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ladyslvr at 10:49pm on 21/07/2004
ladyslvr at 10:49pm on 21/07/2004This is not one the challenge ficlets, per se.
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kerravonsen did challenge me to write it, over a year ago at the TP Dinner Morning After. It's been started and abandoned a dozen times since. When the ficlet meme started, I couldn't help but think of this one first.
Finally, it's done. At least, the first draft is. Comments, as always, welcomed.
Title: Light Such A Candle
Fandom: Buffy/Highlander crossover. More specifically: Drusilla, Spike, and an HL universe OC.
Rating: PG. Maybe PG-13.
Spoilers: None
Summary: Drusilla's birthday present is long for this world.
Disclaimer: The OC is mine unless you want to borrow him. Dru, Spike, and the assorted concepts presented herein are not. Mutant Enemy and Rysher collectively have the pleasure.
Historian's Note: Consider this as being set any time before "What's My Line - Part 2"
Words: 1376
"Happy birthday," Spike said with a broad gesture at the young man who was shackled to rough stone walls of the basement, the manacles on his wrists and ankles giving him only enough chain to rattle.
He was conscious. Barely. His head lolled and his half opened eyes saw but didn't focus on the two people standing in front of him.
Drusilla clasped her hands to her breast in wonder. "Oh, he glows such pretty colors."
Spike gave a satisfied nod at Dru's response. She could be unpredictable when it came to presents; he was never sure what she'd appreciate. "I'll let you play with your new toy. But, Dru," he warned, "don't get too involved. We have a massacre tonight and you need your strength. Make sure to eat," he nodded to the man, "something."
Dru's eyes grew round and it looked like she was going to protest.
"Eat," Spike said. "We can always get another one." He turned and left before she could object, his black coat swishing dramatically around his ankles. Possibly the man drew a sharp breath, but it was no fun scaring mortals once they were rendered helpless, so Spike didn't spare a glance to check. The reek of fear in the air told him everything.
Hands still pressed to her heart, Dru shook her head slowly. "He can't see how lovely you are, the colors that swirl about your head and call to your kith. But there're worms in the apple. Worms that burrow deep and keep the fruit for themselves."
The man pulled his head up to look at her. The torchlight made his eyes glitter and shadows play about his body. He was naked to the waist, barefoot. His khaki slacks were too loose and hung low on his hips. A line of blood leaked from the knot just above his temple, the only evident mar to his body.
"Are you thirsty?" Dru asked.
His lips moved, tongue flicking over them, but no words came out. After a moment he nodded.
She stepped away and returned with a small china tea cup that she pressed to his mouth.
"Don't drink quickly or you'll scald your tongue," she warned. "Miss Vivian likes her tea very hot and with too much sugar."
She tilted to the cup slowly and the man slurped at the brackish water it contained. He screwed up his face at the bitter taste, but kept drinking until the cup was empty.
As soon as he was finished, Dru let the cup slip from her fingers. It shattered on the cement floor, pieces skittering in all directions. She gave no indication of noticing, instead she pressed her nose to the man's neck and inhaled deeply. He flinched and tried to kick away. The chains scraped against the wall and held him firmly in place.
"Don't fret," she whispered into his skin. "You're going to play a game."
"Are you. Going to. Kill me?" he asked. His voice was rough with disuse and barely audible.
"Wouldn't be any fun," she pouted, stepping far enough back that he could no longer touch her. China crunched beneath her feet.
"Let me go." Louder, a little stronger.
"Wouldn't be any fun, either," she said. "It's my birthday and it is disrespectful to return a gift without opening it."
She stopped talking then, cocked her head and started to stare at him. Her gaze drifted from just over his left shoulder to just to the right of his chest, then seemed to trace his body. As if she were looking for something. Or at something.
The air was damp, heavy. Smelled like old, dead things. It stuck to them and seemed unwilling to share.
"Count to ten," he interrupted. It was hard to draw a breath. When she met his eyes, he added, "You said we were going to play a game. You're ‘It'." He couldn't escape. They'd seen to that. His shoulder muscles had long since grown tired from supporting most of his weight; his feet touched the floor, but not by much. He couldn't escape, so all he could do was play along. To try to ease the stiffness, he tensed his shoulders, drawing his body up a little bit and then relaxing them.
Drusilla seemed to take this as a sign of his intended participation. Obligingly she covered her face and started to count. "One ... two ... three ..."
He flexed his shoulders again and groaned from the pain.
From somewhere outside the room came a muffled chanting. The language was not English.
