Drusilla...
(Note-felt like working on this older Buffy-Cicelyverse tale. Think…"I am…Drusilla. And I bid you, welcome." As to title.)
PG-13
Summary: An alternate Cicelyverse tale...In 1880 Cicely Addams Walthrop makes the right choice and saves her William on that fateful night. But Drusilla is not so easily cheated of her Prince.
A companion story to "Groom of Rosenberg" for Halloween, at the request of the Shes Who Must Be Obeyed...The musical touches are their idea...Sorry...they want a "Phantom-ish" story.
You might want to read my Cicelyverse page to get a handle on the situation, possibly my "Romance Palace" or "Heliophobia" as well.
(I guess I should use the old Bride of Frankenstein movie promo... "WE DEFY YOU TO
READ!...DRUSILLA...and THE GROOM OF ROSENBERG...!"...anyway, Happy Halloween. Or whenever it is now)
Prologue...
Transylvania...1896...
The Inn at Borgo Pass...Run by a rather strange-looking proprietor...A small man, unusually deformed in spots...of a weasely aspect. His very expression suggesting a duplicitous nature. A man on sight not to be trusted...
"William!" the tall, dark figure in occupying the rearmost booth with a hearty Irishman of kindly aspect and wide girth...Called. In a Romanian accent...
Count...? the ever-deferential Willie hastened over...
"More of the usual for me..." the young-looking nobleman told him. "And whatever else my friend here would like..."
"Just the same, lad..." the Irishman raised his beer glass slightly.
Willie deftly rushed the drinks over. Beer, a brandy, and a small shot glass full of a red-colored substance...
A wolf outside howled. The youthful-looking nobleman smiled as he poured the red liquid into his brandy...
Ah...
Willie standing by a moment to see that all was well for his wealthiest steady customer...Rolled his eyes slightly.
He knows the line coming by heart. Every tourist of any interest to the Count gets it...
"Children of the night..." Vladimir Dracula, last-born of the Dracule, showed his white, unnaturally sharp teeth...
What music they make...C'mon, c'mon finish it...Willie thought, sighing slightly.
"What...Music...They make." Smile.
"Indeed, sir." Bram Stoker, Irish-born novelist and traveler nodded.
Willie pasted an indulgent smile on his face. Geesh, and it's his great-granddad the Impaler's line at that, the barkeeper thought.
If old Vlad ever caught this punk kid using it...
"Anything else, gentlemen?"
Vladimir waved a hand...
"Well, Count..." Stoker beamed at him, glancing at a large sheaf of pages on the table, some a bit smudged by ink…
"A fascinating tale...I've little doubt of its marketability. If you can agree to the few minor alterations I've described...?"
Hmmn...the count frowned slightly. Such a ridiculous ending for such a grand tale of passion and romance...
The fragile foolish humans defeating him. Rescuing the damsel from his clutches...
Still...One must be practical. This was a business transaction. To revive the badly depleted fortunes of the Dracule...
This Stoker clearly knew his business. And what would pull the readers in...
And he had to admit... The story recast in the Irishman's mold did have a certain strong appeal. As a Romanian nobleman he could sympathize with a gallant young husband risking life and all to save a beloved wife.
Family values and all that...
And to be honest...At least to his own self...It was after all Great-granddad's story, not his...
Great-granddad Vlad...Who'd given him Immortality. Then gone and bankrupted the family with his damnable, demented efforts to win redemption.
Successful in the end to an extent perhaps…If the tales were true...but still...Ruinous...
Wonderful old man...he cursed his ancestor.
Zips off to England...Buys whatever it took to win his soul's freedom, and leaves me and the surviving others to eke out an existence with the remains. An Immortal existence to boot...
And dead or no, supernaturally powerful or no…One still has expenses. Castles, even romantically decrepit ones. Don't maintain themselves.
Human servants, enslaved or wild, ruthless, willing to take any job, gypsies, need to eat and the free ones don't work for free. Horses don't do well as vampires and living ones must be fed and stalled.
Dresses and gentlemen's clothing do not magically remain intact through the centuries. Though good fabric combined with the learning of the art of needle and thread can hold up remarkably well…
In short, even the Undead need to replenish the coffers on a regular basis…
Well...He'd done what he could to keep the family afloat. In as poor a country as Romania was...No thanks to old Vlad.
Now, if the family honor must be compromised. The horrible truth of the Dracule existence revealed. And Great-grand-dad embarrassed...
Tough...One must live. Well, Unlive...
He eyed the instrument of the Dracule family's revival. Mr. Bram Stoker, Irish-born playwright and author...Whose fascinating, tragic book on the sinking of a great ocean liner by an iceberg had attracted his attention while searching for a fine, but relatively unknown...And therefore potentially disposable, if he became a nuisance...Writer to...Assist...In the work.
