taxonomites | 024: The Saints Can't Help Me Now [Location: Hyperion Hotel / Accidental Visual]

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024: The Saints Can't Help Me Now [Location: Hyperion Hotel / Accidental Visual]

While Drusilla slept on the silk sheets that Angel had promised her, the figure reflected in her window pane - a girl who was both like and unlike the vampire - said her prayers.

Her lips barely moved as she murmured her supplications up to heaven. They were secrets, her prayers. Secrets that weren't for the ears of anyone but the Lord. (It was strange, wasn't it? The girl gave her heart and her trust to the same deity who had, in another life, abandoned her to the clutches of the devil.) The rosary clutched in her pale hand was worn with use and with piety.

The Drusilla on the bed wore red. In the right light, it looked as if she was a corpse in a pool of fresh blood, stark against the snowy sheets.

The Drusilla in the glass wore a coarse nun's habit. In any light, she glowed with virtue.

It was the life that she could have lived. The person that she could have been. She rarely dreamed of such things - the pixies whispered of the future, not the futures that had never been able to come to pass - and, when the sudden sharpness of the reflection pierced her head, Drusilla woke with a start. For a moment, she gazed - wide eyed and unblinking - at the window.

"No."

She snatched up the lamp that stood on the table next to her new bed, throwing it without hesitation. The glass shattered and the girl disappeared before she'd had a chance to ask for forgiveness for the sins that her other self had committed.

"I'm not sorry," she snarled, addressing the broken window and the shadow that had stood there, "I'm not sorry."

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If Angel had still been a vampire, he would've perhaps sensed something amiss before the shattering of the window caught his attention. It's that, however, which has him rising from his seat inside the office, dropping the book he'd been reading without bothering to mark his page or be mindful of the centuries it's leather-bound pages had on even him.

He hated not being able to smell or hear or feel anything that might clue him into what was wrong. He hated not being fast enough as he ran up the stairs and down the hall. It was how weak and powerless he felt that made him loathe humanity as much as he did. (The irony to be held in how much he craved this after Wesley's translation of the shanshu prophecy and now didn't want it was not lost on him.)

Once to the door -- Drusilla's, he realized as he came upon it -- Angel knocked. Okay, more like banged.

"Dru? Drusilla, open the door."

It was perhaps a good thing Angel had not seen the image of that girl whose mind he destroyed before he turned her into the vampire that lay on the other side of the wall that separated them.

"I knock knock knock," Drusilla sang, picking her way through the broken glass, "Upon the big front door. My mother smiles at me. 'Come in, come in, my child. You're just in time for tea.'"

She picked up a shard, but it was too damaged to show a reflection. Any reflection.

When she dropped it back to the ground, her hands were red. The ragged cross on her palm bled and burned at the same time. It was deliciously painful.

She should have remembered to lock the door.

Perhaps she should've, for as soon as Angel figures out that the door is unlocked, he's twisting the handle, throwing it open and launching himself inside. Had he still been a vampire, he would've been able to smell the blood on her hands long before the door granted him entrance. As a human, however, he only notices the cuts on her hands when he reaches her, taking her own in his and staring down at the crimson liquid which makes his stomach churn unpleasantly in that way he always found irritating about being human. Revulsion to blood was so foreign for a vampire -- or former vampire, in his current glitched state.

"What happened?" He asked her.

How could anyone - even a human - be revolted by something so pure and so true? There were times when Drusilla thought that blood was the only real thing in the world. It had no choice but to tell the truth, while she spoke in riddles and shared half truths because her friends and enemies alike were rarely ready for her words.

"I broke the window," she answered honestly, looking up at Angel with unblinking eyes. "It was trying to tell me a story."

Edited 2011-07-19 08:11 (UTC)

Taking gentle hold of her wrists, Angel tugged her back towards the bed, hoping she would comply. He wasn't strong enough right now to force her to do anything she didn't want to, chip or no chip. And how it still was to interact with his childe while he was human and without the connection between them that bound her to him.

"Tell me," he urged. "What was the story?"

Drusilla tensed at first, but, because the vampire was a frightened child in so many ways, she soon sank down on to the bed and collapsed limply against him. When she buried her face in his neck, it was because she needed comfort, not because she was hungry. She tried to close her ears to the pulse that beat in his neck and the blood that hummed beneath the surface.

"A story of a girl who never existed," she murmured, "A girl who never could."

Angel tensed at her words, a wave of guilt washing over him. While she could've been talking about something else entirely, he couldn't help but jump to the more obvious conclusion: The girl she could have been had he not taken an interest in her and drove her insane, then eded her life.

"It was just a story," he told her, cradling her against his chest like he imagined he would have a frightened young Connor had his son grew up at his side and not in some hell dimension.

She didn't blame him. If anything, she was grateful to him from saving her from a life she had never been supposed to live. He'd rescued her and raised her out of the light and into the darkness.

Drusilla hoped that he'd never let go.

"I'll write a better ending," she said hotly, against his shoulder, "I'll make it mine."

