[ He can't tell if the pain has faded or if he's simply grown used to it after the last few hours. He doesn't care.
He does speak, after a while, and it's all mercilessly practical. Instructions to Alucard and Sypha to find the Renard and Lacarde branches of the clan, in hiding (he would never have been able to make contact with them. Alucard ought to be able to find them easily.). The Gandolfi family (last known to be in Florence but likely exiled from Italy now for their work in alchemy). The Morris clan (Ireland, if he recalls correctly). Any of them ought to be able to use the whip, even if the cost of it upon themselves might be horrifying. If the worst should happen, the two of them won't be left without a hunter. Only without him. Instructions to leave both whip and stone here, behind the many layers of protection that Mathias put on this place. Along with him. And he will wait here, and he will live (and that is his compromise for talking strategy now, of all times, that he will live for as long as he can remain himself), until either whip or stone are needed. And when they are, he will join one or the other.
And then he goes silent again, only holding them, because that's all he can do now. Even that seems like too much. He's disgusting, more so than he ever was before. He can't kiss away their tears, because his mouth is all full of fangs.
It must have been about three hours since sunset. He doesn't know that because he has any particular concept of how the time is passing - he doesn't know if it's racing past or dragging, and he has no heartbeat to measure it by. But there are noises now, quieter than Alucard's occasional sobs or Sypha's whispers. He's heard them before, but he can pick them out more clearly. The bottles and containers that had their contents used on the stone shifting slightly as their contents refill. It's midnight, and the day is beginning again.
And his heart beats.
And after three hours without a heartbeat, it feels rather like being punched behind the ribs. He recoils back, because he doesn't know what the fuck this is but Sypha still has that awful bruise from the last time something happened and he's not going to hurt her again. And the worst of the pain is back, his skull reshaping itself again. Things inside of him that have been deathly still for the last few hours forcing themselves violently back to life. His lungs are burning and he can't understand what he's meant to do about that until he takes a great, gasping breath and then chokes it out again and-
[The practicality aches. It's smart. It's important to establish. But every single word is a horrible reminder. He's not coming home. He's not coming home. For your father's blood, he's not coming home. It is an undercurrent, a horrible one, one that fills every muffled noise.
But Alucard still takes careful note of the families and where they are supposed to be. He begins to draft the letters of introduction, how they shall be worded, how they shall be signed. He is, for all intents and purposes, the executor of the estate. He has been for three years now, but it changes with death. Maybe these families will want more involvement with the Hold, take great offense at the son of Dracula administering to it's needs. Maybe the fighting shall begin anew, and this time with the castle crippled.
He'll confide none of it to Sypha when this is over. Her feelings are her own, she must process them as is best for her. They'll have to talk about those when they get home but. But it probably won't be articulate words for a while, just horrible noises of loss.
Somewhere in it all, midnight comes. And then, for the second time in 24 hours, it all goes to shit.
Trevor's recoiled, he and Sypha are in the opposite direction, the question of what the fuck?! on all of their lips. Alucard nearly says it, but the pain, the sound of bones, that drowns out everything else and then, with soft wonder and fear:]
[ He'll be more full of wonder in a moment. For the moment, this is just agony. But mercifully, so far as any of this is merciful, the process is quick. Instant, just about, with his body taking only a moment to catch up. After that, it's just his mind figuring out what to do about everything, both consciously and unconsciously. It apparently took him all of three hours for his hart to forget how to regulate itself, for his lungs to need conscious effort to draw and release breath.
He feels like shit when the process is over, and for a long time he can't do more than get his breath back and try to will his heart to pick a rhythm and stick to it and try to figure out what organ it is that feels like it's in the process of rotting away and whether it's really doing that or just being dramatic. ]
May I- [ and his breathing is slowing back down to something near to normal now. ] -may I be an asshole about your father?
[Because that's earned. Moreover, and more importantly, there's still the need for all three of them to catch up with what the ever loving fuck just happened. Alucard's pretty sure he hasn't take a single breath in two minutes, so struck by everything as he has been about...
..about this. Whatever the fuck this loop actually means, because right now, it means a lot of things both for good and for ill.]
