The characters here belong either to Whedon or to Tolkien. Some spoilers of the book “Sillmarillion” are present as well.
Woodstock, New York, August 1969
The place was packed; no, the place was swarming with all sorts of people, mostly those represented by the counter-culture - hippies, and the rest, and most of them were quite, quite busy, having sex, getting stoned, getting drunk, etc.
And getting eaten, for any large gathering of humans tends to accumulate a large number of demons as well, who mostly amuse themselves by eating humans. Or not. (Not eating humans is actually quite an achievement amongst some types of demons.)
In the latter category was a couple of friends, that looked like men – well, to a point anyways.
One of the men was fair of skin but dark of hair and eyes, and wore a permanently maudlin expression on his face. His body frame looked delicate, but he packed quite a punch. His name was Artano Aulendil.
The other man was sandy of hair, and had a goatee. He also wore a beret that helped his disguise the several horns on his head. He was somewhat weaker than his companion, but was a formidable opponent all the same. His name was D’Hoffryn.
“So Artano how’s your Tano?” D’Hoffryn nonchalantly asked, smoking some weed.
“Terrible,” Artano shook his head, taking out a joint of his own. “The accursed Valar have imprisoned him for three centuries in that accursed place!”
D’Hoffryn was not impressed. Artano’s master and teacher, the great Melkor, had a messianistic complex. Fine. However, considering that he was also a Vala, a being that was second mostly to the Creator himself, and you got yourself a bit of a situation, one may say. Especially if that Vala intended to take on the aforementioned Creator as well.
No, Melkor may’ve been the First to show the others that there was an alternative to the Creator’s plan, the First one to flesh-out the theory of Evil, but D’Hoffryn had no intention of staying in his ranks; in fact, he, like the majority of lesser Ainur, decided to sit this one out, abandoning Arda for greener pastures – like this world.
And so, Artano’s arrival D’Hoffryn accepted with mixed feelings. On one hand, he was somewhat pleased to gossip with his long-time friend, on the other the gossip was not a good thing. It did not make D’Hoffryn smile.
So, Melkor was actually imprisoned for three centuries in Valinor? Given who he was, given what kind of place Valinor was, the sentence would be less severe than three years in jail for a human – on one hand. On the other – these three centuries would give Melkor plenty of time of inventing a really elaborate revenge against the other Valar, and they would not take it lightly. And given the kind of forces that the opponents wielded… D’Hoffryn didn’t want to deal with any Maia that was bent on carrying out their vengeance against any Melkor’s allies, nominal or not.
So, what to do? How to… sort of make Artano want to leave, and not break their friendly relations? Well, introducing him to a local girl might be just a start.
“Come on,” he told Artano. “Let us go and have a little fun.”
They found the appropriate girl soon enough – tell, dark-haired, and of a rather confused attitude towards the world around her in general. She was along with her boyfriend – a hair-dyed punk, but that was nothing to be concerned about, not to the beings of Artano’s and D’Hoffryn’s powers.
“Excuse me, but can we borrow your lady friend for a while?” D’Hoffryn asked the punk. The punk blinked, then his face distorted with a vampire’s ridges, and he lunged at D’Hoffryn, snarling.
A single blast of power made the vampire topple like a tree, stunned him for a couple of hours for sure.
“They are vampires!” Artano said with slight distaste.
“Of course – you didn’t think I’d give you just a human, now did you?” D’Hoffryn smoothly replied, and turned to the girl.
Who was staring at Artano with a glare of someone who had stumbled upon to Ultimate Truth while going to the washroom.
“My lord of the ring,” she slowly whispered in a voice that made both males shiver from no good reason. “Is it really you?”
“I am sorry,” Artano said. “What did you call me?”
“Your title, for you are Sauron, the lord of the ring, Gorthaur the cruel sorcerer, Artano the apprentice of Melkor, Morgauth Bauglir, He Who Rises in Might,” the vampiress whispered. “But beware, beware the three drops of blood of the light, beware the Silmarils, beware for they will undo all that you and him are striving to do, for all of it will come to naught but the exile of him – and later you – to the outer dark! Beware the Silmarils!” the vampiress hissed.
Both greater demons slowly stepped away from her – but still kept her within their eyesight – and turned to each other.
“Is she for real?” Artano asked incredulously.
“My friend, I know a real seer when I see one, pardon the pun,” D’Hoffryn shook his head. “Admittedly, I don’t know what she is talking about, but maybe you should pop back to your new home and check things out, yes?”
Artano nodded. “Some other time, then?” he asked D’Hoffryn.
“Some other time,” D’Hoffryn nodded and Artano vanished. And Arda was not going to be the same again.
His hands now free, D’Hoffryn turned back to the vampiress, who was looking curiously at him, and mildly curious at that, as if she had visits from ex-Ainur everyday, which wasn’t too likely. “Now what, my lord demon?” she asked.
“My name,” D’Hoffryn said quite politely, “is D’Hoffryn, lord of the Wishing demons. And what is your name, my dark maid?”
“Drusilla,” the vampiress said with a giggle. “Of the Aurelius.”
“Really?” D’Hoffryn’s knowledge of the vampires’ lineage was somewhat sketchy, but he knew of Aurelius and his line. “And do you know that you are a seer?”
“Yes, I see things that happen, that are, and were, and will be,” Drusilla nodded. “I am cursed by God, that I am.”
“My dear maiden, your seeing is no curse, it’s a gift,” D’Hoffryn said smoothly, “and with my guidance you’ll be able to recognize that for a fact too.”
“Are you courting me, my lord D’Hoffryn?” Drusilla said clearly coquettishly.
“Why, so I am,” D’Hoffryn nodded, feeling that the occasion pushed for honesty. “Join the ranks of my demons, and you’ll be able to seen sun again, and see yourself in the mirrors. So, what do you say?” he stretched-out his hand.
“It’s a deal,” Drusilla giggled and took it, and D’Hoffryn vanished with his new recruit (and seer). And the world would not be the same again.
When Spike awoke, it was nearing morn – in fact, it was too near for it to begin with for a vampire to be comfortable. And Drusilla was gone. “No,” Spike blinked, staring incredulously. “What was in that hippy anyways – he was just one guy?”
Fruitlessly he searched for his dark-haired beauty – all was in vain, and the sun was breaking the darkness in the east, causing Spike to abandon his search, for he knew that Drusilla would not stay in the sunlight, no matter how crazy she was.
Weeping, Spike climbed into the nearest trailer (slaughtering its’ previous occupants), weeping bitterly. “Drusilla, why?” But there was no answer. And the world would not be the same again.