On six, Drusilla paused and peeked out between her fingers. Seeing that the man was still exactly where she had left him, she dropped her hands.
"Seven," he prompted.
"A gentleman mustn't ever ask a lady how old she is," she responded.
"Sorry?" he said, not sure if he was or what about. Then, "Where's that friend of yours? The creepy blond guy?"
"We're going to have a party," she reminded him. "There'll be cake and ice-cream, and for dessert we will slaughter a village."
"Let me go!" the man pleaded, his tone growing increasingly desperate. "I don't have anything to give you."
Drusilla lifted her right hand. A small metal object dangled from between her index finger and thumb. It caught the torchlight and reflected some back. She let it swing there for a moment.
The key.
The man threw himself around in his chains as best as the limited slack and his numb muscles allowed. A smattering of rock dust and rotten spider-webs fell from the ceiling. "Don't kill me. Please. Just let me go."
With her other hand Drusilla made a "close your mouth" gesture. "No."
"I don't want to die." Now he was whimpering. "What do you want?"
Her fist closed around the key and swallowed it. Then, as if continuing a discarded conversation she lifted her arms straight above her head in a ballet-like move. "Oh, they're such dancers," she said. She took two tiny steps on tip-toe. "They dance, and the moonlight whispers a pretty little tune on the steel." Lowering her voice to an admonishing hush, she looked vaguely towards him and added, "But good little children must never tattle."
"Okay," he agreed with a series of quick nods. "I won't tell. I promise."
"No, luv," she agreed. "You won't." Again, she moved so close that the bottom of her nightgown almost brushed against his feet. "Do you think I'm pretty?" she asked, morphing into her vampire face.
With her that close and the lighting so inconsistent, it took him a second just to realize anything had changed. Then he saw the jagged, pointed teeth. The yellow eyes. The odd ridges around her nose and brow. It took another long moment before his brain processed the items as part of a whole.
He screamed.
From elsewhere, the chanting changed in volume and timbre. It also grew more desperate.
"That's no way to treat the birthday girl," Drusilla said, the hurt evident. "Say you're sorry."
The sounds he made next were incoherent, animalistic.
"That's better," she said. With deft movements, she produced the key and inserted it into the first lock. The manacle around the man's left wrist fell away; his arm dropped to his side like a shattered dream. The second wrist manacle opened and his whole body fell to the floor. He was shaking, shivering.
"Our cake is all afire," she announced, sliding down next to him. "One by one we must snuff out the candles." She pinched at the air around his face as if extinguishing tiny flames. "The last one," she whispered in his ear, "gets a present. He gets to make a wish." She still wore her vampire face.
His noises had started to turn back into words, all of which were "please."
The man didn't move. Couldn't move. His feet were still secured to the wall; his upper body only beginning to wake up.
"The party's about to begin." She stood up. The key dropped with a thin clatter to his side, well within reach once his fingers were working well enough to grab for it. "I saved the first dance for you," she said.
Reaching back down she snapped his neck.
END
____
Your actual challenge to me is percolating, Kathryn. This'll have to tide you over in the meantime.
kerravonsen did challenge me to write it, over a year ago at the TP Dinner Morning After. It's been started and abandoned a dozen times since. When the ficlet meme started, I couldn't help but think of this one first.Finally, it's done. At least, the first draft is. Comments, as always, welcomed.
Title: Light Such A Candle
Fandom: Buffy/Highlander crossover. More specifically: Drusilla, Spike, and an HL universe OC.
Rating: PG. Maybe PG-13.
Spoilers: None
Summary: Drusilla's birthday present is long for this world.
Disclaimer: The OC is mine unless you want to borrow him. Dru, Spike, and the assorted concepts presented herein are not. Mutant Enemy and Rysher collectively have the pleasure.
Historian's Note: Consider this as being set any time before "What's My Line - Part 2"
Words: 1376
"Happy birthday," Spike said with a broad gesture at the young man who was shackled to rough stone walls of the basement, the manacles on his wrists and ankles giving him only enough chain to rattle.
He was conscious. Barely. His head lolled and his half opened eyes saw but didn't focus on the two people standing in front of him.
Drusilla clasped her hands to her breast in wonder. "Oh, he glows such pretty colors."
Spike gave a satisfied nod at Dru's response. She could be unpredictable when it came to presents; he was never sure what she'd appreciate. "I'll let you play with your new toy. But, Dru," he warned, "don't get too involved. We have a massacre tonight and you need your strength. Make sure to eat," he nodded to the man, "something."
