Title: London's Burning
Summary: Spike and Drusilla return to their hometown of London to wreak some havoc and have some fun during the Queen's Golden Jubilee celebrations.
Rated: Over 15s only, for graphic violence and adult themes.
Disclaimer: Spike and Drusilla belong to God (AKA Joss Whedon). I own nothing and make no money from this. I am just a fundamentally bored suburban individual.
Dedicated, with admiration, to Johnny Rotten.
Chapter 1
GOD SAVE THE QUEEN
"'Tis strange with how little notice, good, bad, or indifferent, a man may live and die in London." - Charles Dickens
Amid the million-strong crowd packed like red, white and blue sheep along The Mall, around the Victoria memorial and outside the gates of Buckingham Palace, two dark figures hovered close together. Even in the thick crush of patriotic humanity that had turned out to sing, wave flags and toast the Queen for her Golden Jubilee, the two stood apart from the rest. Despite the communal and united high the swaying masses exhuded, people seemed none too eager to be pressed too close to them. The great tide of people often surged forward, pushing folks to one side and nearer the mysterious couple in the shadows, but quickly and awkwardly those folks scooted back into the throng, glancing warily back over their sholders mumbling frightened apologies at the eerie couple. Under the shade, just beyond the glowing circle of lamp-light, the two seemed surrounded by an unquestionably dangerous aura. Bathed as they were in shadow, most people were wholly unaware of them until they were shoved into the couples direct vicinity... a position none so far had held for more than a minute, despite the excellent view of the celebrations. The two, a tallish man with bright white hair and a long black coat, and a thin, elegantly gothic woman in a dark whimsical dress, stood under the shade of one of the meticulously maintained maple trees that lined The Mall. He stood behind her, one arm draped lazily around her sholder the other firmly planted around her waist. She clutched at his hands like an excited child, while resting her head languidly, sensually against his neck. Her emerald green eyes sparkled in the darkness, turned toward the sky.
"Look, Spike! Look at all the fire! Such pretty fire.. I should like to touch it.."
"Best not, Princess. I prefer my sweet plum marinated in red, not en flambe."
"I'm thirsty Spike.. I feel it flowing all around us like a red river.. will we drink soon?"
"Soon as the crowd thins out a bit, luv. When the fireworks are over.. you just keep watching the sky for now. Enjoy the fireworks.. we'll make some of our own later."
"So many people dressed in red, did you see? All over the city.. red crosses painted on their faces.. like blasphemous invitations.. they've marked themselves for our pleasure, Spike. They want us to pick them. Blaze those red crosses across their hearts.. they're waiting.. asking for it."
"I think it probably has more to do with the football, pet... but, of course, your interpretations are rarely too far off the mark. We'll give 'em what they want tonight, eh? Crucify the insincere?"
"They've blood of the heart on their faces.. and we shall take it."
"Right after the fireworks.."
"When the embers glow quietly in the hearth.."
"We'll start a new fire of our own, pet. Don't you worry. Easy pickings, tonight."
The sky lit up furiously. Showers of golden light cascaded through the night, exploding fitfully across the canopy of stars, illuminating the edges of the dark gathering clouds. The crowd ooh'd and ahh'd in unison, the sounds of awe echoing down the wide streets and drifting into the darkened allyways beyond. The Union Jack flags, seemingly draped over every post and pole for miles, waved majestically in the breeze, flapping waves of that ingrained Empirical spirit into the hazy national pride of the enraptured crowd. Everything to disigned to distract. Everything purposefully arranged to detract attention from the failings, the disillusionment, the apathy of the people toward their country, it's systems and it's monarchy. If only for one weekend. Spike, one of very few not fixedly watching the enormous firework display above, eyed the crowd carefully. So many of them, the TV had said over a million, had converged upon the center of the city for this. To celebrate something most of them spent the rest of their time slagging off. Spike allowed himself a sly smile. He never ceased to be amused by the hypocrisy humans could muster at times of national importance. Or when there was fun to be had and copious amounts of alcohol to be consumed at least. It was the same the world over. He nuzzled his face into Drusilla's neck, kissing the cool, porcelain-like skin just above the spot where her jugular would, under natural law, have lain pumping, echoing it's mistresses intoxicating heartbeat. Drusilla giggled, eyes still avidly watching the dramatic flashing sky above, gold and green and red all reflecting and sparkling in her eyes.
