14 July 1789
Paris, France
The Bastille
Thousands of the armed mob of Parisians stormed the grounds fortress, which was built to defend the eastern approach of the city of Paris from the English during the Hundred Years' War. Now, Bastille was the symbol of the despotism of the ruling monarch.
Every workmen of all trades who, mostly ill-equipped and unused to arms, boldly affronted the fire from the ramparts and seemed to mock the thunderbolts the enemy hurled at them. Their guns in their hands were equally well served. Cannons installed in the garden of the Arsenal fired at the walls.
The attackers demolished the first drawbridge and brought their guns into position against the second fort they could not fail to capture.
The riot stormed to the drawbridge leading to the interior of the fort. The people were angry by the Governor's treachery, used the offers of peace for another trap and continued to advance. They fired their weapons as they raided the fort.
French Guards, kept their heads in the hour of danger, formed a human barrier on the other side of the bridge to prevent the crowd of rioters from storming on to it. This judicious manoeuvre would save the lives of thousands who would have fallen into the fosse.
Incapacitating the guards, the rioters held them up against the walls with their arms up and over their heads. The Parisans clapped their hands and cheered with victory. A few of the soldiers posted on this platform were unaware that the fortress had surrendered, discharged their muskets whereupon the people, transported with rage. They violently threw themselves on the invaders.
Outside the arsonal, the streets were intoxicated with victory, although the inmates still locked in Bastille have been forgotten. Carried away in triumph, the rioters continued to run in and out of the fortress carrying weaponry, silver, armfuls of food, and some had eventually broken into the cell locks, releasing the prisoners.
But those priisons did not get far when they were recaptured once more but not by the guards, but of creatures much worse than humans.
A small handful of the prisoners and even rioters were captured and quickly killed. Their dispelled heads were stuck up on pointed pikes.
Many of the Parisians that had been gathered around and cheered for these innocent deaths. Their arms raised to the skies praising the Lord for moments of liberty.
Walking through the crowds of chaotic victory, Buffy appeared disinterested. Her gaze tossed around the crowds. breathing in the violence and the anarchy. She found the turmoil a breath of fresh air. She enjoyed the celebration of a revolution as much as a violent witch hunt.
The rumblings from the Underworld had led her here. There were rumours that a revolution was upon them and Buffy had insisted on seeing it for herself.
As Buffy calmly walked through the screaming rioters, her green eyes landed on a young man facing the fortress holding the musket above his head as he roared with cheer.
Coming closer to the man, Buffy's hand snatched around his neck and pulled him away from the crowds and into the darkened alleyway.
Buffy threw the man to the ground and watched as he fearfully got back up onto his feet with shaky legs. He lifted his head and stumbled back down to the wet and dirty ground at the sight of Buffy's ghastly demonic face. The man quickly pointed the musket at Buffy. He cocked back the hammer and his finger hovered over the trigger.
"Qui êtes vous? Je te demande de te déclarer, démone (Who are you? I demand for you to state yourself, demon)!" He shouted in Buffy's face. His voice cracked with terrified fear.
Tilting her head slightly to the side, Buffy remained unbothered by the barrel of a musket pointing at her. In fact, Buffy rather enjoyed the dramatics.
Grabbed the barrel of the musket and tore it away from the man's hands. Buffy tossed the musket away and clenched her hand tightly around the man's throat, lifting him up to his feet.
"Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité (Liberty, Equality, Fraternity)." Buffy taunted the young man, flashing her fangs before roughly pulling her latest victim close and impaled her fangs into his neck.
A few minutes later, Buffy stepped out of the alleyway leaving the body on the dirty ground for someone else to clean up. She used the handkerchief to wipe the corners of her mouth before stuffing the embroidered piece of cloth back into a pouch.
She tossed her eyes around, quickly taking in her surroundings.
Mid-step, Buffy paused noticing a group of haggard looking men sitting together on a piece of the fortress' rubble. They had a bottle of alcohol in their hands. Taking long swigs of the stinging drink, the men continued to catcall everyone that passed them.
Growing increasingly interested in the uncouth men, Buffy quickly planned what she would have to do to draw out each man from the friend group without either one of them taking notice of it.
Distracted in her mind, Buffy failed to notice the solid mass standing right in her path.
Bumping into the solid figure, Buffy's head snapped to the man's face, startled.
"Pardon me, madam." Buffy felt the depth of his voice tingle in her chest.
Running her eyes over the man, Buffy found him to be quite handsome despite his obvious low social status. Behind his dark chocolate brown eyes that wore the mask of soulfulness, Buffy easily recognised something much more nefarious. His hair was a dark brown colour, and with the flickering fires set in the background, Buffy could see small highlights of a lighter brown in his long hair that was tied back with a ribbon.