Dru's eyes grew round and it looked like she was going to protest.
"Eat," Spike said. "We can always get another one." He turned and left before she could object, his black coat swishing dramatically around his ankles. Possibly the man drew a sharp breath, but it was no fun scaring mortals once they were rendered helpless, so Spike didn't spare a glance to check. The reek of fear in the air told him everything.
Hands still pressed to her heart, Dru shook her head slowly. "He can't see how lovely you are, the colors that swirl about your head and call to your kith. But there're worms in the apple. Worms that burrow deep and keep the fruit for themselves."
The man pulled his head up to look at her. The torchlight made his eyes glitter and shadows play about his body. He was naked to the waist, barefoot. His khaki slacks were too loose and hung low on his hips. A line of blood leaked from the knot just above his temple, the only evident mar to his body.
"Are you thirsty?" Dru asked.
His lips moved, tongue flicking over them, but no words came out. After a moment he nodded.
She stepped away and returned with a small china tea cup that she pressed to his mouth.
"Don't drink quickly or you'll scald your tongue," she warned. "Miss Vivian likes her tea very hot and with too much sugar."
She tilted to the cup slowly and the man slurped at the brackish water it contained. He screwed up his face at the bitter taste, but kept drinking until the cup was empty.
As soon as he was finished, Dru let the cup slip from her fingers. It shattered on the cement floor, pieces skittering in all directions. She gave no indication of noticing, instead she pressed her nose to the man's neck and inhaled deeply. He flinched and tried to kick away. The chains scraped against the wall and held him firmly in place.
"Don't fret," she whispered into his skin. "You're going to play a game."
"Are you. Going to. Kill me?" he asked. His voice was rough with disuse and barely audible.
"Wouldn't be any fun," she pouted, stepping far enough back that he could no longer touch her. China crunched beneath her feet.
"Let me go." Louder, a little stronger.
"Wouldn't be any fun, either," she said. "It's my birthday and it is disrespectful to return a gift without opening it."
She stopped talking then, cocked her head and started to stare at him. Her gaze drifted from just over his left shoulder to just to the right of his chest, then seemed to trace his body. As if she were looking for something. Or at something.
The air was damp, heavy. Smelled like old, dead things. It stuck to them and seemed unwilling to share.
"Count to ten," he interrupted. It was hard to draw a breath. When she met his eyes, he added, "You said we were going to play a game. You're ‘It'." He couldn't escape. They'd seen to that. His shoulder muscles had long since grown tired from supporting most of his weight; his feet touched the floor, but not by much. He couldn't escape, so all he could do was play along. To try to ease the stiffness, he tensed his shoulders, drawing his body up a little bit and then relaxing them.
Drusilla seemed to take this as a sign of his intended participation. Obligingly she covered her face and started to count. "One ... two ... three ..."
He flexed his shoulders again and groaned from the pain.
From somewhere outside the room came a muffled chanting. The language was not English.
On six, Drusilla paused and peeked out between her fingers. Seeing that the man was still exactly where she had left him, she dropped her hands.
"Seven," he prompted.
"A gentleman mustn't ever ask a lady how old she is," she responded.
"Sorry?" he said, not sure if he was or what about. Then, "Where's that friend of yours? The creepy blond guy?"
"We're going to have a party," she reminded him. "There'll be cake and ice-cream, and for dessert we will slaughter a village."
"Let me go!" the man pleaded, his tone growing increasingly desperate. "I don't have anything to give you."
Drusilla lifted her right hand. A small metal object dangled from between her index finger and thumb. It caught the torchlight and reflected some back. She let it swing there for a moment.
The key.
The man threw himself around in his chains as best as the limited slack and his numb muscles allowed. A smattering of rock dust and rotten spider-webs fell from the ceiling. "Don't kill me. Please. Just let me go."
With her other hand Drusilla made a "close your mouth" gesture. "No."
"I don't want to die." Now he was whimpering. "What do you want?"
Her fist closed around the key and swallowed it. Then, as if continuing a discarded conversation she lifted her arms straight above her head in a ballet-like move. "Oh, they're such dancers," she said. She took two tiny steps on tip-toe. "They dance, and the moonlight whispers a pretty little tune on the steel." Lowering her voice to an admonishing hush, she looked vaguely towards him and added, "But good little children must never tattle."
"Okay," he agreed with a series of quick nods. "I won't tell. I promise."
"No, luv," she agreed. "You won't." Again, she moved so close that the bottom of her nightgown almost brushed against his feet. "Do you think I'm pretty?" she asked, morphing into her vampire face.
