sires: i'm a lil hybrid tea pot (Default)
dicholas mikaelson. ([personal profile] sires) wrote in [community profile] pylea2012-01-05 12:21 am

(no subject)

WHO DIED AND MADE YOU FUCKING KING OF THE ZOMBIES?
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: (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.