[Alucard doesn't stay back, because this? This he knows. That engine, the shape of it isn't refined but he knows it and there's no fear in approaching. A grim smile of satisfaction flicks over Alucard's face.]
It's an early version of how the castle moves. Moved, rather.
[Because Sypha still broke it. He takes advantage of the light in order to observe what lies around them, and the pages on the ground have that familiar handwriting too. The writings about the engines, they evolve into diagrams quickly. Alucard can't help but start to gather them up, because to unbreak the castle would be to afford safety if a matter like Carmilla strikes again. (He ignores the cell. The bars. It aches in horrifying ways he never knew existed before, and now that information shall be the domains of new dreams.)
This isn't a mission to gather paper. Alucard doesn't care, he holds the pages close to his chest.]
Too much originates here. But that also means that any extremely strange passages might be a matter of encountering more technological marvels rather than real demons and the like.
[ He repeats it with a lot more feeling, because- well shit. ]
...you know that we have to destroy this before we leave France.
[ He's glad that Alucard found it and everything, but- they can't let this stay here. Where it could be found so, so easily by anyone. It's a miracle that nobody's stumbled upon it before now. ]
[He's too smug when he makes that claim for it to be real.
There's a moment when Alucard looks around again, making sure he's picked up every page. When they go back, he shall put the pages in order. (Alucard does not want to sleep tonight, for fear of dreams. For fear of sharing a cell with his father, and the terrible bonding of it.)
Beyond the engine, there is more. The less time spent lingering here, the better.]
His poetry is fine. He just doesn't know the difference between a monster and a- that thing.
[ To be fair, neither would most people in 1095.
There seems to be another of the arc lamps at the top of the stairs, if the loud sound of it and the light flooding down the steps is any indication. It makes the stairs easier to climb, and Trevor's grateful for that much. ]
'Before me lay six paths. One led to a building that was a church in all but the Lord's presence, dismantled and rebuilt exactly within the castle's walls where He could not enter. Another led to a great theater. A third led to the prisons where those among Walter's army would be kept, and a fourth to the laboratories where he forced my best love to share his great wisdom. The fifth led to a great garden where the plants grew by eternal moonlight. The final door, I knew, would lead to Walter's solar.'
The arc lamp is a relief. Any and all the comforts of home are a relief, even if this castle is basic. An inferior version of what home is, what it became, what his father actually created on his own rather than at the prodding and torture of another.
He listens, considers, and nods.]
Chapel, theatre, cells, laboratory, garden, primary room for confrontation. My instinct says laboratory and garden, those are more involved rooms and might have more documents, but if we're looking for greater indicators of a man, then the first three shall reveal much more.
Of the three, the theatre is the strangest to my ears. Let's begin there.
[ He'll accept 'basic' now, because that seems more and more like what this truly is - the first form of what became Dracula's castle. From here he can hear water rushing through metal veins, the same way it does back at the castle. The sound of it echoes through the hallways, along with the constant whining of those lights and the creaking an groaning of the first version of the engine.
(It really does sound pained. He can see how, thinking it a living creature, Leon would have wanted to comfort it. Even if his own thoughts on what to do about the sounds venture less toward 'comfort' and more toward 'put it out of its misery') ]
The theatre, then. That would be- this door, I think.
[ He pushes it open. The corridor behind it is dark, but a light at the far end means there must be another of those lamps around a corner somewhere. Even in the dark it is- overly decorated. ]
'Sara had heard rumour of a pair of performers found on the edges of the forest, half-dead, half-starved and half-mad. She bade Mathias ride out with her to tend their wounds and, once they could travel, had them brought back to the safety of the estate. Here she stayed with them, soothing the injuries done to their hearts with her healing presence as Mathias had soothed those done to their flesh, until they had the presence of mind to speak. This was how we came to learn of what Mathias calls the Ghost Theatre.
The Theatre was a gift, created to win the loyalty of Walter's most trusted general. Responsible for selecting and turning the poor cursed children who would become his soldiers, she possesses the power to appear in the form of the most sorely-missed love of her captives. The performers, both grown men who had seen her as their lovers, referred to her as the Succubus, but Mathias has taken to calling her the Matron, as he suspects that she controls the captives she turns by taking the forms of their mothers.
