The Vampire as Metaphor...from the (Semi) Complete Works of William Soames Walthrop...
PG 13
Summary: A lost work of one William Soames Walthrop (...aka Spike) as it was delivered at one of Cicely Addams' house parties, shortly before Will's demise. See the reference to it in "Drusilla"...
Disclaimer: All BTVS characters remain the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and all other owner/creators of the Buffy the Vampire Slayer series...
Contributions to the recovery of the lost works of England's third worst poet are always welcomed...
Part XXI…
"You know your choice for my career was rather fortuitous, Olive…" Vladimir noted as he and she clambered along the track gorge he'd selected as their assignment. He quite diligently searching for any possible remains… "I've always felt my talents, given my Unliving condition precludes me from taking my proper role in politics or the military, lay in writing and possibly, journalism."
"Really…" she replied, rolling eyes.
"Just a lucky choice on my part. But not unusual for Europeans traveling about this god-and-gods-forsaken land." She groaned as her foot turned on a rock.
"You're not hurt?" Vladimir had come over, genuine concern in his voice surprising her.
"Of course not…Hmmn…" she felt the twinge. "Just for a second, let me shake it out."
"You ought to keep to the more level grade, my boots are more suited."
"I'm all right…It's not as if I'm at risk of a broken ankle like some mere human."
"Well, no need for you to be hurt." He noted.
"Thanks, I'm fine…It's already healed." she frowned.
I see what you're doing…She frowned again. And though, yes, that Dracule charm is real…I was immune to aristocrats' charm even when a frail human. Show a little kindness to some poor girl and next she's your mistress or call or merely the whore you keep handy when milady wife bores you.
"Very well…" he shrugged. "Just be careful…There is wood about here." Diffidently… "So, we've met the Slayer…"
"Had a quick glimpse…Hard to say we've met her per se."
"What's your opinion of her? As a former Watcher…?" careful regard.
Know about that, do you? She eyed him.
"I see you've delved into my background. How did you find that out? Only Heinrich knows about that."
"I asked him about you…I like to know about those I work with and entrust my Unlife to…" shrug. "He was very eager to speak of your background, I think he takes great pride in you. Naturally he entrusted that information to me in the strictest confidence, as a member of the Dracule."
"Heinrich couldn't resist showing off…I believe that." Olive, dryly. "I couldn't say as to her on such brief acquaintance but her reputation precedes itself, as you know."
"Hmmn…Indeed. Are they all so small these days? The last I briefly tousled with was quite the Amazonian I'd expected, from Scandinavia, I believe. Not that I would underestimate our current miss."
"Don't…That would be wise. Especially given I heard how you lost and had to make a speedy retreat from that other one." Cool smile. "Kudos on surviving, though. Like a true Dracule, you always come back…"
Though perhaps only after several years in hiding, quaking in your crypt…
"She was tres formidable…I was lucky to escape, I confess." Smile, shrug. "I assure you I do not underestimate Slayers."
Slight if reluctant grin…Damn…He does do the self-depreciation well… "'Mrs. Potter'? Do you suppose that's real? Why would a Slayer go and do such a fool thing as acquire a husband? A gull, perhaps, to make us think he's valuable?"
"She's very fond of him…" Vladimir stated. "Whatever her reasons…And I should enquire of dear Marie if she knows more about them…She's enamored of him, poor girl."
"Seriously?" Olive had paused and stared at him. "That could be incredibly useful, if true. But, and forgive my questioning of your abilities, Vladimir…How could you be sure of that?"
"I know women, dear Olive. And when one is in love…" he eyed her archly.
"Really? Another Dracule trait? A direct line to a woman's heart?" sneeringly.
"Yes, leavened by experience…" he regarded her seriously. "But we males of House Dracule prefer to believe we simply understand women and their desires better, perhaps because we are sincerely interested in and appreciative of, them." Slight smile.
"I see…" sidelong glance, slight coy smile. "And my heart? What does it speak to you?"
"You are no longer a woman, dear Olive. And your current heart, is cold." Calm stare.
She regarded him…Just a bit…
Despairing…No, certainly not…Foolish…
"Perhaps…Though if I'm so much more sensible…" she paused, giving an off-hand, attempted casual wave of gloved hand. "Silliness…But this is important. If she cares for that little man, she's vulnerable. We can use him."
"Certainly…When the time is right." He nodded. "Let me take a look up the slope here…I think I may have spied something…" he headed off up the gorge slope, shoes crunching on gravel.
Cold? Perhaps. But not dead, not dead…Olive thought, watching him. I still love, in my way.
Though even for my sire there must be limits based on practicalities…Which, apart from your potential usefulness, Vladimir…Is why you're still Undead and not ashes at my feet.
Was there ever…Anyone? She pondered, trying to think back. Yes, our leader…I loved him…I risked and lost my life for him.
Not that he lost any sleep over my demise from what those of my old comrades I killed told me before I killed them for sport and training.
And your grandfather, she looked up the slope to Vladimir as he peered about…He loves…So much the fool, the cursed fool was willing to give up his glorious Unlife, his incredible powers, his very Immortality, to save his trapped, cursed wife.
Our hearts don't die…Though they may transform…
I wonder…She looked over to the opposite side of the track gorge…Potter and Elisabeth having moved ahead as had Harris and Ana along the track…Vladimir deliberately slowing their pace to fall behind.
Has her heart likewise transformed? Cooled? Since she became the Slayer? She must know she's doomed that little man in taking him…
["Cicely?!" William paused in his reading at her ashy face as she rose suddenly. "I need some air…" she gasped out, fleeing the room…
Oh God…Oh God…Oh God…she gasped hurrying out, various guests turning after her in astonishment.
At last…Time to end this little venture into social experiment…Goodman Jack noted to himself, rising…
"What ya think Smike?" footman Squeers eyed his colleague as they watched the hubbub in the room from their position along the wall, standing the ready. "Our little Miss been fishin' in the lake? Maybe with her little poet?" "Shedup, ya fool." Smike hissed. "Talk like that'll get yer arse canned for sure."
Oh…God…Cicely, outside on the street before the family townhouse, breathing desperately, shuddering in the evening air. What are you trying to tell me?]
…