Perhaps not, but Angel blamed himself. He'd come to terms with a lot of what he did while soulless, accepting fate for what it was. There were volumes upon volumes in history about what he'd done while he claimed the name Angelus, but he couldn't do anything to change that. Nor could he hold doing them against himself. He'd been without a soul, evil, and it had simply been in his nature. It was all he knew in the new life Darla had bestowed upon him. He couldn't, however, forgive himself for what he did to Drusilla.

If he were being honest with himself, he'd recognize that part of that was due to Drusilla still being around and not a face lost to the sands of time like all his other victims. He'd turned her in order to preserve something he'd considered to be a masterpiece, a work of art found in the total destruction of a human being, and instead got a constant reminder of just how terrible he was capable of being.

"Pen it in a way the stars can't change."

Her eyes closed she imagined digging her teeth into the cool flesh that she felt against her cheek. The skin would yield easily to her sharp white fangs, but those days were long gone. Not just because the tin soldiers wouldn't like it, but because he wouldn't like it.

"I miss the stars. Nothing else sings the same."

Well that was certainly cryptic. Then again, everything from Drusilla was cryptic. For a while, Willow debated answering, but eventually she just couldn't help herself.

"Bad morning?"

One of these days, she would have to learn to leave well enough along. That day was not this one.

Her hands were slippery with her own blood. She struggled to pick up her tablet to fix the witch - the red witch, pretending that she was in control enough to ask questions - with a dark glare.

"It wasn't right. It was a picture of the wrong morning."

And not her. Never her.

Edited 2011-07-21 20:02 (UTC)

"Didn't know there was a right and wrong morning."

Willow, don't antagonize the crazy vampire.

The crazy vampire in question bared her teeth in a cruel smile that was entirely empty of humour. She hadn't liked the red witch in her own world and she didn't like her here, either. Too clever by half, she was.

"That's because you only live in today."

"And you live in some kind of crazy, psychopathic alternate universe."

Someday Willow would learn not to goad crazy, psychotic vampires. That day is not today.

"Should I roll out the welcome mat?"

Willow.

"It's more exciting than yours. We have fires and floods and the Beast from the darkness. And my beautiful daughter is waiting to be born."

Her eyes fixed on a horizon that nobody else could see.

"I can't see the stars from here. But I remember. I remember."

"Daughter?" From what dimension of hell??

Willow just fixed Drusilla with a look of complete incredulity. Her mind was much more far gone than the witch had anticipated somehow. And this clearly eclipsed everything else the vampire had said, including the bit about the stars. She could keep her stars anyway.

Drusilla's smile grew wider still. The expression on the face of the red witch was simply priceless. She wanted to paint it on the walls and leave it there for the world to admire.

"It's a secret," she said, pressing her finger to her lips, "She isn't for you. Maybe she'll rip your throat out and give me your insides as a posy."

Edited 2011-08-25 18:10 (UTC)

Katherine frowned a little at the other vampire's display of temper, wondering idly what she had witnessed that had upset her so much. Katherine had yet to see Drusilla as anything but calm and knowing, strangely disconnected from reality and yet completely aware of her surroundings and the people in it. Always cautious, the older vampire locked the feed before speaking up.

"What is there to be sorry for?" she questioned evenly, albeit with a touch of curiosity.

Edited 2011-07-21 18:16 (UTC)

"She wasn't me," replied Drusilla, pale and bloody. She'd cut her hands and feet on the broken glass, too focused on shattering the illusion to think about the way that she could shatter skin and flesh just as easily. "She wore my face, but she wasn't me."

Although she spoke in Katherine's direction, the words were for herself alone.

Edited 2011-07-21 20:13 (UTC)

Katherine knew instantly what she meant. Drusilla's words brought to mind Katherine's own experiences with the reflective surfaces this month; images from the past she'd rather not think about.

"The city is toying with us. It will pass."

Hopefully.

Wise words from a fair face. Drusilla could read a lot from Katherine's features, but there were some chapters that remained hidden to her. She longed to peel back the flesh, exposing the truth and bone beneath. They'd share blood and stories long into the night.

"Everything does," she said, resigned.

Katherine had many stories indeed, and not all of them pleasant. Some of them she'd recount with wicked relish, but some of them she'd keep to herself at all costs and pretend they didn't haunt her during quiet moments when everything was still.

"Not everything," Katherine responded at length, sable curls of hair swaying minutely as she shook her head slightly. Memories lingered, and so did guilt - but that could be buried away and ignored. "But this will, after the creatures responsible have had their fill of amusement on our expense."

"I always thought you were old enough to know better," Drusilla remarked, tilting her head to one side as she surveyed Katherine.

The cover of the book was red. The pages were stained with the same shade.

"I didn't know you remembered how to hope."

It was something that vampires always forgot, with time and in the darkness after death.

The statement garnered a short hum from the older vampire, a sound caught between a scoff and a laugh.

"Touché," Katherine smiled wryly, inclining her head a little in acknowledgement. It was useless to try to fool Drusilla.

