And the last of episode one's "Don't spoil Doctor Who for myself by going on Twitter" drabbles. Obviously all three were written pretty fast. This one's based on Florence and the Machine's 'Dog Days Are Over'. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Not mine.

She was running from the slayers, and they were gaining on her. Then, suddenly, from nowhere, a car pulled up – "Get in!" – and she was speeding away in the company of a blonde girl she'd never seen before, a slightly terrified grin on her face as she manoeuvred the car along winding country roads. Ingrid couldn't help grinning back, but then the car broke down and the slayers were close again…

Ingrid sat up in her coffin, thankful that she – unlike her brother – had been blessed with the brains to realise that coffins could be slept in whether or not the lid was actually on them. She groped around for the goblet she kept close at hand for such occasions as these, filling it from the bottle she'd swiped from the Blood Cellar the night before. Her hands definitely weren't shaking as she replaced the cork. She barely took a sip, the taste suddenly unpalatable, not as rich or sweet as it had once been.

She made her way quietly to the kitchen, tipping the blood down the sink and rinsing the goblet. Obviously something was wrong with the blood; the cork had interfered with the taste or something. There was nothing wrong with her, she certainly wasn't frightened and she didn't feel the slightest bit sick.
"Couldn't sleep again?" She wasn't even surprised to see the half-fang standing in the doorway wearing a sympathetic expression.
"You too." This wasn't the first such meeting they'd had. Erin shrugged; she was newly bitten, she didn't have to be completely adjusted yet. She was allowed to be afraid. Ingrid didn't have much time to envy her that freedom, though, as the half-fang spoke again.
"I thought maybe Mean Girls tonight. Want to join me? I think you'll like it."

They'd both been having trouble sleeping since Erin had saved her unlife and they'd both nearly died at the hands of the slayers, and the blonde had taken to sneaking into the library and commandeering the TV they watched educational videos on during the day for midnight movie marathons with Ingrid. The films were stereotypically girly, and limited to what the school library had to offer, but - despite the abundance of pink packaging they both pulled faces at - Ingrid was sort of enjoying the overwhelming femininity of it all. She'd spent her unlife playing second fiddle to men; it was nice to curl up with a female friend – a friend, a rarity in itself – and enjoy something that didn't make her want to apologise for her own anatomy.
"You've never met a girl as mean as me." Erin laughed and grabbed her hand, pulling her up the stairs to the library. Ingrid did like it, actually.

Months later, when Erin was a breather again, and an ex-slayer, and a bewildering range of treachery had taken place, she was walking through the courtyard on her way to nowhere in particular. It was strange, the tension in the Dracula household, and even Vlad was barely talking to her. He hadn't so much as glanced up when she'd pointed out the flyer for the midnight market being held on the other side of town that night. Ingrid was nowhere to be seen, as usual, and in the end Erin had decided to risk a short walk to the nearest park and back.

She was somewhat taken aback to see her own car start up, the moment she stepped through the school gates, and lurch forward. Ingrid leant out of the window and grinned at her, blasting the horn. "Get in, loser, we're going shopping." Erin couldn't suppress her laughter, and it felt so good to laugh after all the oppressive tension of the last few weeks.
"Who even taught you to drive?"
"Taught me?" Ingrid confirmed her worst fears. "I'm Ingrid Dracula, Princess of Darkness. How hard could it be?" The blonde girl's face was a picture.
"Shove over. I'll drive."