winter | Public announcement

Spike's going to entertain himself by cauterising. And cutting. And cauterising. And cutting. And cauterising. He likes to burn stuff *nodnod*

(allow me a bwhaahahah! :D)

Pyromaniacs unite :D

(Will possibly wrap up within 600 words. Draculea's far less subtle about the pwning than VK, really.)

And ooh look! Bone fragment! Wait til he regains a bit of consciousness then pull :D

Spike's really the cutest thing, isn't he? :D

(BTW, how will they know that VK's thing is done and over with? Herbert getting a magical nudge?)

Despite being all soul-full, Dawn is his among other things and anyone who hurts her deserves everything they get and then some. Plus, he doesn't like idiots ;)

(Methinks VK will short out for a time and the whole lot of them will feel it, because he's put everything into pulling her back. It'll be like someone switched off all the lights and Herbie'll flip and run for the room)

The rain had reduced itself to drizzle, but the sky was still grey and Spike and the Slayer took shelter on one of the balconies on the middle level of the manor to avoid the chill.

“Hand it on, ducks.” A pale hand unfolded in front of her. A cigarette and lighter were clapped into his palm and he lit up, inhaling a coil of smoke like it was ambrosia from heaven itself. “God, that’s good...”

“Been a while, huh?”

“Not got much in the way of local shops, hereabouts,” Spike replied, sitting down against the wall, beside the doorway. Taking another drag, he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. “So, what you got figured?”

Sitting down beside him, snatching her lighter back and lighting her own cigarette, the Slayer blew a stream of smoke towards the upper level.

“You and goldielocks are on and happenin’ in the more-than-fuckbuddies way,” she said with confidence. One blue eye cracked open. “Buddy, you’re doing the happy-glow thing. Ain’t seen that in... well... ever.”

“One point to Slayer,” the vampire grinned around his cigarette. “And...?”

“Little D has got it on in a heavy way with the uber-vamp.” Tapping ash from the end of the cigarette, she examined the glowing tip thoughtfully. “But this is where I get kinda... confused. You get pettings from the uber-vamp and V looks like he would kill for ‘em and D doesn’t give a damn?”

Spike chuckled. “Welcome to the madhouse, love,” he said, tilting his head back against the cool stone. “You stay here long enough without getting knocked off or kicked out and you’re claimed. Old Graf does it the most primal way.” He gradually became aware of the silence and looked sideways at the Slayer, who was staring at him in disbelief. “What?”

“You’re tellin’ me that Graf-guy, the most mannersome vamp I ever did see, screws whoever he likes as a houseguest?”

*cheers for Faith*

Just fell off the chair laughing. OUCH.

Spike's just about to innocently reply "if you're lucky" ;D

FOR ALL THE SULTAN’S GOLD

Transylvania, Anno Domini 1503; Year of our Lord 7012 of the Eastern reckoning

The leaves on the flagstones of the wall walk cracked and rustled under Viktor’s boots. The battlements to his side him were blackened with fire and torn already by earthquakes. None living in this place, but it was the one he would start in.

All this would not have happened, had he reigned in the previous century, he thought. Marcus had ignored the first rumours of a local lordling’s strange habits, of impossible escapes and too precisely devastating plagues. They still did not know who had bitten the Wallachian, nor when, but the grave at Snagov had been empty when Kraven had checked it.

Enough of it. Viktor would find the man, tear his head off and watch as the last of that cursed blood drained across his boots. There were rules to be contended with, his rules, and none of them provided for a madman to be given this power.

In the darkness over Poenari Castle, a wolf howled. Paws skidded over stone.

Viktor turned, unsheathing his sword with a curse. But it was no wolf in the doorway of the staircase, not this broad shadow, a tattered cloak flapping in the breeze. The scent of blood, fresh and old, wove through the air.

“I am an Elder of the Great Coven,” Viktor declared. “Show yourself.”

The shadow – the creature – moved forward, conveying the suggestion of a crawl even as it remained upright. Still the starlight shied away from it.

The voice was rusty with disuse, but the Latin was melodious, precise. “Are you a descendant of Corvinus?”

“No. I am Viktor. But I bear in me the power of Corvinus and the blessing of his blood. All who bear it obey the Elders, and this is your place also.”

That drew a low, rich laugh, the figure bending forward either in mirth or in preparation to attack. “I met a Corvinus, once, who would have me bend to his will. I betrayed him.”

Viktor took a step forward, letting his sword arm hang free, unthreatening. “There is so much we can offer you.”