"Don't you feel the fire, my William? It's in their hearts as in the skys. Tonight we shall feel it in our throats, our bellies.. We'll swallow their pale fires, won't we Spike? And light up our own with their embers."
"Too right, we shall, my love. Too right."
******************************************
Less than a mile away, the wide ancient river lapped fiercely. The fireworks reflected in the murky water, sparkling, making the small waves on the Thames break with what seemed like sinister merriment. The darkened sky twinkled, the river splashed darkly, heavily. The people, half drunk as most were, threw caution to the wind and breathed in deep lungfulls air, lazily smiling at the unique scent of the midsummer London night. Floods of people strolled aimlessly along the long ornate banks of the Thames, taking in the sights, singing loudly and off-key, enjoying the glow of the city at night, wallowing in the party atmosphere, smiling drunkenly, carelessly in the company of so many hundreds of thousands of complete strangers. The feeling was one of community, of fearlessness. Nothing could touch you on a night like this. Everyone was there for the same reason. No-one could come to any harm when every stranger came with a smiling face. The night was young and the party just getting started.
*****************************************
Before the last strains of 'Land of Hope & Glory' had faded and the crowd began to dissipate slightly, Spike and Drusilla slipped quietly from the scene. They glided together through the teeming crowds, always keeping slightly to one side, close to the shadows, observing with amusement (and not a little hunger) the people tripping down the streets, clutching their bottles of wine, leaning on one and another for intoxicated pseudo-company. Drusilla smiled at the open-shirted men who yelled obscenities at her. Her smile grew even wider when Spike put his fist through a nearby, particularly loud-mouthed, young man's face, sending him sprawling backwards at least 20 feet. Spike noted with some satisfaction, before continuing to steer Dru through the increasingly rowdy throng, that the boy landed heavily, and with a distinct cracking sound, on his head. Dru giggled as they moved off and leaned into Spike, stroking his angry face away with the back of her hand before placing a light kiss on the end of his nose. Spike and Drusilla made their way through the bustling streets at a leisurely pace. There was no hurry. These people weren't going anywhere fast, the more sociable areas of town would most likely be packed til dawn and beyond, what with the next day being a bank holiday. No-one had to work tomorrow, no-one had anything to lose by giving themselves up to the night, under these circumstances no-one would be missed til the weekend at the earliest... should anyone mysteriously vanish amid the revelry. Spike was enjoying himself, despite the relative lack of violence the evening had so far produced, he was having fun. He always enjoyed London, not because he really considered it his home town anymore, (the world was his and Dru's for the taking. A global night time playground. One place where they could feed and have some fun was no more considered home than any other,) but they both had their favourites and old affections. The enormous filthy city undoubtedly held a great deal of memories for them both. Every time Spike visited he always liked to set aside one night to go down to the off-market spot in Whitechapel where Drusilla had sired him so many years ago and make violent love to her in the shadows. The place seemed infused with a dark energy that never failed to turn him on. Every corner of the old East End conjured memories of the first bloody rampages after his turning, the atmosphere sent him raging. The streets were much the same, narrow, dark, they were still permeated, drenched with the excitement, freshness and liberation of those times. Spike swore he could hear the screams echoing still, smell the long since dried and disapated pools of blood, see the corpses laying crumpled in darkened doorways, their light footsteps on the cobblestones as they slipped away into the night. His first kills. Red rivers flowing slowly through the gutters, ripped flesh, torn clothes and broken bones left behind, their onimous wake. Just the rancid smell of the place brought it all flooding back to him. He knew every inch of the city, making it an ideal and spectacular hunting ground. The was simply nowhere to hide.