She quickly gathered that he was not human because she was unable to hear his heart beating. Vampire like herself, Buffy presumed.
His hands were behind his back, accentuating his broad shoulders and muscular arms and chest. The man wore a dark reddish-brown coat with a matching waistcoat. The height of the collar and the narrowness of the sleeves, cuffs, and coat front were not as fine compared to his station's mannerisms. He wore a pair of black breeches with black leather riding boots with mud on them.
Rolling her eyes up to his face, Buffy cocked his chin upward, boasting her obvious class compared to his seemingly boorish man. "You should mind where you are walking, sir," snootily said as Buffy moved past him.
The man followed her with his eyes as a smirk adorned his face. "If I'm not mistaken, lass, ye came into my path," said the man with a thick Irish accent.
Buffy stalled mid-step and faced the strange man once more. She ran her eyes over him and found herself growing an increasing dislike of the man she had bumped into.
Sitting back on the heel of her shoes. "You are quite presumptuous for someone of your station. I'd mind myself if I were you."
The man chuckled, amused by the petite blondes superiority. "Yer 'subtle' threats stand idle but yer fireriness amuses me, lass."
Buffy's green eyes grew dark with anger, finding this man offensive. "Do you not know who I am?"
Rolling his gaze over her, with a look of desire, the man's smile widened. "Am I supposed to?"
Buffy stared up at the handsome man with discontempt.
The man smirked. "I don't rightly care who ye are. Ye walked into me and t'at was rude."
Narrowly eyeing the seemingly charming but menacing man, Buffy caught a whiffing scent of deceit surrounding him, she scoffed. "Is this display of your lack of propriety supposed to impress me?"
"Impress?" The man shook his head. "No, no, t'at wasn't my intention."
"Then this is some sort of male performance to show your dominance as the superior sex? That is pathetic, Mr…?"
The man reached for Buffy's hand at her side. "Forgive me. I believe t'at we've gotten off on the wrong footin'. By yer lack of heartbeat, I know ye're not human and I assume t'at ye're like me—a vampire. By t'a way ye handled t'at lad over t'ere," his eyes shifted to the alley, "I'd presume t'at ye're a powerful vampire at t'at." The man bowed his head and looked at Buffy. "Perhaps, I can mend t'is bridge by introducin' myself. I'm Angelus."
Buffy looked at him closely. Her expression remained neutral, though she has heard of Angelus, the one with the angelic face. He was a name that was being constantly floated around in their hellish circle of peers. Angelus was making quite a name for himself for the last thirty years. Massacres in every town that he stepped into across Europe, earning himself the nickname, the Scourge of Europe.
"Îngerul meu negru (My black angel),"
The sound of her sire's smooth voice broke through between the roaring rioters and the thickening tension between Buffy and Angelus.
Buffy took notice of the darkening look swooping across Angelus' face as Dracula came closer to them.
Dracula protectively stood beside his Childe. He knew exactly who this vampire she was conversing with. His reputation was one without decorum. Angelus was a wreckloose and unpredictable beast that had certainly excited the Master, the leader of the Order of Aurelius, but not quite enough to earn the nod of approval from the Devil himself.
"Vlad t'a Impaler," the smile of Angelus' face widened. "Is it true t'at ye used stick yer victims heads on pikes outside of yer castle?"
Dracula ran his gaze over Angelus finding him absolutely foul for a demon. He looked positively filthy in his unfashionable clothing and his lack of manners were nothing to be desire as well. Unkempt and the way his dark eyes ran over his Childe, Dracula has had enough with this inferior demon.
"Angelus, I last heard that you were travelling with your sire in Prussia," said Dracula.
Angelus shrugged. "I took a likin' to Vienna. I heard t'a most… interestin' music t'ere. Have ye heard of a lad named, Mozart?" The vampire's dark gaze landed on Buffy.
A small smile hinted across her face, but she remained silent.
"Yes, you made quite the stir," said Dracula.
Chuckling, Angelus agreed. "Aye, t'a Beast had staged a wonderful little massacre for me but t'en t'a Svea of Priestesses had to come and take t'a enjoyment out of my stay. But I was made a handsome offer to kill t'ose little pests, but I rightly declined." Angelus looked at Buffy as she quietly listened to him, still forming a firm opinion of this seemingly capricious man.
"I heard a voice in t'a distance," Angelus continued. He stepped closer to Buffy, now ignoring Dracula's presence altogether. "It was small and breathless. It whispered, 'Paris… Paris…' I am only but a servant to my inner voice. I just knew I had to come here. I had to come here and meet ye, I suspect."
A slow smile crossed Buffy's mouth, seemingly falling for the man in front of her. "I surmise that this... display of remarkable charm you appear to have typically affects the fairer sex?"