I don't know what the fuck that was. But I'm guessing it's the best fucking thing he's done for a Belmont since [ making a dhampir baby ] he and Leon parted.
[ He's alive. He's still alive. Heart beating and a pulse and air in his lungs and everything. And yes, every cell in his body is burning with the exertion of doing that shit twice in such a short timeframe. But fuck, he's alive. As a result of Dracula's stupid fucking spell. And he only barely has it in him to pretend to be ungrateful, and even that's just because fuck, he needs to laugh at something right now. ]
[Alucard just shakes his head. Now, now it is the time for every other question to surface. The one that rises to the forefront is a two part matter, one practical, one of ethics. Will the turning happen again? And if it does, and everything resets, then how many nights can any of us suffer this?]
That's how you know it's his handiwork
[It's meant to be lighter than it comes out. Alucard can only be alone with his thoughts, and there is terrible practicality in him too.]
[ It's not as light as it ought to be, but Trevor has never been one to shy away from gallows humor. ]
Find something I don't like, even chances it's a fucker calling himself a priest or your father behind it.
[ They're all thinking the same thing, he can imagine. Whether the turning is going to happen again. His own question is how many times can he survive it, because right now it feels like a wonder that he's managed two. It's not uncommon for the turning process to be fatal in itself, and though he's always been fairly convinced he's hardy enough to be at risk of surviving it, that was assuming that it would be happening once, and that it would be happening the usual way around.
(Fuck, if this happens again he's going to need to start making notes. They have nothing on how it might look to have the turning process reversed.) ]
Let me try water, first. [ Even water seems a little much, with his digestive system having essentially destroyed and reformed itself as something designed to primarily consume something else twice in the space of a few hours. ]
[There's such a hollow, bitter laugh at that comment. Both have fucked them over time and again, and Alucard can only say the part about his father with all the love in the world for what a beautiful twenty years had happened in opposition to the 380 before it.
Shakily, Sypha's on her feet first. She's over to Trevor to help him up, and Alucard simply picks himself up off the floor once he is certain that he has it in him not to step with a terrible tremble. Everything is on a knife's edge right now.]
[ He doesn't like putting this much of his weight on Sypha - he'll be able to walk on his own once the shock of the transformation's faded a little more - but right now it can't be helped. The kitchen is only a short way away, and she helps him carefully down onto their makeshift bed and creates and melts ice in their water pail and hands him a cup of it before flopping down on the bedding herself. Technically there was an agreement of sorts to not eat or drink while sitting on the bedding, but- well. A lot of things have gone out of the window recently. This may as fucking well be one of them. ]
The two of you need to eat, at least. And- [ Fuck. Alucard's been awake this whole time, after using that exhausting fucking spell. Sypha's not been checked over for injury after she was attacked at the start of all of this. They've been focusing on him this whole time. He takes a tiny, experimental sip of the water, barely a drop. No problems with that much. ] -fuck, just take care of yourselves. At least for a while.
[While Sypha takes care of water, Alucard does what he always does when cooking is a matter of need and need only. He lights the fire. He asks Sypha for water, and he takes what meat scraps he can along with all of the root vegtables to their name, and makes sure that the soup will at least taste halfway decent. He's out of so many other supplies (he has to fix that today), and the pantry is still off limits. He doesn't trust it, and the last thing they need is for this problem to be solved only for a new one to arise.
Cooking is...is easier. Alucard knows how everything will react, knows the timing, knows everything required. It feels like the only thing he can control right now, and so he will. The bones in the soup pot (left from the last few bits of cured chicken meat), boil, and he stirs it carefully with a great wooden spoon.]
We will find the right balance.
[It's as close to we will as Alucard can manage. Sleep isn't going to happen.]
[ The familiar sound of bones and water filling the big soup pot is a relief, because he knows full well that solid food would be beyond him and that not eating isn't an option at all if he wants the two of them to take care of themselves for even a moment.
...and it's probably also not an option because his body is intent on destroying and reforming itself constantly, apparently, and that needs energy. But. You know. Priorities. ]
I'll live for now. Once it's dawn, I'll stick my hand out into the sun and we can know just how fucked up the situation is.
