[Drusilla isn't sure if she likes the hot springs. Water doesn't speak to her as readily as the other elements do. The splashing and bubbling drowns out everything that might be of use.

However, she does like her beautiful yellow ring - even if it should be gold, as befitting a princess - and is turning it round and round on her finger as she meanders through the sixth floor. She is barefoot, but, as swimming costumes are a concept that passed Drusilla by, she is still wearing a long white dress. The hem is becoming increasing more damp as she wanders down the corridor towards the outdoor baths, in search of ... ooh, anything at all. It's so nice to get out of the crypt for a while.]

Does anyone want to play with me?

[Drusilla's eyes are wide when she steps on to the Plane. They have a slightly glazed look to them, as if she's been gazing for too long at something too far away.

(Which is exactly what she has been doing, of course. It's been hard for her to see lately, terribly hard. The future is all in a tangle. She can't tell where the threads are leading, or which one she's supposed to take, and this is the first little glimpse she's had in a very long while. It's frightening, setting your feet down when you can't see the path properly. It makes her stomach twist up into knots.)]

Dawn is coming. The skies will part and the whole world will be swallowed up in light all over again.

[She touches her temple, her eyelids flickering shut for a second.]

I shall have to find a new set of shadows to hide in.

[The man she usually hides behind, her Spike, is being drawn away from her. The pull of the Slayer is getting stronger. Drusilla can feel it. She'll have to cling tight to her deadly boy. She'll have to dig in her little claws.]

OOC: I'm a big fan of keeping things logical and ordered, so Drusilla - who has already made her way through series four - is going to move on to series five of Buffy. This is set just after the episode 'Buffy versus Dracula'.

[Somebody is having a picnic on the Plane. Although, at the moment, the 'somebody' in question is nowhere to be seen. The red and white blanket is currently being guarded by a group of dolls. Their dresses are immaculate and their curls neatly brushed. Some of them are armed with parasols or wide hats, as protection against the nonexistent sun.

The picnic basket is closed. The curious, if they dare to investigate, will find that it has been filled with stale bread, overripe fruit and bruised cakes. A feast assembled by someone who hasn't had to eat for a very long time, and has only a dim recollection of what you're supposed to do. (The tea cups, lined up in a row next to the basket, certainly don't contain tea.)

One of the dolls has been turned away from the rest, as if in punishment. She's wearing a blindfold as well, making sure her blank china eyes don't peep out at anything they shouldn't see.

After a while, Drusilla returns to the Plane to survey her feast, and her guests.]

I hope you've been good, Miss Edith. I didn't bring enough for everyone, and you don't want miss out because you've misbehaved, do you?

[The vampire tilts her head at the doll in question, then nods.]

Good girl.

[She sits down, and picks up one of the cups of 'tea', sipping daintily. With a smile, she starts to hum 'A Teddy Bear's Picnic absently under her breath.]

OOC: I know I haven't been around much lately, and I'm sorry about that. This is my - and Drusilla's - attempt to get back into the swing of things at realityshifted. I've missed you all!

[Drusilla usually arrives on the Plane with Miss Edith in her arms and an innocent - if slightly unhinged - smile on her face. She rarely looks dangerous (which is, really, what makes her so dangerous). Today, however, she is wearing what most vampires think of as their 'game face'. Her eyes are yellow and her features are distorted.

She is also smiling.]

It feels so good to fill my tummy again. I was getting tired of hearing the pixies chattering away. Laughing at me. I'm not a joke. I should bite their tongues off for being so rude.

[She raises a hand to her mouth, which is stained crimson. (Do you really need three guesses to work out what it's stained with?) With a contented smile, the vampire's face shifts back to normal, and she smooths down her dress.]

Princess feels like a proper princess again.

OOC: Experiment over! Drusilla is back to her usual wicked self.

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.

Wicked little girls get sent to bed without any supper. I didn't mean to forget. I used to say my prayers every day, but I don't know the words now. Scattered like broken glass.

In nomine patris. I remember that from long ago, but it burns my poor tongue. The church is in ruins now, with sky for a ceiling and grass choking the gravestones.

It hurts.

[Drusilla is sitting on the ground with her knees hugged to her chest. Although she often wears unusual clothing, she has never looked this disheveled before. Her eyes are wide, and she is rocking a little as she makes a low, whimpering sort of sound.]

Just a devil. Just a devil. The monsters in the bed are crawling out to play. We can't look. We shouldn't look. Evil things need to be swallowed up by the shadows, before they're burned to dust.

It hurts.

OOC: Welcome to the start of Dru's first experiment! For the next fortnight, she will be a vampire with a soul. And she won't be happy about it.

[Miss Edith has returned to the Plane.

So has Drusilla, actually, and the vampire is holding the doll with all the reverence of a woman holding a sacred object.]

Saint Valentine is coming. It must be dull, sleeping all year and waking up for one little day.

Nobody makes sacrifices to him any more. They sell cards and trinkets and their souls, but no sacrifices. Nothing exciting.

[She holds Miss Edith out at arm's length, critically evaluating the doll before pulling her close and adjusting her dress.]

We're going to paint the town red, aren't we, my pet? Spike can't go do it, not with those nasty little wires in his brain. We'll have to celebrate for both of us.

Should I get him a little boy as a present, or a little girl?

We could even bake a cake.

[Drusilla has returned to the Plane once more, and she still appears to be largely un-phased by any of the things she sees. Although she isn't accompanied by Miss Edith this time, she does have an basket filled with daisies.]

They never grow for me. Even when I ask them to.

[She sits down on the non-existent ground, her white dress pooling gracefully around her. Humming softly to herself, Drusilla begins to plait the daisies into chains.]

[The newest arrival on the Plane doesn’t look particularly frightened. She gazes around, but there is no fear in her eyes. There’s no curiosity there either, actually. Apparently this sort of thing is, if not exactly normal , then at least not the most terrifying thing she’s ever seen.

Her face has a strangely blank expression, and she seems to glide rather than walk as she moves sedately forward with a doll tucked into the crook of her arm. She tilts her head to look up at the sky with wide eyes.]

Look at the stars, Miss Edith. So many stars. And they’re all singing. Such beautiful music.

[She turns slowly, her long skirt fanning out around her.]

Am I dreaming? The pixies didn’t whisper this. They tell me so much when I close my eyes. Fluttering and chattering. Their tiny little voices. They didn’t tell me this.

Spike? My Spike?

I’m cold…

[She looks sadly down at the doll when he doesn’t respond, and then wraps her arms around herself. Though her discomfort doesn’t actually last for too long. Drusilla is soon gazing at the sky again.]

Such beautiful music…