Angelus smiled, accepting his defeat. "A time or two, but apparently not every lass."
"No, no, sir, I am not easily charmed." Buffy hadn't meant to sound so flirtatious—especially in front of her Sire and her most current lover.
"Count Dracula." Angelus' Sire and the Master's most favourite daughter of the Order of Aurelius, Darla appeared behind Angelus walking up to them.
Darla, a beautiful woman with an unassuming and innocent face. She was capable of great cruelty, which had given her status in the Master's Order of Aurelius. Unlike her Childe, Darla had much more fashion sense, grace, and sophistication. On most occasions, Darla counted herself superior to most company she encountered.
Darla's bright blue eyes landed on Buffy standing beside Dracula. Showing the vampiress the utmost respect, although she had a strong dislike for the blonde, Darla curtsied. "Lady Elizabeth, it is an honour."
Buffy eyed the vampiress carefully. She was well aware of the many rivalries and enemies she had created over the years, Buffy had only heard of Darla because of her Childe.
"Charmed, I'm sure." Buffy haughtily said, deciding quickly that she rather disliked Angelus' sire. In fact, she disliked the vampiress quite a lot.
The feelings of animosity were mutually felt. Darla found Buffy to be too self-important for a vampire her age—despite being only a few years difference.
But not even Darla could deny that Buffy's status in their Underworld society was rather honourable.
It was known that Lucifer himself had taken an interest in the vampiress. Her artistry for death was renowned and thought to be poetic. Buffy's entitlement only grew after she had killed her second Vampire Slayer. It was said, at the end of the grueling months of torture, the Vampire Slayer begged Buffy to end her agony—to kill her. Buffy disemboweled the deeply religious Vampire Slayer in the center of the City of Cologne in Prussia outside of the Cologne Cathedral.
"Are you in Paris for this madness?" asked Darla, gesturing to the chaos around them.
"I'm afraid not," said Dracula, taking Buffy's hand into his own. "Demonul meu al întunericului (my demon of darkness) is on the hunt."
Angelus turned his gaze to Buffy wondering just what this fine woman was hunting. He tossed his eyes to the people around them wondering if perhaps it was one of them.
"T'ere's not t'at much huntin' to be had in t'is chaos," said Angelus.
A smile danced across Buffy's face. "It was never stated that I was hunting here."
"A puzzle," Angelus found himself drawn to the beautiful vampiress. "I do like a puzzle to solve."
Jealous of the budding attraction between Angelus and Buffy, Darla snaked a hand around Angelus' elbow, marking her claim to the beastly but handsome demon.
"We should go. It will be light soon, prințesa mea întunecată (my dark princess)." Dracula said, patting Buffy's hand, turning her attention.
"Yes, you're quite right. Enjoy Paris." Buffy tossed Darla and Angelus a soft half-smile wondering if they knew that the Vampire Slayer was here.
With his dark eyes, Angelus followed Buffy and Dracula as they began to walk away, heading straight into the chaos of the rioting Parisians.
His eyes were glued to Buffy's back, wanting her to look back at him. He felt Darla's glaring eyes on him, but he paid no mind to her, only wanting the acknowledgement from the beautiful green-eyed vampiress.
"Who was t'at?" asked Angelus.
Darla stepped up to Angelus, looking over his shoulder to the crowd. "That was Vlad Țepeș III of Wal—"
"—No. The pretty little English lass he was wi'."
"Oh," Darla frowned, rolling her eyes with annoyance. "That was Lady Elizabeth or Quod Spiritus Sanctus (The Beautiful Demon). She's a high nosed demon. Lady Elizabeth thinks she's superior because Count Dracula is her sire, she killed a few Slayers, and Satan noticed her once."
"T'at is quite a list of accomplishments," said Angelus, never removing his gaze from Buffy.
"Accomplishments?—Pfft. Lady Elizabeth was just lucky. Any demon can kill a Slayer."
"Ye haven't," Angelus fired back.
Darla rolled her eyes and folded her arms across her chest, jealous of Angelus' obvious fascination with the infamous vampiress.
"I find myself intrigued by this… little English lass."
"She thinks you are inferior compared to her." Darla looked at him. "Lady Elizabeth thinks everyone that isn't her is inferior."
Angelus felt optimistic. He was positive in the connection he had felt with Buffy. There was something there but his curiosity went hand in hand with his sexual desires for the beautiful demon.
The dancing smile tugging at Angelus' face slowly fell away as Buffy and Dracula disappeared into the crowds of people. Not once did Buffy make a single attempt to look back at him. Angelus found himself annoyed, attracted, and desperate for revenge. He did not know who this woman thought that she was but her disrespect sent him into a fury. No woman had ever treated him in such a way.