“That sounds familiar, too.” This close, the shape of the creature’s head was visible in the shadows, elegant features framed by long, straight hair. “Power? Knowledge? Women? Boys?”

“What would you want?” Behind his back, Viktor tensed his arm, testing the balance of the blade.

Movement, pain. The pure sharp sound of metal on stone as his sword flew over the castle wall, and darkness and stars flashing as he was pushed over the battlements, falling himself-

Suspended in mid-motion, a long-fingered hand around his throat.

The starlight fell on the creature openly now. Pale skin with a red flush on the cheeks and lips, the mouth open to reveal fangs longer than they should be. Werewolf teeth, but a vampire’s face, vampire’s breath. The touch was cold, chilling, and the smell under the blood was of old parchment and crumbling gravestones.

Viktor bared his own fangs as he tore at the hand squeezing his throat. He hissed and knew his eyes were burning blue with the power of his blood. But what answered him was an inhuman growl and eyes the colour of poison.

“I was offered all for my obedience and my chains, Viktor of the Great Coven,” the monster said, not even breathing hard. “My freedom is not for sale. Not for all the sultan’s gold, not for all the sultan’s love, and not for anything the pathetic crawling creatures you call vampires can offer me.”

Viktor arched his neck, fighting for a gulp of air. “What are you?” he choked out.

In Vlad Draculea’s smile, there was the warlord and the defender of the faith, the tyrant and the traitor. “Did you think Corvinus was the only one to make a deal with the Devil?”

From the battlements of Poenari Castle to the waters of the Princess’s River below, it was a long way to fall.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEH! *clings on it* A pwning! A pwning! :D Fabulous! And the character voices are brilliant! And gah! So fabulous! As if Viktor needed another reason for vamp/werewolf combis to be avoided ;)

Draculea's not one for subtlety, unless arcane torture is involved ;) And the thing with him is that he's his own deal - completely unrelated to anything that happened before. His childer are also unique, but each in his own way (e.g. VK's magic and precognition, Herbert's habit of getting his way), but what defines Draculea is his will and his freedom. He bows to no-one.

Viktor, on the other hand, is about to slink back to Budapest and announce that Draculea's just a rumour, and anyone who argues with him is dinner :D

Hee! Fabulousness incarnate :D Viktor deserved a pwning. He was an arrogant twat, though he had a fabulous coat ;)

Viktor was also a hypocrite and all higher than thou until he wanted to indulge his bloodthirsty side. Like Draculea, I prefer people who are more honest about it ;)

(First Coldfire drabble, done and posted in the other post...)

VH would like to encounter him for a smackdown, if nothing else. VK just thinks it would be wasting precious time on a pointless and worthless encounter with a vampire who is little more than an animal ;)

*pushes Kraven at VK* Look, he's pretty! :D

(and easily breakable, too)

VK just glanced at Herbert who is now bouncing around like an excited puppy ;D

“You’re tellin’ me that Graf-guy, the most mannersome vamp I ever did see, screws whoever he likes as a houseguest?”

Spike inhaled so sharply that he almost swallowed his cigarette.

The Slayer’s grin was thoroughly wicked. “That a yeah?”

Coughing up ash, Spike wiped his mouth. “Only if you’re lucky,” he replied. “You saw the look on the ponce’s face.”

“He starts tryin’ to hump the big guy’s leg, I’m thinkin’ I’ll need to get me a camera and get some proof...”

Faith's not going to be able to keep a straight face the next time she sees VK, is she? :D

Her first impulse is to flirt :D

*pokes* My vampires! Coldfire later :P

Gone back to torture and switched scenes - Herbie's POV now.

Lovely :) *pokes gently*

*pokes Spike* Hmmm

*distangles herself from Gerald* Meow? What's happening?

Re: And scene!

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Random Faith/Spike

Re: Random Faith/Spike

Re: Random Faith/Spike

Your fic, m'lady

Re: Your fic, m'lady

Re: Your fic, m'lady

Re: Your fic, m'lady

Re: Your fic, m'lady

Re: Your fic, m'lady

Re: Your fic, m'lady

Re: Your fic, m'lady

Re: Your fic, m'lady

Re: Your fic, m'lady

Re: Your fic, m'lady

Re: Your fic, m'lady

Re: Your fic, m'lady

Re: Your fic, m'lady

Re: Your fic, m'lady

Re: Your fic, m'lady

Re: Your fic, m'lady