|septentrion1970 (septentrion1970) wrote in adventdrabbles,|
@ 2007-12-09 22:44:00
|Entry tags:||contributor: septentrion1970, dec01, dec02, dec04, fandom: buffy the vampire slayer, year: 2007|
Dec 01, Dec 02, Dec 04, Buffy, Spike/Drusilla, A Real Christmas
Title: A real Christmas
A/N: I'm very late in my posting, but the muse kicked in lately and my beta, dacian_goddess, was busy. I thank her very much to have helped me to keep the dialogue in-character. And since I'm so late, I make it up with a 751 words text.
“I want us to have a real Christmas,” Drusilla entreated.
She’d been like that for days, in turn crying, yelling, biting, clawing, and all of it for a silly holiday people like them ought to ignore; perhaps it was a remnant of her life as a nun. Spike sighed convincingly for someone who didn’t have use of his lungs and set out to make his lover content.
“Keep your eyes closed, love” Spike instructed, guiding Drusilla through the threshold of a crypt he’d refurbished for that purpose. He led her to the middle of the room.
“Open your eyes,” he said.
Drusilla opened them and turned slowly around, eyeing the myriad of candles lighting up the dim room with a delighted expression. They were everywhere, on the stoned tombs, on brackets on the wall, on the table… Drusilla’s eyes widened. On a table in front of her, a child was lying; he was a very young boy, securely attached by straps around his ankles and wrists, his neck free of any piece of clothing.
“I brought pudding, love,” Spike whispered in her ear from behind.
A sinister grin played across Drusilla’s lips. It conveyed her insanity better than any word.
“Oh, the poor little boy,” she murmured. Approaching him, she continued, “No one should be alone on Christmas Eve. Mummy will take care of you, poor little boy.” She stroked his face, and the boy shuddered. She brought her face near to his. “If you’re good, Santa will visit you,” she confided. She carried on caressing the child’s face and started to hum a lullaby, all the while ignoring Spike, who had shouted, “No! Absolutely not!”
“Dear Spike will fetch Santa for you, child. Ssshh, don’t cry,” she soothed. She stood up, looked Spike into the eyes and pouted. “Please, darling. I want him to stop crying.”
Spike rolled his eyes. He’d never been able to resist those tactics. “All right, princess. I’ll get you a Santa, luv. And don’t play with your dessert until I come back, poodle.” He turned on his heel and left the crypt. All the while he was gone, Drusilla tried to calm the freezing boy. She stroked his face, threatened him with disembowelment, promised to find his parents and kill them if he didn’t stop. In the end, weariness won out and he dozed off.
Suddenly, the door of the crypt was banged against the wall and a Santa Claus, complete with hat, beard, red coat and boots, entered. He was a bit thin, though. “Ho, ho, ho! What do we have here? A poor little boy all alone on a table,” Santa said in a rather raspy voice.
“He’s not alone,” Drusilla protested. “He’s got me!”
“He’s alone on the table, love. You’re standing up,” Santa answered smoothly.
The boy had wakened when Spike as Santa had come in. He looked utterly scared of the disguised… thing in front of him. He was shaking from head to toe; he was sobbing; he was peeing on himself. Drusilla sniffed. “Oh, the bad little boy! He’s wet himself. I don’t think Santa should give you a gift, you dirty boy,” she admonished him, shaking her finger at him as if he’d been a naughty boy.
“A pity,” Spike said. “I had something for him.” His face, partly concealed by the fake beard, expressed congeniality, but greed darkened his eyes as they roamed over the small body dressed in jeans and a t-shirt torn around the collarbone. He plunged a hand into a rag tied together at the corners and produced a dead kitten. A freshly killed kitten. “Sorry,” he said unapologetically, “but I was hungry. I thought I could have a snack before the main course.”
The couple of vampires turned in unison to the boy, who had frozen at the sight of the kitten. They stalked over to their immobilised prey and leaned over it. “After you,” Spike said; he gestured with his hand for Drusilla to start eating. “You can have your pudding and eat it.”
“What about you, darling? This boy is so tiny. He’ll barely suffice for the both of us.”
“Don’t worry about it, love. I had a rather large snack, actually.” He winked. “The kitty’s owner.”
Drusilla’s face transformed. The ugliness of her inner demon revealed itself to the boy, and he screamed, he screamed with all the power of his childish lungs, until the fangs sank into his jugular and drained him of his very short life.