sires: (pic#1048661)
Darla ▒ ❝grandmother. ❞ ([personal profile] sires) wrote in [community profile] pylea2012-01-05 12:21 am

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ANGEL | [personal profile] singswithstars and [personal profile] sires | season three/four/five massive au | the apocalypse finally comes ... with zombies. fml.

[ The apocalypse comes - finally - and it still manages to fuck itself up. Colour Darla incredibly unimpressed and pissed off.

There's hardly any snacks to go around, which has caused her to snap the necks of half of her small army and stake them right in the ticker. There's no point in sharing with ungrateful people who don't listen to her orders properly, anyway. She's the general. The orders should be done exactly as she says they are to be. The only person she can trust is Drusilla, which is funny, because she's the one person who grates her nerves more than the nameless wannabe vampires she's slayed.

They're out in the middle of a deserted road, houses and the like all dark by the lack of lights, and things are half smashed, half still as they were pre-end of the world, and Darla's looking for some lunch. She's finding it harder and harder as they travel over the country to find someone delicious. She has a suspicion it's making Dru a little crazier than usual to go without for so long.

And now - if she can believe it or not - she's trying to find a place for them to hide. From zombies. The deliciously disgusting undead who make them seem like angels. At least she and Dru are better dressed.

Darla's tired of walking up and down, in a sort of pace, as she looks for somewhere smart to hide. These zombies lack in intelligence but they have a hunger to rival her own.

The apocalypse comes and we're being chased by zombies.

[ If she could throw something, she would. ]

Come on, Dru. Let's leave the morons to be zombie bait.

[ The Scooby Gang, she presumes. Whatever is left of them. The Slayer's been on their asses since they got the hell out of Sunnydale and it's ruins, and she's not sure if the zombies have picked them off one by one yet. She figures they'll start with the tall one, who's a bit bulky and doesn't possess any skill whatsoever. And then the red head. She'd love to be there to watch the zombies rip apart that one.

And if Darla grabs Dru by the crook of the elbow and roughly pulls her forward toward a house, it's not because she cares.
singswithstars: (You know you live to break me)

[personal profile] singswithstars 2012-01-05 06:48 am (UTC)(link)
[ The hunger had indeed gotten to Dru, and the more it goes on the more out of touch she becomes, wandering and muttering, seeing things in the shadows, mind plagued by the hunger of Darla's army and the fear of their leader, the shivering terror of some with less spine than others, and the constant hum of death come walking.

The vampires were one thing - the dead brought back in all forms but soul and ticking heart - but the zombies... There's nothing there. A sea, ocean, or nothing. Just the raging need, the craving, like a compulsive itch or a maddening anxiety. It increased her own tenfold as Dru's complete lack of mental shields left her wide open to falling into the demented hivemind, vulnerable to be swallowed up. Likely if Darla hadn't been there, Dru wouldn't have survived this long.

She's not quite to the point of useless, however. Only distracted - her fits and mood swinging tendencies a few shades worse than normal. While Darla's speaking, Dru's muttering - incoherent words, bits of phrases and chunks of century old nursery rhymes. She doesn't come out of her daze until the hand at her elbow shifts her from it.

Eyes wide, glassy and owlish, she blinks, more listening to whispers of insanity granting her empathy to sense what Darla's trying to tell her than trying to recall what was said. A silent nod and she hobbles with her, letting herself be led towards the house.

But halts dead in the road after a couple steps. Eyes wide and pupils unfocused, she turns her head slowly, looking behind her, and a single, delicately manicured finger raises to point to shadows on the dimming horizon.

A small group of them. Not a horde. But enough that cannot be fought by the two alone. ]

Because I could not stop for Death, Death kindly stopped for me.

[ The words roll off her lips in a hollow, empty mutter, but loud enough Darla can hear. ]
singswithstars: (He can't carve a whistle)

[personal profile] singswithstars 2012-02-14 08:52 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Darla's protection, maternal inclination washes over Dru's over-active sense for empathy in a wave and it comforts her like a warm blanket. Even cold blooded as she was, Dru still sought warmth like any other living creature. There was perhaps more that was human in her than any of the others in the Whirlwind.

Drusilla isn't afraid of dying - she's been to hell and back and it felt as much like home as anything else, but she worries for Darla. See the weakness in her she always fights so hard to push down and hide away. There isn't much Drusilla doesn't see, but this is one of the things that pains her the most. She doesn't want to leave her, imagine her hiding in the sewers alone, abandoned by her family. Dru knew the feeling too well and never wished it on her loved ones, her beloved grandsire.

But Dru also knew that she'd be slowing her down. Traveling while taking care of her had to wear on Darla. Finding food for two in an already scarce environment would not be easy, she knew it well enough.

As she's tugged, Dru follows along, albeit with a bit of a wobble to her step, but follows dutifully. Watching the back of Darla's head move, blond hair swaying, she speaks, louder than before, but still with a short of shaking to it. ]

Mama hen dotes on the sickly little chick. But doesn't she know? In nature, the ill and injured are left behind. [ She swallows. Dru knows what she's saying, what she's suggesting. She's not afraid. ] They lag.

[ As the come up to one of the crypts, Dru slips her arm from the hold, grabbing one of Darla's hands instead to give a comforting squeeze. She sees the pain in her, the panic, perhaps even more than usually with how disconnected she is from reality at the moment. She doesn't like to see Darla fear. ]
singswithstars: (Gypsies and thieves)

[personal profile] singswithstars 2012-03-21 01:27 am (UTC)(link)
My birds always die... [ It's mumbled in a distracted off-hand manner, memories of this and that floating around in her head in her unfocused state. She remembers home and how it was before and the colorful birds Angelus or Spike would bring home for her one occasion. They always sang so pretty, then cried so sad after a couple weeks before she found them motionless at the bottom of the cage. The finiteness of their existence like a slowly, painfully, beautifully extinguishing flame - something Drusilla was both enchanted by and terrified of.

Blinking at the slam, she looks back at the door, then towards Darla searching the area. As she sinks to sit, a small, fond smile slips across her lips. They're all the two of them have left and Dru finds it appropriate. The boys always played their silly games, but Dru's dear Grandmother held the family together - held Dru together when she needed it most.

She doesn't want to leave her, and she doesn't thinks she will - Drusilla makes it almost as a conscious decision. Torture and war and hell dimensions she's made it through and when the weak human die off as fodder for the hordes, the two of them will be left as always, laughing loud in the rubble and dancing through the ashes. She's need to find herself a new dress when the time came...

Raising her head to regard her, Dru lets am open mouthed, pleased smile tug at her lips, head lolling in the manner she does when amused, less so of sickliness now. ]
Little blond girl. With bouncy curls and rosy cheeks and clean white petticoats. [ Closing her eyes and inhaling the scent of the dusty crypt deeply, she lets it out in a slow chuckle. ] Yes... [ It's let out in a lullaby-esque drawl ] That would be lovely.