Though the Theatre is hers, the performers claim that Walter visited nightly to attend the performances. Some of these performances, such as the one that our informants were originally part of, were legitimate plays. This was how they were tempted to come to the castle, for love of their art, with promises of a great theatre to perform in, wearing costumes made of the finest and brightest cloth. Most were not. In some, the Matron would tell stories of terrible bloodshed, throwing human captives against their turned children or compelling them to fight amongst themselves. Others would be torture sessions or executions, and the two men who spoke to us told of seeing their troupemates skinned alive by her young soldiers.'
[ They're nearly at the end of the corridor as Trevor reaches the end of that, and around the corner is the source of the light - more of those lamps, illuminating a large and lavishly decorated room. Seats stetch out below them, all facing a massive stage.
Trevor moves on to the other passage that Leon had written on this place, later on in the journal. ]
'This being the domain of Walter's most favored general, it is also the location of the quarters of the army that she created for him. I wish, more truly than anything, that I had never come to learn this. I will write upon this no more, save to say that: To Rinaldo, brightest of Mathias' apprentices, best trusted ally of House Belmont, I am sorry.'
So I'm expecting a cheery sort of place. [ He adds dryly. ]
[Reading through the journals back at the estate had established the importance of preventing this terrible resurrection from passing. (They had a month and change, if Sypha's hunch was right. Alucard saw no reason it wouldn't be, not with every passing detail they learned about what Walter was.) But hearing it said out loud is a very different experience indeed. Jabs about poetry aside (there were some sidebars in that journal that were clearly a) proto-sonnets and b) absolutely not meant for anyone else to read ever), the descriptions were clear eyed and beyond helpful for the task at hand.
Going through the corridors, Alucard continues to rely on the torches. Overly-decorated means a real fortune, even more so than it does now, and as the description of what lies ahead continues, the look on his face grows grimmer and grimmer. He cannot reach into his coat for something to stuff his ears with if need be, the hand not holding the torch is clinging to his father's scattered notes, but the inability to act gives him a terrible thought.]
Do the journals note the Matron's fate?
[If she is loyal. If she believes in the work. If she has seen the aftermath of Dracula's death and known that there must be some truly fearsome vampire power, then the question of who the culprit is might lie at her feet. Or she may be an ally of whoever is responsible. Alucard hates both options, but they need this information.
He still follows after Trevor. His face is too still, as if expecting something to leap out.]
Cheery and with no blood removal spells ever applied.
tmw ur a brit but ur spellcheck is american and you have to use the word 'theatre' 700 times
I'm not going to recite that part. It went on for twenty fucking pages. But yes. Leon slew her and Walter was defeated before he could make good upon the promise of immortality he made to his most loyal servants. She fought him wearing Sara's appearance, and he had a fuckload of feelings about it. Used the phrase 'most dearest love' seven times in one paragraph.
[ He looks down over the theatre. It's near pristine, save for the dust. Pristine and grand and beautiful enough to have inspired awe in any other two people. As it is, Alucard is more than used to this kind of shit and Trevor has been raised with a healthy distrust of castles. ]
Leon never finished his map of this place. [ Presumably because, between having to fight Sara and finding the place where Justine had been imprisoned, he didn't care to stay any longer than necessary. ] So we have Mathias' to go by, I'd guess made based on the word of the prisoners they rescued. There should be dressing rooms, a storage area, an area behind the stage where props and such are kept. Then there'll be the Matron's quarters, and the place where her turned soldiers were kept.
Neither of you get to complain about my overdramatics ever again.
[Alucard says it with a little bit of warmth. As much as he can dare for this situation. But that is all, because as over poetic as Leon is, there's too much aching familarity in the rest. They're all keenly aware of it.
The idea of this Matron wearing the form of others though, that sets Alucard's teeth on edge. Not because of the cruelty of the act it forces (an act both of them have committed now), but because he knows exactly how he could be gotten with such a ruse. Worse. His father would too.
Now isn't the time for that thought. Practicality is the rule of the day, and Alucard listens as Trevor speaks, carefully trying to picture the backstage areas in his mind.]
Let's begin with the area behind the stage. It will likely have the easiest exits if we must make use of them. Take the quarters last, those would be the hardest to escape from, and the lowest point if I had to guess.
