A/N: I know I spell Drusilla with a "c" – I just do, okay! I haven't posted much fic since the beginning of the year – so here is a little tiny Dru Drabble, inspired by St Patrick's Day, kinda in an off-sort of way.(Belated post.)

Drucilla was Cornish, she had always been Cornish, through and through, even though by the time she was born, no one was Cornish - they had all been made English. But Dru, in her heart, had always been Cornish.

Angelus was Irish, but he had occasion to eat an entire Cornish village once (or thrice) and had learned to speak Cornish before the language died along with its national identity; strange how one can learn almost by absorption, through the blood, almost.

When Dru was upset, having one of her episodes or a string visions that wouldn't quite… Angelus would talk to her in Cornish, or sing, it was soothing, she couldn't understand him, of course, but it didn't, matter.

Drucilla was glad that Angelus was Irish. Gran-Mummy was Spanish, Andalusia, that's in Spain, isn't it, and, she guessed, also American, for she was truly born there, in Virginia. But then, she would think, if Gran-mummy was American, her birthing being there, then She herself must be English, for that is where she died and was truly born. She didn't like that. She was Cornish, not English. That hurt her brain. Maybe Daddy will sing me a lullaby, an Irish lullaby, in Cornish, of course.