AN: The Dream sequence that Dru is telling about here is the same as Buffys in chapter 14 of BCoA, second installment of this series.

Chapter 3: The one with angelic face and milk/cookies

Angelus was pacing around the foyer of the house he and Darla commandeered from the previous owners. They were really tasty a married couple. Agitated, after all his prey, the one that will be his masterpiece, escaped his grasp.

"What is it dear boy?" came the voice of his sire, as she stepped into the candlelight. "Did you receive bad news, about Holtz perhaps being on our trail again?"

"No," growled Angelus, vamping out in sheer irritation; the last thing he needed was that infuriating Germanic former general. Though on second thought, he'd be perfect for Angelus to let go his frustration on that pesky fly. "It is not that! She escaped me!"

"Who," Darla inquired, "Ahh the little seer saint." She recalled that Angelus showed interest in the three sisters, the one who had the sight especially.

Angelus resumed his pacing, while Drala reclined on the sofa watching him. "Angelus, dear, do stop this pacing." He shot her a look, and then petulantly flung himself onto the padded chair; he was certain that he had her there in the church, praying for her penance, but apparently the little morsel escaped the moment she stepped out of the confessional.

How utterly vexing.

"Come," said Darla, standing up. "The night is yet young and you are looking a bit pale." Angelus continued to sulk, so Darla went and pulled him to his feet.

"Who knows, perhaps the little lamb's family will be out again." She watched her dear boy's eyes light up. She firmly suppressed a jealous thought, 'Will my boy lose interest in me, or is this pure doxy just a passing fancy?'

***Hornby residence – at the same time***

Drusilla was clutching the windowsill, her knuckles paling in her effort. Her mother was a-bed, again, having a headache; father was out with a patient. And her uncle and aunt-by-marriage were chaperoning Danielle and Doreen.

So it was only Drusilla, her ailing mother and servants and of course Mrs. Watson. And she needed to talk with her old nanny now housekeeper.

There was a knock at her room's door.

"Come in," Drusilla said, and Mrs. Watson stepped in, with a swish of black skirts, carrying a tray with milk and cookies.

"Here you are, dear," Mrs. Watson said, putting the tray down at the small table. "I'm afraid that your mother retired to her room, and she is unlikely to come out for days."

Drusilla blinked, when suddenly a looming dark weight in her heart lifted, and she was able to breathe more easily.

"There is nothing to fear, dear," Mrs. Watson said. Drusilla nodded. "Soon you'll be out of the foul thing's reach."

Drusilla turned to her former nanny; yes she was always supportive of her but this? "You believe me?"

Mrs. Watson nodded, "My father. When I was young, he served in a family that dealt with things like that; I didn't want to have any part in it after …." She trailed off, sighing. "After they took my little sister, she was barely five and ten summers old, she died, next year, those things killed her and they just watched. That is what they do, they watch them die," she finished angrily rubbing her eyes.

"Exactly on the night of my fifteenth birthday, before the night my seeing things came..." Drusilla trailed off.

Mrs. Watson nodded. "At first I thought you were like Edith, but, you are not. No Watchers came for you, and considering that they are based in London, they'd find you if you'd been like her."

"Then what does this all mean?"

"Child, just because you see evil, it doesn't make you the devil child."

Drusilla frowned, then thinking on her recurring dream that she had since before her five and teen birthday, "I had that dream again."

Mrs. Watson frowned and sat down. "The one you usually have?"

"Yes, it was the same."

"I know I said not to tell me then, but can you tell me about it now?"

"Oh," Drusilla softly exhaled; Mrs. Watson always said for her not to talk about it to anyone. But considering what she just found out about Mrs. Watson's sister Edith, her adamant demand for Drusilla not to talk about her dreams was understandable.

Then she blushed; now while she was somewhat used to seeing the scandalous clothing the young women, herself included, in her dream wore, she was embarrassed about voicing that.

