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Of Blood and Time

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Summary: Drusilla takes a sip.... (Spoilers for 'Human Nature', season 3, in Doctor Who)

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Dr. Who/Torchwood > Drusilla-CenteredJinxedwoodFR131689141,2542 Jun 072 Jun 07Yes
Disclaimer: BtVS and Doctor Who don't belong to me, all I have is my microsoft word...

England: 1913

The stars were bright, and Drusilla smiled mysteriously at the moon as she wandered through the sleepy English village. All was quiet and peaceful, but she smelled blood and death in the air. War was coming and the delights she sensed were many and glorious….

But, for now, she was hungry.

She heard the tinkle of the bicycle bell before she saw it; this was England, and all was safe here. Why would a villager worry about being out after dark? Silently, she stepped out onto the street and into the path of the bike, smiling in satisfaction as the cyclist skidded to halt.

“I say, where did you pop out from?” the cyclist said, a bewildered frown spreading across his narrow face.

Drusilla took in the tweed suit and the bicycle clips that held his trouser legs, and smiled a sly smile. Easy prey…and yet… She halted, tilting her head in puzzlement, as she caught a certain look in his eye. There was something else there, something hidden.

“Box of treats and delights,” she murmured, taking a swift step forward.

“I say, hold on there,” he spluttered as she curved her arms around her neck. “This is not very ladylike behaviour!

“But I am no lady, and you are no gentleman,” Drusilla told him solemnly. “Come, let us dance beneath the stars, and I shall show you death as you’ve never seen it before.”

A slow, thoughtful look spread across his face, and Drusilla was sure she caught a glimpse of longing in his face as she promised him death; but he quickly shook his head, and tried to extricate himself from her embrace. “I don’t know who you think I am, my dear, but this stops right now,” he scolded. “Do you live nearby? What would your family think if they knew you were wandering the streets in the middle of the night in your…nightgown?”

His voice was troubled, suddenly unsure, and Drusilla smiled once more. Slowly, she pulled her fingers through his hair, and pulled his head down. “Let me show you my family,” she said, against his lips.

He was trembling now. She always liked it when they trembled, and the fear rose in his blood, scenting the air with its aroma. And yet, there it still was; the fire and pain, and a storm on the horizon. How was it that such a mild little mortal sang with such danger?

Her ridges pushed through her human features, and Drusilla gave a purr of satisfaction as she felt his fear spiral upward. She dove for his neck, ignoring his protesting shrieks as she broke through his skin, and drew deep. She tasted his humanity, his gentleness, the rigid strictures he placed on his thoughts; all so normal, so human. She felt a pang of disappointed. Where was the death, where was the fire that his eyes had promised her?

And then she found it; a fractured remnant buried deep within his psyche. Eagerly, she reached out and felt…


The tick of a clock, the turn of a universe, all the ties that bind and pull apart. The seer in her screamed in shock, unable to digest the sheer magnitude…

With a wrench, she pulled her fangs free, throwing him bodily away as she spat. “Not so,” she hissed. “Not so; the turn of the clock can never be judged!” But the human lay still on the ground, not answering.

He wasn’t dead, she could still feel the slow beat of his heart, and Drusilla wondered if she should finish him, twist his neck and snuff the spark out; end the madness of his mind. But she found she couldn’t do it. For wasn’t chaos and destruction her beautiful and deadly dance?

Slowly, she backed away, and his unconscious body was swallowed up in the darkness. The quiet and sleepy village didn’t seem so safe after all, and she wasn’t the only monster that stalked its night.

Drusilla shivered against the chill of the storm.


The End

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