Saturday in the Park, with Issues (rp for Lindsey)
It's odd. Darla doesn't believe she has any particular attachment to Boston, or indeed other cities; if you live long enough, they all become places to leave, some more enjoyable than others, true, but she hasn't thought of any place as "home" since centuries.
Well. That was it. She hasn't tried to live as a human since centuries, either, not even, or especially not in Los Angeles, when she was brought back as one the first time. She had rejected being a human then, had tried to be the vampire she remembered. This time, she has tried, for more than a year now; and one of the most important reasons for the attempt, the girl who had drawn her to Boston, has gone from vibrant and thrilled at life to a suicide attempt.
When this happened with Drusilla, it had been deliberate.
As a principle, Darla doesn't believe in brooding; Angel does more than his share. But it is hard not to wonder whether her company had not contributed to Kara's breakdown. She had dreamt of breaking the girl and making her into a vampire, early on, and sometimes later, because her dreams are treacherous and not controlled by the soul that anchors her to her slowly decaying form and to that overpowering and humiliating wish to protect and nourish which probably defines itself as maternal love.
She's walking home, not taking the car or, for now, using the public transport. There is something in the cool February air that works for her. Near the Public Garden, she stops at a kiosk and asks for cigarettes. She very rarely smokes; if you have Spike around for a few decades, you learn not to by default. But she feels like it now, which is unfortunate, since the owner looks at her, aghast. Ah, America in the 21st century.
Two attempts later, and she does locate a minion of the tobacco lobby who sells. Which is when she remembers that she doesn't have a lighter, or matches.
It's probably just a coincidence, then, that as she looks up, unlighted cigarette in hand, a familiar shadow falls over her.
Well. That was it. She hasn't tried to live as a human since centuries, either, not even, or especially not in Los Angeles, when she was brought back as one the first time. She had rejected being a human then, had tried to be the vampire she remembered. This time, she has tried, for more than a year now; and one of the most important reasons for the attempt, the girl who had drawn her to Boston, has gone from vibrant and thrilled at life to a suicide attempt.
When this happened with Drusilla, it had been deliberate.
As a principle, Darla doesn't believe in brooding; Angel does more than his share. But it is hard not to wonder whether her company had not contributed to Kara's breakdown. She had dreamt of breaking the girl and making her into a vampire, early on, and sometimes later, because her dreams are treacherous and not controlled by the soul that anchors her to her slowly decaying form and to that overpowering and humiliating wish to protect and nourish which probably defines itself as maternal love.
She's walking home, not taking the car or, for now, using the public transport. There is something in the cool February air that works for her. Near the Public Garden, she stops at a kiosk and asks for cigarettes. She very rarely smokes; if you have Spike around for a few decades, you learn not to by default. But she feels like it now, which is unfortunate, since the owner looks at her, aghast. Ah, America in the 21st century.
Two attempts later, and she does locate a minion of the tobacco lobby who sells. Which is when she remembers that she doesn't have a lighter, or matches.
It's probably just a coincidence, then, that as she looks up, unlighted cigarette in hand, a familiar shadow falls over her.