Marlene's Gone to Hollywood
By Wendy

'

Berlin, 1929

It was a beautiful night. No beggars clogging up the streets, no brown-shirts marching to and fro demanding papers. Just beautiful.

Yet everybody seemed to scurry from shadow to shadow, in and out of doorways. Fast and furious, scared mice running to tenuous safety. Except for one couple, who strode down the centre of the road, unafraid of automobiles or trams. His suit, of a deep black material, topped by an every-so-fashionable hat, contrasted with the crisp white shirt and blood red cravat he wore with it. Yet, most eyes followed his partner. Her dress matched his cravat, and the silk whispered as she walked. Her black lace stole was unknown except to the cinema-goer. They seemed to have stepped right out of a movie. They didn't care. All that mattered was each other.

As they walked, arm in arm, eyes gazing deeply, madly into the other's, a shiver passed over the denziens of the city. Here were more invaders, more foreigners, no doubt out to enjoy the last sputtering sparks of Golden Berlin, with their dollars or francs or pounds. But still, these creatures of the night felt that they would be better served getting home, rather than approaching the young couple for some specific transaction - absinthe or opium or sex. In times gone by, it has been called the survival instinct of the Berliners. No matter what, they will survive.

The couple giggled to themselves, oblivious to this. They had a very specific destination in mind. Or, to be more precise, the dark-haired woman had a destination, that she was luring her blonde companion towards. Seduction is always a tool to a beautiful woman.
'

Unfortunately, her companion was proving resistant to the suggestion. It was time for the heavy artillery.

"Don't you love Princess?" she pouted.

"Of course I do, pet. It's just-" He looked longingly towards an open Bierhalle.

"What?" Dangerous eyes flashed at him, as her voice dragged the word out, letter by letter.

"Nothing. I just fancied a quick drink. Maybe a shag and a kill." He loved his Princess. She was the only girl for him.

"We've got a special night tonight. Romantic. With dancing." She clapped her hands girlishly. 'And I'll be an Arabian Lady." She drew her hand across her eyes, as a veil.

"An Arabian Lady. That's new." Spike grimaced in what could be taken as anticipation. Or perhaps as fear.
'

Their unsteady progress continued along cobbled streets, deep into the East End of the city. It was quieter here, with only the odd blast of music, or conversation, from suddenly opened doorways. The street lights flickered here, and were often broadly spaced. The gaps held unsavoury organisms, and the spots of light held nothing at all.
'

An unassuming door held the pair's attention. The earlier, light knock of Drusilla had engendered no response, but the battering that Spike was giving it did. It creaked open, and a hard-nosed doorman stuck his head out.

"Members only." He grunted, and made to shut the door.

"We're members." Drusilla spoke in a soft, mocking tone. "Show him Spike."

Then the doorman found himself lifted off the ground, by a monster from his worst fevered nightmares. A yellow eyed, animal toothed, utterly grotesque mockery of a human face grinned at him. "And just think - I can make you a member too."

"My apologies. Sir. Madam." The doorman bowed deeply as Drusilla swept into the club, followed by a completely calm Spike.
'

An incredible table, off to the side of the room. A bottle of the best, no problem Madame, a little French to impress. Appearances were everything. Drusilla lapped up the attention as a cat laps up spilt milk. Spike merely glowered.

"I don't see why we couldn't have just gone to a bierhalle - it would have been safer and less conspicuous. I don't like how everybody watches you here." He muttered to Dru.

"Shush, kitten. Tonight is where we find out what happens next, and whether blood is thicker than water." Spike laughed at his mad girl, her eyes rolling in pleasure.
'

The lights went down, and a single spot light appeared on the stage, highlighting a microphone, and a figure. Her hair was curled in a soft wave, her smouldering eyes were deeply outlined in black kohl and her dress was both figure-huggingly cheap and luxuriously expensive. Her head was down, as the first strains of music were heard throughout the room. Then she lifted her head and started singing.

Dru purred in satisfaction, as Spike sputtered on his drink and said, "Fuck, that's Darla."
'

Darla was not suprised to see Drusilla here. Her only twinge of emotion was disappointment that she'd brought William the useless. He was a callow fool.

Her Drusilla looked full of health, and if not vitality, then the undead semblence of it. She was beautiful and every word of the excretable song was directed at her. The desultry applause that greeted the end of her song was testament to the earliness of the hour and the lack of interest in her. She was very much the pre-show here. She headed back to her dressing-room to wait.

