Title: Singing Blood
Genre: BtVS/HL Crossover. Drusilla, General.
Disclaimer: All things BtVS belong to Joss Whedon, et al. All things Highlander belong to Davis/Panzer, et al.
Distribution: The normal places - those who have "The More Things Change".
Notes: A short companion piece to "The More Things Change", including the events of Chapter Eight.
She wasn't supposed to be out walking. Her Spike would get so upset if he knew that she and Miss Edith had gone out for a stroll. Ladies shouldn't be unescorted through the city. There were bad men about. Men that would make her hurt.
A slow smile curled at her blood red painted lips as she considered what she would do to any man that dared try to lay a hand on her. She's rip his heart out is what she'd do. She'd tear out his little throat and drink up all that yumminess that men stored deep in their bodies. And then. . . .then she'd toss him aside, just as all bad men deserved.
"What's that, Miss Edith?" She murmured, holding her doll to her ear. The musical tinkling of the doll's voice filled her head with pictures of the fun to be had in the city. She did so love Paris. The French people tasted so nice. All full of wine and love.
She giggled and tucking the doll into one of the deep hidden pockets of her dress. It was a pretty enough dress, she supposed. Something her Spike had chosen on a whim one night, when he saw it on a snack. A lovely shade of blue that he said made her hair look that much more dark, with little highlights of the same blue in it.
Even the stars liked the dress, and they were notorious for being picky when it came to fashion.
Miss Edith said that there was something tasty just around this corner, though; so there was little time to think about her dress. Wouldn't her Spike be so much more proud than upset if she caught her own dinner tonight? He worried so awfully now that her Daddy had gone missing. . .and Grandmum had abandoned them. Mean old Grandmum, she had never liked her anyway with all of that curly blonde hair. She had never wanted to play tea party.
She crept to the edge of the building, peering around it into the street. There were two men coming; both dressed in the manner of the middle class in the region.
And they smelled delicious.
She hummed softly to herself, ducking back into the shadows as they walked by her hiding spot. She waited until they had taken a few steps past the alleyway and then leapt.
“Aaagh!” He screamed, as his companion hurried away, laughing. She smiled into his hair, enjoying the feel of it on her face. So pretty, this one. A lovely little man-doll. Her Spike wouldn't like her to have a man-doll. He was very jealous like that. She could still imagine, though.
“Shhh,” She whispered, pressing him up against the side of the building. “Such a pretty pet. . .with long dark hair. . . Be my dolly, pretty?”
He struggled against her hold, as if he could break away. Even the stars were laughing at this pretty little man-doll.
“Yes, you told me so. Now can you get her off of me? Her breath smells like something rotted in it.” He called over to his friend, the one that was still laughing like nothing was wrong. She'd have a sip of him next. So nice of dinner to wait around for her to finish up with her snack. It made her feel so lovely that she could almost ignore the comment about her breath.
She shook him once, hearing a crack as his head hit the side of the building.
“She’ll let you go in a second. Our blood packs a bit of a kick –“ The other laughed, giving her something to think about as she lowered her mouth to the dark man-doll's neck. Her fangs sunk into the flesh without hesitation, the first warm spurt of blood flowing into her mouth. She swallowed once, twice, her throat moving in a steady rhythm.
This blood was different, the stars were whispering. It sang to her. . .a song of power. . . of life. . .
She moaned, swallowing again.
And then. . .
She felt as if she'd been hit head on by something large and unpleasant, thrown meters from the man she had been holding. His friend was walking back to him now, that ever-present laugh on his lips. She felt bad. . . and good. The singing blood was still in her, filling her to her core.
"See, told you. The moment we start to heal they get a little piece of the Quickening doing its work and –zap-!”
She hissed, standing up and glaring at the men. The one with the pretty dark hair and the other with his curly blonde locks. They had magic, these men. Magic the stars didn't even know about. She growled. "Bad dinner – hurting mommy like that.”
And then she turned, running off into the night. Her stomach was hurting from the blow that had sent her flying back. But she was full. . .and otherwise happy.
She fished Miss Edith from her pocket, smiling at the dolly. "No more of that or you shall get no tea! Mommy doesn't like food that fights back."
The doll didn't answer, properly contrite, and the vampiress smiled, the song of the blood on her lips.