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sevendeadlyfunI can't believe how much I enjoy this show. I haven't seen some of these episodes in awhile and rewatching them has given me a new appreciation for both the show and the characters. I'd forgotten the nuances of expression, and the delicate shading of tone, that first captured my attention and made this my first (and thus far, only) fandom.
So, in honor of my rediscovered love for this show and its awesomosity, two 100-word drabbles on my favorite Season Two love triangle: Spike, Drusilla, and their obsession with Angel. Also a brief (slightly spoiler-y) nod to my second-favorite love: the comics canon.
It’s obvious. The moment he catches sight of the light in his sire’s eyes, the swift sureness of a soul, he knows. The pathetic deception doesn’t fool him and he can’t believe Angelus even tries.
But he plays along. He doesn’t know why. There’s no advantage to be gained, no trap he’s setting. The spicy smell of Angelus’ skin envelops him and he settles, briefly, into the sweet security of his sire’s arm around him and he knows why he’s playing along.
His memories don’t offer any sweetness. When he leans into the bulwark of Angelus’ body, they overwhelm him.
*~*~*~*
She has too many pieces. The blood droplets on rain-slick cobblestones in Prague; the photos; the dead she’s made and the ones still waiting to die – she tries to explain, but the words twist on her tongue. They’re of a piece, she tells Spike. Cut from the same cloth.
Drusilla weaves designs in the air, calling the future into being. When they meet in the shadows, she knows the shape of him, of his words, before he speaks them. Her Angel is gone all away, lost in fever dreams of redemption. She sees his destiny - not in sunshine but twilight.
So, in honor of my rediscovered love for this show and its awesomosity, two 100-word drabbles on my favorite Season Two love triangle: Spike, Drusilla, and their obsession with Angel. Also a brief (slightly spoiler-y) nod to my second-favorite love: the comics canon.
It’s obvious. The moment he catches sight of the light in his sire’s eyes, the swift sureness of a soul, he knows. The pathetic deception doesn’t fool him and he can’t believe Angelus even tries.
But he plays along. He doesn’t know why. There’s no advantage to be gained, no trap he’s setting. The spicy smell of Angelus’ skin envelops him and he settles, briefly, into the sweet security of his sire’s arm around him and he knows why he’s playing along.
His memories don’t offer any sweetness. When he leans into the bulwark of Angelus’ body, they overwhelm him.
*~*~*~*
She has too many pieces. The blood droplets on rain-slick cobblestones in Prague; the photos; the dead she’s made and the ones still waiting to die – she tries to explain, but the words twist on her tongue. They’re of a piece, she tells Spike. Cut from the same cloth.
Drusilla weaves designs in the air, calling the future into being. When they meet in the shadows, she knows the shape of him, of his words, before he speaks them. Her Angel is gone all away, lost in fever dreams of redemption. She sees his destiny - not in sunshine but twilight.
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on 2010-03-07 10:07 am (UTC)no subject
on 2010-03-09 03:33 pm (UTC)Hope you're feeling well, hon. I know you're a busy little bee, but don't forget to take time for Who breaks every day. :P A man has to keep his strength up, you know.
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on 2010-03-10 03:05 am (UTC)Great drabbles. Really good Dru voice. And you've captured Spike's ambivalent feelings about his Sire - the longing, the hurt.