[Soup solves every problem, it's a fact of life. Alucard's quiet as he stands up to go chop vegetables, the words Trevor said bringing forth a thought he hasn't considered in a very long time.
There were long twilights in the year or so before his mother died that the two would sit and talk. Usually about her work, but it would veer into discussions of strange and terrifying treatments that ran the risk of not working, and soft little admissions that these were never the first time that something so wild and terrifying had been doe.
The sun is why Alucard's mind goes back to those moments now. The night that his mother admitted that neither she nor his father knew if sunlight would be safe for Alucard, and the sheer terror of how to even remotely try to find that out without death being the result.
It gets a heavy sigh out of him. This is dhampirism in a new way. A much worse way.]
We have a few hours before that. And more after.
[He also has a theory about how this is going to end up playing out, based on how the estate behaves.]
A few hours for the both of you to get some fucking rest.
[ They may have to argue about this. They probably will, though Trevor's not sure how much arguing he has left in him. He is, at least, fully intending to take his own advice here and just pass out from exhaustion the moment he's content that the other two are ready to take care of themselves. ]
Whatever's happening here, it's- we apparently have time. Worst comes to worst, I have fangs for another three hours tonight.
[ He's being very dismissive of it, considering how fucking awful it is for all of them. But he can lock himself up on the other side of the estate where they don't have to see him like that. ]
You don't get to remove yourself from that equation.
[That's all the fight Alucard has in him right now. If they're resting, so is he, because he doesn't want to lose a minute of work or just seeing Trevor awake and so very alive if it can be helped. And Trevor is right, they need to sleep. All of them. Trevor for his body to recover, Sypha to rest emotionally, Alucard to have any brain power at all.
The bones haven't been boiling anywhere long enough for the soup broth to taste good, but rest is needed, and so there's no time. He uses the spoon to fish the bones out, and they go aside on a plate. Walks and grabs another plate of the veggies, and those go in the pot.]
We'll figure everything out.
[He says it softly. More to himself than to anyone else.]
Trust me, I havn't. I'm going to sleep like- [ ...there's no good way to joke about how difficult it'll be to wake him up right now, is there? And 'sleep like the dead' is a little too on the nose. As are any jokes about sleeping like Alucard does, which is sad, because making fun of Alucard's ridiculous 'sometimes half an hour, sometimes three full days' sleep schedule is usually good fun. For him. ] -I'm going to sleep like a rock. A very fucking tired rock.
[ He's pulled Sypha against him while they wait for the soup to cook. Her head is against his ribs and her hand over his heart and he knows that she's feeling for it beating, to be certain. She's quiet, that way that she's always quiet when she's lonely.
And it's tragic and unfair that she has to feel lonely in a room with the both of them. ]
[And there's quiet as the soup simmers, and every so often Alucard will stir it. Slosh things about. Check for the tenderness of the carrots and parsnips and turnips in there, and once satisfied, he adds the little scraps of meat that remain. It all heats up, and that's just enough time for him to get three bowls and the ladle.
So much of this is muscle memory now. How much each of them likes in their bowl, and there's no bread to put in Trevor's or Sypha's because they haven't been in the estate for a week. A terrible fucking meal for a terrible fucking day. But he brings it over to where the other two have staked out for the time being all the same. Puts it down. Forces the bowls into both of their hands nearly, because at the very least they will have some warmth.]
[ Sypha untangles herself from him to take her bowl, poking at vegetables with a spoon halfheartedly but eventually just eating. She's practical, where it counts. She's more than used to surviving through horror and tragedy.
Trevor tries to to likewise. He really does try. The vegetables look the most hopeful, which is to say the most likely solid thing that he might be able to chew into a fine enough paste to keep down.
And if everything else weren't so much more dramatic, this in itself would be an alarming sight. Trevor eats like someone who's lived his entire life not knowing where the next meal is going to come from. Eats himself sick if something's spooked him back into that way of thinking. Eats significantly more when ill, because he's been starved while sick, he knows just what that does to a body. Right now, he's at one and a half slices of carrot, and that's proving to be about all the solid food his stomach is capable of. He sips at the broth until that becomes too much before switching back to his cup of water. ]
Thank you. For all of this.
