taxonomites | 001: Lab Specimens [Holo]

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001: Lab Specimens [Holo]

“I had a dream about the hanged man.” Without opening her eyes, Drusilla stepped off the platform. She didn’t need to peep out in order to see. She could smell it from here. The change in the air, the sickening metal tang of the machines, the whispers of the false stars. It wasn’t right. “Is he upside down, or did he miss the world turning around him?”

She had missed it. Too caught up in the Slayer and her battles to remember to fight her own. No wonder it had been so hard for Daddy – no, not Daddy … the other one – to free himself from her. No wonder she’d been able to take the edge off Spike’s beautiful wickedness. Buffy Summers had made a web for them all, without even realising that she was weaving. It had been foolish of Drusilla to get so close, but the Slayer had taken her in and tended her – like a mouse pulling a thorn from a lion’s paw – and there had been nowhere else to go. She’d needed someone to take care of her after the tin soldiers had finished their work, and she and Buffy had been tied together a long time ago, whether the Slayer had seen it or not.

“We’re going to miss all the fireworks.”

Drusilla had been waiting and waiting for the party, waiting ever since the Dawn had arrived. There was a lock now, a solid something for the key to open, and the universe was going to shake with the force of it all.

Was. Would. Had. Drusilla couldn’t tell. It was all mixing together in her head, the past and the present and future, splintering and reforming.

Slowly, she raised a hand and ran a finger over the metal band at her other wrist. If she didn’t open her eyes, she wouldn’t have to see, but she could, she could.

“More science,” the vampire whispered, before dropping her wrist and clutching her temples with a shriek of fury. “No, no, no!”

She remembered waking up a gleaming white cell. She remembered the way the pixies had pulled desperately at her chip to try and save her from it. She remembered the pain that thundered through her head every time she thought her wicked thoughts or bared her teeth for something to eat. A broken vampire who couldn’t even bite. She remembered, she remembered, she remembered.

“No more wires,” she growled, opening her eyes, “No filthy little tricks. There’s no room in my head. You won’t put them there, you won’t.”

It was different, this room. Sleek and scientific, yes, but she didn’t recognise the edge to the metal. They’d taken her somewhere new. Maybe it would be worse than the wires. They wanted her to be a lab rat, racing round and round through mazes and through wheels. Well, she wasn’t going to play. Not for them. The Slayer would be coming soon. They’d burn this place to the ground and Drusilla would dance on the ashes and paint her face with charcoal streaks to make sure she didn’t forget.

Thoughts of Buffy’s fearsome retribution calmed Drusilla. After a moment or two, she began to make her way slowly around the room, contemplating important things – how to escape, the colour of a new moon, the lick of the flames already dancing inside her head.

“Is anybody here?” she asked, in a singsong voice, “You can come out and play with me. We can sing nursery rhymes.”

She wanted to play, even if the games had changed over the last few years. She was hungry. She was always hungry. She’d been hungry even since the tin men had bound her to pig’s blood and stopped her from drinking …

Her thoughts took her too far. Her hungry smile was replaced almost instantly with growl of pain, and she clutched her head and doubled up. When she looked up a moment later, her expression was almost petulant. That wasn’t fair. You couldn’t let her get caught up in the moment and then snap the vices back tight.

“That’s cheating.”

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Brigitta looks faintly torn between being fascinated and as close to scared as she can get these days; in the end she settles for fascinated- for fear is a sign of weakness after all and she can't allow that to happen.

"...The hanged man?"

"The hanged man was forgotten," quips the Master in reply to the newcomer. Quite the strange one, at that, but those were simply the best, and as of recent events, he's been needing to pull at the strings of others. He had to relieve stress in some way, after all. "He will never be remembered. That is what Time does to all." To most. Not to him.

The Master grins slowly, folding his hands and stretching back in a chair. He's wearing a simple white dress shirt and pants; in the background there were similar sleek walls, but strung with various scraps of equipment, machinery, occasional streamers of wires, tools. He really must organize the mess some in the near future... It should not match the disarray of his mind.

He continues, "Instead of finding freedom and finding a way to move forward, the only truth is that you will be forever trapped, and no one will ever play fair. What a sad fate. " He does not sound very sympathetic. He cocks his head to the side and regards her.

"Dru?" See this? This was Spike with his eyes bugging out. Who's going to be next, Harmony?

There were boxes behind him in the little nondescript apartment. He'd been planning to move for a day or two. They went completely unnoticed now as he leaned in, looking closely at the hologram of Drusilla....and found the little red light that indicates recording was on.

"Damned bloody thing!" he cursed at it, and it looked like he might try to fling it across the room for a moment. But then the anger drained quickly away as he resigned himself and nodded at the screen. "Hi, Dru."

He was too familiar with that incredible pain, the one that took over every sense with bad intent- but seeing as he wasn't expecting Drusilla to be here at all (for some reason), it may take awhile for that one to sink in.

A much the worse for wear looking Buffy (replete with numerous attractive bruises) stared down at her tablet, which had been laying dormant and idle on the couch next to her, until Drusilla's hologram popped up.

...at which point Buffy's eyes widened momentarily with surprise-- which then quickly dulled to a sort of exhausted resignation.

"Oh god, please tell me this is a painkiller induced hallucination."

...crap, not another vampire in Taxon! And Drusilla, of all non-people!

Cordelia placed a hand on her mouth, panicking for a bit. Sure, this place wasn't welcoming its first vampire or anything, but it still felt... suffocating. This one was dangerous and loony and crazy and did she mention loony?

"Crap," she said. Cordelia looked up and muttered, "Geez Taxon, who's next - Darla?"

Edited 2009-10-13 00:00 (UTC)

Dawn's eyes widen at the hologram that pops up from her tablet, before looking frightened and then exasperated, in turn. "No playing. There has been far too much playing this week."

"Are you, uh, all right there, miss?" Bruce had kind of tuned out on the rest of her intro because talking led to meeting people, but once he saw the distress, he couldn't help himself.

Of all the people who could've shown up in Taxon, the last person he expected to see was her, the woman he'd driven mad and sired over a century ago. Angelus' grandest masterpiece, living proof of just how cruel he'd been prior to those gypsies cursing him with his soul. When he was near her, she served as a constant reminder of the monster he used to be.

"Drusilla."

Wesley watches the visual transmission from Drusilla for several minutes, debating whether or not to respond. He's not sure in the end why he turns the visual on; perhaps because she's the only member of Angel's family he hasn't truly met, and his suicidal curiosity is getting the better of him.

"Hello, Drusilla," he says softly.

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