the past love. Let it stay where it belongs. A sudden, forceful change of tone rooted Spike to the spot. And Drusilla's eyes, almost glazed over in a trance a moment before, now saw him. Pierced his very soul.
"Eyes watch you, Spike Eyes spy on you Spike Bad, bad Spike Got himself a soul Now we won't go picking berries 'Cause the custard went brown."
"Sod this!" Spike forced himself to break free of the spell and purposefully strode toward the exit. Nice surprise, Dru, but it's over. Remember, just like you wanted it. Nice nostalgia trip, love, and I'm sorry if you're floundering but I've got a purpose. I've got-
"Oh silly Spike." Drusilla chided amused, almost as if she had plucked his thoughts from his head. And of course, somehow she probably had.
"Can't escape your family Spike The carcass has lain And the sparrows have all fallen down From feedin' on the carcass That wants to be a clown Chirp chirp chirperee 'E wants to be a princess But 'e'll end up as mud Black, black mud Claw yer way out Turned your back on heaven And the soldiers fall down!"
Some of the bikers grabbed Spike. He tried to battle them off. He almost managed it and "The Big Bad" would perhaps have prevailed. Spike, however was not at his best since Africa and though valiant and skilled, his fight was lost this day. The bikers swung down pummelling punches with giggling glee. And through the cloud of his bruising exterior, Spike realised that they had been Dru's loyal disciples all along. He fought long and hard against the blows, the tables and chairs, the broken bottles and the swiftly produced sledgehammers, but he was broken and beaten down by the end.
Spike's vampire form had often taken knocks of course, and he had no doubt of healing from this assault with a little time. That wasn't what worried him though.
The eyes of Rasputina glowed down on him and Spike cursed himself for just how distracted he'd been not to suspect this set-up from the start. Drusilla deliberately and slowly arched her way from the stage. She played teasingly and without cruelty with the few patrons, who had been ignorant of why everyone else was truly here. She left most of them to the other vampires, despite marking all of them sweetly and regally with a kiss.
Drusilla raked Spike's cheeks playfully. "How's your dear little daughter, Spike? Does she run and jump, does she skip and hunt, giggle and glide? What does she want of you Spike? You keepin' secrets from your olive princess?"
"No-" Spike spluttered. He guessed that his "daughter" was a reference to his soul. He understood Drusilla from their time together. No use wondering how she knew about his soul, no doubt the reason for her setting up this playful ambush. Just as with the chip in his head, Dru always seemed to know these things. A talent Spike had once found endearing. "It's not like that, Dru! Oh bleedin' hell, I don't completely understand what's going on myself. Give a guy a chance, pet!"
"Oooh, don't worry Spike." Drusilla cooed as lovingly as ever, "I'm not here to stunt your little flower patch. I'm here to see it grow."
Drusilla's expression clouded over with darkness. "William." she whispered with resentment. Drusilla furiously reined down strikes against Spike and then, her sudden rage dissipated, she approached him with a tone more sane and calculated than Spike had ever known in her. "I like you like this Spike. Oh, what fun we'll have. You, me and Bunty for girls! We'll have fun Spike!"
Then deliberately and coldly, Drusilla said, "But not for a while yet. Time for Sunnier climes another day, methinks." She clapped her hands and stamped her foot. "Encore, m' dears!"
Drusilla's vampire entourage hastily prepared Molotov cocktails which they tossed around the bar and stage. One biker used a broken table leg and a rag as a flaming torch and took the flame around some of the tables.
Drusilla took Spike's beaten face in her hand and giggled as if they'd never been anything but lovers. "Kisses from Dru." She tenderly pecked his cheek and signalled to her entourage to clear out. As she went to leave herself, Drusilla brightly offered a parting shot over her shoulder, "Don't be a stranger, my evil little Spike beast." And she was gone.
Spike groaned and tried to summon the strength to move. For who knows how long, he lay on his face, the wind knocked out of him. Then the heat on his cheek revived him somewhat and Spike finally began to crawl. Drusilla didn't intend for him to die here anymore than she intended to head for Sunnydale right away. It was all just her little game. A reminder that the past isn't always content to stay there.
After what seemed eternity, Spike gasped free of the flames. Part of him seemed to be on fire. He rolled around as best he could to douse the flames before they could get a foothold on him. "Ow! Bloody hell, Dru!"
"Poor Spike, all lit up like a birthday cake." Spike could almost hear Drusilla tease. Spike's immediate concern was to get away from the blaze and find shelter before any authorities arrived. In his head, he could still hear the same old Rasputina lyric.