Her kind of vampires were much like humans in their ability to feel emotions; in fact, they felt them even more keenly. Everything became more amplified after turning and feelings were no exception. But there was also a mental switch to turn off emotions and morality and to let the predator right beneath the surface take full reign. But Katherine had spent her entire life as an undead from the moment she'd turned to run from those who were even older and stronger than her, the Original vampires of her world. She needed the steadiness of a clear head to aid her in running and hiding, in surviving, not one that was only concerned with bloodlust. Hope of freedom was a constant companion of hers.

"Perhaps I still have something left to learn, then."

Hope was, as far as Drusilla was concerned, a strange thing. A human thing. She didn't hope that things would be better or that things would change. She knew. It was far more convenient that way.

"Read the stars," she suggested, "They forgot how to lie a long time ago."

But she had a feeling that Katherine would try to change what she saw if she really didn't like it. That wasn't how it worked. That only paved the way to that future.

"I fear I haven't your talent for that," Katherine spoke softly. With a tiny smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, she added, "I have to rely on myself."

Drusilla was right, as usual. Katherine refused to believe anything was preordained. The odds were always stacked against her, but she was first and foremost a fighter. A survivor. Self-preservation outweighed all her other characteristics; she would fight fang and nail against anything trying to drag her down. She believed in making her own luck, and determining her own future. She had to. If she didn't, then she might as well give up - and Katherine Pierce never gave up.

"Nobody does," said Drusilla ruefully, thinking of her sisters, who had died for being ordinary, and her parents, who had cursed her for being wrong. "The devil kept it all for me."

She tilted her head, her hair an ebony waterfall that she longed for someone to drown in.

"Do you trust yourself?"

"You're a special girl, then," Katherine stated smoothly, inclining her head a bit. At Drusilla's question, she hummed softly in wry amusement.

"I trust only myself." Over five centuries on the run had made her distrustful to a fault. She'd started to trust Stefan during the past few months, which is a mistake - little does Katherine know that his recent romantic involvement with her is in large part simply a ploy to subtly extract information out of her that she wouldn't normally divulge. Even someone as old and experienced as her could still be fooled.

Drusilla smiled demurely at that comment, making no attempt to deny it and knowing that confirmation was unnecessary. Angelus had realised how special she was straight away. He'd crafted her into something even more exciting in the months and years that had followed.

"You must be lonely."

It was a statement rather than a question. Drusilla was mad, but she trusted. She trusted her version of the Slayer and the Angel Beast and her ersatz family. She wasn't alone.

Katherine's gaze sharpened just slightly at Drusilla's comment, her smile slipping just a bit. It was true; she couldn't trust anyone, therefore she was almost always alone. Sure, she could charm or compel herself some temporary entertainment, but lasting connections? She didn't really have those. Much as she would like them.

Regrouping, Katherine responded with an air of indifference. "Good thing I enjoy my own company."

Although the space in her heart were her soul used to be made relationships difficult for Drusilla, she was capable of more love and affection than others of her kind. She liked Katherine. Friends were rare in this cage of a city and there was a certain degree of kinship between them. A shared darkness. A shared hunger. A shared thirst for mischief. That was almost affection.

"You have me," she offered, simply.

Katherine understood the value of allies better than anyone. It was good to have people on your side in whatever capacity. Drusilla was genuine and she saw truly. There was no need for pretenses with her. Katherine appreciated that, was old and experienced enough to pay heed to her words - even if she couldn't necessarily figure out their full meaning sometimes.

Drusilla's offer made Katherine smile. "I appreciate that. We'll look after each other in this alien prison, us girls."

Because Drusilla was one of the very few people in Taxon for whom Katherine would lend a helping hand if ever needed.

Everyone listened to Drusilla, but very few people understood. Even her family, who had been with her for years and years, failed to untangle her words before it was too late. (There were times when she came close to losing her patience with them. They just needed to open their ears!)

She was satisfied with Katherine's answering smile. This time, she had listened.

"We should have another party soon."

A sleepover, with dolls and stories in the darkness and sweetmeats for dinner.

Edited 2011-09-23 23:36 (UTC)

"Yes, we should," Katherine agreed, her smiling never slipping. "It's been a while since we last had one, after all."

"Too long," she said, wistfully. She was always honest and open about who and what she was, but being able to spend time with someone who embraced that part of her was a rare treat indeed. Especially now that the Angel Beast had left the city.

Edited 2011-09-30 20:03 (UTC)

Keep it down, Jesus. Some of us are trying to sleep.

[ ...well. this will go well. faith's itchiness and frustration lead to the best choices. ]

"I'm here to bring you nightmares," said Drusilla in a tone that was so sickly sweet that there had to be poison and needles beneath the surface of it.

The other Slayer - the one that stole faces and glowed with moonlight rather than Buffy's brightest sunlight - was a rare jewel. She was genuinely interesting. Drusilla would have to remember to play with her more often in the future.

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024: The Saints Can't Help Me Now [Location: Hyperion Hotel / Accidental Visual]

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