who| Drusilla and [OPEN] what| Enjoying the evening. where| Out and about the city. when| October 1; Evening rating| PG-13 for neck-snappery status| Thread; Incomplete and Open.
The city smelled like ruin, and Death was more tangiable in every alleyway and on every dancefloor than ever. Even the blood tasted better, she thought, carefully wiping the drip from beneath her bottom lip onto her finger, and sucking it off. She dropped the body ontop of the corpse that had been the party's cheif security officer, and waited for the skin of her vampiric face to relax back into it's usual human state before she stepped back into the thrum and chatter of the ballroom. She closed the balcony doors behind her, leaving the corpses and their stink to be discovered during daytime hours.
Drusilla loved the fancy parties of the LA Elite. A buffett of high-class blood, and higher-classified gossip. There were no whispers of the Apocalypse here, only which wines would taste like what, and who knew who that knew what who else knows. She put the former there, in little comments that left ladies looking uncomfortable and gentlemen worrying the knots of their thin black bow ties. Her eyes wandered the floor for a partner for an upcoming dance, but found that she'd eaten the best one there. With a dissapointed whine in her throat, she grabbed a woman in a dusty blue dress and snapped her neck over the coat check counter on her way out.
Spinning one end of her sash as she walked the streets(Her other was preoccupied with the wine in the glass she'd walked from the party with.), she let her mind wander and frolick. The End was coming, a Slayer was dead, and she was halfway to feeling well-fed.