Disclaimers: None of these characters belong to me. I'm just borrowing
them. Please don't sue. [squeaks!]
Pairing: Dru/S/Aus/Da
Summary: Dru muses. Short little ficlet. "She remembers when feeding was like that, when it was a delicious dance. When all that mattered was the flow of crimson, and the pretty patterns that it made on her lovers' skin."
Distribution: Anybody who wants can have. But they have to ask first, and nicely too. (webmistress@blackroses.com.kg)
SAVE FOR FAMILY
//
She wonders what she's doing here, and why the tablecloths are faded black. She lets her fingers dance on the fabric, carving out invisible patterns with her nails, enjoying how the material gathers under her fingertips and how sometimes it catches and tears, if she presses too hard.
She likes to be under control.
She supposes that it doesn't seem likely, but it's them who are fooled in the end. They whisper and they tell her that she's crazy, that she's a lunatic, yet she knows and understands deeper and more completely than anyone. She arches her back a little, listening to the rustle of the taffeta of her dress, and smiles.
She's alone here, save for the quiet bunch in the other corner, a family of four complete with over-weight husband and wailing infant. They love each other to pieces, she knows, and she hates them and loves them all at once, because she wants to be them.
She remembers when her family was her sisters and father and mother, when her family was whole.
(My mummy used to eat lemons... raw. She like the way how they made her mouth tingle.)
And she remembers after that, when it all fell apart, her second family, the one they created for themselves to protect themselves from the blackness.
She stands suddenly, her lip quivering, and leaves, clutching the tiny figure that is Miss Edith close to her bosom to protect her from the cold. And she watches, in the shadows, always in the shadows, as a vampire takes a victim into an alley to feed.
Her own breath quickens. She remembers when feeding was like that, when it was a delicious dance. When all that mattered was the flow of crimson, and the pretty patterns that it made on her lovers' skin. Today she has no one. Today there is no one wise or strong enough to understand or satisfy her, not when her father and childe still exist.
And she wonders why they haven't come back to her.
Did they no longer love her? Was she a bad girl? Did she push them too hard?
Her skirt swishes softly as she moves forward. Angelus? She whispers, her voice gently caressing the night, twisting and spiraling through time. He turns toward her. It isn't him.
She had known, of course. She sees, and she knows he won't ever, ever, come back. But sometimes she likes to fool herself, to let herself be fooled just for the thrill of it, just so her body can tingle the way that it does when her excitement is peaked.
He doesn't see her.
Maybe she's not here. She smiles, wishing herself away with her mind. With her mind she can pretend that she's safe, tangled between her daddy and her childe, and even grandmummy. With her mind she can pretend that they never left, and that she belongs somewhere.
Snow falls gently across her brow and she grins. I'm cold, Spike, she whispers, but the words don't form at her throat, and she pretends that he's here, and that they're snug in each other's embrace.
And in her mind, she's safe.
//end.
Pairing: Dru/S/Aus/Da
Summary: Dru muses. Short little ficlet. "She remembers when feeding was like that, when it was a delicious dance. When all that mattered was the flow of crimson, and the pretty patterns that it made on her lovers' skin."
Distribution: Anybody who wants can have. But they have to ask first, and nicely too. (webmistress@blackroses.com.kg)
SAVE FOR FAMILY
//
She wonders what she's doing here, and why the tablecloths are faded black. She lets her fingers dance on the fabric, carving out invisible patterns with her nails, enjoying how the material gathers under her fingertips and how sometimes it catches and tears, if she presses too hard.
She likes to be under control.
She supposes that it doesn't seem likely, but it's them who are fooled in the end. They whisper and they tell her that she's crazy, that she's a lunatic, yet she knows and understands deeper and more completely than anyone. She arches her back a little, listening to the rustle of the taffeta of her dress, and smiles.
She's alone here, save for the quiet bunch in the other corner, a family of four complete with over-weight husband and wailing infant. They love each other to pieces, she knows, and she hates them and loves them all at once, because she wants to be them.
She remembers when her family was her sisters and father and mother, when her family was whole.
(My mummy used to eat lemons... raw. She like the way how they made her mouth tingle.)
And she remembers after that, when it all fell apart, her second family, the one they created for themselves to protect themselves from the blackness.
She stands suddenly, her lip quivering, and leaves, clutching the tiny figure that is Miss Edith close to her bosom to protect her from the cold. And she watches, in the shadows, always in the shadows, as a vampire takes a victim into an alley to feed.
Her own breath quickens. She remembers when feeding was like that, when it was a delicious dance. When all that mattered was the flow of crimson, and the pretty patterns that it made on her lovers' skin. Today she has no one. Today there is no one wise or strong enough to understand or satisfy her, not when her father and childe still exist.
And she wonders why they haven't come back to her.
Did they no longer love her? Was she a bad girl? Did she push them too hard?
Her skirt swishes softly as she moves forward. Angelus? She whispers, her voice gently caressing the night, twisting and spiraling through time. He turns toward her. It isn't him.
She had known, of course. She sees, and she knows he won't ever, ever, come back. But sometimes she likes to fool herself, to let herself be fooled just for the thrill of it, just so her body can tingle the way that it does when her excitement is peaked.
He doesn't see her.
Maybe she's not here. She smiles, wishing herself away with her mind. With her mind she can pretend that she's safe, tangled between her daddy and her childe, and even grandmummy. With her mind she can pretend that they never left, and that she belongs somewhere.
Snow falls gently across her brow and she grins. I'm cold, Spike, she whispers, but the words don't form at her throat, and she pretends that he's here, and that they're snug in each other's embrace.
And in her mind, she's safe.
//end.
