TITLE: Bloody Awful Poetry
AUTHOR: Sanguinary
COPYRIGHT: Sanguinary. That's all.
DISTRIBUTION: Ask me before you take it. I just want to know where it's
going. Thanks.
RATING: PG 13 for graphic violence and bad poetry.
CATEGORY: Horror.
SPOILERS: Fool for Love. If you haven't see it, you will be lost.
COUPLES/KEYWORDS: Spike/Drusilla, m/f
DISCLAIMER: Spike and Drusilla don't belong to me. They belong to might
Joss and his universe. So please don't sue because all I have to give you is
my collection of classic rock and 3 1/2 inch floppies. But the names (Lord
Weatherby, Lady Elizabeth and Lord Dale) were my own creation.
FEEDBACK: I love feedback. I crave feedback.
SUMMARY: Based on the conversation below from Fool for Love.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Lord Weatherby: And that's actually one of his better compositions.
Lady Elizabeth: Have you heard, they call him "William the Bloody" because of his
bloody awful poetry.
Lord Dale: It suits him. I'd rather have a railroad spike through my head than
listen to that awful stuff...
~Taken from http://www.mustreadtv.com/buffyscripts/ffl1.html~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was a clear summer night in London. Lord Dale walked over cobblestones as he
made his way towards the address of William 'the Bloody' Paracelet. Dale was
surprised that William would even talk to him after last night's comments at the
party. ~But then again,~ Dale thought, ~William has been acting strange lately.
Writing love poetry. Even if it is terrible poetry.~ Dale's thoughts turned to
Lady Elizabeth. She had pointed out William's nickname last night. ~She's a work
of art. I think I might court her, someday.~
Dale reached the address and checked his invitation once more. It read;
'You are cordially invited to the home of William Paracelet for tea on
June 4, 1800 at the hour of 10:00. Come alone or with a friend.'
The old, decrepit house where William lived looked like should have been torn down
long ago. But he had told Dale many times of how much inspiration it gave him for
his poetry. ~If that's what gives him inspiration,~ Dale though with a smirk on
his face, ~it's no wonder that his poetry is a rotten as this house.~
The old steps creaked under Dale's footsteps, warning the inhabitants of visitors
approaching. Before he could reach for the doorknob, the door swung inwards and
William voice floated out of the dark, empty space.
"Come in." The young, slightly feminine face appeared and gestured for Dale to
enter the threshold. His honey-blond curls were in disarray with bright blue eyes
beneath. It was almost immediately after William had shut the door after Dale that
he noticed that something was wrong.
The fancy clothing that had looked so neat last night, was stained with a dark,
black liquid. And the inside of the house smelled like a meathouse, rotting flesh
and fresh blood. Dale wrinkled his nose and then stepped backwards, trying to
leave. "I don't think I should be here right now. I'll..."
Two hand lunged out form behind William's back and pulled Dale closer. "No this is
the perfect time." William knocked Dale onto the floor and into a pool of stick
red blood. Dale tried to scream but a well placed kick caused pain to explode
behind his eyes. As the fireworks started to disappear, Dale realized that he was
being bound up with ropes. He tried to scream once more, but found that a gag had
been used to scilence him. Beside him sat Lady Elizabeth, also tied in the same
manner. And beside her, Lord Weatherby.
"Well now, my friends," William almost spit the last word out, "I have invited
you all here today for a poetry reading. The last you will ever here, I'm afraid
to say. " And evil smile passed across his face and he picked something up from a
table's edge. He held it behind his back and approached Dale.
"I've found something for you. It's not very effulgent, more of a rusty metal sort
of item. But I think that my actions will speak louder that words in this case."
And with that he pulled the railroad spike from behind his back, letting the metal
glisten in the fading light. Dale's eyes focused upon the spike and before he
could do anything, William stabbed his though the shoulder. Dale screamed in
terror and pain as he watched blood pour out of his damaged shoulder.
William smiled as he pulled the spike out of his shoulder and put it up to Dale's
head. "Since you would rather have a railroad spike though your head than listen
to my poetry, I'll grant your wish. But I have one last poem to tell you. I really
hope you don't mind much. I put a lot of effort into it."
'There was a young Lord named Dale,
Who's face turned extremely pale.
The reason? He was dead.
My spike though his head
And his brains the color of shale.'
And with that last line, William shoved on the spike. A cracking noise filled his
ears and Dale tried to scream. But he found he had lost the function to do much of
anything. William grasped the end of the spike and pulled it out of his head.
Liquefied gray matter mixed with crimson blood flowed out of the wound like wine
out of a barrel. And it was wine to William. The finest vintage that he could
taste.