"Well, it starts peacefully in the forest clearing with me, an older me, and four other young women; we are looking for someone. I have no knowledge of who we are looking for." She trailed off, and then took a deep breath, deciding not to hold back no matter her embarrassment.

"Their clothing, Mrs. Watson, I am the only one that wears a full dress that covers me from the neck to the ankles, but I … the dress is like those togas that the Romans or Greeks wore and … a-and I'm wearing my hair loose and I'm dancing around and laughing." She gasped in embarrassment, her cheeks flushed. At least she didn't sound evil, manic, and mad in that dream. She was genuinely happy.

"Calm down child, it's all right," Mrs. Watson said, hugging her across the shoulders. "I changed your nappies; strange dresses are no reason to be embarrassed in front of me."

Drusilla's blush intensified. "Mrs. Watson," she squeaked. Then she cleared her throat.

"There are three blondes; one is about my age – now, so thirteen to fifteen. She is wearing … a very short pleated skirt, the like's only 4 year old girls wear …" Drusilla faltered for a moment. "The other women all wear trousers."

"Do they, really? My, that sounds fascinating; I've always wondered what it is like walking around in britches like men do," Mrs. Watson remarked calmly, drawing an astonished look from Drusilla. "So what do they have on top? Waistcoats, shirts, cravats, tail coats?"

"Emm, one is, the one in the short skirt for her age is wearing high black stockings, which come, almost, to her knees; she doesn't wear any boots; she is wearing black and blue, waistcoat and cravat of the same coloring."

"Hmm, that almost sounds like some sort of uniform; continue Miss Drusilla if you please."

"The other blonde, with green or hazel eyes, she has straight sandy colored hair or, or like that brass handle color, or old gold …" she trailed off again, blushing at the memory, in a lot of ways this woman's clothing was made of form fitting black trousers, that looked like men's riding britches, and tight lacy …

"I …she is wearing a dark red shirt made of lace; it is not see through, but, but …"

"I imagine you can see her curves, yes?"

Drusilla nodded. Mrs. Watson thought a moment. "It is more revealing than say the gowns those ladies of the peerage wear?"

"Err, no. no, come to think it her red top could be part of the evening gown, or a gown that an opera singer wears; Adelina Patti."

Mrs. Watson snorted, "So the lass in your dreams could tease lads a bit, but what she wears covers more of her body than the high end ladies' clothing. But please do continue." Heartened and less embarrassed Drusilla did just that.

"None of the women wore bonnets, I included, and I think, I think that the blonde in the red lace shirt has a long knife and some sort of keys on her belt. Gold and silver and keys made of jade."

"What feelings do you have when you are around this woman?"

"Stardust," Drusilla blurted. "Stars," she amended. "I feel connected to her through the stars."

"And that fourteen or so lass?"

"She had straggly, waist-length dishwater blonde hair, wispy thin eyebrows, and protuberant eyes that make her look surprised. I feel an airy dottiness around her. But there is no malice."

"And what did you first think of when …?"

"Moon," Drusilla replayed immediately, sure of her answer.

Mrs. Watson nodded. "And the others?"

"The other blonde …" Drusilla frowned in thought; what did she feel about the last blonde in the meadow. "She wears a chemise with straps and red leather pants. And when I look at her I see …um white fuzz? "

Mrs. Watson frowned. "White fuzz?"

Drusilla nodded, "Yes."

"All right, and the rest?"

"The woman with chestnut hair, I think she is carrying a sword, but she is dressed in plain colors. And the feeling I associate with her; chivalry knight champion. Then there is a black haired woman dressed in baggy black clothing, with black painted lips and eyelashes … and I think her nails are painted black as well, and she has a silver circle pierced through one nostril."

"Ahm that is one drastic look for a young lady," Mrs. Watson said. "But what did you feel about this young woman?"

"A conflicted feeling," Drusilla murmured, ducking her head. "She feels like my dad – ugh, manly. I suppose."