********************************************
Summary: Spike and Drusilla return to their hometown of London to wreak some havoc and have some fun during the Queen's Golden Jubilee celebrations.
Rated: Over 15s only, for graphic violence and adult themes.
Disclaimer: Spike and Drusilla belong to God (AKA Joss Whedon). I own nothing and make no money from this. I am just a fundamentally bored suburban individual.
Dedicated, with admiration, to Johnny Rotten.
Chapter 1
GOD SAVE THE QUEEN
"'Tis strange with how little notice, good, bad, or indifferent, a man may live and die in London." - Charles Dickens
Amid the million-strong crowd packed like red, white and blue sheep along The Mall, around the Victoria memorial and outside the gates of Buckingham Palace, two dark figures hovered close together. Even in the thick crush of patriotic humanity that had turned out to sing, wave flags and toast the Queen for her Golden Jubilee, the two stood apart from the rest. Despite the communal and united high the swaying masses exhuded, people seemed none too eager to be pressed too close to them. The great tide of people often surged forward, pushing folks to one side and nearer the mysterious couple in the shadows, but quickly and awkwardly those folks scooted back into the throng, glancing warily back over their sholders mumbling frightened apologies at the eerie couple. Under the shade, just beyond the glowing circle of lamp-light, the two seemed surrounded by an unquestionably dangerous aura. Bathed as they were in shadow, most people were wholly unaware of them until they were shoved into the couples direct vicinity... a position none so far had held for more than a minute, despite the excellent view of the celebrations. The two, a tallish man with bright white hair and a long black coat, and a thin, elegantly gothic woman in a dark whimsical dress, stood under the shade of one of the meticulously maintained maple trees that lined The Mall. He stood behind her, one arm draped lazily around her sholder the other firmly planted around her waist. She clutched at his hands like an excited child, while resting her head languidly, sensually against his neck. Her emerald green eyes sparkled in the darkness, turned toward the sky.
"Look, Spike! Look at all the fire! Such pretty fire.. I should like to touch it.."
"Best not, Princess. I prefer my sweet plum marinated in red, not en flambe."
"I'm thirsty Spike.. I feel it flowing all around us like a red river.. will we drink soon?"
"Soon as the crowd thins out a bit, luv. When the fireworks are over.. you just keep watching the sky for now. Enjoy the fireworks.. we'll make some of our own later."
"So many people dressed in red, did you see? All over the city.. red crosses painted on their faces.. like blasphemous invitations.. they've marked themselves for our pleasure, Spike. They want us to pick them. Blaze those red crosses across their hearts.. they're waiting.. asking for it."
"I think it probably has more to do with the football, pet... but, of course, your interpretations are rarely too far off the mark. We'll give 'em what they want tonight, eh? Crucify the insincere?"
"They've blood of the heart on their faces.. and we shall take it."
"Right after the fireworks.."
"When the embers glow quietly in the hearth.."
"We'll start a new fire of our own, pet. Don't you worry. Easy pickings, tonight."
The sky lit up furiously. Showers of golden light cascaded through the night, exploding fitfully across the canopy of stars, illuminating the edges of the dark gathering clouds. The crowd ooh'd and ahh'd in unison, the sounds of awe echoing down the wide streets and drifting into the darkened allyways beyond. The Union Jack flags, seemingly draped over every post and pole for miles, waved majestically in the breeze, flapping waves of that ingrained Empirical spirit into the hazy national pride of the enraptured crowd. Everything to disigned to distract. Everything purposefully arranged to detract attention from the failings, the disillusionment, the apathy of the people toward their country, it's systems and it's monarchy. If only for one weekend. Spike, one of very few not fixedly watching the enormous firework display above, eyed the crowd carefully. So many of them, the TV had said over a million, had converged upon the center of the city for this. To celebrate something most of them spent the rest of their time slagging off. Spike allowed himself a sly smile. He never ceased to be amused by the hypocrisy humans could muster at times of national importance. Or when there was fun to be had and copious amounts of alcohol to be consumed at least. It was the same the world over. He nuzzled his face into Drusilla's neck, kissing the cool, porcelain-like skin just above the spot where her jugular would, under natural law, have lain pumping, echoing it's mistresses intoxicating heartbeat. Drusilla giggled, eyes still avidly watching the dramatic flashing sky above, gold and green and red all reflecting and sparkling in her eyes.
