Miss Edith's Tea Party

The box is wrapped in delicate golden tissue paper and tied with a festive, bright red bow.

Inside, carefully enveloped in layers of red, gold, and green tissue is an ornament made of delicate glass. Hand-painted on it is a scene of a father helping his dark-haired daughter open a present on Christmas morning.

Below that, underneath the paper, is the bloodstained collar of a Catholic priest.

The note simply reads, "To my Angel, on Christmas Eve."

The cards were foggy, unclear. They didn't tell her anything at all until she laid out the last one.

"They know," murmured Drusilla. She got up and went to the door of Angelus' room.

Drusilla is laying out Tarot cards in a spread as she sits in her parlor in the basement.

The blinds are gone, replaced by thin, gauzy, cream-colored curtains, but the windows have been covered over with thick, black paint that flakes off if touched. The student's desks have been removed, and six small, round tables covered in white linen tablecloths and set for tea are in the room instead. If one were to open a teapot and look inside, there is black tea steeping within, and under covered plates are pastries for students to snack on. Each table has three chairs at it. The overhead lights are off, but floor lamps have been set up by each table, giving a small radius of light around each grouping of students.

"Some of you weren't here," says Drusilla, sitting cross-legged on top of her desk. "Not for a class or two, at least, and last week was cancelled because Daddy Angelus needed a clear space for his little project at the elections. Some of you had excused absences." She makes a little meowing sound, and laughs to herself. "Some of you probably forgot that you signed up for classes...or just vanished."

She hops off the desk and walks over to the blackboard, which is shattered and cracked except for one small square. Drusilla picks up a piece of chalk and begins writing. "Detention," she says, giggling to herself. "Such fun, such fun..."

The list of students with detention reads as follows: Anders ([Bad username or site: @ livejournal.com]), Roy ([Bad username or site: @ livejournal.com]), Carrie Bradshaw ([Bad username or site: @ livejournal.com]), and Londo Mollari ([Bad username or site: @ livejournal.com]).

After writing out the detention list, she pulls open one of her desk drawers and slips out a small, bound book. Were one able to look more closely at it, the page would have the names of the students who have attended each class. "Show up to class today and play along, and I may be nice enough to take your name off my list."

"Now," says Drusilla. "Let's have class. We're going to perform an applied exercise once you've all arrived and signed in. Those of you who want to apply to be my Teaching Assistant should fill out the form after we've begun the class exercise. Your answers will be kept private."

( An OOC Note )

ETA: OOC Note: Today's class is important, so please post by tomorrow morning at the latest or Dru will schedule you for detention this weekend. And then she'll run detention. :)

In the basement, Sunshine is sleeping in the pool, her tentacles rippling now and again, as if she were caught in the throes of a particularly disturbing dream.

Drusilla is upstairs in her office, arranging her papers and humming softly to herself. She seems excited, her eyes gleaming in anticipation, and suddenly she lifts her head as if hearing a sound. "They're coming to tea," she says. "What shall we do if we run low on biscuits?"