[And if they're going backstage, then fuck it. He's walking on the cursed thing for spite. Down the aisles Alucard goes, then hauls himself up onto the performance space. The wood underfoot is in good condition, no creaks or groans or complaints.]
Just because there's someone more dramatic than you doesn't mean you're not an overdramatic fuck. I don't see you refraining from complaining about my manners just because pigs exist.
[ He follows Alucard onto the stage. It's sturdy, with a few trapdoors that he chooses to not step on. from the front, it seems innocent enough. From on-stage there are a few more warning signs visible - hooks with chains hanging from them attached to the walls and hidden from the audience by curtains, deep scratches on the stone that couldn't have been made by human hands, implying that even some of Walter's vampiric enemies had found their way here.
The backstage area is a small space, lit only by what light from the lams finds its way in. Trevor's estimation of it being used to store props wasn't quite correct. Instead it has a great system of ropes tied to bars at different levels against one wall. Two tunnels go under the stage, not quite big enough for either of them to fit through (or at least, in Alucard's case, not as they are). ]
Those tunnels were- probably for the children to navigate the place. [ He guesses, and that's an upsetting and uncomfortable thought. ]
I am perfectly dramatic when the need arises for it, and only then. This [Alucard gestures to what is around them] is screeching dramatics from on high every day of one's life. Consider a scale, and have this be the highest, most dramatic end of it.
[The trapdoors are obvious, at least, and Alucard keeps his focus down rather than up. He expects something to come from below, and when it is clear nothing shall, his eyes do catch on what Trevor has already noted. The grim look on his face intensifies somehow, and he is glad to be free of the sights.
Using the torch in hand is better than relying on the lights to show what the backstage is. The ropes, the bars, those make sense. Operates curtains, operates the hooks, controls the production. Beyond that is the usual discomfort.]
Most likely. I'd expect such tunnels run under more than just this theatre. More of a torture to move through these things than to just walk through a windowless castle.
[The torch shines down the tunnel anyway. There's a chill, but only for the fact the tunnels are deeper in the earth.]
You picked Sypha up and span her around until she got dizzy because the blackberries came in a month early.
[ No he's not going to forget that incident. And yes it's a little more forgivable with the context of the early harvest meaning that they'd be able to eat the berries before they left. But also Sypha's sandal flew off and hit him so. He's going to bring that up forever.
Trevor measures the tunnel's width with his hands, then brings his hands up to his shoulders to check and- nope. There's no way he's going to fit in those. ]
Sypha needs better sandals, that was the lesson there. And none of you complained at the evening, so your harping upon this incident is pointless, Trevor.
[Alucard hangs back as measurements are taken. Considered. Dismissed. Perhaps that's for the better. There'd be naught but bones and dried blood in there, Alucard suspects. They're happier in speculating than being certain.]
He backs up carefully so that Trevor still has light, and then begins to move towards the storage room. It isn't far, and it remains unlocked.
Within are the props that were anticipated backstage. Some expected, like lanterns or faux flowers, the rest at home in the way only a vampire would consider the things comforts of home. Nasty looking halberds with blood long dried to them. A noose with terrible nails set into it. A stockade which probably had a sinister purpose. Beyond them, scrims. Painted scenery. Actual pieces any theatre might employ.]
I didn't say it wasn't worth it. I said it was dramatic.
[ There's nothing terribly interesting here. Even the more horrifying things, they're expected. The most noteworthy thing is a lantern with a handle, which he promptly takes for himself, borrowing Alucard's torch to light it and hooking it onto his belts.
The dressing rooms, when they move on to them, seem fairly normal save for the thick straps of the arms and legs of the chairs. Various costumes hang from a rack, fine clothing and military uniforms of the time, representations of various animals, intricate things meant to impersonate fairies and other otherworldly creatures. Various containers of creams and powders line the tables. ]
[Alucard checks the clothes. He wants to make sure there's nothing stolen from the familiar things they've come to see in the estate, and it takes him a few moments to do so. There's a hiss or two (silver sewn into some finer fabrics, he waves his hand like Trevor or Sypha do when there's a hot pot they've touched), but in the end, it's hardly anything of importance.
Satisfied with that, the creams and powders are checked too. A few get sniffed.]
Some of these are poisons.