Lizzy looked in horror at the bloody mess that was leaking out of Dale's head and
she tried to scream. But the gag in her mouth kept her from crying out. She
struggled helplessly against the bonds as William walked nearer.
"So, you thing that my poetry is bloody awful? Well, before you jump to any
conclusions, I have some more poetry for you my dear. Composed for you almost
immediately after my first kill."
'Dear poor Lizzy
You words wound me
Didn't you think at all.
That I might come back,
And happily tack,
Your body to the alleyway wall.
Poor, simple Lizzy
You just weren't thinking
So you wounded my pride.
But don't worry dear,
Though you'll not see next year,
Your blood will fill me inside.'
An evil grin spread across William's face, as his vampire features dropped into
place. Lizzy struggled more and more but it was of no use. William pulled her head
back with one hand and held her down with the other. His fangs punctured the white
flesh on her neck, forcing their way downwards to the pumping liquid beneath. A
spray of the crimson redness filled the air, forcing it's way into the dark gullet
of the vampire. William kept his lip pressed to the gash in her throat until all
of the blood that had once ran though her veins was now settled comfortable in his
stomach.
Lord Weatherby had watched the whole thing and as William turned to him, blood
smeared all around his mouth and his sharp little fangs, he did the one thing that
he had prided himself on never doing.
He fainted.
William chuckled softly at the prone body of Weatherby as he wiped the blood away
from his mouth.
"Red the rain that falls upward from the earth. And the screams echo inside the
empty gourd. Oh what a lovely river of blood," Drusilla floated into the room,
whispering to herself. She walked up to William and wrapped her arms around him.
"My little Spike has made a mess."
"Spike?" William turned around and looked a Drusilla, "Who's Spike." Drusilla
giggled as she lowered herself to the floor. The demon's features appeared over
her's as she bared her teeth and drank from the prone Weatherby. When she lifted
her head again, it was back to normal, except for the stain of red around her
mouth.
"Sweet Spike," She gazed up at him, eyes shining with a burning gaze, "You are
my Spike." One smooth hand gestured towards the bloody spike lying on the floor.
She stood up and looked at her hands. "Maggots are crawling all over my eyelids.
Make me a poem, Spike. About the rats chewing my toes."
William walked forward and wrapped his arms around her waist. "Anything for you."
He kissed the side of her face and looked into her brown eyes. He would do
anything for his sire.
Even change his name.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Should I make a sequel where he gets rid of Cescily? Let me know.
AUTHOR: Sanguinary
COPYRIGHT: Sanguinary. That's all.
DISTRIBUTION: Ask me before you take it. I just want to know where it's
going. Thanks.
RATING: PG 13 for graphic violence and bad poetry.
CATEGORY: Horror.
SPOILERS: Fool for Love. If you haven't see it, you will be lost.
COUPLES/KEYWORDS: Spike/Drusilla, m/f
DISCLAIMER: Spike and Drusilla don't belong to me. They belong to might
Joss and his universe. So please don't sue because all I have to give you is
my collection of classic rock and 3 1/2 inch floppies. But the names (Lord
Weatherby, Lady Elizabeth and Lord Dale) were my own creation.
FEEDBACK: I love feedback. I crave feedback.
SUMMARY: Based on the conversation below from Fool for Love.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Lord Weatherby: And that's actually one of his better compositions.
Lady Elizabeth: Have you heard, they call him "William the Bloody" because of his
bloody awful poetry.
Lord Dale: It suits him. I'd rather have a railroad spike through my head than
listen to that awful stuff...
~Taken from http://www.mustreadtv.com/buffyscripts/ffl1.html~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was a clear summer night in London. Lord Dale walked over cobblestones as he
made his way towards the address of William 'the Bloody' Paracelet. Dale was
surprised that William would even talk to him after last night's comments at the
party. ~But then again,~ Dale thought, ~William has been acting strange lately.
Writing love poetry. Even if it is terrible poetry.~ Dale's thoughts turned to
Lady Elizabeth. She had pointed out William's nickname last night. ~She's a work
of art. I think I might court her, someday.~
Dale reached the address and checked his invitation once more. It read;
'You are cordially invited to the home of William Paracelet for tea on
June 4, 1800 at the hour of 10:00. Come alone or with a friend.'
The old, decrepit house where William lived looked like should have been torn down
long ago. But he had told Dale many times of how much inspiration it gave him for
his poetry. ~If that's what gives him inspiration,~ Dale though with a smirk on
his face, ~it's no wonder that his poetry is a rotten as this house.~
The old steps creaked under Dale's footsteps, warning the inhabitants of visitors
approaching. Before he could reach for the doorknob, the door swung inwards and
William voice floated out of the dark, empty space.