"The terrible flames of All that remains of My Little Shirtwaist Fire." Rasputina
BY DJANGO
18th June 2002 - Creepy Crawl, St Louis.
The nocturnal creature who called himself Spike sat in a corner of the Creepy Crawl club venue, occasionally sipping from a bottled beer or dragging a cigarette to it's last. He retained Spike's arrogance, despite the soul that festered within him, like a new born baby cradling mother's milk. Despite his defiant clinging to "The Big Bad", he had seemed such a worn out, drab form of late. This was his attempt to cut loose and live the Spike life again.
He had come to the city of St Louis, in his distracted wanderings, in order to be unknown and sort out his confused feelings. It was too soon, much too soon for him to return so confused and undecided to Sunnydale. Return indeed he would, Spike had so often mused these past few weeks, but first let them wonder, while he steeled himself for what lay ahead. "Slow burn, baby..." Spike whispered, his lips to the cigarette butt. He reached into his pockets for another "fag", dimly musing that tonight's "entertainment" appeared to be starting.
Beginning to take his surroundings in more, Spike almost laughed. There were a large number of bikers (vampires, he dimly surmised) in the bar and he didn't think this was what they were looking for. The group were called Rasputina and consisted of three young women cello players in tight Victorian corsets and a male drummer. The music was familiar, Spike noted. Familiar but bizarre in it's way. A meeting of baroque chamber music within a dark rock structure. But not exactly biker paradise, even if music wasn't their only reason to be here. Goths would probably lap it all up though.
Spike groaned with annoyance at the cosmic joke being played with him. If he'd taken more notice of the bleedin' name on the posters around this dive, he probably wouldn't have come here tonight. Or perhaps, this was why he'd chosen to come to Creepy Crawl of all places. Maybe he valued that connection to simpler days (and nights, of course).
Drusilla had usually been content to listen to the whispers in her head or rock out with him to the Pistols. But somehow, with that enticing way of hers; part innocence, part delicious deviance fluttering in her head, Drusilla had fallen in love with the sound of Rasputina. She'd coo him to play their album, over and over. Although, Drusilla inevitably tired of everything and Rasputina seemed no exception, still part of her devotion lingered and out of the dark limbo stylings of her mind she'd ask for them again, just every so often. Even played their songs at her birthday party in Sunnydale...just before...
Spike slammed the bottle down and almost vamped despite himself at the memory. Then he tried to regain his focus and shrugged. That was nothing to him now. He wanted to be with someone else now and whatever that bitch got up to with her poncey sire...well, they were welcome to each other. Happy memories, a century of them. But Spike wanted Buffy now and Drusilla was dead to him. Dead, like William. He'd never even known the sweet, dutiful Catholic girl. Only what Angelus had made her into. And if breaking up had broken them both free of Angelus's spell on their lives, so much the better.
Kick back! The old Spike, of mayhem and no consequences, told him. Another beer and forget the past. Being all girly and foppish about his past was fine as far as it went, but he needed to be "The Big Bad" if he was going to return to Sunnydale. He needed to obliviate his past and make clear plans to win Buffy back. The soul was the key, Spike told himself, but William's dithering would just hold him back from doing... well, anything if it gained a foothold.
As he was at the bar, getting in another beer, the main singer of the trio announced that there was going to be a guest performer this night. Spike got the sense of something very wrong. It wasn't just the proliferation of other vampires, or the fact that something was definetly off with the group too. Something more wrapped around Spike's long dead spine and filled him with dread....
The sweet, lilting voice came out of the darkness, from beyond the curtains. A soothing lullaby, but to Spike's ears it was something far more ominous. The girl's cellos played slow yet discordantly and the girls hummed as if in a morbid trance.
"Did you ever see such a Broken Doll Cranberries and custard in such a Broken Doll Never be alone to be this Broken Doll All her family here for this Broken Doll."
Drusilla emerged from the shadows, as Spike knew she would. Rapturous applause greeted her as she emerged into the spotlight. She looked simply ravishing of course, in her black low cut evening dress. The few living, breathing humans scattered around here and there in the club venue never suspected that it was their bringer of death that they were so enraptured by. Once upon a time such things may have inspired him, but Spike now had no taste for what was going to happen. Walk away Dru, he almost urged, play the little rock star and just walk away. "Eyes, like plucky cherries All of them surround you You glazed little doll What will mummy sing to you When I'm far gone How will she comfort her Broken Doll."
Spike wanted to leave. This was just too much for him. His experience of her told him that it was her long dead, murdered family she sang to. Don't bring up the past love. Let it stay where it belongs. A sudden, forceful change of tone rooted Spike to the spot. And Drusilla's eyes, almost glazed over in a trance a moment before, now saw him. Pierced his very soul.
