The World Will End at Half-Past Six

by hearts_blood

Summary:

Lacroix finds a very talkative meal. Short and absurd.

Notes:

For Draycevixen.

For the prompt "the bitterness of mortality" [Eighth Doctor/Lacroix]. ...Yeah... *headdesk*

The ancient vampire tightened his grip on his strange prey's neck and focused his gaze on the Doctor. "And to whom do you belong?"

"To myself, I suppose. To me. And to time, of course."

Lacroix was intrigued. "'To time...' Interesting response. And pretentious."

"At my age," said the velvet-clad man, "I think I've earned the right."

The pale creature's lips curled back from his teeth in a poor imitation of a smile. "At your age," he repeated, mouthing the words with a lofty sneer, though his voice never rose above a soft, predatory husk. "And just how old are you?"

"Three days shy of my one thousandth birthday. And I'd like to live to see it, thanks very much," the Doctor added, smiling widely.

"A thousand years. Half my age. You should learn to respect your elders."

"Yes, I've always had a problem with grown-ups. Listen, could you possibly let me go now? You see, it's six o'clock now? The world's going to end in about half an hour, and if you kill me, I won't be able to stop it. Besides, I don't think I'd taste very good."

The arrogance of the ridiculous long-haired aesthete was almost charming. "Really."

"Really! You see, quite a lot of people have tried, but none of them ever managed to make a meal of me. It must be because they think I'll taste foul."

The smell of the man was like none Lacroix had ever encountered in two thousand years of life. His skin was only marginally warmer than the ancient's own. Overcome, Lacroix reared his head back and plunged his teeth into the strange man's throat.

Almost instantaneously, the memories in the stranger's blood assailed him. Images, smells, sounds, tastes, loves, dangers, tragedies, all of them flooded through Lacroix's brain. And woven through the familiar were things he could not comprehend, colors and places and voices. It was all too much—Lacroix collapsed.

It took him a very long time to recover his senses, and even longer for him to find his voice again. "Timelord," he said at last. "I thought you were a myth."

The Doctor, now sporting a neat white bandage on his neck, offered him a congenial grin. "A word of advice, General: Never try to feed from a timelord. You will get a headache."