Ats, Connor POV, set just after the S3 finale.
First line drabble. (i.e. Niannah supplied the first line, I wrote the rest.)
The mansion on Crawford Street had returned to its state of dishevelled splendour. Vines and other tangled creepers and assorted growing things had begun the battle for dominance over the outer walls with a vengeance, ridding the estate of even the veneer of sophistication.
Connor thought that maybe this place had always been a bit wild, even in its glory days, when it had been kept clean and perfect, everything polished to a shine. It reminded him of his father in that way, presenting the world with one face while keeping another hidden away. There was a duality to it that was rather appropriate for the lair of a vampire.
Connor scowled. Even thinking of his supposed father made him angry. But he'd dealt with Angel, hadn't he? He'd left dear old dad rotting at the bottom of the ocean. Served the bastard right.
"You smell of daddy, you do. Miss Edith gets lost in memories when she sees you, and even the stars forget themselves."
Her voice was barely more than a whisper, but he heard it anyway. The dulcit tones rising and falling like some kind of perverse music.
Connor fingered the stake he held obscured at his side, his lips curving up in a predatory smirk.
"Don't worry, sis. I'll make them all remember."