Dru laughed out loud at Spike's focused attention on the dancers. They had replaced Darla on the stage with a wild stomping and yelling. Now the only sound in the room was their harsh breathing and the swish of their feet. Their semi-nudity seemed to grab the attention of every male in the room, and that of not just a few female patrons either.
'

Dru slipped away quietly and stole backstage, giggling at her forwardness.

"Oh, Darla? Where are you, my sweet?" She called out gently. The door at the end of the hall flew open and Darla rushed out.

"Drusilla." The whispered name was all she needed to say as the girls embraced each other. A few passionate kisses later, and Darla dragged Drusilla to her dressing room.
'

The silk of Dru's dress rustled under the pressure of Darla's sequins as they resumed their clinch.

"When did you arrive in Berlin?" asked Darla, kissing her way down Dru's elegant neck, her hands clutching brusingly hard to Dru's slender waist. Dru sighed in ectasy.

"Yesterday. We took a long time to come back from China. We just had to stop in Romania." A moan escaped from Darla as Dru ran her hands over her hair and ran her long nails down her back.

Darla asked no more questions as Dru slipped her dress down over her curves. A few nips later, Dru had Darla lying on her grotty chaise lounge and proceeded to reacquaint herself with Darla's body. It was as responsive as she'd remembered, smooth and soft.

"Have you been a good girl?" Dru asked Darla as she teasingly licked her way down her body.

"Not at all." Darla whispered. She was brought out of her enjoyable daze by a swift slap to the face. "What was that for, bitch?"

"You haven't been a good girl. You didn't tell us about Daddy." Dru pouted, but behind the little girl lips, her eyes sparked dangerous black fire.

"Angelus. Is he what this visit is all about?" Darla felt a twinge of pain at his name. She thought she'd managed to put aside all the hurt she felt at his.. betrayal.

"Yes. And no. I saw the whole country going up in flames, and I thought I'd be here to watch it burn. I like fires, they're so pretty." Dru had gotten up and was dancing away in a dream of her own imagining. "Preety, pretty fire."
'

Fire holds an enthralling terror for all vampires - they burn to a crisp. Yet it thrills Dru. Fire - something so primitive that not even her animating demon can conquer it. It smells of life and warmth, not borrowed strength and existence. What happens to a vampire without fire? - let's ask daddy...

"Daddy." Dru faced Darla once more. "Why didn't you tell us? Gypsy tricks made him wrong, and you tell sweet Drusilla nothing." The whirling dervish attacking Darla's face with her nails bore no resemblance to the calm clear girl who had slipped backstage in the first place. Darla pushed her to the floor, running a finger over the cuts.

She licked the finger. "Drusilla. Get out. Take ambominable William and leave my city." The rising tone gave away the extent of Darla's disquiet. "How dare you question me?"

"All vampires are equal. We're all dead and pretty." Dru vamped and rushed back at the naked Darla once more, her deadly nails flailing. "I need my daddy."

"Angelus, Dru. His name is Angelus." Darla shrieked. Suddenly the door burst open as the stage hands dragged the two vampires apart. They tried to wrench themselves free, and in failing that, fell silent. The manager strode in.

"I'd think you'd better leave now, Fraulein." He asked, his hands whirling in dismay.

Drusilla dusted herself off, straightened her hair and made to sweep out of the room. She paused, adn turned to Darla and said, "He's called Angel now."

Darla slumped to the floor, feeling all the anger, hurt and fear return to her once more. She wept bitterly, feeling the last sreds of her old life slip away. It was a new world now.
'

"It's a new world now, Spike, my love. My petal. My prince." Dru entangled her arms around his nec, and kissed him soundly.

"What do you mean by that? That we've finally gotten rid of the bitch? It's just going to be you and me - no Darla? No Angel, either?" Spike was cock o' the north, over the moon and radiantly joyous at the thought. His jealous mind kept putting Dru with the other pair, where she used to be. He used to be the toy, the pet. That all changed when he killed the Slayer. He got respect. Now Dru was his pet.

And his pet was whimpering. "We're all alone, Spikey. Just us and Miss Edith."

"We should get Miss Edith some friends then." His hands ran possessively up and down her spine.

Drusilla looked longing at the door of the club. Was it only a few hours since they had entered? It felt like years - like a lifetime, which was funny since she'd lived two. She felt all the focus she'd felt during the hours she'd spent in the company of Darla slip away, and looked at Spike with eyes that were empty but for the madness.

"Just as long as you're my protector, love."

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