10_shakespeare 1
The Lunatic and the Poet
1. The lunatic, the lover, and the poet
Are of imagination all compact.
A Midsummer Night's Dream: Act V, Scene I
The Royal London Hotel was the most sumptuous building William had ever been in. He’d been in nice buildings before, of course, but only thanks to the social circles he’d desperately tried to move in. This was different. He wasn’t that person anymore, for a start. No more cringing, no more clinging on at the edges of society. He was going to show the world who William Pratt could be.
(Although he needed to work on the name. It wasn’t very ... vampiric, was it?)
Darla had wanted a suite on the top floor - something about the view, apparently, which was a notion that the poet inside William had been happy to accept - and the family had already been firmly enthroned when Drusilla had brought him to join them. It still felt strange to call them that. A family. It fitted, though. His family.
Darla and Angelus had actually accepted him into the fold with relative ease, despite his own initial reservations. He’d wanted Drusilla to himself, for a start, and he’d wanted a life he could call his own. William Pratt had spent too long under the thumb of society to enter a new one immediately after making an escape, but Angelus had been friendly and accommodating, and he did need someone to teach him how to survive. (Dru was wonderful, but she wasn’t very good when it came to lessons.) In fact, Angelus actually seemed pleased to have another male in the group, and Darla … well, William strongly suspected that Darla was rarely pleased by anyone. She tolerated him, though, and that was a start.
The only problem was the fact that he’d been expected to step immediately into a subservient role. Angelus was the proud patriarch and his rule was currently unquestioned. William liked to think that that was only a temporary state of affairs. He was new to this whole vampire deal, after all. He’d learn. Angelus wouldn’t stay on top forever. Admittedly, he wasn’t sure what he’d do when he reached the top of the vampire hierarchy, but he did know that Drusilla would make a wonderful queen. He’d never met a girl like her before. She was as far from Cecily and the rest of them as this life was from his old one. A bit strange, maybe, but that was only because she was brave enough to look at the world in a way that others would never dare.
(She also had a largely subservient role in the family, actually, but this was only because she obeyed the older vampires unquestioningly. They never actually asked her to do anything. She’d probably wander off to talk to the moon in the middle of a task, or something.)
They were going out tonight, apparently. A fancy meal to celebrate the end of his first week as a vampire. He’d have preferred a night of simple hunting, but Darla was most insistent. Even Dru seemed excited about the whole thing. It didn’t matter if they were going to eat the cooks rather than the food they prepared. It was all a matter of style (and expensive dresses, apparently).
To William, though, a kill was a kill. A rush of adrenheline and a flash of fangs. Who cared if it was stylish?
Angelus and Darla had been rather amused by that thought, when he finally decided to voice it.
“Killing is an art, young William,” said Angelus, who was sprawled out on a divan and watching ‘his girls’ - his? - prepare for their jaunt, “You’ll learn that when you get a bit older. It isn’t all about spilling blood. It’s about how you spill it.”
He wanted to point out that he’d had no trouble spilling blood so far. He’d get laughed down, but the fact that he was standing up to Angelus in the first place had to count for something. He wasn’t going to take everything the older vampire said as hard fact. He wasn’t. He had more guts than that. More brains. More imagination, too, since he could imagine a world without Angelus in charge.
This thought was something which managed to escape even Dru, who usually had such a vivid mind. She’d been happy to have him as an addition to the family, but that was the biggest change she could envisage. He’d show her. She’d put her faith in him, and he was going to do everything he could to earn that.
With a fond smile, William glanced over at his girl, who was sitting at the dressing table with Darla, peering into the mirror as if she could see her reflection - or something even more interesting, knowing his Dru - there. As he watched, she raised a hand to her cheek and made a strange whimpering sound. And, before William could speak, she pitched sideways, off the chair and onto the floor.
“Dru!” he gasped, darting to her side and trying to catch flailing limbs before she hurt herself, “Dru! What’s wrong?”
She mumbled a few incomprehensible words, thrashing furiously. He was probably stronger than she was - though he hadn’t (and wouldn’t) try to test that theory - but she was powered by something he didn’t understand. Was she ill? Could vampires fall ill at all, let alone so suddenly?
Why weren’t the others trying to help?
“Angelus, the girl is Seeing again,” said Darla calmly, patting her elaborate hairstyle and securing a stray curl with a pin.
“Shut up, Dru,” Angelus barked, without looking up.
“What?” William exclaimed, torn between confusion and fury and settling tentatively on the latter, “She’s not well! She needs help!”
“She’ll be fine,” said Darla, patiently, getting to her feet and smoothing down the material, “She gets like this from time to time.”
“Like this? What is this?”
“Did Dru never tell you about her little ‘gift’?”
“Gift?”
