Apr. 19th, 2009

a_pretty_fire: (ill met by moonlight)
Chile was a popular destination for vampires. It didn’t have the vibrancy of Brazil or the history of Peru, but it had an ample supply of shadowy old buildings and pretty little flower girls. William – who was either twenty four years or six months old, depending on how you wanted to measure age – had been sired during a holiday trip to Santiago, and now aimed to make sure that his ‘mother’ enjoyed everything the country had to offer.

It wasn’t an easy task. Drusilla was petulant and unpredictable, and she certainly wasn’t a patient teacher. William had no idea what sort of shoes he had been made to fill, but the older vampire made it painfully clear that he would never really succeed.

He wished he didn’t love her so much, but everything had changed when she’d lured him into a quiet alleyway behind an even quieter hotel. What else did he have now?

Drusilla was currently seated in the centre of a room in an abandoned warehouse, sprawled elegantly across a white divan with her crimson dress spread out around her like a drop of blood in a saucer of milk. She seemed to be in a good mood, although William wasn't entirely sure why. She'd spent most of last night teasing him for his mediocre blood lust.

She seemed to be ... waiting for something.

He wasn't entirely surprised when there was a bang on the door.

"There's somebody outside. Pet."

He didn’t understand why Drusilla was so fond of being called ‘pet’, but following it up with a ‘princess’ was a sure fire way of getting an invitation into her bed, so the young vampire said it as much as possible. Today, however, she snapped her head up, quick as a snake, to stare straight past him and fix her gaze on the door.

“It’s Grandmummy, come to see her little Drusilla,” she breathed, dark eyes shining, “We shall have satin and fine dresses and crumpets for tea.”

She stopped suddenly, sniffing the air.

“And she brings the Angel beast with her. She’s full of him.”

She glanced at the vampire hovering uncertainly at her side.

“Run away, little boy. This isn’t a game for you to play.” )

Prompt: Mother's Love
Word Count: 940


a_pretty_fire: (Default)

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