Connie, I liked that you went into Tara's head. She's kind of a mystery next to the other talky Scoobs.

Connie, you have a typo in the second word -- "ware" should be "were", I think.

Grumble, glurble, too busy worrying if mendi was right to see what was right in front of me. Mmpfh.

I like Tara a whole lot, someone with an authentic religious relationship to the magic instead of a feminist-power/cool stuff relationship. I think if she'd had the chance she would have run rings around that stilly Wiccan campus group.

Nice, Fay. Very nice.

I think Drusilla must be rising or something, because she's in my latest as well. This is just a taster, it's going to need some research doing to get the details of the building right (I've visted, but it's been modernised since 1890).

I think they're going to smash the place up, unless I can find a Watcher to stop them.

~~~

“Yes! In here, my William!” Drusilla cried, racing up the steps. In the shadows between the great pillars, she looked like a ghost, pale skin and white dress.

“The door’ll be locked,” he told her, knowing that it wouldn’t make any difference. This woman- vampire- was so wild, so free, nothing that simple could stop her going where she wanted to go.

“I don’t care. Let’s go in and see the pretty things.”

“They’re all behind glass, Drusilla. You can’t touch them; it’s not allowed.”

“We’ll smash the glass- shatter it in the moonshine.” She ran back and forth, flitting across the broad pavement outside the museum. Lit by a mingle of moonlight and gaslight, she was as beautiful as she had ever been- or so he assumed. He’d only known her for three nights, but poetics could have it no other way.

“Drusilla, it’s the British Museum. You can’t just walk in.”

“Why not?” she shrugged and danced a few steps until she was in front of the tall doors. She knocked twice, clear taps ringing out in the cold air. “Anybody home? Time for friends to visit.”

When there was no answer, William put a foot up and kicked, enjoying his new strength, the power that flowed in him. And, of course, loving the fact that this was forbidden, a desecration.

The door swung open and they swaggered in, confident beyond anything he’d imagined was possible.

~~~

ooh, I like your Dru. I like your Spike, but I really like your Dru.

Drusilla Rising?

Imagine being born w/that rising sign.

Thanks, Deena. makes note to that effect. might come in useful if she starts demanding Daniel again

(BTW, Deena, do you use Yahoo IM? I'm amchau42. Be nice to talk to you that way.)

sumi, that would be... um... interesting.

Another tiny sliver of what might become Dru/Willow (set during Season 6, after Tara left and Amy got deratted):

* * *

Drusilla felt the ripples pass through her skin as she left the club, and she paused on the threshold, sliding her fingers idly over the stonework with her head cocked to one side. For the first time in long weeks her mouth curved into a smile. The boy glanced back at her with an impatient little frown, his pulse fluttering deliciously, and pouted.

"There a problem?" he asked. His voice was shrill, but he looked like a Renaissance cherub and his hair was a dirty blond that reminded her of a boy in a London alleyway long years ago. Dru's smile broadened and she sprang lightly over the threshold, pausing barely a kiss away from him.

"Not now," she said, and ran one lacquered nail gently over his skin in a caress too faint to draw blood. "Everything's coming up roses after all." He blinked, mesmerised by her voice and the sudden force of her gaze.

"Roses?"

"Pretty red flowers with sharp little thorns." She bent forward and pressed a kiss onto the thin warm skin of his throat. Many miles to the south, the witches twisted the fabric of reality again and Drusilla shivered. It would take a day or two to get back to Sunnydale. "Come along, my little Ganymede. Mummy's thirsty."

* * *

Watching the witch was Drusilla's new hobby. Some nights she forgot, or lost interest, and wandered off to plait some pretty girl's intestines, or to listen to a new student band at The Bronze. Most nights, however, she watched the witch. She had to be careful, because the Slayer was there, and the Slayer was good. Better than good. Better than ever, in fact, and that was saying something. And there was her Spike too, to consider; successfully keeping her presence secret from her sweetheart made Drusilla bounce with smug glee and hug herself with delight at her own cleverness. And it made her heart ache unexpectedly too, especially when she saw him staring after the Slayer like some moon calf with milk in his veins. He should have been able to feel his Drusilla watching him from the shadows; she had learned a lot from Daddy, but Spike had always known her best of all and he should have known she was there. But his head was full of metal and his heart was full of this vulgar little girl, and it seemed he had no memory of her scent.

Drusilla despised inconstancy.

But she rather liked the witch, with her chemically coloured hair and her power and her need. She was burning like a bonfire and all around her were little lives like birthday cake candles, weak little lights that a tiny breeze would whisk away. Yet somehow all the other mortals seemed oblivious to the maelstrom of magic and anger and wanting in their midst. The other witch had an inkling, but not even she had grasped how much strength the Slayer's little friend possessed. Drusilla could see right away what the problem was, and she had just the thing to cure Willow's worries in a trice. The nasty soul was getting in the way, muddying the waters and making little Willow weep. She still thought she wanted to be good, although she wasn't very good at being good. She didn't understand what she could be.

Drusilla was going to have to show her, like a good mother should.

swoons

I love good Dru fic. Love, love, love.

beams