Title: Slayergate 2/?
Author: Lora Darcy
Email: lora_darcy@yahoo.com
Feedback: Please. The more reviews I get, the better! I have millions of ideas swirling in my head and any comments would be useful in sorting them all out.
Summary: The Nixon Administration. Throw in vampires. Add a slayer. Hysterical chaos ensues!
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Concept is my own idea. All Nixon staff members were/are real people and no offense is intended. Reeves and Woodward/Bernstein are the authors of the books that inspired this story. Vampire stuff belong to Joss Whedon.
Note: Please note that this chapter takes place prior to the events in Chapter One.
NEW: This was also briefly revised on June 27, 2003 with some minor changes. New chapter should be up by the end of the week. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed! If anyone has any particular comments, plot-devices, historical events, etc that they want incorporated into this fic, please let me know.
Chapter Two: Woodstock VisionScene: New York
Time: August, 1969"Spikey…" Drusilla murmured, running her hands through the sleeping Spike's nearly shoulder-length dirty blonde hair. "Wakey, wakey my Spikey…"
"What is it pet?" Spike muttered, groggily. He was tired. The day before the vampires had made an appearance at Woodstock. He'd fed off of one of those flower people and now only remembered starring at his hand for what must have been hours. William the Bloody vaguely recalled his girlfriend, Drusilla, drinking from another drugged-out hippie. Hours later the two vampires had made their way back to Spike's current vehicle, a Volkswagen bus. After what they'd done together, he was surprised Drusilla hadn't slept longer. Their pleasures of the night before had certainly left him drained. "Daddy's listening…" He mumbled, turning towards his undead girlfriend. It looked like he would have to get up.
"I forgot to tell you," Drusilla said, anxiously wringing her hands. "I forgot to tell my darling boy everything." She began to run her fingers across her current apparel- a peasant top and long patchwork skirt. "Look at all the patterns." Her fingers lovingly traced over each quilted square of her skirt. "Not one is the same… Miss Edith loves their colors. Always bright, always dancing… I want to dance." The vampire looked over at her shaggy-haired lover, grinning. "Let's go back to Spain. I want to salsa again." Drusilla began to snap her fingers, moving her arms to her rhythm. "Olé!"
William the Bloody sat up from the floor. "We'll go back to Spain soon, pet," Spike promised, gently taking Drusilla's hands in his own. "But what did you forget to tell me?" Drusilla continued to dance to the music in her head, seemingly ignoring her lover. "Did you have a vision Dru? Talk to me, talk to Spike…"
"Can I have another yummy hippie today Spike?" The vampire licked her lips. "He was so tasty… And I saw such things…"
"That's right love, tell me about your visions…"
"The president wants us. He wants us to kill… Grrr… There will be blood everywhere, mayhem, murder…. It will be so much fun…"
Spike was baffled. "You don't mean that sodding Nixon bloke, do you? 'Cause he's always looked like a pansy to me and I don't fancy spending any time with him."
Drusilla nodded slowly. "We must go… go to Washington." She smiled up at William the Bloody. "I've always wanted to visit the White House..."
"Bloody hell…" Spike sighed. He hoped Drusilla's vision was genuine. Just a few days ago she'd fed off of a completely wasted Hendrix groupie. She spent the next few hours spouting complete nonsense. Nonsense that was even crazier than normal. Thought all her dollies were melting, that Spike himself had grown warts, and that they had somehow traveled to Antarctica. And this president of United States nonsense sounded similar. During her drug encounter Drusilla had sworn it was necessary for them to steal aboard Apollo 11 and fly to the moon. That wasn't bloody likely. Spike didn't like the idea floating around inside of a small, claustrophobic-inducing space shuttle. He was in a good place physically. A place where the sodding sun in outer space hadn't turned him into a pile of ashes. Besides, the spaceship had already made its famous moon landing, proving that Drusilla's feeding had made her talk even more deranged than usual. Now, her new Nixon talked seemed equally batty. Spike really didn't want to bother with the President idea if it was just crazy talk. "Kitten, are you sure? Do we really need to take a trip to see that bleeding Dick git?"
Drusilla nodded again. "The capitol is just right for us. It needs us."
Spike shrugged his shoulders. "Fine. Let's go to Washington. I was getting tired of this whole hippie bit. All too smelly for me. Couldn't those guys take a shower once in a while?" He leaned over and kissed Drusilla's neck. "Princess, let's go feck up politics." If they grew bored with the D.C. idea they could always go back to Spain. The bullfights were always deliciously messy in the fall.