[Dying on stage because your skin absorbed the wrong thing. That's a special kind of fucked up. An excellent motivator to keep this all from happening.]
...We cannot let this place stand after we leave it.
I'm starting to think this Walter fuck might have been an asshole.
[ The silver in the clothes gets to him. Alucard might not have lasted in the dream for long enough to enjoy the details of the silver burial clothes that the Belmonts use, but Trevor knows all about them. It's- a terrible thought. ]
Let me see your hand.
[ It shouldn't be worse than himself or Sypha briefly touching something they shouldn't, and there's not a lot he could do right now if it is. But here they are, and being unnecessarily concerned is one of those things they all do. ]
[Alucard's happy to abandon the costumes and poisons, and he doesn't hold out his hand for inspection until he is at the door. The sooner they finish going through here, the better. (Not the better. The cells are next. That will be much worse.)
He holds out the offended hand. The only thing there are a few red marks on Alucard's fingers and palm, lingering more than any other injury because it is still silver.]
[ Anywhere else, he could react differently, more tenderly (how many times, now, have one of them laid kisses on his knuckles and found him something cool to lay his hands upon after incidents of touching the wrong things in the hold?). Later, even if the injury has faded by then, he will. As it is in the moment, he just looks over the burns and nods. They don't look severe. ]
If you're certain.
[ There'll be silver in the face powders as well, he's almost certain. And that's- something he'll almost certainly be adding to those nightmares. Fuck. ]
On to the Matron's quarters, then. I suppose the family records deserve to know what it could have possibly been that turned even Leon Belmont's stomach.
[The advantage of not being subtle is that when something goes wrong, the other two know immediately. As it stands, Alucard simply ignores the pain, and exits the dressing room, glad to be free of it. This final part, it won't be joyous, but it will still be the least of all horrors. The cells will bring forth one set of horrible memories for himself, the chapel threaten all parts of Trevor's faith, and then there shall be the lab which will simply compound whatever is found in the cells.
There's precious comfort in knowing all of this. But it is still a form of comfort, and Alucard will accept it. Even as he keeps walking forward, ears strained, and paying careful attention to smell.]
It may have lessened over the centuries, if fresh flesh and blood was involved. I only smell faint iron.
[ Fine. It'll be fine. He struck Alucard twice with the Vampire Killer once, after all, intending to kill, and the asshole shrugged it off. Brushing against silver shouldn't worry him. It's just gained greater significance in the last year.
The Matron's quarters also contain the dormitories, large rooms leading off the main corridor. They're-
Normal, mostly. Clean. Too many beds cramped into too small a space, but no worse in that way than most orphanages. There's damage to a lot of the beds, slashes in the wood of the frames, loose straw poking through cuts and bites in the sheets, but nothing else. There are toys, mostly broken from too-rough play but still used. There are books, though they seem to have been more chewed at and scribbled upon than read.
And there are more papers. Pictures, this time. And he starts a comment about the similarities to Sypha's art, but it dies in his throat. A family of people he doesn't know - a mother and father and two children, and three figures he does. Even in stick figure form they're recognizable. ]
Oh.
[ The figure with long black hair is fighting fanged stick figures in the next few images, cutting their heads off with a sword. It should be too much of a coincidence that Justine's last thoughts were just lying here to be seen, but- Leon was the last man to walk these halls, after all. Likely he took them and then left them here. ]
Mathias was her godfather. Godfather to both of his apprentice's children.
[Alucard's quiet as they go past one abandoned bed after the next. It's the volume that gets him not for want of cramped quarters but because of the implications behind it. Too many. Maybe there were two to a bed some days. His hands stay all too close to his person, and...
...and they really are just finding more and more papers, aren't they? These don't have familiar handwriting on them (thank God), and then.
Then Trevor explains it all neatly and there's real bile that threatens to rise up Alucard's throat.
The rarity of Alucard's swearing is never unnoticed. Aside from the more jovial variations of fuck you, it just doesn't happen. So it is with all the gravity he has in him that his reaction is a clean, simple, and more vampiric than human hiss of:]
Fuck.
[He hates this. He hates this castle. Everything in it is familiar and twisted and it makes him want to scream.]
[ That had been the reason for Leon's apology. They had promised their protection to this family, and failed them desperately.