"Eyes watch you, Spike Eyes spy on you Spike Bad, bad Spike Got himself a soul Now we won't go picking berries 'Cause the custard went brown."
"Sod this!" Spike forced himself to break free of the spell and purposefully strode toward the exit. Nice surprise, Dru, but it's over. Remember, just like you wanted it. Nice nostalgia trip, love, and I'm sorry if you're floundering but I've got a purpose. I've got-
"Oh silly Spike." Drusilla chided amused, almost as if she had plucked his thoughts from his head. And of course, somehow she probably had.
"Can't escape your family Spike The carcass has lain And the sparrows have all fallen down From feedin' on the carcass That wants to be a clown Chirp chirp chirperee 'E wants to be a princess But 'e'll end up as mud Black, black mud Claw yer way out Turned your back on heaven And the soldiers fall down!"
Some of the bikers grabbed Spike. He tried to battle them off. He almost managed it and "The Big Bad" would perhaps have prevailed. Spike, however was not at his best since Africa and though valiant and skilled, his fight was lost this day. The bikers swung down pummelling punches with giggling glee. And through the cloud of his bruising exterior, Spike realised that they had been Dru's loyal disciples all along. He fought long and hard against the blows, the tables and chairs, the broken bottles and the swiftly produced sledgehammers, but he was broken and beaten down by the end.
Spike's vampire form had often taken knocks of course, and he had no doubt of healing from this assault with a little time. That wasn't what worried him though.
The eyes of Rasputina glowed down on him and Spike cursed himself for just how distracted he'd been not to suspect this set-up from the start. Drusilla deliberately and slowly arched her way from the stage. She played teasingly and without cruelty with the few patrons, who had been ignorant of why everyone else was truly here. She left most of them to the other vampires, despite marking all of them sweetly and regally with a kiss.
Drusilla raked Spike's cheeks playfully. "How's your dear little daughter, Spike? Does she run and jump, does she skip and hunt, giggle and glide? What does she want of you Spike? You keepin' secrets from your olive princess?"
"No-" Spike spluttered. He guessed that his "daughter" was a reference to his soul. He understood Drusilla from their time together. No use wondering how she knew about his soul, no doubt the reason for her setting up this playful ambush. Just as with the chip in his head, Dru always seemed to know these things. A talent Spike had once found endearing. "It's not like that, Dru! Oh bleedin' hell, I don't completely understand what's going on myself. Give a guy a chance, pet!"
"Oooh, don't worry Spike." Drusilla cooed as lovingly as ever, "I'm not here to stunt your little flower patch. I'm here to see it grow."
Drusilla's expression clouded over with darkness. "William." she whispered with resentment. Drusilla furiously reined down strikes against Spike and then, her sudden rage dissipated, she approached him with a tone more sane and calculated than Spike had ever known in her. "I like you like this Spike. Oh, what fun we'll have. You, me and Bunty for girls! We'll have fun Spike!"
Then deliberately and coldly, Drusilla said, "But not for a while yet. Time for Sunnier climes another day, methinks." She clapped her hands and stamped her foot. "Encore, m' dears!"
Drusilla's vampire entourage hastily prepared Molotov cocktails which they tossed around the bar and stage. One biker used a broken table leg and a rag as a flaming torch and took the flame around some of the tables.
Drusilla took Spike's beaten face in her hand and giggled as if they'd never been anything but lovers. "Kisses from Dru." She tenderly pecked his cheek and signalled to her entourage to clear out. As she went to leave herself, Drusilla brightly offered a parting shot over her shoulder, "Don't be a stranger, my evil little Spike beast." And she was gone.
Spike groaned and tried to summon the strength to move. For who knows how long, he lay on his face, the wind knocked out of him. Then the heat on his cheek revived him somewhat and Spike finally began to crawl. Drusilla didn't intend for him to die here anymore than she intended to head for Sunnydale right away. It was all just her little game. A reminder that the past isn't always content to stay there.
After what seemed eternity, Spike gasped free of the flames. Part of him seemed to be on fire. He rolled around as best he could to douse the flames before they could get a foothold on him. "Ow! Bloody hell, Dru!"
"Poor Spike, all lit up like a birthday cake." Spike could almost hear Drusilla tease. Spike's immediate concern was to get away from the blaze and find shelter before any authorities arrived. In his head, he could still hear the same old Rasputina lyric.
"The terrible flames of All that remains of My Little Shirtwaist Fire." Rasputina