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snoggedtitle: The Visit
characters: Drusilla, OFC, mentions Spike
rating: FRT-13/PG-13
warning: In Gabrielle’s words, this story is elegant, menacing, and charmingly gruesome.
disclaimer: Creative liberties were taken by me to rewrite portions of the poem “A Visit From St. Nicholas”
word count: 569
recipient/prompt:
Recipient: Doris
Three elements you'd like included: Drusilla, historical/not set later than 1980s, but the 80s are very fine if you want to write them, being part of the vampire or human society/attending a social event
Two things you don't want: hopelessness and Drusilla's death
Range of ratings you'd like to read: any
beta: the amazing![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
velvetwhip. All other mistakes are mine.
setting: Pre-series, sometime after Spike was turned.
summary: Twas the night of their mischief and all through the house, the kittens were hunting, in search of a mouse.
Twas the night of their mischief and all through the house, the kittens were hunting, in search of a mouse.
Drusilla tapped her fingers against the gilded frame of the mirror. She giggled first at her lack of reflection and then a slow smile spread across the corners of her lips.
They were at a party tonight.
A lovely party like the ones of which her dear William spoke.
Paper and ribbons, lace and high collars, blood and innards – it was all for the taking tonight. They would revel with the finest and go home with full bellies.
The flowers were hung by their leaves and their stems, twisted like the bodies of the gallows’ hanging men.
She touched her fingers to her dark brown locks, enjoying the way they curled around the pale column of her throat. Her lady’s maid had burned her hair with metal teeth, urging it to curl and twist like the most virtuous maiden’s so that the ladies surrounding her would not know that there was a wolf in their midst.
Drusilla pursed her lips, tasting again the faint copper of her lady’s maid’s blood. Such a delicious pity to lose the girlish attendant after all the work she had done, but the crimson-slick of her arteries had been a marvelous paintbrush. Her mouth was shaped like a proper rosebud and her eyelashes were darkened with stain.
The women were nestled inside of their tea, gossiping girlish, knowing not about me.
“Such a lovely party,” Drusilla cooed, slithering up to one woman who was attired in aged ivory damask and wilted daisies. “Such lovely snakes coiled atop your head. You must be their Eve, their goddess. They worship at your feet and find you tasty apples to munch.”
Drusilla clicked her teeth together, mimicking the innocent sound she described and transforming it into something that was far more menacing.
The woman was noticeably shocked and startled, bringing a lace-gloved hand to her throat. “Madame, I am appalled. Serpents have not touched my hair this evening, I assure you. My girl excels at her craft.”
“Tsk, tsk, dearest. We mustn’t upset them with nasty old rumors. The snakes will hiss and snap at your toes.” Drusilla murmured, tapping her fingers against the gemstone that was snuggled into her new friend’s cleavage.
“I will not be spoken to in this way. I will alert our host immediately. I will…,”
The woman turned her eyes towards the rest of the room and Drusilla glanced towards the crowds as well. Not a soul in the crowd turned to notice. They were all too caught up in their own gossip and merriment, blind to what they didn’t wish to see.
Drusilla captured the woman by her thick braids, pulling her into a tight embrace. Her features morphed, her fangs dropped, her brows creased, and her eyes gleamed like the demon she was.
“Mmm…it seems the pretties wish to listen to a new Master. They wish to sing to their sister, their Medusa.”
The woman whimpered as Drusilla deftly sliced open her throat with one fingernail. She buried her head in the woman’s throat, inhaling the bouquet of copper, and iron, and life. She lapped and suckled as the blood coursed thick down her throat – like molasses and gingerbread.
’Twas the night of her mischief and all had been said. The kitten was sated, and the mouse was stone dead.
characters: Drusilla, OFC, mentions Spike
rating: FRT-13/PG-13
warning: In Gabrielle’s words, this story is elegant, menacing, and charmingly gruesome.
disclaimer: Creative liberties were taken by me to rewrite portions of the poem “A Visit From St. Nicholas”
word count: 569
recipient/prompt:
Recipient: Doris
Three elements you'd like included: Drusilla, historical/not set later than 1980s, but the 80s are very fine if you want to write them, being part of the vampire or human society/attending a social event
Two things you don't want: hopelessness and Drusilla's death
Range of ratings you'd like to read: any
beta: the amazing
velvetwhip. All other mistakes are mine. setting: Pre-series, sometime after Spike was turned.
summary: Twas the night of their mischief and all through the house, the kittens were hunting, in search of a mouse.
Twas the night of their mischief and all through the house, the kittens were hunting, in search of a mouse.
Drusilla tapped her fingers against the gilded frame of the mirror. She giggled first at her lack of reflection and then a slow smile spread across the corners of her lips.
They were at a party tonight.
A lovely party like the ones of which her dear William spoke.
Paper and ribbons, lace and high collars, blood and innards – it was all for the taking tonight. They would revel with the finest and go home with full bellies.
The flowers were hung by their leaves and their stems, twisted like the bodies of the gallows’ hanging men.
She touched her fingers to her dark brown locks, enjoying the way they curled around the pale column of her throat. Her lady’s maid had burned her hair with metal teeth, urging it to curl and twist like the most virtuous maiden’s so that the ladies surrounding her would not know that there was a wolf in their midst.
Drusilla pursed her lips, tasting again the faint copper of her lady’s maid’s blood. Such a delicious pity to lose the girlish attendant after all the work she had done, but the crimson-slick of her arteries had been a marvelous paintbrush. Her mouth was shaped like a proper rosebud and her eyelashes were darkened with stain.
The women were nestled inside of their tea, gossiping girlish, knowing not about me.
“Such a lovely party,” Drusilla cooed, slithering up to one woman who was attired in aged ivory damask and wilted daisies. “Such lovely snakes coiled atop your head. You must be their Eve, their goddess. They worship at your feet and find you tasty apples to munch.”
Drusilla clicked her teeth together, mimicking the innocent sound she described and transforming it into something that was far more menacing.
The woman was noticeably shocked and startled, bringing a lace-gloved hand to her throat. “Madame, I am appalled. Serpents have not touched my hair this evening, I assure you. My girl excels at her craft.”
“Tsk, tsk, dearest. We mustn’t upset them with nasty old rumors. The snakes will hiss and snap at your toes.” Drusilla murmured, tapping her fingers against the gemstone that was snuggled into her new friend’s cleavage.
“I will not be spoken to in this way. I will alert our host immediately. I will…,”
The woman turned her eyes towards the rest of the room and Drusilla glanced towards the crowds as well. Not a soul in the crowd turned to notice. They were all too caught up in their own gossip and merriment, blind to what they didn’t wish to see.
Drusilla captured the woman by her thick braids, pulling her into a tight embrace. Her features morphed, her fangs dropped, her brows creased, and her eyes gleamed like the demon she was.
“Mmm…it seems the pretties wish to listen to a new Master. They wish to sing to their sister, their Medusa.”
The woman whimpered as Drusilla deftly sliced open her throat with one fingernail. She buried her head in the woman’s throat, inhaling the bouquet of copper, and iron, and life. She lapped and suckled as the blood coursed thick down her throat – like molasses and gingerbread.
’Twas the night of her mischief and all had been said. The kitten was sated, and the mouse was stone dead.