He just falls quiet when Alucard swears, letting it linger. Because he's right. This is awful. Everything about this is awful. From Walter and the Matron's method of creating an army who couldn't do anything but follow orders to the constant symbols of cruelty all around to the knowledge that this could come to repeat itself in a few short months, on top of everything else that has already come to repeat itself. He puts his hand on Alucard's back after a few more breaths, leading him out of the room. ]
One more room. One more room and we're done with this wing. We go back after that, get what information we have back to Sypha and return later.
[ They can't, not really. They don't have that much time. But- he can stomach most of this. He's grown up knowing of the worst of Vampires, what things were like before Dracula. He can't stomach watching Alucard tortured like this. ]
[Alucard lets himself be lead out. He wants to protest about leaving this place without completeing a full search as they had planned, but the protest dies before it can even begin. (Soldier.) In all the ways that count, they have what they came here for. A picture of what they'd be up against if they failed and had to fight a reborn Walter rather than whoever it is that holds the key to his return.
The picture is as complete as it needs to be. An impressionist work rather than a still life. That's fine. That's perfect for their needs, and that's what Alucard tells himself.]
Yes. [It's hard to tell what he's agreeing to. Even Alucard is unsure. But anything to speed this the fuck along because this? This makes what his father did look like nothing at all. That should never be.]
And we will not have to drag her through this part. That is a mercy.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
cryptsleeper) wrote2018-11-10 11:26 pm
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[Alucard doesn't stay back, because this? This he knows. That engine, the shape of it isn't refined but he knows it and there's no fear in approaching. A grim smile of satisfaction flicks over Alucard's face.]
It's an early version of how the castle moves. Moved, rather.
[Because Sypha still broke it. He takes advantage of the light in order to observe what lies around them, and the pages on the ground have that familiar handwriting too. The writings about the engines, they evolve into diagrams quickly. Alucard can't help but start to gather them up, because to unbreak the castle would be to afford safety if a matter like Carmilla strikes again. (He ignores the cell. The bars. It aches in horrifying ways he never knew existed before, and now that information shall be the domains of new dreams.)
This isn't a mission to gather paper. Alucard doesn't care, he holds the pages close to his chest.]
Too much originates here. But that also means that any extremely strange passages might be a matter of encountering more technological marvels rather than real demons and the like.
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[ He repeats it with a lot more feeling, because- well shit. ]
...you know that we have to destroy this before we leave France.
[ He's glad that Alucard found it and everything, but- they can't let this stay here. Where it could be found so, so easily by anyone. It's a miracle that nobody's stumbled upon it before now. ]
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[The response is firm and confident. And then, because he can't help it:]
We should get Sypha to do it.
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Do you have everything you need? Hopefully it should be easier to see with this thing on, at least.
[ He laughs again, though this time there's a little less humor to it. ]
We can find out all the rest of the shit that Leon got wrong.
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[He's too smug when he makes that claim for it to be real.
There's a moment when Alucard looks around again, making sure he's picked up every page. When they go back, he shall put the pages in order. (Alucard does not want to sleep tonight, for fear of dreams. For fear of sharing a cell with his father, and the terrible bonding of it.)
Beyond the engine, there is more. The less time spent lingering here, the better.]
Let's go judge his poetry then.
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[ To be fair, neither would most people in 1095.
There seems to be another of the arc lamps at the top of the stairs, if the loud sound of it and the light flooding down the steps is any indication. It makes the stairs easier to climb, and Trevor's grateful for that much. ]
'Before me lay six paths. One led to a building that was a church in all but the Lord's presence, dismantled and rebuilt exactly within the castle's walls where He could not enter. Another led to a great theater. A third led to the prisons where those among Walter's army would be kept, and a fourth to the laboratories where he forced my best love to share his great wisdom. The fifth led to a great garden where the plants grew by eternal moonlight. The final door, I knew, would lead to Walter's solar.'
Where do we start?
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[He'll accept the point though.
The arc lamp is a relief. Any and all the comforts of home are a relief, even if this castle is basic. An inferior version of what home is, what it became, what his father actually created on his own rather than at the prodding and torture of another.
He listens, considers, and nods.]
