After The Party
Short ficlet from 1770.
The prompts at
still_grrr were "Shindig", "Band Candy", and "Rm w/a Vw". So I decided to try all three of them, by writing something about Darla and Angelus.
After The Party
The fire crackled cheerily, lighting up the body of a young man lying on the floor.
Had he still been alive, he might have worried about the state of the carpet (blood is so tricky to remove). But then - if he were alive, he wouldn’t have been in the room at all. Not anymore.
The door opened, and a gentleman strode in. “Well?” he asked cheerfully, “Is this room good enough for my lady’s liking?”
There was a slight paused, and then she followed him in, and looked around carefully. “It’ll do.” She removed her hat and placed it on the table. “Who’s that?”
“Oh, him? He’s the landlord.” He grinned at her. “He’s going to let me rent the place - if I find it to my liking.”
“Did you have to leave him in the middle of the floor?”
He frowned. “You’re still upset.”
She didn’t reply.
He crossed to her, and put his hands around her waist, pulling her closer. “Didn’t you enjoy the party?”
Still no reply.
“All those people screaming, fleeing in terror, blood splattering the walls - it was a fine time. At least I thought so.”
“They were playing Haydn’s ninth opus.”
“That they were.”
She glared at him. “I like Haydn.”
“So?”
“So did you have to eat the minstrels halfway through?”
“It’s not like they were going to keep playing once I started slaughtering the room, is it?”
Another glare. “You started with the minstrels.” She moved away, removing her gloves. “You could always have forced them to keep playing while you killed everyone else. Abject terror can do wonders for the tone of Haydn.”
He gave up. “Fine. Next time I kill musicians, I won’t do anything fatal until they’ve finished the piece.” He pulled her back towards him, and smiled slowly. “Will that satisfy you?”
It looked for a moment like she would stay upset with him a while longer. But suddenly she relented, kissed him sweetly, and sighed, “My boy. You really must learn to take things slowly. Slaughter is all well and good, but art lasts.”
She sat down, and looked around again. “It isn’t exactly spacious. You couldn’t find anything larger?”
“I could have.” He moved to the window, and pulled open the curtains. “But the larger ones didn’t have this.”
It looked out over the town, to the mountains in the distance. It really was spectacular.
He turned and grinned again. “Facing north - so we can keep it open all day.”
She stared, transfixed, a smile spreading across her face.
He knelt by her chair. “Well?”
Behind them, the fire was starting to die down. But the two young lovers didn’t seem to notice at all.