"What was that guy's name? Brian? And he wanted us to call him Prince of Darkness? Please...I think somebody's seen a few too many movies."

"Didja see that hair? I mean, Hammer House stopped making those movies with Christopher Lee, like thirty years ago."

BWAH!

Now, that would be one hilarious piece of fic. Almost pure dialogue: a sort of vampire frat boy - cocktail party - gossipfest, where they're all getting drunker and drunker on tequila-spiked blood (yo, dude, pass me one of those B-neg shooters, man!), dissing Darla or Dru or someone, just running them down, getting drunker and drunker and more juvenile and pissy.

Erika, I'm enjoying Munch/Darla. I like your Drusilla voice.

In mememe news, this is my Lilahficathon entry.

If anyone feels like doing a beta, I'd appreciate it -- this story is kind of a procrastination special b/c I turned out not to have much computer access over the T'giving break, and I'd like to get some more feedback on it and do some edits before I archive the thing. The priority was getting it up before the deadline...

Whoa, hot, LJ.

Hating to follow that, but here's more of mine.
Dru wasn't kidding. After Darla heard John's description, stripped of the crazy poetry and singing stars, she wondered if she oughtn't go back to her first thought, purchasing a computer to tempt young, vulnerable tech support agents. A nice young geek that would clean up nicely and be compliant. And if he had big brown eyes like Angelus, Philip, Brian, and Rajiv, so much the better. Just because looks weren't going to be the main criterion, didn't mean they didn't matter at all.
Darla liked being part of a pretty couple. "Dru," she said. "Not that I'm questioning your gifts, though I am, Are you sure it's this man? He's awfully old for me." For though Darla was three hundred, she looked...mid-twenties. She had an image after all.
"Grandmother," Dru said. "Beware of the woman with the red hair. She has his heart."
"Darling," Darla said, "His heart is the last thing I want."

Very hot, LJ.

"Looks like not even the undead were immune from disco fever."

Loved this line.

There's an old, venerable fic bunny chewing on lettice at the front of the bunny hutch. I've known him for a couple of decades now, and it might be time to give him his due.

That said, does anyone know of any cool sites that have information on the old series "Night Stalker," that joy of my teenage years and late night companion on weekends in college? Or am I just going to have to look for myself?

Erika, you're an utter and complete genius. I hadn't seen the whole thing together before, and it's beautiful. The H:LOTS world lost a great writer when you weren't born twins. Xander being the mini-Bayliss is just lovely.

And the cadences and flow of conversation are gorgeous and natural, full of snark and sweetness. Poetry in motion, as it were.

LJ, just about to curl up and read yours.

Connie, you just named one of my favourite shows, and in fact, damned near the only thing I ever watched in the seventies.

erika, keep it coming, babe. Just, keep it coming.

Drabble. This week's theme is "creation":

Down the Dark Ladder

She never knew how it happened.

Before, there had been nothing; only a void, as vast and dark as the space before the Big Bang. She - the word was futile, there was no pronoun in human language to fit what she was - she had drifted, concentrated, aware of everything, nothing, a shimmer of light and power, at once empty and all-consuming.

She hadn't known she was wanted. She hadn't known she was hunted.

Monks, chanting in a patois of Serbo-Croat, took her from a greenish sparkle of energy. From that, they created a sister, a daughter, a Key.

edit: Whoa. LJ, that's fucking smoking. There was something especially sexy in this line for me:

I think I've learned efficiency.

Because dayum, put the boy in his place, you know?

And one thing, I think is a typo:

she hardly noticed as his fingers found a finger and twisted it, hardening it into a pebble

Finger? Should that be a nipple?

Aw, man, Karl broke me. If I said I wanted to run away with you, would your wife hold it against me?(/Munchkin)And yeah, I was proud to find the Xander-Bayliss connection...there was a chart...it was a thing. I would've had to be a fucking prodigy to write TV at twenty(or Mr. Whedon's dirty little secret.) Also, it'd probably get tiring playing "My face is up here." with Mr. Fontana every day, but every career has its sacrifices,huh? If he would agree, I could ditch the V-necks. Deb, thank you. Unfortunately thanks to so much Munch exposure only the early hour enables me to respond to "coming" like an adult. Mornings are good for something, who knew?