Chapel, theatre, cells, laboratory, garden, primary room for confrontation. My instinct says laboratory and garden, those are more involved rooms and might have more documents, but if we're looking for greater indicators of a man, then the first three shall reveal much more.
Of the three, the theatre is the strangest to my ears. Let's begin there.
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(It really does sound pained. He can see how, thinking it a living creature, Leon would have wanted to comfort it. Even if his own thoughts on what to do about the sounds venture less toward 'comfort' and more toward 'put it out of its misery') ]
The theatre, then. That would be- this door, I think.
[ He pushes it open. The corridor behind it is dark, but a light at the far end means there must be another of those lamps around a corner somewhere. Even in the dark it is- overly decorated. ]
'Sara had heard rumour of a pair of performers found on the edges of the forest, half-dead, half-starved and half-mad. She bade Mathias ride out with her to tend their wounds and, once they could travel, had them brought back to the safety of the estate. Here she stayed with them, soothing the injuries done to their hearts with her healing presence as Mathias had soothed those done to their flesh, until they had the presence of mind to speak. This was how we came to learn of what Mathias calls the Ghost Theatre.
The Theatre was a gift, created to win the loyalty of Walter's most trusted general. Responsible for selecting and turning the poor cursed children who would become his soldiers, she possesses the power to appear in the form of the most sorely-missed love of her captives. The performers, both grown men who had seen her as their lovers, referred to her as the Succubus, but Mathias has taken to calling her the Matron, as he suspects that she controls the captives she turns by taking the forms of their mothers.
Though the Theatre is hers, the performers claim that Walter visited nightly to attend the performances. Some of these performances, such as the one that our informants were originally part of, were legitimate plays. This was how they were tempted to come to the castle, for love of their art, with promises of a great theatre to perform in, wearing costumes made of the finest and brightest cloth. Most were not. In some, the Matron would tell stories of terrible bloodshed, throwing human captives against their turned children or compelling them to fight amongst themselves. Others would be torture sessions or executions, and the two men who spoke to us told of seeing their troupemates skinned alive by her young soldiers.'
[ They're nearly at the end of the corridor as Trevor reaches the end of that, and around the corner is the source of the light - more of those lamps, illuminating a large and lavishly decorated room. Seats stetch out below them, all facing a massive stage.
Trevor moves on to the other passage that Leon had written on this place, later on in the journal. ]
'This being the domain of Walter's most favored general, it is also the location of the quarters of the army that she created for him. I wish, more truly than anything, that I had never come to learn this. I will write upon this no more, save to say that: To Rinaldo, brightest of Mathias' apprentices, best trusted ally of House Belmont, I am sorry.'
So I'm expecting a cheery sort of place. [ He adds dryly. ]
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Going through the corridors, Alucard continues to rely on the torches. Overly-decorated means a real fortune, even more so than it does now, and as the description of what lies ahead continues, the look on his face grows grimmer and grimmer. He cannot reach into his coat for something to stuff his ears with if need be, the hand not holding the torch is clinging to his father's scattered notes, but the inability to act gives him a terrible thought.]
Do the journals note the Matron's fate?
[If she is loyal. If she believes in the work. If she has seen the aftermath of Dracula's death and known that there must be some truly fearsome vampire power, then the question of who the culprit is might lie at her feet. Or she may be an ally of whoever is responsible. Alucard hates both options, but they need this information.
He still follows after Trevor. His face is too still, as if expecting something to leap out.]
Cheery and with no blood removal spells ever applied.
tmw ur a brit but ur spellcheck is american and you have to use the word 'theatre' 700 times
[ He looks down over the theatre. It's near pristine, save for the dust. Pristine and grand and beautiful enough to have inspired awe in any other two people. As it is, Alucard is more than used to this kind of shit and Trevor has been raised with a healthy distrust of castles. ]
Leon never finished his map of this place. [ Presumably because, between having to fight Sara and finding the place where Justine had been imprisoned, he didn't care to stay any longer than necessary. ] So we have Mathias' to go by, I'd guess made based on the word of the prisoners they rescued. There should be dressing rooms, a storage area, an area behind the stage where props and such are kept. Then there'll be the Matron's quarters, and the place where her turned soldiers were kept.
Your choice.
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[Alucard says it with a little bit of warmth. As much as he can dare for this situation. But that is all, because as over poetic as Leon is, there's too much aching familarity in the rest. They're all keenly aware of it.
