005 [Four and Twenty Blackbirds]

[a-pretty-fire.livejournal.com]

Sing a song of sixpence, a pocket full of rye...

[Drusilla is lying on her back, and, although she is gazing up at the 'ceiling', she doesn't seem to be looking at it.]

I don't have any rye in my pockets. I gave it to little Anne, so she could sow it in the garden. Stitching the soil until we had a full crop. I can't eat it. It sticks in my throat, stealing all my words.

They're all I have left now. Words and words. They chase me around, and I try to catch them. I can't remember which ones belong to me.

You can't bake blackbirds into pies. It's wicked. You'd have to clip their wings first, and isn't fair to stop people from flying.

[She spreads out her arms.]

I used to fly. I've lost all my pinfeathers, and my tummy is rumbling. There's nothing left to fill it.

OOC: Drusilla is hungry. Unfortunately, her experiment is still underway, so she is finding it rather hard to feed.

Comments

[swanseer.livejournal.com]

How long until you can?

[a-pretty-fire.livejournal.com]

When I've found a way to cut the soul out. Or a dinner I don't have to fight with.

[swanseer.livejournal.com]

[She frowns] ...Do you kill when you feed?

[a-pretty-fire.livejournal.com]

[Have a confused look, Juni.] You can only take little sips if you leave them alive. It isn't enough to fill your belly.

[swanseer.livejournal.com]

[Sigh] Fair enough... You aren't starving are you?

[a-pretty-fire.livejournal.com]

Not yet. It takes a while for my throat to go dry. But it will.

[swanseer.livejournal.com]

Hopefully not before you can fix whatever's troubling you.