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No Lead in Her Pencil
Dru sobbed against Darla's shoulder. "What's the matter?" Darla asked. She patted Drusilla's back comfortingly.
Dru pushed herself away. "What good is all this," she waved a hand at their latest hideout, full of darkness, chains, and victims, "if I can't write my poem, my lovely poem, just like what Spike used to write for me?"
"You've lost your pencil again," Darla guessed.
Dru nodded.
Darla smiled. "You were playing office equipment today?" Dru nodded again.
Darla strode over to a tall, tattered man who was unconscious in the corner. She pulled down his pants and pointed. "There ya go."