“Our girl has the Sight,” explained Angelus, stretching as he rose and wrapping an arm around Darla’s slender waist, “She sees visions of the future.”
“What? There’s no such thing as the ‘Sight’ …”
“Bet you were saying the same thing about vampires a few weeks ago.”
“He wants to dance,” Drusilla interrupted, “He wants to dance and thinks he won’t have to pay the pied paper. Such a pretty game. It’ll all end in ashes. Ashes and chases and rats who can’t keep their feet still. It’s the wrong day for a party!”
She wasn’t kicking out anymore, but she was still shaking. Tentatively, and directing a disgusted look at the others, William raised a hand to stroke her hair.
“’course, she isn’t always that clear about what she’s seein’, these days,” Angelus continued with a laugh. “Lost her mind when I sired her. Or was it before? Torture’ll do that do a girl. Still, she’s been a nice addition to the family ...”
“Angelus,” Darla broke in, “We’re going to be late.”
“Can’t have that, can we?” he said, smirking, “You’ll keep an eye on Dru, won’t you Will? We’ll try not to be too late.”
His tone left no room for argument. There was humour there, but it was tinged with the sort of iron that made William wait before claiming power. The younger vampires had no choice but to nod and watch them leave. He was still holding Drusilla close, and had expected to feel some sort of reaction when Angelus mentioned her childhood torture. She didn’t even twitch. Not because she’d forgotten, but because she no longer considered it important.
Torture. That explained a lot of things, from Drusilla’s slightly unhinged behaviour to her dependence on Angelus. He wasn’t angry, though. Torture was just torture. He couldn’t stick railway spikes through people’s heads and then preach about morals, could he? Anyway, whatever Angelus had done had made Drusilla into who she was today. The idea of her wasting away in a pitiful - normal - human life was sickening. She was special.
She’d been special even before he’d found out about her Sight.
“Are you angry with me, William?” she asked, after a minute or two of silence, tracing strange patterns on his abdomen with her index finger, “Because you’ve missed dinner?”
“Angry?” William shook his head firmly, standing up and pulling an astonished Dru with him, “I’m not angry, love. Not at all. We’ll have our own party, hey? A bit of a spree.”
“I like sprees. Can I have a new dress?”
“Anythin’ you want, pet.”
A queen who could see things before they happened? No one would be able to stop them! The whole world could be theirs!
William was bloody well going to enjoy this …
Bloody.
That had a ring to it, didn’t it?
1. The lunatic, the lover, and the poet
Are of imagination all compact.
A Midsummer Night's Dream: Act V, Scene I
The Royal London Hotel was the most sumptuous building William had ever been in. He’d been in nice buildings before, of course, but only thanks to the social circles he’d desperately tried to move in. This was different. He wasn’t that person anymore, for a start. No more cringing, no more clinging on at the edges of society. He was going to show the world who William Pratt could be.
(Although he needed to work on the name. It wasn’t very ... vampiric, was it?)
Darla had wanted a suite on the top floor - something about the view, apparently, which was a notion that the poet inside William had been happy to accept - and the family had already been firmly enthroned when Drusilla had brought him to join them. It still felt strange to call them that. A family. It fitted, though. His family.
Darla and Angelus had actually accepted him into the fold with relative ease, despite his own initial reservations. He’d wanted Drusilla to himself, for a start, and he’d wanted a life he could call his own. William Pratt had spent too long under the thumb of society to enter a new one immediately after making an escape, but Angelus had been friendly and accommodating, and he did need someone to teach him how to survive. (Dru was wonderful, but she wasn’t very good when it came to lessons.) In fact, Angelus actually seemed pleased to have another male in the group, and Darla … well, William strongly suspected that Darla was rarely pleased by anyone. She tolerated him, though, and that was a start.
The only problem was the fact that he’d been expected to step immediately into a subservient role. Angelus was the proud patriarch and his rule was currently unquestioned. William liked to think that that was only a temporary state of affairs. He was new to this whole vampire deal, after all. He’d learn. Angelus wouldn’t stay on top forever. Admittedly, he wasn’t sure what he’d do when he reached the top of the vampire hierarchy, but he did know that Drusilla would make a wonderful queen. He’d never met a girl like her before. She was as far from Cecily and the rest of them as this life was from his old one. A bit strange, maybe, but that was only because she was brave enough to look at the world in a way that others would never dare.
(She also had a largely subservient role in the family, actually, but this was only because she obeyed the older vampires unquestioningly. They never actually asked her to do anything. She’d probably wander off to talk to the moon in the middle of a task, or something.)
They were going out tonight, apparently. A fancy meal to celebrate the end of his first week as a vampire. He’d have preferred a night of simple hunting, but Darla was most insistent. Even Dru seemed excited about the whole thing. It didn’t matter if they were going to eat the cooks rather than the food they prepared. It was all a matter of style (and expensive dresses, apparently).