[ He knows that he's loved. He knows that they'll both do whatever it takes to protect him. But knowing it and seeing it are very different things, and Alucard's already forbidden him from apologizing for being a burden, and so thanking them is the next best thing. ]
[All Alucard does is chug the broth in one go, and then deal with the solid bits. It is the least elegant that he has ever, ever eaten and he's including any and all times he has consumed blood ever. (He...probably should take care of that. He doesn't have any stomach for it right now.) Everything is miserable. Everything has the faintest glimmer of hope.
He watches the other two so quietly. So worriedly. With such terrified adoration for the moment, because they may never have this moment with each other again. He has always treated each little thing with reverence. Calling it precious because it is. He means that sentiment now more than ever, because this can all end. It will all end if they find no recourse for removing this thing from Trevor.
(In the very far back of Alucard's mind, he knows that when he returns, he will have to take some of his father's power. Some of that fear will be wielded. Because even if the three of them survive this, they likely cannot face another horror like this yet again. They have been ground down time and again to be built back up and...and they've managed. Every time they have been more frayed at the end. A fourth demand will make them all unravel.)
He's put his own bowl down (it is empty) when he finaly clocks how little Trevor is eating. How very wrong that is for a million reasons. But....but right now, he can't force anything else on Trevor. Just his hand resting on the nearest part of Trevor, and a struggle to find words.]
Thank us at the end.
[Whatever the end is. For now, this is the middle. For now, there is a tired kiss to Trevor's forehead, betraying exhaustion and fear. For now there is the three of them, spent and exhausted and unsure, clinging to each other and so very little else.]
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cryptsleeper) wrote2018-11-10 11:26 pm
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He does speak, after a while, and it's all mercilessly practical. Instructions to Alucard and Sypha to find the Renard and Lacarde branches of the clan, in hiding (he would never have been able to make contact with them. Alucard ought to be able to find them easily.). The Gandolfi family (last known to be in Florence but likely exiled from Italy now for their work in alchemy). The Morris clan (Ireland, if he recalls correctly). Any of them ought to be able to use the whip, even if the cost of it upon themselves might be horrifying. If the worst should happen, the two of them won't be left without a hunter. Only without him. Instructions to leave both whip and stone here, behind the many layers of protection that Mathias put on this place. Along with him. And he will wait here, and he will live (and that is his compromise for talking strategy now, of all times, that he will live for as long as he can remain himself), until either whip or stone are needed. And when they are, he will join one or the other.
And then he goes silent again, only holding them, because that's all he can do now. Even that seems like too much. He's disgusting, more so than he ever was before. He can't kiss away their tears, because his mouth is all full of fangs.
It must have been about three hours since sunset. He doesn't know that because he has any particular concept of how the time is passing - he doesn't know if it's racing past or dragging, and he has no heartbeat to measure it by. But there are noises now, quieter than Alucard's occasional sobs or Sypha's whispers. He's heard them before, but he can pick them out more clearly. The bottles and containers that had their contents used on the stone shifting slightly as their contents refill. It's midnight, and the day is beginning again.
And his heart beats.
And after three hours without a heartbeat, it feels rather like being punched behind the ribs. He recoils back, because he doesn't know what the fuck this is but Sypha still has that awful bruise from the last time something happened and he's not going to hurt her again. And the worst of the pain is back, his skull reshaping itself again. Things inside of him that have been deathly still for the last few hours forcing themselves violently back to life. His lungs are burning and he can't understand what he's meant to do about that until he takes a great, gasping breath and then chokes it out again and-
-fuck, he needs to breathe. ]
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But Alucard still takes careful note of the families and where they are supposed to be. He begins to draft the letters of introduction, how they shall be worded, how they shall be signed. He is, for all intents and purposes, the executor of the estate. He has been for three years now, but it changes with death. Maybe these families will want more involvement with the Hold, take great offense at the son of Dracula administering to it's needs. Maybe the fighting shall begin anew, and this time with the castle crippled.
He'll confide none of it to Sypha when this is over. Her feelings are her own, she must process them as is best for her. They'll have to talk about those when they get home but. But it probably won't be articulate words for a while, just horrible noises of loss.
