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Posted October 13, 2010

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Fan Fiction: the sweetest little song

Title: the sweetest little song

Author: Jedi Buttercup

Disclaimer: All your Buffy are belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, & etc.

Rating: PG-13.

Summary: A:tS. She is more like Drusilla than Grandmummy ever was. AU. 500 words.

Spoilers: Set mid-Angel Season 5

Notes: For the Bechdel Test Comment Fic-a-Thon, prompt "AtS, Cordelia & Drusilla - i can see clearly now, the rain is gone." Title is a Drusilla quote. Fic contains a line of text borrowed from the LOTR movies.

Drusilla drifts up to the bedside in a cloud of rich fabric: a new dress, spoils of the loveliest recreationist society she'd been invited to just that week. The stitches march in regiments, too fine for the work of fingers, and the fit is not exact; but one must make certain sacrifices in these times.

She feels eyes tracking her: somewhere the beings holding Daddy's leash are marking her movements. She doesn't care, though; they're not what she's here for, and the stars sing their indifference. She will not perish here, this day.

This is why she'd risked a return to the messengers' city: this woman, lying insensible on starched sheets. The one who would have been her sister, in a different time. Sister and mother and lover: as she has been to others, as she could be again. Darla had deserted her, but this one could be different. She is more like Drusilla than Grandmummy ever was.

"The grey rain curtain of this world has rolled back for you," she muses aloud, petting her fingers over the sleeping woman's forehead. "Pretty little Seer. But you don't like what you see, do you? Neither did I, when it was my time. Shall I fix that for you? Miss Edith says you'd understand."

The body does not move under her caresses, but the air quality in the room changes abruptly; another pair of eyes have joined the flock. But these are spectral; she recognizes the touch of a human spirit, and smiles smugly to herself. Yes, here is her answer.

The smile fades, however, at the ghostly woman's first words. "Wow, ugh. I really must be on the verge of death, if the other side sent you here to make with the demony offer. I guess it's not like there isn't precedent, but word to the wise? I draw the line at souls."

Drusilla turns on her with a frown. "But you would be mine forever! The stars would dance on your birthday; and you would be the queen of all tea parties."

Cordelia wrinkles up her nose, a very ill-mannered response, and crosses her arms beneath her bosom. "Tempting, but-- no. I already have a better offer. One last good deed, and then sudden painless death! 'Bout time I get to see what the real heaven looks like."

Drusilla recoils at the word: at the shadow of angel's wings hovering in the glow behind the woman's form. "But only He is supposed to see things before they happen," she hisses, affronted. "You are an affront in His sight! You belong with me, in the dark!"

The other girl's eyes soften. A most hateful expression; Drusilla loathes pity. It tastes of arsenic and cloves.

"Is that what they told you?" she says, and Drusilla turns her back on her with a jerk.

"It's too late," she replies, bitterly. "The sunshine's touched you; and now you're all spoiled."

Let Daddy have her, if he can. There will be other sisters to discover.


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