The idea of this Matron wearing the form of others though, that sets Alucard's teeth on edge. Not because of the cruelty of the act it forces (an act both of them have committed now), but because he knows exactly how he could be gotten with such a ruse. Worse. His father would too.
Now isn't the time for that thought. Practicality is the rule of the day, and Alucard listens as Trevor speaks, carefully trying to picture the backstage areas in his mind.]
Let's begin with the area behind the stage. It will likely have the easiest exits if we must make use of them. Take the quarters last, those would be the hardest to escape from, and the lowest point if I had to guess.
[And if they're going backstage, then fuck it. He's walking on the cursed thing for spite. Down the aisles Alucard goes, then hauls himself up onto the performance space. The wood underfoot is in good condition, no creaks or groans or complaints.]
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[ He follows Alucard onto the stage. It's sturdy, with a few trapdoors that he chooses to not step on. from the front, it seems innocent enough. From on-stage there are a few more warning signs visible - hooks with chains hanging from them attached to the walls and hidden from the audience by curtains, deep scratches on the stone that couldn't have been made by human hands, implying that even some of Walter's vampiric enemies had found their way here.
The backstage area is a small space, lit only by what light from the lams finds its way in. Trevor's estimation of it being used to store props wasn't quite correct. Instead it has a great system of ropes tied to bars at different levels against one wall. Two tunnels go under the stage, not quite big enough for either of them to fit through (or at least, in Alucard's case, not as they are). ]
Those tunnels were- probably for the children to navigate the place. [ He guesses, and that's an upsetting and uncomfortable thought. ]
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[The trapdoors are obvious, at least, and Alucard keeps his focus down rather than up. He expects something to come from below, and when it is clear nothing shall, his eyes do catch on what Trevor has already noted. The grim look on his face intensifies somehow, and he is glad to be free of the sights.
Using the torch in hand is better than relying on the lights to show what the backstage is. The ropes, the bars, those make sense. Operates curtains, operates the hooks, controls the production. Beyond that is the usual discomfort.]
Most likely. I'd expect such tunnels run under more than just this theatre. More of a torture to move through these things than to just walk through a windowless castle.
[The torch shines down the tunnel anyway. There's a chill, but only for the fact the tunnels are deeper in the earth.]
We can come back to this part later.
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[ No he's not going to forget that incident. And yes it's a little more forgivable with the context of the early harvest meaning that they'd be able to eat the berries before they left. But also Sypha's sandal flew off and hit him so. He's going to bring that up forever.
Trevor measures the tunnel's width with his hands, then brings his hands up to his shoulders to check and- nope. There's no way he's going to fit in those. ]
The storage room, then, and the dressing rooms.
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[Alucard hangs back as measurements are taken. Considered. Dismissed. Perhaps that's for the better. There'd be naught but bones and dried blood in there, Alucard suspects. They're happier in speculating than being certain.]
He backs up carefully so that Trevor still has light, and then begins to move towards the storage room. It isn't far, and it remains unlocked.
Within are the props that were anticipated backstage. Some expected, like lanterns or faux flowers, the rest at home in the way only a vampire would consider the things comforts of home. Nasty looking halberds with blood long dried to them. A noose with terrible nails set into it. A stockade which probably had a sinister purpose. Beyond them, scrims. Painted scenery. Actual pieces any theatre might employ.]
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[ There's nothing terribly interesting here. Even the more horrifying things, they're expected. The most noteworthy thing is a lantern with a handle, which he promptly takes for himself, borrowing Alucard's torch to light it and hooking it onto his belts.
The dressing rooms, when they move on to them, seem fairly normal save for the thick straps of the arms and legs of the chairs. Various costumes hang from a rack, fine clothing and military uniforms of the time, representations of various animals, intricate things meant to impersonate fairies and other otherworldly creatures. Various containers of creams and powders line the tables. ]
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Satisfied with that, the creams and powders are checked too. A few get sniffed.]
Some of these are poisons.
[Dying on stage because your skin absorbed the wrong thing. That's a special kind of fucked up. An excellent motivator to keep this all from happening.]
...We cannot let this place stand after we leave it.