With her that close and the lighting so inconsistent, it took him a second just to realize anything had changed. Then he saw the jagged, pointed teeth. The yellow eyes. The odd ridges around her nose and brow. It took another long moment before his brain processed the items as part of a whole.
He screamed.
From elsewhere, the chanting changed in volume and timbre. It also grew more desperate.
"That's no way to treat the birthday girl," Drusilla said, the hurt evident. "Say you're sorry."
The sounds he made next were incoherent, animalistic.
"That's better," she said. With deft movements, she produced the key and inserted it into the first lock. The manacle around the man's left wrist fell away; his arm dropped to his side like a shattered dream. The second wrist manacle opened and his whole body fell to the floor. He was shaking, shivering.
"Our cake is all afire," she announced, sliding down next to him. "One by one we must snuff out the candles." She pinched at the air around his face as if extinguishing tiny flames. "The last one," she whispered in his ear, "gets a present. He gets to make a wish." She still wore her vampire face.
His noises had started to turn back into words, all of which were "please."
The man didn't move. Couldn't move. His feet were still secured to the wall; his upper body only beginning to wake up.
"The party's about to begin." She stood up. The key dropped with a thin clatter to his side, well within reach once his fingers were working well enough to grab for it. "I saved the first dance for you," she said.
Reaching back down she snapped his neck.
END
____
Your actual challenge to me is percolating, Kathryn. This'll have to tide you over in the meantime.
(no subject)
Though I think there wasn't quite enough in the story itself to make it clear that the "present" was an Immie.
(no subject)
Ya know, I wasn't sure about that. He's only pre-Immie, and I'm really not sure how to express that better without being a sledge hammer. It's one of those points that really clear in my mind, but difficult to judge for clarity in other peoples'.
Any ideas how I could fix it?
(no subject)
(gee, Dru is addictive once one starts going!)
But maybe even that is too cryptic. I see what you mean about the sledge hammer problem!
Maybe at some other point she can say something like "Such a lovely present! So many toys break, but this one mends itself."
(shrug)
(no subject)
The second statement sounds more like her. Now I just have to find a place to fit it into the story. Or something else that'll get the job done.
(no subject)
Actually, I think the challenge of writing Dru and the challenge of writing Kosh are very similar -- they are perfectly logical, they know what they are saying, but it comes out like the spoutings of a mad poet. But the author can't get away with just spouting nonsense; because it isn't nonsense, it's tangential sense; at right angles to everyone else.
(no subject)
I think the problem you're encountering is that you're trying to use Dru to get the information across. And Dru is, at best, an unreliable narrator. So you really do need to find another vehicle for the information.
1) Is it essential the OC not know about his pre-Immieness, because if he does, he could make comments like "oh, jesus, this is not how I wanted to start my eternity." And it sounds something like someone not wanting to do.
2) Spike. Spike. When in doubt, use the Spike. And Spike can say something like, "Just wait 'til you see what this toy can do" or says something about the people he found the OC around (say a very scrappy little Scottish man). And with Dru's comments, it wouldn't be a sledgehammer, but would be more clarified.
Again, it's your story. But Dru is not your only option. In fact, and this is just my opinion, Dru is one of those characters that just cannot be turned into your exposition/explanation!character. Because Dru's logic is not like our Earth logic.
So weigh your options.
- Meg
(no subject)
1. Yes. The original challenge for the story came out of a conversation between Kathryn, Beth, and I about how to achieve the payoff of crossover stories (the Exchange O'Secrets) without violating the voices or characterizations of the given characters. This is supposed to be entirely an EOS story, which makes it kind of vital that someone need the secrets explained.
2. Spike doesn't know. Dru says so early in the story. Spike thinks he's brought her just a cute little boy-toy for a snack and as a diversionary tactic.
There was a line I really, really wanted to have the story that just wouldn't fit concerning why Dru doesn't actually feed from the guy. She says something like "his blood tastes like a Saint, makes my lips burn" because in my universe, the Quickening acts on vampires in much the same way holy water does. Thus leading the reason that we don't canonically have vampires chaining Immortals up in their basements as self-refreshing snack bars.
Dru is one of those characters that just cannot be turned into your exposition/explanation!character.
Therein lies the fun :)
Thanks for the suggestions. I do need some clarification.
(no subject)
Oh, cool! See if you can get it back in. Please.
And I agree it's better if Spike doesn't know. He doesn't have any particularly good reason for knowing, while Dru, being who she is, she knows alright, she just doesn't... communicate well.