An artist of great sensitivity...And apparently some secret knowledge of the Underworld judging by his surprising ability in magics on their first encounter. Holding him, a Prince of the Dracule, off with an unusual protective spell...
A man of laudable courage, if somewhat foolhardy. Worthy of bringing the legend of the great and tragic Dracule to the world.
As his, Count Vladimir Dracule's own...
So what if old great-grandpa was pissed? He was a redeemed soul again. Was he likely to come back and risk that to punish his wayward great-grandson?
But...To business...And the profits that would hopefully soon ensue...
"Yes, my friend..." Vladimir sighed.
"I agree...Let the young fool Englishman have his little fool of a wife. Let me...er my ancestor...Meet my fate..."
"Nobly..." Stoker noted. "Dying with that expression of peace and release that assures our readers that even his condemned soul is at last free..."
Indeed...Vladimir nodded.
Yes...A great tragic death...For the sake of a good and virtuous woman...
Should work well with the ladies as a future opening line...he thought. When they learn that the Dark Prince still lives...
The inn door opened. A tall man entered, also dark of hair. Weary and rain-soaked from the road...
With a somewhat hunted expression...Almost, one might say...
A brooding one...
Dracula looked back...
Oh, shit...he sighed.
Angelus...
What the hell?
Willie had rushed to welcome his new customer...
Leading him to another booth. From which Stoker and Dracula heard him apologize profusely for any slowness in service. Strictly owing to the lack of additional help...
Hard to get folks these days. Though a new girl was starting tonight...
Angelus nodded pleasantly. Looking carefully around the inn...
Oh, shit...
He nodded dutifully to Vladimir. One must show the proper respect to a Prince of the blood. Even if the fellow is an enemy of long-standing...And a stupid preening fool, living off the legend of his great ancestor...
Thought all the surviving Dracule had moved to England, he irritably noted to himself.
Still...A fellow vampire...A potential ally if the Slayer should still be tracking him...
Right...Vladimir a potential ally. What am I thinking? He'd gladly offer me as a peace offering, a token of his esteem...
On the other hand...No point...And no safety...in showing his fear. Best to meet the fool head on and brazen it out. Hoping against hope that dear Darla had survived and would join him...
Angry as she might be over the last day's events, she'd surely bury the hatchet to avoid having a stake buried in her.
Heck, strength in numbers; we are family; a boy's best friend, right?
Pity she wasn't here now. With Vladimir's moronic conceit about his power over all things female, she'd easily be able to draw him off and dispose of him quickly.
Well...
He put on a jaunty face and strolled over casually. Noting the large human sitting across from the Impaler's feeble descendant...
Dinner? No, Vladimir preferred female dinner companions. Unless he was really hard up for a meal...
"Angelus..." Vladimir smiled coldly. "A pleasure, my dear fellow."
Count...Angelus smiled back, bowing slightly.
"Mr. Stoker...May I present Mr. Angelus, a compatriot of yours." Vladimir waved at Angelus.
"Mr. Bram Stoker..."
Angelus bowed slightly.
"Mr. Angelus is a friend of some long acquaintance." Vladimir nodded at Angelus.
Join us...Please...he frostily smiled. Signaling to Willie...Who hurried over.
With a toothy grin, Angelus accepted a seat in the booth beside Dracula...
"Whiskey...And the usual." Angelus told the barkeeper.
"On tour, Mr. Stoker?"he asked the large man pleasantly.
"Long way from home for both of us..."
"A writing engagement..." Stoker explained.
Ah...
"And you, my friend..." Vladimir smiled...Just the lips.
"What has brought you all this weary way from your adopted England...?"
"I believe I might ask the same of you, Count." Angelus returned a cold stare.
"Your family had found a home in England when last we met..."
"Ah...Only my dear great-grandfather and several of his "nieces" chose to make that journey permanent. Homesickness would never allow me to desert my beloved Motherland for more than a short time..." Vladimir shook his head.
Stoker eyed the two carefully. The protective spell he'd secured in Bucharest to humor a concerned friend's...A secret member of the Watchers' Council...whim before coming out to accept the Count's offer of a writing collaboration had so far proven quite worth its weight in gold in dealing with the Dracule. But having little knowledge of the supernatural, he had to be careful about pushing the thing beyond its limits. And from what he'd learned from Dracula...And picked up himself along the way...It was clear this "Angelus" was also a powerful vampire.
"But my dear Angelus...What has brought you so far?" the Count's attempts to affect an unconcerned air clearly failing.
