Post by willowsummers on Mar 16, 2010 1:01:22 GMT -5
A short story about Darla and Angelus. Rated PG but only for slightly disturbing content. No sex.
Darla strolled peacefully back to her home- her hotel room she shared with her companion Angelus. They were staying briefly in Romania, just one stop on their tour of the world. She had promised him she would show him everything and she intended to hold to her word. He had told her he was going out with Spike and she went out with Dru, both pairs to kill and terrorize but Darla had the impression that the others had boy plans. She and Dru made girl plans of their own that night. It was fun for a time, but now she hoped that Angelus was waiting for her when she returned. She missed him terribly. Walking down the street just before their hotel, Darla saw the cowardly humans avoid her. Some would even shout. These that lived close by knew what she and Angelus were but would do nothing.
Upon opening the door, Darla knew Angelus must not be inside. He was too full of excitement and thrill to not be in a loud, brightly lit room, usually full of people. You could never miss him. He made sure of that. It was part of his charm. Darla tried and usually succeeded to be that way, but he had a way of making it seem easy. She turned the light on and went into the kitchen, sulking a little at the peace and quiet. Her flowing skirt rustled against the furniture in a way that thrilled her- a reminder of her extravagance.
A sliding sound directed her attention to the corner by the fireplace and, to her horror, she saw Angelus rising from the floor. He was disheveled, he stumbled and he appeared to be crying. Darla hadn’t seen anything like it in over one hundred years with her stallion.
He muttered to her, looking around him and not at her, as if lost in thought. Then his eyes fixed on hers to make his point, “Not everyone screams.”
“What?” Darla asked him, an uncomfortable feeling resounded in her voice.
He seemed intent to tell her, but barely able to really see or notice her, “When you kill them, some –just stand there- frozen… White others…”
“What are you doing? Are we playing a game?” Darla was terrified and she must admit that she didn’t remember the last time that had happened to her.
“The children- they usually scream.”
“Umm yes, the children…. They sound just like little pigs. Did you bring some?”
Angelus did not answer her coherently or not with any feelings that she could understand. She stared at him, trying to figure out what was wrong. She asked him if he had found someone else and he ignored her. He put his arms around her and tried to lean on her and she pushed him away. “No, let go.”
Darla saw the tears in his eyes again and she began to panic. “Where have you been?”
“"That gypsy girl you brought me - her people found out. They did something to me." Angelus muttered, barely interested. He answered only to please her. She asked him if it was a spell, rubbing his face but he merely continued with his rambling. “Funny. You would think with all of the people I’ve maimed and killed, I wouldn’t be able to remember every single one.” He looked deep into her eyes as they fixed on him in horror. “Darla, help me.”
“The spell. They gave you a soul?” She cried and he tried to hold her again and she pushed him away. “A filthy soul! You’re disgusting!” She scratched him to unleash her anger and to hopefully turn him away from her.
He reached out to her, stumbling over the chair in his way. “I am like you, Darla.”
“You’re not like me! You’re nothing!” she cried and pushed him and clawed at him until he left.
Darla shut and locked the door behind him but she didn’t watch him. She couldn’t bear to see that shell of the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. She collapsed on the floor and the big, extravagant room seemed desolate and oppressive now that she was alone in it. Angelus was gone to her forever. All of eternity without her favorite and, only, chosen companion. To be with him now would be worse than being alone. To see him cry, pout and bemoan his deeds. To care about filthy, sick, weak people. To not feel the clean, pure joy of the hundred years they’d spent together. He’d hate her, hate himself or both and it would be too awful to bear.
Darla strolled peacefully back to her home- her hotel room she shared with her companion Angelus. They were staying briefly in Romania, just one stop on their tour of the world. She had promised him she would show him everything and she intended to hold to her word. He had told her he was going out with Spike and she went out with Dru, both pairs to kill and terrorize but Darla had the impression that the others had boy plans. She and Dru made girl plans of their own that night. It was fun for a time, but now she hoped that Angelus was waiting for her when she returned. She missed him terribly. Walking down the street just before their hotel, Darla saw the cowardly humans avoid her. Some would even shout. These that lived close by knew what she and Angelus were but would do nothing.
Upon opening the door, Darla knew Angelus must not be inside. He was too full of excitement and thrill to not be in a loud, brightly lit room, usually full of people. You could never miss him. He made sure of that. It was part of his charm. Darla tried and usually succeeded to be that way, but he had a way of making it seem easy. She turned the light on and went into the kitchen, sulking a little at the peace and quiet. Her flowing skirt rustled against the furniture in a way that thrilled her- a reminder of her extravagance.
A sliding sound directed her attention to the corner by the fireplace and, to her horror, she saw Angelus rising from the floor. He was disheveled, he stumbled and he appeared to be crying. Darla hadn’t seen anything like it in over one hundred years with her stallion.
He muttered to her, looking around him and not at her, as if lost in thought. Then his eyes fixed on hers to make his point, “Not everyone screams.”
“What?” Darla asked him, an uncomfortable feeling resounded in her voice.
He seemed intent to tell her, but barely able to really see or notice her, “When you kill them, some –just stand there- frozen… White others…”
“What are you doing? Are we playing a game?” Darla was terrified and she must admit that she didn’t remember the last time that had happened to her.
“The children- they usually scream.”
“Umm yes, the children…. They sound just like little pigs. Did you bring some?”
Angelus did not answer her coherently or not with any feelings that she could understand. She stared at him, trying to figure out what was wrong. She asked him if he had found someone else and he ignored her. He put his arms around her and tried to lean on her and she pushed him away. “No, let go.”
Darla saw the tears in his eyes again and she began to panic. “Where have you been?”
“"That gypsy girl you brought me - her people found out. They did something to me." Angelus muttered, barely interested. He answered only to please her. She asked him if it was a spell, rubbing his face but he merely continued with his rambling. “Funny. You would think with all of the people I’ve maimed and killed, I wouldn’t be able to remember every single one.” He looked deep into her eyes as they fixed on him in horror. “Darla, help me.”
“The spell. They gave you a soul?” She cried and he tried to hold her again and she pushed him away. “A filthy soul! You’re disgusting!” She scratched him to unleash her anger and to hopefully turn him away from her.
He reached out to her, stumbling over the chair in his way. “I am like you, Darla.”
“You’re not like me! You’re nothing!” she cried and pushed him and clawed at him until he left.
Darla shut and locked the door behind him but she didn’t watch him. She couldn’t bear to see that shell of the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. She collapsed on the floor and the big, extravagant room seemed desolate and oppressive now that she was alone in it. Angelus was gone to her forever. All of eternity without her favorite and, only, chosen companion. To be with him now would be worse than being alone. To see him cry, pout and bemoan his deeds. To care about filthy, sick, weak people. To not feel the clean, pure joy of the hundred years they’d spent together. He’d hate her, hate himself or both and it would be too awful to bear.
I am eager for you to get started. You'll really enjoy it and I can't wait to see what you'll write. 