"All right, you have a young woman of fourteen that is in some sort of uniform linked to the moon. A lady in red that is connected to the stars; a woman that is probably some sort of knight; a fluffy blonde girl, and a young woman that is probably some sort of magician." Mrs. Watson paused for a bit. "But none of the evil variety; we'll get back to them at a later date; I have some books about symbolism and dreams; I can look at that at a later date too. Now tell me the rest of the dream."

"All right, as I said we are looking for someone, or many someones, and we came upon that meadow and it is a really beautiful piece of nature; I can hear many birds singing, and it is sunny, like we would be in the valley of the sun." She smiled, remembering the summer breeze that blew through the clearing, carrying the smell of honeysuckle and the sea.

"But then the birds stop singing and the wind just stops, like everything just stops breathing. And we are just standing there wondering what is going on, and then there is this terrible voice saying 'Meso, carne, carn, mięso, feòil, ego cibus, vlees, wollen fleisch'. I know that 'ego cibus' in Latin means 'want meat' and … and that creature that appears is just a thing of nightmares. In shape it looks like a Shire horse, only bulker in torso, and it has thicker legs; it has no coat; just skin the color of a bruise, sickly yellows and blues and greens. It has a horn like a unicorn from the pictures, but it's wrapped in some sort of slimy substance like algae, and it … its head is monstrous, full of jagged teeth." At the last bit she broke down in tears, like she still did upon waking after this dream.

Mrs Watson wrapped her arms around Drusilla, "There, there, dear child, it can't hurt you right now. Have your milk and cookies to calm down and I'll bring you some Mentha and Chamomile tea with honey for (an) easy sleep."

"That would be lovely Mrs. Watson, thank you."

To be continued.

Translation: those words that 'croc-unicorn' (the thing doesn't have species definition, so if you have an idea PM or tell in the review) mean the same: "meant, want meat". Just for the record, I was going for creepy with that thing.

Language used in order: Slovenian, Spanish, Catalan, Polish, Scots Gaelic, Latin, Dutch and German.

Adelina Patti was an Italian-French 19th-century opera singer, earning huge fees at the height of her career in the music capitals of Europe and America. She first sang in public as a child in 1851, and gave her last performance before an audience in 1914.

Chapter 3: The one with angelic face and milk/cookies

Angelus was pacing around the foyer, of the house he and Darla commandeered from previous owners. They were really tasty a married couple, that Darla decided to sire. Agitated, after all his prey, the one that will be his masterpiece escaped his grasp.

"What is it dear boy?" came the voice of his sire, as she stepped in to the candlelight. "Did you receive bad news, about Holtz perhaps being on our trial again?"

"No," growled Angelus, vamping out in sheer irritation, the last thing he needed was that irritated Germanic former general. Trough on second thought, he'd be perfect to go his frustration on that pesky fly. "It is not that! She escaped me!"

"Who," Darla inquired, "Ahh a little seer saint." she recalled that Angelus shown interest in the three sisters, the one whom had a sight especially.

Angelus resumed his pacing, while Drala reclined in the sofa watching him. "Angelus, dear, do stop this pacing," he shot her a look, and then petulantly flung himself in to padded chair, he was certain that he had there in the church, preying her penance, but apparently lithe morsel escaped the moment she stepped out of the confessional.

How utterly vexing.

"Come," said Darla, standing up. "The night is yet young and you are looking a mite pale," Angelus continued to sulk, so Darla went and pulled him to his feet.

"Who knows, perhaps, little lambs family will be out again," she watched her deer boys eyes light up. She firmly suppressed a jealous thought 'Will my boy loose interest in me, or is this pure doxy just a passing fancy?'

***Hornby residence – at the same time***

Drusilla was clutching the windowsill, her knuckles' palling in her effort. Her mother was a bed; again, having a headache, father was out with a patient. And her uncle and aunt-by-marriage were chaperoning Danielle and Doreen.

So it was only Drusilla herself, her ailing mother and servants, and of course Mrs. Watson. And she needed to talk with her old nanny now housekeeper.

There was a knock at her room' door.