Somewhere in it all, midnight comes. And then, for the second time in 24 hours, it all goes to shit.
Trevor's recoiled, he and Sypha are in the opposite direction, the question of what the fuck?! on all of their lips. Alucard nearly says it, but the pain, the sound of bones, that drowns out everything else and then, with soft wonder and fear:]
...Everything resets.
[Again. With the tiniest bit of hope:]
Everything resets.
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He feels like shit when the process is over, and for a long time he can't do more than get his breath back and try to will his heart to pick a rhythm and stick to it and try to figure out what organ it is that feels like it's in the process of rotting away and whether it's really doing that or just being dramatic. ]
May I- [ and his breathing is slowing back down to something near to normal now. ] -may I be an asshole about your father?
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[Because that's earned. Moreover, and more importantly, there's still the need for all three of them to catch up with what the ever loving fuck just happened. Alucard's pretty sure he hasn't take a single breath in two minutes, so struck by everything as he has been about...
..about this. Whatever the fuck this loop actually means, because right now, it means a lot of things both for good and for ill.]
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making a dhampir baby] he and Leon parted.[ He's alive. He's still alive. Heart beating and a pulse and air in his lungs and everything. And yes, every cell in his body is burning with the exertion of doing that shit twice in such a short timeframe. But fuck, he's alive. As a result of Dracula's stupid fucking spell. And he only barely has it in him to pretend to be ungrateful, and even that's just because fuck, he needs to laugh at something right now. ]
And I still fucking hated it. Shit.
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That's how you know it's his handiwork
[It's meant to be lighter than it comes out. Alucard can only be alone with his thoughts, and there is terrible practicality in him too.]
You need to eat.
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Find something I don't like, even chances it's a fucker calling himself a priest or your father behind it.
[ They're all thinking the same thing, he can imagine. Whether the turning is going to happen again. His own question is how many times can he survive it, because right now it feels like a wonder that he's managed two. It's not uncommon for the turning process to be fatal in itself, and though he's always been fairly convinced he's hardy enough to be at risk of surviving it, that was assuming that it would be happening once, and that it would be happening the usual way around.
(Fuck, if this happens again he's going to need to start making notes. They have nothing on how it might look to have the turning process reversed.) ]
Let me try water, first. [ Even water seems a little much, with his digestive system having essentially destroyed and reformed itself as something designed to primarily consume something else twice in the space of a few hours. ]
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Shakily, Sypha's on her feet first. She's over to Trevor to help him up, and Alucard simply picks himself up off the floor once he is certain that he has it in him not to step with a terrible tremble. Everything is on a knife's edge right now.]
Water first.
[The easiest thing he'll ever agree to.]
Then food. We...we all haven't eaten.
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The two of you need to eat, at least. And- [ Fuck. Alucard's been awake this whole time, after using that exhausting fucking spell. Sypha's not been checked over for injury after she was attacked at the start of all of this. They've been focusing on him this whole time. He takes a tiny, experimental sip of the water, barely a drop. No problems with that much. ] -fuck, just take care of yourselves. At least for a while.
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Cooking is...is easier. Alucard knows how everything will react, knows the timing, knows everything required. It feels like the only thing he can control right now, and so he will. The bones in the soup pot (left from the last few bits of cured chicken meat), boil, and he stirs it carefully with a great wooden spoon.]
We will find the right balance.
[It's as close to we will as Alucard can manage. Sleep isn't going to happen.]
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...and it's probably also not an option because his body is intent on destroying and reforming itself constantly, apparently, and that needs energy. But. You know. Priorities. ]
I'll live for now. Once it's dawn, I'll stick my hand out into the sun and we can know just how fucked up the situation is.
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There were long twilights in the year or so before his mother died that the two would sit and talk. Usually about her work, but it would veer into discussions of strange and terrifying treatments that ran the risk of not working, and soft little admissions that these were never the first time that something so wild and terrifying had been doe.
The sun is why Alucard's mind goes back to those moments now. The night that his mother admitted that neither she nor his father knew if sunlight would be safe for Alucard, and the sheer terror of how to even remotely try to find that out without death being the result.