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[ The silver in the clothes gets to him. Alucard might not have lasted in the dream for long enough to enjoy the details of the silver burial clothes that the Belmonts use, but Trevor knows all about them. It's- a terrible thought. ]
Let me see your hand.
[ It shouldn't be worse than himself or Sypha briefly touching something they shouldn't, and there's not a lot he could do right now if it is. But here they are, and being unnecessarily concerned is one of those things they all do. ]
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[Alucard's happy to abandon the costumes and poisons, and he doesn't hold out his hand for inspection until he is at the door. The sooner they finish going through here, the better. (Not the better. The cells are next. That will be much worse.)
He holds out the offended hand. The only thing there are a few red marks on Alucard's fingers and palm, lingering more than any other injury because it is still silver.]
It will fade shortly.
[Don't worry.]
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If you're certain.
[ There'll be silver in the face powders as well, he's almost certain. And that's- something he'll almost certainly be adding to those nightmares. Fuck. ]
On to the Matron's quarters, then. I suppose the family records deserve to know what it could have possibly been that turned even Leon Belmont's stomach.
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[The advantage of not being subtle is that when something goes wrong, the other two know immediately. As it stands, Alucard simply ignores the pain, and exits the dressing room, glad to be free of it. This final part, it won't be joyous, but it will still be the least of all horrors. The cells will bring forth one set of horrible memories for himself, the chapel threaten all parts of Trevor's faith, and then there shall be the lab which will simply compound whatever is found in the cells.
There's precious comfort in knowing all of this. But it is still a form of comfort, and Alucard will accept it. Even as he keeps walking forward, ears strained, and paying careful attention to smell.]
It may have lessened over the centuries, if fresh flesh and blood was involved. I only smell faint iron.
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The Matron's quarters also contain the dormitories, large rooms leading off the main corridor. They're-
Normal, mostly. Clean. Too many beds cramped into too small a space, but no worse in that way than most orphanages. There's damage to a lot of the beds, slashes in the wood of the frames, loose straw poking through cuts and bites in the sheets, but nothing else. There are toys, mostly broken from too-rough play but still used. There are books, though they seem to have been more chewed at and scribbled upon than read.
And there are more papers. Pictures, this time. And he starts a comment about the similarities to Sypha's art, but it dies in his throat. A family of people he doesn't know - a mother and father and two children, and three figures he does. Even in stick figure form they're recognizable. ]
Oh.
[ The figure with long black hair is fighting fanged stick figures in the next few images, cutting their heads off with a sword. It should be too much of a coincidence that Justine's last thoughts were just lying here to be seen, but- Leon was the last man to walk these halls, after all. Likely he took them and then left them here. ]
Mathias was her godfather. Godfather to both of his apprentice's children.
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...and they really are just finding more and more papers, aren't they? These don't have familiar handwriting on them (thank God), and then.
Then Trevor explains it all neatly and there's real bile that threatens to rise up Alucard's throat.
The rarity of Alucard's swearing is never unnoticed. Aside from the more jovial variations of fuck you, it just doesn't happen. So it is with all the gravity he has in him that his reaction is a clean, simple, and more vampiric than human hiss of:]
Fuck.
[He hates this. He hates this castle. Everything in it is familiar and twisted and it makes him want to scream.]
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He just falls quiet when Alucard swears, letting it linger. Because he's right. This is awful. Everything about this is awful. From Walter and the Matron's method of creating an army who couldn't do anything but follow orders to the constant symbols of cruelty all around to the knowledge that this could come to repeat itself in a few short months, on top of everything else that has already come to repeat itself. He puts his hand on Alucard's back after a few more breaths, leading him out of the room. ]
One more room. One more room and we're done with this wing. We go back after that, get what information we have back to Sypha and return later.
[ They can't, not really. They don't have that much time. But- he can stomach most of this. He's grown up knowing of the worst of Vampires, what things were like before Dracula. He can't stomach watching Alucard tortured like this. ]
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The picture is as complete as it needs to be. An impressionist work rather than a still life. That's fine. That's perfect for their needs, and that's what Alucard tells himself.]
Yes. [It's hard to tell what he's agreeing to. Even Alucard is unsure. But anything to speed this the fuck along because this? This makes what his father did look like nothing at all. That should never be.]
And we will not have to drag her through this part. That is a mercy.
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