"Come in." Drusilla said, and Mrs. Watson stepped in, in a swish of black skirts, carry a tray with milk and cookies.

"Here you are dear," Mrs. Watson said, putting the tray down at the small table. "I'm afraid that you mother retired to her rooms, and she is unlikely to come out for days."

Drusilla blinked, when suddenly a looming dark weight in her hart lifted, and she was able to breathe more easily.

"There is nothing to fear dear." Mrs. Watson said. Drusilla nodded. "Soon you'll be out of the foul things reach."

Drusilla turned to her former nanny; yes she was always supportive of her but this. "You believe me?"

Mrs. Watson nodded, "My father. When I was young, he served in a family that dealt with things like that; I didn't want to have any part in it after …." She trailed of, sighing. "After they took my little sister, she was barely five and teen summers old, she died, next year, those things killed her and they just watched. That is what they do, they watch them die." She finished angrily rubbing her eyes.

"Exactly on the night of my fifteenth birthday, before the night my seeing things came..." Drusilla trailed off.

Mrs. Watson nodded. "At first I thought you were like Edith, but, you are not. No Watchers came for you, and considering that they are based in London, they'd find you, if you'd been like her."

"Then what this all means?"

"Child, just because you see evil, doesn't make you the devil child."

Drusilla frowned, then thinking on her recurring dream that she had since before her five and teen birthday "I had that dream again."

Mrs. Watson frowned and sat down. "The one you usually have?"

"Yes, it was the same."

"I know I said not to tell me then, but can you tell me about it now."

"Oh," Drusilla softly excelled, Mrs. Watson always said to her not to talk about it to anyone. But considering what she just found out of Mrs. Watson's sister Edith her adamant demand for Drusilla not to talk about her dreams was understandable.

Then she blushed; now while she was somewhat used to seeing the scandalous clothing the young women, herself included, in her dream wore, she was embarrassed in voicing that.

"Well, its starts peacefully on the forest clearing, me, older me, and four other young women, we are looking for someone. I have no knowledge of who we are looking for." She trailed off, and then took a deep breath, deciding to not hold back no matter her embarrassment.

"Their clothing, Mrs. Watson, I am the only one that wears the full dress, that covers me from he neck to the ankles, but I … the dress is like those togas that Romans or Greeks wore and … a-and I'm wearing my hair loose and I'm dancing around and laughing." She gasped in embarrassment, her cheeks flushed. At least she didn't sound evil, manic and mad in that dream. She was genially happy.

"Calm down child, its all right." Mrs. Watson said, hugging her across the shoulders. "I changed your nappies; strange dresses are no reason to be embarrassed in front of me."

Drusilla's blush intensified. "Mrs. Watson." she squeaked. Then she cleared her throat.

"There are three blondes; one is about my age – now, so thirteen to fifteen. She is wearing … a very short plated skirt, the like's only 4 years old girls wear …" Drusilla faltered for a moment. "The other women all wear trousers."

"Do they, really. My, that sounds fascinating; I always wondered how it is like walking around in britches like men do." Mrs. Watson remarked calmly, drawing astonished look from Drusilla. "So what do they have on top? Wainscots, shirts, cravats, tail coats?"

"Emm, one is, the one in to short skirt for her age, is wearing high black stockings, which come, almost, to her knees, doesn't wear any boots, she is wearing black and blue, waistcoat and cravat of the same coloring."

"Hmm, that almost sounds like some sort of the uniform, continue Miss Drusilla if you please."

"The other blonde, with green or hazel eyes, she has straight sandy or, or like that brass handle color, or old gold …" she trailed off again, blushing at the memory, in lot of ways this woman's clothing made from fitting black trousers, that looked like men's riding britches, and tight lacy …

"I …she is wearing an of shoulders dark red shirt made of lace, it is not see trough, but, but …"

"I imagine you can see curves, yes."

Drusilla nodded. Mrs. Watson thought a moment. "It is more reveling than say what gowns those ladies of the peerage wear?"