He'd obviously heard...Angelus realized. And was afraid the Slayer might be in hot pursuit...
And that this famed lady would not be swayed by his charms if she should make an appearance...
After all, she knew Transylvania. And the Dracule...all too well...
"Simply the pleasures of travel..."Angelus languidly waved a hand.
"Broadens the mind, you know. And my business affairs in this part of the world required a bit of my attention...A happy coincidence."
"As is my finding you here tonight, my old friend." he smiled.
"And your dear...Wife...The divine Darla...?" Vladimir looked about the inn, a hair anxiously.
Darla's reputation for stab-in-the-back ambush preceding her...
"Enjoying the pleasures of Bucharest for a few days. I felt traveling in these wild parts might be a strain for her delicate frame."
Oh, brother...Vladimir rolled his eyes. Darla?...Delicate?
Bitch must be hanging around outside. He looked around the inn at his various scattered Roma retainers.
So good to have loyal servants and expert killers...Even of the vampiral...At hand.
"So...Mr. Stoker...?" Angelus politely turned to the human guest.
"A writing assignment, you say..."
"No difficulty for one of our people..." he pleasantly noted.
"Especially in such a country. Filled with remarkable history..."
"And tall tales..." he grinned at Vladimir. Who narrowly stared back...
"Actually..." Stoker nodded. "I'm assisting Count Vladimir in telling some tales of the Dracule."
"Legends of course, but fascinating ones..."
"Really...?" Angelus smiled at Vladimir.
"Nothing of great interest to you, my friend." the Count frowned coldly back.
"Merely a novel based on tales passed down for centuries among our family..."
A novel...? Angelus showed genuine interest.
"You know...I've had some ideas for novel writing myself." he turned back to Stoker.
Indeed...the Irishman nodded politely.
"Well...We must not detain you, my dear Angelus..." the Count began.
"Not at all...I am staying the night. Far too...Violent..." he eyed Dracule. "A night outside for travel..."
Hmmn...A hidden meaning in that one...Vladimir thought.
Could the Slayer be that close...?
"So..." Angelus cheerily concluded. "We can enjoy a pleasant evening's discussion. Together..."
"Catching up on old times. And exchanging news of...Old friends..."
"Mrs. Walthrop for example." he added. Causally...
Vladimir's face struggled to show no fear...
"And the...Delightful...Mrs. Walthrop...? Is she...Traveling as well...?"
"Practically in my footsteps..." Angelus grinned.
"Innkeeper..." he called.
"Another round for us all. And bring me whatever is agreeable for dinner this evening."
"So...As I was saying, Mr. Stoker. I have a rather remarkable tale or two myself. In particular, one I feel is quite in keeping with the mystery and grandeur of this darkly beautiful land..."
"In fact, it reached its climax...And may reach its final conclusion. Here..."
"Here, sir?" Stoker showed some interest.
Indeed...Angelus beamed. "Let me tell you the tale..."
Lovely...Vladimir sighed to himself, beginning to drum the fingers of his right hand on the table...
My writer...And Angelus is going to pick his brains for his own vampire story.
Still...If Mrs. Walthrop is as close at hand as he claims. Best to keep the possibility of a temporary alliance open...
"It began...One might say...On a dark night in 1880. When a strange and hideous creature of darkness received a strange visitation from what her tormented mind could only conceive of as a fairy godmother of sorts. Promising the lost one a great gift... "
(Overture begins...[Play theme...Overture From "The Phantom of the Opera")]
Part I...
London, 1880, night...
Off in the street a newsboy cries out the news of a brutal slaying..."The victim 'oribbly drained of blood, 'is throat slashed open. Police baffled."
A drunk staggers past an alley, startled to see a young and elegantly dressed young woman standing in front of the wan young streetwalker he'd noticed heading into the alley when he'd made a turn round fifteen minutes before. A young toff by her side...
Well...Who was he to judge if some lady liked to indulge herself? Still...He did his best to impress her image on his clouded brain...
Might be the right thing to watch for her later. Would be worth a quid or two if he could let her know he'd seen her takin' her ungodly pleasures with the strange little lass.
Not something a lady would want banded about...
"My dear..." the young gentlewoman smiled at the wan girl. Who showed a certain degree of fear now that her efforts to hypnotize and take the lady had failed miserably. After she'd recognized the lady as the one who's coming she'd foreseen earlier. In dreams...
"My dear...You know that sort of thing won't work with me." Halfreck, vengeance demon par excellence beamed at the rather oddly dressed Dru. Wearing bits and pieces that had caught her fancy as symbols of elegance at various times. A bright scarf here, a scarlet ribbon there, various bits of shiny, cheap jewelry mingled with an item or two of value. All from the bodies of her victims and an occasional bit of snatching...
