writers_muses Prompt 82
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.”
He took one look at her, drinking in the wicked curve of her lips and the wild glint in her eyes, and did the only thing he could think of.
He ran.
***
“I spy, with my little eye, something wriggling away inside…” With a musical laugh, Drusilla rested her ear against the curve of Darla’s stomach. The older vampire was sitting on the divan, exhausted by the effort of the trek here, not to mention the enthusiasm of Drusilla’s greeting. “Oh, Grandmother, he’s so alive! So warm! He’s burning like the night and swallowing up the sun. I can hear him singing. He wants to come out and play with me…”
“You can have him!”
Drusilla laughed again, adjusting her ear as if she was trying to hear the sound of the sea through a shell. Her fingers traced gentle - yet rather distracting - patterns on the skin of Darla’s lower abdomen. Or was she actually writing on there? The name of a baby that Darla would not allow to be born, or a prophecy about a life that wouldn’t be lived?
“No. He’ll never be mine. You and Daddy made him all by yourself. That’s how he got in there.”
“Stop it, Dru,” Darla growled, “I know how it got there. What I need to know is how to get rid of it.”
“Get rid of it?” Drusilla looked up, blinking with innocent surprise. Darla wasn’t sure if she should throttle her or kiss her. (Knowing Dru, she’d be happy with either.) “Oh, no, you can’t do that, Grandmother. Can’t you feel him? He’s part of you. Winding round and round your insides. You’re sharing everything. Even a soul.”
“A soul? Don’t be so disgusting.”
Darla stood up abruptly - or abruptly as she could - in an attempt to step away from Drusilla’s disquieting gaze. Unfortunately, Drusilla’s eyes followed her without even blinking.
“You have to think of something, Dru. I’ve been to every other shaman in the western hemisphere …”
“And I’m the last?”
Was Drusilla actually offended by that? Hadn’t she heard the phrase ‘saving the best until last’? There was no doubting that Drusilla was the best. She was one of the few true Seers, and, although her manner was erratic and her phrases were difficult to decipher, she always saw straight to the truth of things. Darla wasn’t actually sure why she hadn’t visited her ‘granddaughter’ straight away. She thought she’d left the concept of shame behind her a long time ago.
Apparently not.
“No!” she said, vehemently, but once more Drusilla’s implacable stare came very close to extracting the truth from her and Darla had to look away.
“I don’t mind,” Drusilla said, rising to her feet like a wraith in red silk, “I knew you were coming. The moon told me.”
“That’s lovely, Dru. But you haven’t answered my question.”
“I can hear him whispering,” she breathed, brushing fingernails that could slit a throat tenderly over Darla’s swollen stomach.
“Answer my question, Drusilla!”
“I can’t. It’ll never go away. It’s going to grow and grow. You’re ripening. Like a melon.”
It wasn’t the most favourable comparison, but it could have been much worse. Not that Darla stopped to listen. Her face shifting, she grabbed Drusilla by the throat and pinned her up against the wall.
“Get rid of it,” she snarled.
Drusilla laughed.
“It? It’s not an ‘it’, Grandmother! It’s your darling little boy.”
Prompt: Mother's Love
Word Count: 940
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.”
He took one look at her, drinking in the wicked curve of her lips and the wild glint in her eyes, and did the only thing he could think of.
He ran.
***
“I spy, with my little eye, something wriggling away inside…” With a musical laugh, Drusilla rested her ear against the curve of Darla’s stomach. The older vampire was sitting on the divan, exhausted by the effort of the trek here, not to mention the enthusiasm of Drusilla’s greeting. “Oh, Grandmother, he’s so alive! So warm! He’s burning like the night and swallowing up the sun. I can hear him singing. He wants to come out and play with me…”
“You can have him!”
Drusilla laughed again, adjusting her ear as if she was trying to hear the sound of the sea through a shell. Her fingers traced gentle - yet rather distracting - patterns on the skin of Darla’s lower abdomen. Or was she actually writing on there? The name of a baby that Darla would not allow to be born, or a prophecy about a life that wouldn’t be lived?
“No. He’ll never be mine. You and Daddy made him all by yourself. That’s how he got in there.”
“Stop it, Dru,” Darla growled, “I know how it got there. What I need to know is how to get rid of it.”
“Get rid of it?” Drusilla looked up, blinking with innocent surprise. Darla wasn’t sure if she should throttle her or kiss her. (Knowing Dru, she’d be happy with either.) “Oh, no, you can’t do that, Grandmother. Can’t you feel him? He’s part of you. Winding round and round your insides. You’re sharing everything. Even a soul.”
“A soul? Don’t be so disgusting.”
Darla stood up abruptly - or abruptly as she could - in an attempt to step away from Drusilla’s disquieting gaze. Unfortunately, Drusilla’s eyes followed her without even blinking.
“You have to think of something, Dru. I’ve been to every other shaman in the western hemisphere …”
“And I’m the last?”
Was Drusilla actually offended by that? Hadn’t she heard the phrase ‘saving the best until last’? There was no doubting that Drusilla was the best. She was one of the few true Seers, and, although her manner was erratic and her phrases were difficult to decipher, she always saw straight to the truth of things. Darla wasn’t actually sure why she hadn’t visited her ‘granddaughter’ straight away. She thought she’d left the concept of shame behind her a long time ago.
Apparently not.
“No!” she said, vehemently, but once more Drusilla’s implacable stare came very close to extracting the truth from her and Darla had to look away.
“I don’t mind,” Drusilla said, rising to her feet like a wraith in red silk, “I knew you were coming. The moon told me.”
“That’s lovely, Dru. But you haven’t answered my question.”
“I can hear him whispering,” she breathed, brushing fingernails that could slit a throat tenderly over Darla’s swollen stomach.
“Answer my question, Drusilla!”
“I can’t. It’ll never go away. It’s going to grow and grow. You’re ripening. Like a melon.”
It wasn’t the most favourable comparison, but it could have been much worse. Not that Darla stopped to listen. Her face shifting, she grabbed Drusilla by the throat and pinned her up against the wall.
“Get rid of it,” she snarled.
Drusilla laughed.
“It? It’s not an ‘it’, Grandmother! It’s your darling little boy.”
Prompt: Mother's Love
Word Count: 940