It gets a heavy sigh out of him. This is dhampirism in a new way. A much worse way.]
We have a few hours before that. And more after.
[He also has a theory about how this is going to end up playing out, based on how the estate behaves.]
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[ They may have to argue about this. They probably will, though Trevor's not sure how much arguing he has left in him. He is, at least, fully intending to take his own advice here and just pass out from exhaustion the moment he's content that the other two are ready to take care of themselves. ]
Whatever's happening here, it's- we apparently have time. Worst comes to worst, I have fangs for another three hours tonight.
[ He's being very dismissive of it, considering how fucking awful it is for all of them. But he can lock himself up on the other side of the estate where they don't have to see him like that. ]
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[That's all the fight Alucard has in him right now. If they're resting, so is he, because he doesn't want to lose a minute of work or just seeing Trevor awake and so very alive if it can be helped. And Trevor is right, they need to sleep. All of them. Trevor for his body to recover, Sypha to rest emotionally, Alucard to have any brain power at all.
The bones haven't been boiling anywhere long enough for the soup broth to taste good, but rest is needed, and so there's no time. He uses the spoon to fish the bones out, and they go aside on a plate. Walks and grabs another plate of the veggies, and those go in the pot.]
We'll figure everything out.
[He says it softly. More to himself than to anyone else.]
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[ He's pulled Sypha against him while they wait for the soup to cook. Her head is against his ribs and her hand over his heart and he knows that she's feeling for it beating, to be certain. She's quiet, that way that she's always quiet when she's lonely.
And it's tragic and unfair that she has to feel lonely in a room with the both of them. ]
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[And there's quiet as the soup simmers, and every so often Alucard will stir it. Slosh things about. Check for the tenderness of the carrots and parsnips and turnips in there, and once satisfied, he adds the little scraps of meat that remain. It all heats up, and that's just enough time for him to get three bowls and the ladle.
So much of this is muscle memory now. How much each of them likes in their bowl, and there's no bread to put in Trevor's or Sypha's because they haven't been in the estate for a week. A terrible fucking meal for a terrible fucking day. But he brings it over to where the other two have staked out for the time being all the same. Puts it down. Forces the bowls into both of their hands nearly, because at the very least they will have some warmth.]
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Trevor tries to to likewise. He really does try. The vegetables look the most hopeful, which is to say the most likely solid thing that he might be able to chew into a fine enough paste to keep down.
And if everything else weren't so much more dramatic, this in itself would be an alarming sight. Trevor eats like someone who's lived his entire life not knowing where the next meal is going to come from. Eats himself sick if something's spooked him back into that way of thinking. Eats significantly more when ill, because he's been starved while sick, he knows just what that does to a body. Right now, he's at one and a half slices of carrot, and that's proving to be about all the solid food his stomach is capable of. He sips at the broth until that becomes too much before switching back to his cup of water. ]
Thank you. For all of this.
[ He knows that he's loved. He knows that they'll both do whatever it takes to protect him. But knowing it and seeing it are very different things, and Alucard's already forbidden him from apologizing for being a burden, and so thanking them is the next best thing. ]
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He watches the other two so quietly. So worriedly. With such terrified adoration for the moment, because they may never have this moment with each other again. He has always treated each little thing with reverence. Calling it precious because it is. He means that sentiment now more than ever, because this can all end. It will all end if they find no recourse for removing this thing from Trevor.
(In the very far back of Alucard's mind, he knows that when he returns, he will have to take some of his father's power. Some of that fear will be wielded. Because even if the three of them survive this, they likely cannot face another horror like this yet again. They have been ground down time and again to be built back up and...and they've managed. Every time they have been more frayed at the end. A fourth demand will make them all unravel.)
He's put his own bowl down (it is empty) when he finaly clocks how little Trevor is eating. How very wrong that is for a million reasons. But....but right now, he can't force anything else on Trevor. Just his hand resting on the nearest part of Trevor, and a struggle to find words.]
Thank us at the end.
[Whatever the end is. For now, this is the middle. For now, there is a tired kiss to Trevor's forehead, betraying exhaustion and fear. For now there is the three of them, spent and exhausted and unsure, clinging to each other and so very little else.]
We love you.