"Come in." The young, slightly feminine face appeared and gestured for Dale to
enter the threshold. His honey-blond curls were in disarray with bright blue eyes
beneath. It was almost immediately after William had shut the door after Dale that
he noticed that something was wrong.
The fancy clothing that had looked so neat last night, was stained with a dark,
black liquid. And the inside of the house smelled like a meathouse, rotting flesh
and fresh blood. Dale wrinkled his nose and then stepped backwards, trying to
leave. "I don't think I should be here right now. I'll..."
Two hand lunged out form behind William's back and pulled Dale closer. "No this is
the perfect time." William knocked Dale onto the floor and into a pool of stick
red blood. Dale tried to scream but a well placed kick caused pain to explode
behind his eyes. As the fireworks started to disappear, Dale realized that he was
being bound up with ropes. He tried to scream once more, but found that a gag had
been used to scilence him. Beside him sat Lady Elizabeth, also tied in the same
manner. And beside her, Lord Weatherby.
"Well now, my friends," William almost spit the last word out, "I have invited
you all here today for a poetry reading. The last you will ever here, I'm afraid
to say. " And evil smile passed across his face and he picked something up from a
table's edge. He held it behind his back and approached Dale.
"I've found something for you. It's not very effulgent, more of a rusty metal sort
of item. But I think that my actions will speak louder that words in this case."
And with that he pulled the railroad spike from behind his back, letting the metal
glisten in the fading light. Dale's eyes focused upon the spike and before he
could do anything, William stabbed his though the shoulder. Dale screamed in
terror and pain as he watched blood pour out of his damaged shoulder.
William smiled as he pulled the spike out of his shoulder and put it up to Dale's
head. "Since you would rather have a railroad spike though your head than listen
to my poetry, I'll grant your wish. But I have one last poem to tell you. I really
hope you don't mind much. I put a lot of effort into it."
'There was a young Lord named Dale,
Who's face turned extremely pale.
The reason? He was dead.
My spike though his head
And his brains the color of shale.'
And with that last line, William shoved on the spike. A cracking noise filled his
ears and Dale tried to scream. But he found he had lost the function to do much of
anything. William grasped the end of the spike and pulled it out of his head.
Liquefied gray matter mixed with crimson blood flowed out of the wound like wine
out of a barrel. And it was wine to William. The finest vintage that he could
taste.
Lizzy looked in horror at the bloody mess that was leaking out of Dale's head and
she tried to scream. But the gag in her mouth kept her from crying out. She
struggled helplessly against the bonds as William walked nearer.
"So, you thing that my poetry is bloody awful? Well, before you jump to any
conclusions, I have some more poetry for you my dear. Composed for you almost
immediately after my first kill."
'Dear poor Lizzy
You words wound me
Didn't you think at all.
That I might come back,
And happily tack,
Your body to the alleyway wall.
Poor, simple Lizzy
You just weren't thinking
So you wounded my pride.
But don't worry dear,
Though you'll not see next year,
Your blood will fill me inside.'
An evil grin spread across William's face, as his vampire features dropped into
place. Lizzy struggled more and more but it was of no use. William pulled her head
back with one hand and held her down with the other. His fangs punctured the white
flesh on her neck, forcing their way downwards to the pumping liquid beneath. A
spray of the crimson redness filled the air, forcing it's way into the dark gullet
of the vampire. William kept his lip pressed to the gash in her throat until all
of the blood that had once ran though her veins was now settled comfortable in his
stomach.
Lord Weatherby had watched the whole thing and as William turned to him, blood
smeared all around his mouth and his sharp little fangs, he did the one thing that
he had prided himself on never doing.
He fainted.
William chuckled softly at the prone body of Weatherby as he wiped the blood away
from his mouth.
"Red the rain that falls upward from the earth. And the screams echo inside the
empty gourd. Oh what a lovely river of blood," Drusilla floated into the room,
whispering to herself. She walked up to William and wrapped her arms around him.
"My little Spike has made a mess."
"Spike?" William turned around and looked a Drusilla, "Who's Spike." Drusilla
giggled as she lowered herself to the floor. The demon's features appeared over
her's as she bared her teeth and drank from the prone Weatherby. When she lifted
her head again, it was back to normal, except for the stain of red around her
mouth.
"Sweet Spike," She gazed up at him, eyes shining with a burning gaze, "You are
my Spike." One smooth hand gestured towards the bloody spike lying on the floor.
She stood up and looked at her hands. "Maggots are crawling all over my eyelids.
Make me a poem, Spike. About the rats chewing my toes."
William walked forward and wrapped his arms around her waist. "Anything for you."
He kissed the side of her face and looked into her brown eyes. He would do
anything for his sire.
Even change his name.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Should I make a sequel where he gets rid of Cescily? Let me know.