Not that grandmother Darla hadn't tried to keep her in something approaching decent dress...For the "family" reputation's sake. But Dru liked to make up her own outfits. And over time Darla had simply thrown up her hands and let Drusilla do as she pleased...
Which as it gave her the appearance of a typical young "lady of the evening", a lost girl out on the London streets...Perhaps a bit more sadly wan and lost than most..."An Ophelia of the alleyways" as one young fellow had once called her. Before taking advantage of her cooing with delight at his remark to flee safely away. Perhaps it was for the best...
Haly...In the form of her hopefully-soon-to-be-client...Eyed the girl carefully.
Not an easy task making use of this one...Loony as they come.
Yet with considerable ability...The one member of the Angelus pride, the most powerful set of vampires locally available, with any chance of succeeding in carrying out her little plan...
Dru was clearly becoming steadily more unnerved. This was no ordinary, foolish little human lady, wandering away from the familiar and safe to explore London's darkest corners...
This was one...Of her kind...
Well, not exactly her kind...But definitely of demonkind...
"I am here...To help you, Miss Drusilla." Halfreck smiled.
"I have a gift for you..."
Fear vanished briefly in the joy of anticipation...A gift!
Wise Spike in another universe to have never allowed her access to telemarketers...
"A Prince is coming...Soon...To meet you." Haly nodded to her.
"To be your very own..."
"A fine gentleman...A brilliant scholar...A great...er well...A poet."
"Would you like that, sweetheart?"
Oh...Dru trembled. A Prince...
Wait?...Some bit of her lost old self floated up...
Ummn...Poet?...Scholar...?
Some silly toff...?
"Me uncles always said… Such idle men were not..." a fragment from her past surfacing.
"He was a very poor man. He raised himself up..." Haly hastily noted.
"Very courageous...A fighter...With a noble soul...And yet the heart of a romantic..."
"Really...Your uncles would have thought well of him."
"For me...?" Dru stared.
"For you, dear...Someone to care for you and make you happy. Always..."
"A present from the Fates...If you will do your part."
"Me part?" Strange...Me mum always said the angels brought their gifts with them.
"Where is he?" she looked around.-
"Not yet, dear...A few nights from now...Here in the alleyways...I will come to you the night he will be coming. If you will wait for him, seek him out..."
"Would you care to see his face?" Haly smiled.
"Oh...Yes..." Dru nodded eagerly.
Halfreck lifted a locket hanging from her neck...An exact copy of one worn by her...hopefully...future client...Miss Cicely Addams. Opening it to display a small photograph of a slightly nervous, solemn, handsome young William Soames Walthrop...Decked out in his best suit, spectacles perched on nose.
A bit nervous herself...Dru was a bit more picky than she'd been led to expect. Hopefully he'd pass muster...
Oh...Dru gasped, open-mouth. Him...
"I've seen him...My Prince...Full of songs and stories."
"And I am his Muse..." she told Haly. Now a bit surprised in her turn. Muse? She knew him that clearly? Though she'd been warned of Dru's clairvoyant abilities...
Abilities in fact essential to the plan...
A howling, harrowing cry from somewhere deep within. From a tortured soul trapped in limbo...
No...! God help me...!
Phew...Halfreck thought. Stage one...Completed...Just one more member to get on the team.
"Well...Dear...I will return to you when the time has come. But before I go..." she paused.
"I must speak with your...Sister."
….
"This cannot be..." Arthur Rathskeller, current chairman of the Royal Council of Librarians and Antiquarians...The Council of Watchers to those in the know...shook his head at Simon Farris, Watcher to the current...And Greatest...Slayer.
"Miss Addams cannot be serious in her intent. Not with the Angelus pride in London as we speak..."
Farris, a tall, white-haired distinguished-looking older man...The image of the future actor Ian Richardson...Smiled coolly at his chairman.
Dear Arthur...Such good fortune to have such a fool in the chairman's seat. A look at him and any fears that his plans might go awry...And his final climb to power be hindered. Melted away...
But then, he'd worked diligently for years to see that his dear old friend's virtue, integrity, and good heart were seen to outweigh any question of his talent or ability in dealing with the grave issues of the Council's real work.
"Miss Addams is quite serious. And will not be swayed."
"Even by me..." he sighed.
"Simon, Simon...You must find a way to make her see her duty to Humanity." Rathskeller paced the floor of his quite grand room in nervous anxiety. Pausing...
Please don't wear out the rug, Arthur...Farris thought, nodding solemnly at the Chairman.
It will be mine soon.