"Don't you feel the fire, my William? It's in their hearts as in the skys. Tonight we shall feel it in our throats, our bellies.. We'll swallow their pale fires, won't we Spike? And light up our own with their embers."
"Too right, we shall, my love. Too right."
******************************************
Less than a mile away, the wide ancient river lapped fiercely. The fireworks reflected in the murky water, sparkling, making the small waves on the Thames break with what seemed like sinister merriment. The darkened sky twinkled, the river splashed darkly, heavily. The people, half drunk as most were, threw caution to the wind and breathed in deep lungfulls air, lazily smiling at the unique scent of the midsummer London night. Floods of people strolled aimlessly along the long ornate banks of the Thames, taking in the sights, singing loudly and off-key, enjoying the glow of the city at night, wallowing in the party atmosphere, smiling drunkenly, carelessly in the company of so many hundreds of thousands of complete strangers. The feeling was one of community, of fearlessness. Nothing could touch you on a night like this. Everyone was there for the same reason. No-one could come to any harm when every stranger came with a smiling face. The night was young and the party just getting started.
*****************************************
Before the last strains of 'Land of Hope & Glory' had faded and the crowd began to dissipate slightly, Spike and Drusilla slipped quietly from the scene. They glided together through the teeming crowds, always keeping slightly to one side, close to the shadows, observing with amusement (and not a little hunger) the people tripping down the streets, clutching their bottles of wine, leaning on one and another for intoxicated pseudo-company. Drusilla smiled at the open-shirted men who yelled obscenities at her. Her smile grew even wider when Spike put his fist through a nearby, particularly loud-mouthed, young man's face, sending him sprawling backwards at least 20 feet. Spike noted with some satisfaction, before continuing to steer Dru through the increasingly rowdy throng, that the boy landed heavily, and with a distinct cracking sound, on his head. Dru giggled as they moved off and leaned into Spike, stroking his angry face away with the back of her hand before placing a light kiss on the end of his nose. Spike and Drusilla made their way through the bustling streets at a leisurely pace. There was no hurry. These people weren't going anywhere fast, the more sociable areas of town would most likely be packed til dawn and beyond, what with the next day being a bank holiday. No-one had to work tomorrow, no-one had anything to lose by giving themselves up to the night, under these circumstances no-one would be missed til the weekend at the earliest... should anyone mysteriously vanish amid the revelry. Spike was enjoying himself, despite the relative lack of violence the evening had so far produced, he was having fun. He always enjoyed London, not because he really considered it his home town anymore, (the world was his and Dru's for the taking. A global night time playground. One place where they could feed and have some fun was no more considered home than any other,) but they both had their favourites and old affections. The enormous filthy city undoubtedly held a great deal of memories for them both. Every time Spike visited he always liked to set aside one night to go down to the off-market spot in Whitechapel where Drusilla had sired him so many years ago and make violent love to her in the shadows. The place seemed infused with a dark energy that never failed to turn him on. Every corner of the old East End conjured memories of the first bloody rampages after his turning, the atmosphere sent him raging. The streets were much the same, narrow, dark, they were still permeated, drenched with the excitement, freshness and liberation of those times. Spike swore he could hear the screams echoing still, smell the long since dried and disapated pools of blood, see the corpses laying crumpled in darkened doorways, their light footsteps on the cobblestones as they slipped away into the night. His first kills. Red rivers flowing slowly through the gutters, ripped flesh, torn clothes and broken bones left behind, their onimous wake. Just the rancid smell of the place brought it all flooding back to him. He knew every inch of the city, making it an ideal and spectacular hunting ground. The was simply nowhere to hide.
********************************************