Last set of free drabbles from me

[cornerofmadness]

Or at least I think so. A set of four, one from each of our little family of vampires. They're all historical and all PG-13

Darla
She’s been watching him for a fortnight, maybe longer. He’s crass, drunken, lecherous and from all signs, not as smart as one might hope for. That has never bothered Darla. She was just as happy with a comely face and a head as empty as a jack-o-lantern.
He was handsomest when he wore an arrogant smirk. For all his shortcomings in personality and intelligence, Darla saw something in young Liam. He had potential to become something far more than he now was. Deep down, Darla knew this would be a companion for the ages. Tomorrow night, he would be hers.
Angelus
He needed her so much. Didn’t she understand that? Why was she driving him away in the hour of his greatest need. Because you disgust her. Angelus didn’t know what revolted Darla more, his overwhelming terror at what happened to him, or the horrid soul festering inside him. She had to help him. This was her fault. She gave him the gypsy girl.
He wanted to go to her, beg her not to leave him. They could lance the infection in him and drain out the soul before it was too late. Surely it was possible. Don’t leave me alone, Darla.
Spike
He watched silently as Darla drove Angelus from them for a final time. What he wanted to do was to step in and stop her. What he did was add his own raucous voice, to the jeers thrown at the souled vampire. Good riddance to him. He’s an embarrassment. Who needs him?
Me, Spike tried to convince his inner voice. He hated feeling that need but it was there. Dru might be his sire, but it was Angelus that filled the role. He needed the elder vampire to teach him, to inspire him to greater evil. Spike would miss him.
Dru
She always knew there was rose petals inside her Spike. He might wrap them up in barbed wire but they were there, just waiting to be found. Their time in Prague unspooled all the hard bits, leaving him soft and beautiful.
Dru thought on his rough hands turning tender as he cared for the wounds the mob had inflicted on her poor body, oh it hurt, like bathing in sunlight. Her Spike made them feel better, kissing her, whispering sweet nothings, telling her everything would be all right. He would make her better somehow. She knew he would.

 

cross posted to my LJ