Episode Two: Rock All Night
Chapter Two: Tonight's Game Plan
Fingers slipped over the hard covers of a well-packed, well-organized shelf. Exotic names and complicated titles flooded like tasty wine. As we pull away, Darla leaves sight of the shelf too but lets her hand placed next to the volumes, making only her head do a turn, all as though she has just been caught.
Darla: You have... a refined choice for the exotic my friend. Ever heard of the Kokarg? It's a lost art of torture. The victims were so viciously clawed, those who were so unlucky to find the remains said the devil itself afflicted its wrath upon them.
(A glint flickered in her eyes, narrowing them teasingly, then cornered a grin.)
Darla: Well the devil's my bitch. Buckle up!
Her snarl resonated in the posh apartment, the sound banging against the Chi dynasty artefacts and the Roman Empire swords. A rope was tensed to its near limit from the ceiling to his throat. The mid-thirty's man choked badly, his toes searching desperately for the ground. He found a chair earlier but tipped it lightly as he was hung too high to attain it successfully which gave him little if not any air. The chair had one broken leg and wobbled sporadically.
Darla: Hurry, hurry, little fellow. Oop! Time's up!
She held the chair with one hand and smashed it with a kick. Another leg broke; two remained.
Darla: So... Bob, what are we gonna do? Anyway, who- I dare ask again little fellow- who sent those men after us? The hunters. (…) WHO SENT THEM?!!
(He barely could breathe and spoke to her still.)
Bob: I-- Please!!! Stop--
Another leg cracked under her foot. The chair fell but Bob caught it with his feet and elevated himself higher than before. He could speak with more ease now.
Darla: Ahh... You annoying retard!
Bob: Please! I have a boy--
Darla: Balance is key, Bob! Balance is key!
Bob: (Sobbing) My wife is pregnant--
Darla: Ok so bye, I'll check up on you tomorrow, okay?
Bob: If-- If I tell you... will you let me go?
Darla: (Screaming, getting impatient) If you tell me, yes!!
(His body wavered to keep equilibrium.)
Bob: Arthur! Arthur Addams!!
Darla: There you go, little man. That wasn't--
The chair fell down and he fell to be hung to his death, but what none knew about dear old Bob is that he had freakishly fragile bones. His neck broke before he died of choking. Her eyes widened to marble-size. She seemed quite surprised by the sudden death and snorted it out.
Darla: Ah!!
A moment passed as she stood still, but not enough to make one count to three. All she did was shrug unkindly before she spun her heels and marched to the door.
A shadowy figure of king-size proportion waited patiently by the door like a stone soldier. He jerked out of his trance when she quickly turned from the door into the corridor. We face them with her leading and him keeping up heavily behind. As we walk backward, they head as if for us. Darla schemes out loud.
Darla: Arthur Addams. My, my! An investor gone against me. He better have invested in a comfy coffin. Anyhow, it's all the Ball I think about so better clear it out before getting into something else.
She reached for a golden wallet, very feminine, very Madame. The design was much fitting with her garments for the night. All in good taste, her hair rose in the hair with more elegance than the Queen could scrape up. Darla was divine. Every time, all the time.
The unusual weight of the wallet in her hand didn't bother her at first since she never stopped talking. All the while of the one-sided conversation, her entire being seemed dragged by her mad pace.
Darla: I know a grand tailor by the 11th Avenue, he'll fix you up in--
Her mad pace was a thing of the past. Actually, she stood stagnant, fixating the inside of her billfold.
Darla: What the--
o o o
"--hell!!!"
His accent was something everyone recognized. The boldness of it all, the raw rudeness it showed. The couple they were walked arm in arm, but the burning flesh beneath their clothes longed for it to be touched, licked and bitten. Their savage little pleasures left unsatisfied. He held a bundle of cash in his hands.
Spike: "Missy gone soft?" Missy gone cheap, more bloody likely! Where does she put all the rest? Up her tight little--
Drusilla: Paper goods are in no need of us tonight, raging cub. Vice versa! I know where we can go-o-o.
Spike: You know how I like to test them prostitutes, love. Specially the English ones.
Drusilla: Shush!!! You test them!?!
Spike: In the way we both like it. The way where hearts and kidneys go flying.
Drusilla: Ever present pestilence ravaging the young maidens. Like death, with his scythe of death, like a ripper. You're a ripper!
While she remained drown into him, he seemed distraught by the housing he and her where passing by.
Spike: I rip less than I spike.
As he said so with an absent mind, his body went limp and he glided off her grip, leaving her behind like a silly little lost girl. The vampire was called to the house like a sailor to sirens.
Spike: That's-- There she is.
(Dru built up a fast irritation that none could have been able to put her out of.)
Drusilla: Leave her be!
Spike: It's not like I can, pet.
She snapped him out of his state with a slap which echoed all the way to Denmark. He gained back his senses by jolting tall after the blow he received.
Drusilla: I'm sorry-y-y!!!
She threw herself on him to caress his face. So tangled into one another, their body heat - though very low- melted into one.
Spike: I guess I've had a lifetime to have her... Now it's dead. I have a new life and you're it. Cecily was for William. Spike's for--
Drusilla: Druzy?
He acknowledged with a warm smile. Before they'd drown into their eyes, he'd ask...
Spike: Where are we going?
Drusilla: I can keep my bag o' tricks to me, puppet.
Spike: Hmm... (???)
Drusilla: Meaning it's a surprise, jeez.
It was a regular, run of the mill tone, which could have fooled her best critic; Dru had talked like a normal woman for once, disorienting Spike to a point he was startled when she pulled him off somewhere.
o o o
We're fixed on huge letters of a sign that read: Asylum. We go down and fix the entrance doors which are right under the sign, and we remain there for a good second or two without anything abnormal going down. As we hear an electric beat with a gothic touch from somewhere, a slowed-down Drusilla and Spike come each side of the screen to walk away from us to the building's archway. As they're getting closer, flashes of them into each other's arms from minutes ago come and go and appear more frequently as their dialogue is spoken.
Spike: So this is our dance floor tonight?
Drusilla: (Looks somewhere off behind her to then comeback into him.) All the wackos are in there.
Spike: (He looks at Dru fondly) Yeah, but some broke out.
Drusilla: (She finds his retort questionable) Hmm? Saying the nasty. Implying I'm crazy.
Spike: Bloody right... crazy in love. With a psycho, no less.
Drusilla: We pair well, don't we, striker?
... she said before giving him a savage French kiss.