milliways_bar | (no subject)

(no subject)

There is a shadowy figure at the top of the stairs, holding onto the banister with one hand, clutching a doll in the other, and looking down into the room below. It's the figure of a woman- a thin, underweight woman, one with deathly pale skin. Drusilla.

Slowly, ever so slowy, she decends. She carries herself as if she might break at any time. Dru is still not used to her body- new and old, both at the same time. Alive after 125 years in death. Human now.

She slips towards the bar, clinging tightly to Miss Edith.

She leans close and whispers something to Bar, and a pot of tea and a plate of crumpets appears. Dru thanks Bar and takes her tea and crumpets to a booth.

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There happens to be a French dandy watching her as she descends the stairs. This one still is a vampire, for what it matters.

He regards her with curiosity as she approaches the bar, then, still, as she seats herself in the booth behind his. He takes a sip of his dinner, amused.

"A little old for dolls, aren't you?" He asks coolly, not standing, or turning to look over the back of the booth.

"Miss Edith is more than a doll pet," she replies in a low voice. She pours herself a cup of tea and sips it slowly. She does everything slowly theese days.

Well there is something to be said for doing things slowly, if they are also done with precision and style.

"Oh, and it is named." He mutters dryly.

But because, bastard or not, even he knows not to doubt too much around here, he attempts politeness.

Standing, he takes the three steps, to stop at the end of her table, and incline his head. "My apologies then, mademoiselle. I had no idea." There is not much sincerity behind the apology, but it is an attempt.

She nods. "I accept your apology."

And here should be the part where she invites him to sit down. Instead she watches him warily. She can sense danger coming from him in waves.

"Very good." A wan smile.

He generally does not wait for an invite anyhow, but he'll at least get through introductions before such rudeness. "I am called Montparnasse." He says with an inclination of his head. "And I got the doll's name, but I'd much prefer your own."

"They call me Drusilla."

"Do they?" He replies dryly. "Well they, at least, do seem far more amiable." And in the case of Darla, accommodating.

He scowls, turning to leave. "Forgive me for interrupting. Enjoy your tea."

"Dru."

He's just kind of watching her.

She feels his eyes on the back of her neck and smiles sadly.

"William."

His hand moves eemingly of it's own accord, touching her shoulder.

"Hi."

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