Doll Parts
by Scy

Drusilla's fingers coax loyalty out of the air and her mouth is a slippery secret.

"Little sneak," the vampire scolds, and Fred can hear heels tapping out the combination of such-a-well-brought-up-lady who is nuttier-than-previously-thought-possible.

The unstable daughter is looking for a playmate.

Ideally, Dru would realize that Fred was too much trouble and prone to injure unwanted companionship/suitors, but with the insight of splinter-in-flesh-solitude, and the necessary mental shearing and redefining, Fred sees the difference. This is how a crazy girl courts a possible friend.

The way sharp teeth are bared probably means reconciliation with peace offering.

Fred smiles back, her grin more of a 'back-off' to the pretty woman with skin so white it must burn like winter.

This sort of thing has to happen just when she's found space to think. Entering any new venture requires a certain amount of close quarters with new people, but there are limits to how many new faces can greet Fred cheerily before she starts thinking about sharp deterrents. The Hyperion still belongs to Angel, though what he is planning to do with it when he has an entire division of Wolfram and Hart at his disposal is anybody's guess.

Of course, nobody really avoids the hotel so much as they don't happen by. Homes of their own have drawn the group apart. But Fred found safety here first, and as she listens for a vampire that should not be here, she does not give ground.

Come and find me she thinks, wondering about mental messaging. A chime sounding as a reply would be so very much nicer than a lethal pounce. Hide and seek with something that could see in the dark. Games are less fun with odds so very tipped.

"Here little one," Dru calls, humming as she moves easily over rotten floorboards.

"Naughty girl, running away, 's not nice." A dangerous unhappiness lowers her voice.

Fred imagines Dru stamping one foot with that vampiric strength.

*Crack* and away with Lady Sharp-tooth.


To have all the attention of darkness would be something.

The cold knowledge of science has nothing on a vampire's shiver-chill. Lips that should be center-of-an-iceberg-blue are painted crimson but not to hide Dru's nature. She is a perilous beauty. Fred understands the phrase now. A swirl of skirts, pale skin and hithery-skittery thoughts that give out endless puzzles like sweets.

Fred has always been curious. To know why means common sense can be ignored, but to understand a thing is to grasp its inner workings and then stand back and nod. Somehow she doesn't expect that Drusilla is going to allow her to stray far enough for a lecture tour.

"The cave swallows things and doesn't let them out," Dru hisses. "Keys on the walls."

Then the brunette straightens, and her smile is such a hopeful sweetness that Fred can almost forget to be frightened.

That Dru will beckon is clear. Fred's retreat has become a murky thing.

Close to the ground, hunched like a frightened furry meal, Fred comes home to a place that she'd thought inappropriate. She is no soft thing to squeal and be pulled, no she will bite.

Dru's neediness isn't fluffy pillow stuffing to keep the world out. A more honest space waits just for Fred.

You fit, come and see.

There is nothing but a memory of human movement in Dru. 'Feline' works in describing her gait, a way of crossing spaces with pounces on silent feet.

The vampire isn't the only one who can hunt. Letting Dru make all the moves unbalances things. When a pale hand reaches out, strong but trembling, Fred meets it with her own.

Dru's touch is soft enough to be an attempt at 'reverence,' but Fred can tell broken toys crunch under high heels. But being shattered isn't something that she fears, it has happened, and picking up after herself is habit by now.

Lips on the knob of her wrist burn like icicles. Bleed or burn, Dru wants to mark Fred for eternity.

It's clear from the way Dru works long nails into seams and bares Fred to the air that she is looking for skin to work with.

The stripping away of clothing is not so much a loss of clothing, but rather a revealing of her true form.

Dru touches her with a wonderment that quivers. Too many of her plantings have withered for the discovery of Fred to be accepted without making sure.

Fred sits unmoving under Dru's hands. This at least isn't wholly senseless, 'civilized' had translated into excessive layers. Still, she worries about how her stillness will be interpreted.

If Drusilla realizes that Fred won't can't run away, then will the vampire accept her find? Or will she look for hidden doors and rip Fred open in the process? Surviving the curiosity of a mind that wanders down such winding paths is something Fred would rather avoid. She shudders, caught up in her thoughts and the scratch of long nails on the small of her back. There is a design being sketched there.