"Err, no. no, come to think it her red top, could be part of the evening gown, or a gown that opera signer wears; AdelinaPatti."

Mrs. Watson snorted "So the lass in your dreams could tease lads a bit, but her wears cover more of her body than high end ladies clothing. But please do continue." Heartened and less embarrassed Drusilla did just that.

"None of the women war bonnets, myself included, and I think, I think that the blonde in red lace shirt has a long knife and some sort of keys on her belt. Golden and silver and keys made of jade."

"What feelings do you have when you are around this woman?"

"Stardust." Drusilla blurted. "Stars." She amended. "I feel connected to her trough the stars."

"And that fourteen or so lass?"

"She had straggly, waist-length, dishwater blonde hair, wispy thin eyebrows, and protuberant eyes that make her look surprised. I feel airy dottiness around her. But there is no malice."

"On what did you first think was when …?"

"Moon." Drusilla replayed immediately, sure of her answer.

Mrs. Watson nodded. "And the others?"

"The other blonde …" Drusilla frowned in thought, what did she feel about the last blonde in the meadow. "She wears chemise with straps, and red leather pants. And when I look at her I see …um white fuzz? "

Mrs. Watson frowned. "White fuzz?"

Drusilla nodded, "Yes."

"All right, and the rest?"

"The woman with chestnut hair, I think she is carrying a sword, but she is dressed in plain colors. And the feeling I associate with her; chivalry knight champion. Then there is; a black haired woman dressed in baggy black clothing, with black painted lips and eyelashes … and I think her nails are black painted as well and she has a silver circle pierced trough one nostril."

"Ahm that is one drastic look for a young lady." Mrs. Watson said. "But what you feel about this young woman?"

"Conflicted feel," Drusilla murmured, ducking her head. "She feels like my dad – ugh, manly. I suppose."

"All right, you have a young woman of fourteen that is in some sort of uniform linked to the moon, lady in red that is connected to the stars, a woman that is probably some sort of knight, fluffy blonde girl, and a young woman that is probably some sort of magician." Mrs. Watson paused for a bit. "But not of the evil verity, we'll get back to them at later date; I have some books about symbolism and dreams, I can look t that at a later date. Now tell me the rest of the dream."

"All right, as I said we are looking for someone, or many someone's, and we came upon that meadow and it is really beautiful nature, I san hear many birds sing, and it is sunny, like we would be in valley of the sun." she smiled, remembering the summer breeze that blow through the clearing, carrying the smell of honeysuckle and sea.

"But then the birds stop singing and the wind just stops, like everything just stops breathing. And we are just standing there wondering what is going on, and then there is this terrible voice saying 'Meso, carne, carn, mięso, feòil, ego cibus, vlees, wollen fleisch'. I know that 'ego cibus' in Latin means 'want meat' and … and that creature that appears is just thing of nightmare. In shape it looks like Shire horse, only bulker in torso and it has thicker legs, it has no coat; just skin the colour of a bruise, sickly yellows and blues and greens. It has a horn like unicorn on the pictures, but it's wrapped in some sort of slimy substance like algae, and it … its head is monstrous, full of jagged teeth." At the last she broke down in tears, like she still did upon waking after this dream.

Mrs Watson wrapped her arms around Drusilla, "There, there, drear child, it can't hurt you right now. Have you milk and cookies to calm down and I'll bring you some Mentha and Chamomile tea with honey for easy sleep."

"That would be lovely Mrs. Watson, thank you."

To be continued.

Translation: those words that 'croc-unicorn' (the thing doesn't have species definition, so if you have an idea PM or tell in the review) mean the same: "meant, want meat". Just for the record, I was going for creepy with that thing.

Language used in order: Slovenian, Spanish, Catalan, Polish, Scots Gaelic, Latin, Dutch and German.

Adelina Patti was an Italian-French 19th-century opera singer, earning huge fees at the height of her career in the music capitals of Europe and America. She first sang in public as a child in 1851, and gave her last performance before an audience in 1914.