To William, though, a kill was a kill. A rush of adrenheline and a flash of fangs. Who cared if it was stylish?
Angelus and Darla had been rather amused by that thought, when he finally decided to voice it.
“Killing is an art, young William,” said Angelus, who was sprawled out on a divan and watching ‘his girls’ - his? - prepare for their jaunt, “You’ll learn that when you get a bit older. It isn’t all about spilling blood. It’s about how you spill it.”
He wanted to point out that he’d had no trouble spilling blood so far. He’d get laughed down, but the fact that he was standing up to Angelus in the first place had to count for something. He wasn’t going to take everything the older vampire said as hard fact. He wasn’t. He had more guts than that. More brains. More imagination, too, since he could imagine a world without Angelus in charge.
This thought was something which managed to escape even Dru, who usually had such a vivid mind. She’d been happy to have him as an addition to the family, but that was the biggest change she could envisage. He’d show her. She’d put her faith in him, and he was going to do everything he could to earn that.
With a fond smile, William glanced over at his girl, who was sitting at the dressing table with Darla, peering into the mirror as if she could see her reflection - or something even more interesting, knowing his Dru - there. As he watched, she raised a hand to her cheek and made a strange whimpering sound. And, before William could speak, she pitched sideways, off the chair and onto the floor.
“Dru!” he gasped, darting to her side and trying to catch flailing limbs before she hurt herself, “Dru! What’s wrong?”
She mumbled a few incomprehensible words, thrashing furiously. He was probably stronger than she was - though he hadn’t (and wouldn’t) try to test that theory - but she was powered by something he didn’t understand. Was she ill? Could vampires fall ill at all, let alone so suddenly?
Why weren’t the others trying to help?
“Angelus, the girl is Seeing again,” said Darla calmly, patting her elaborate hairstyle and securing a stray curl with a pin.
“Shut up, Dru,” Angelus barked, without looking up.
“What?” William exclaimed, torn between confusion and fury and settling tentatively on the latter, “She’s not well! She needs help!”
“She’ll be fine,” said Darla, patiently, getting to her feet and smoothing down the material, “She gets like this from time to time.”
“Like this? What is this?”
“Did Dru never tell you about her little ‘gift’?”
“Gift?”
“Our girl has the Sight,” explained Angelus, stretching as he rose and wrapping an arm around Darla’s slender waist, “She sees visions of the future.”
“What? There’s no such thing as the ‘Sight’ …”
“Bet you were saying the same thing about vampires a few weeks ago.”
“He wants to dance,” Drusilla interrupted, “He wants to dance and thinks he won’t have to pay the pied paper. Such a pretty game. It’ll all end in ashes. Ashes and chases and rats who can’t keep their feet still. It’s the wrong day for a party!”
She wasn’t kicking out anymore, but she was still shaking. Tentatively, and directing a disgusted look at the others, William raised a hand to stroke her hair.
“’course, she isn’t always that clear about what she’s seein’, these days,” Angelus continued with a laugh. “Lost her mind when I sired her. Or was it before? Torture’ll do that do a girl. Still, she’s been a nice addition to the family ...”
“Angelus,” Darla broke in, “We’re going to be late.”
“Can’t have that, can we?” he said, smirking, “You’ll keep an eye on Dru, won’t you Will? We’ll try not to be too late.”
His tone left no room for argument. There was humour there, but it was tinged with the sort of iron that made William wait before claiming power. The younger vampires had no choice but to nod and watch them leave. He was still holding Drusilla close, and had expected to feel some sort of reaction when Angelus mentioned her childhood torture. She didn’t even twitch. Not because she’d forgotten, but because she no longer considered it important.
Torture. That explained a lot of things, from Drusilla’s slightly unhinged behaviour to her dependence on Angelus. He wasn’t angry, though. Torture was just torture. He couldn’t stick railway spikes through people’s heads and then preach about morals, could he? Anyway, whatever Angelus had done had made Drusilla into who she was today. The idea of her wasting away in a pitiful - normal - human life was sickening. She was special.
She’d been special even before he’d found out about her Sight.
“Are you angry with me, William?” she asked, after a minute or two of silence, tracing strange patterns on his abdomen with her index finger, “Because you’ve missed dinner?”
“Angry?” William shook his head firmly, standing up and pulling an astonished Dru with him, “I’m not angry, love. Not at all. We’ll have our own party, hey? A bit of a spree.”
“I like sprees. Can I have a new dress?”
“Anythin’ you want, pet.”
A queen who could see things before they happened? No one would be able to stop them! The whole world could be theirs!
William was bloody well going to enjoy this …
Bloody.
That had a ring to it, didn’t it?