Discovering the true power of runes is usually best done at a distance. With Dru's fingers carving into her flesh and the other hand clamped on her nape, Fred knows that moving is a dream.

Blood on painted nails can only be a test and if she doesn't pass muster.. Fred wonders when she last thought about her own taste. Let her taste mysterious and special enough to be saved or to be kept. One thing she knows is how to curl into a new place.

She watches Dru lick up crimson seriously, for the moment focused on Knowing Fred in a way that will not allow for lies.

When their eyes meet, Dru's smile is a bloodstained welcome. "Full of sunless places you are."


'What a silly question', Dru's expression says. If Fred is reading her right. She'd like to think that working with all those languages has given her some skill in that area.

"Sunshine makes you weak," Dru tells her, and Fred nods because that seems the right reaction. For vampires it's true at least. In her case, a cave had been her refuge, and daylight something that revealed her position.

There is nothing angry in Dru's eyes, more an eagerness nearly forgotten from the playground.

Pulling Fred close, Dru combs her hair into a tangle out of Pylea. Fred's living wild in the woods for such a long time is a fascinating thing.

"Such a treasure in the brambles," Dru whispers.

Now it is clear from where Angel acquired his taste for the ramblings of unbalanced women.

Well-lit, excuses are easier to find and Fred thinks that normally she could pass off this as an 'experience' instead of a construction project.

Studying objects is something Fred can do and Dru is another level of 'intriguing'. So many details are worth lingering over.

The way she slumps while keeping her feet. Artful demi-swoon before something barrels down on her and shakes up the pieces of her mind that Angel didn't crunch oh so precisely. Mosaic of sense that came about like botched springtime. She can quite happily ignore all that's going on around her, and turn whip sharp to prove hearing goes deeper than inside the skull.

Drusilla's walk is a blend of gliding and tottering on a narrow path. Trying to emulate the vampire's style only makes Fred dizzy, so she sticks to her own.

Though she has never stayed in the hotel, Dru belongs in a way that Fred finds unnerving. It likely has to do with her being family.

That position may prevent Angel from doing something Fred would categorize as 'overly harsh.' She may not be as established as Dru but they've got some things in common. Dark sisters should stick together.

As for the danger of decayed wood underfoot, Dru tugs Fred along, never once stepping wrong. She is unarguably a creature of the world, able to invoke the power of ground and sky, not needing the trappings of civilization to find her way.

The vampire pauses in contemplation of anything deep enough to lose herself.

In those moments she is more doll-like than ever. Something to be dressed meticulously and never left alone.

Nonexistent dry breath tickling Fred's skin makes her want to find water so that she can see Dru soften a bit. Skin glistening in the muted flicker of neon lights from the street that illuminate her as an eternal mystery.

Dru is humming a tune that might be recognizable if she didn't trail off as the weave of her dress becomes a distraction.

Their route is not one that Fred would normally have taken, but then little is as it was when she awoke this morning. For example, her companion seems to consider 'the quickest way down' to be synonymous with 'avoiding those pesky stairs altogether.' Fred clings on, hoping that broken boards and the fragility of humans have been taken into account.

When they finally land, Dru easily absorbing the impact, Fred sees. The broken can fit together. Compromises are made and the result is a more faceted whole.

Dru finds the garden by listening to the flowers or something equally fitting. Plainly she has a thing for blossoms and soil. In particular, the jasmine sends Dru into slow turns around the garden. Not wanting her at that moment is beyond Fred's abilities.

Dropping to her hands and knees, she pursues the vampire around benches and a number of plants. She doesn't bother hiding her purpose and when Dru returns to the same plan, she giggles, appreciating the chase.

When Fred can extend a hand to grab the hem of Dru's gown, she lunges.

Dru goes down with a grin, yanking Fred closer, ridges and fangs appearing as they hit the floor. Wrestling for dominance is absurd when a supernaturally strong being is involved, but Fred wants to make her position clear.

Not meek she thinks at Dru, briefly on top, the brunette a laughing wriggle of power and understanding.

Dru kisses her deep and wet, taking a survey and making a point. No, mine.


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