[In the end, they make it home with no one's blood being consumed save for two unfortunate deer. Hardly the best thing to eat after an ordeal, but stubborn shits are going to stubborn and that first deer allowed Alucard to become an active enough member of their little band again. Driving shifts, night watches, all of it. His movement closer to that of a mortal man's, and that was enough to see everyone home.
There's a bed big enough for three there, and the first day is spent with all three in it, a mess of limbs and finally indulged exhaustion. The heated floors help. The fireplace helps. All three of them help, and the rest is so deeply needed.
Two weeks before heading out. That's the thing they agree on eventually, over a stunningly late breakfast that's mostly protein. Then it's back to all regular activties and time left to heal.
And to the surprise of utterly no one, Alucard withdraws more than normal. Spends more time down in the Hold, adding Index entries, and swearing every time he finds some stupid artifact he's allergic to. He's gotten used to it, but his mood's darker for an hour afterwards. He comes to bed later. Gets up earlier. And is thinking too fucking much as Trevor so bluntly puts it.
Lab today. His mother's, because a few books from the lab ended up down in the Hold, and they're not meant to be there. He's quiet as he stands in front of the bookshelf, returning everything to it's proper place.]
[Granted, the perk to having Alucard opt to feed on the deer meant that, well, once they were sufficiently drained of blood, there was a lot of good meat left over for them to consume on their way back. But they make it home, and slowly but surely Trevor's concussion eases, and Sypha's exhaustion is mitigated by relaxation and repast. The sight of the castle in the distance proves to be a welcome one, and soon enough they're putting up the horses and leaving the wagon and collapsing inside for the blessed relief of just being home.
The part that's almost funny about the way she eventually notices Alucard's moody absences is that she actually picks up on them because of Trevor. Not because he points them out, no, but because she starts to realize that the balance of time she spends between the two of them is tilting toward Trevor, just by natural virtue of the fact that he's around and available more. And that soon lends itself to curiosity of where Alucard is getting off to and what's keeping him so long when he goes, until finally comes the day he's in the lab reshelving books and she wanders in to find him.
Trevor is napping, for once, and up until this point she'd been cuddled up with him. But now she comes downstairs with her hair tousled and a blanket wrapped around her, and it's tricky to make out from the way the blanket is draped, but the little flashes of bare leg underneath are more than enough to suggest she's still wearing whatever shirt of Alucard's she'd stolen to sleep in, not her usual skirt and shirt.]
Oh, you're in here. I thought you'd gone down to the Hold.
[Alucard's lost in thought. Of course he is, he's always lost in thought when he gets like this. There's no point in denying that he's been doing it more and more the past week. What surprises him is that no one's actually commented on the matter yet. It usually lasts four days at the most.
There's only two books left to be put away, and he's careful as the first one is slid back to where it ought to be. Something about bones, this one.]
Oh. I was, and...these were out of place. That's all.
[He frowns at the blanket.] Is it that cold in here?
[It's not so unheard of, what happens one night in the midst of the two weeks the three of them spend at the castle recuperating. Sypha has heard stories of the phenomenon, certainly; it shows up often enough in tales from around the world to be at least familiar, if not curious. Trevor's religion shares some of the same: sleepers being visited with dreams and prophecies, and awaking the next morning with the guidance offered to them during their slumber.
It happens just once, in the right place and at the right time — on a night when Alucard has finally relented enough to sleep in the middle of the tangle of three, with Trevor's arms around him and Sypha's head tucked under his chin, and the castle still and quiet, and the blankets warm and thick.
It's a dream that begins like a memory: his father's study, the great tall chair by the fire. It faces the door, this time, the way it had for all his years of growing up with these corridors as a playground. The fire is glowing, red-orange and warm. The room is quiet, and still, but oddly not lonely.
It's only after he sits in the chair, and faces the door, that something changes. He'll look once, and find the open portal to the corridor empty.
If he looks twice, he'll find that it's empty no longer — filled now with the figure of a blond woman in a sensible burgundy dress, her soft hair so much like his own in the way that it frames her face in waves.]
[Prophecy isn't a unique concept. They've all been bound by it, only an idiot ignores ancient wisdom. Even if one's parents were scientists. (One of those parents was also a master of the dark arts, after all.) Even if the dream begins in a much too familiar way.
(He'll wake and mutter that this is because he slept in the middle for once instead of his normal spot. He usually sleeps closest to the door out of instinct. Pointless as Trevor has pointed out time and again. Smarter men would come through the windows these days. Instinct remains. And it is nice to have two pairs of warm arms around him with all the additional blankets.)
The study it is. Another night of grief, most likely, because that's what this set up always means. Alucard doesn't wake up from this particular dream anymore, he lets it go where it decides to, then rises to make breakfast. Whatever foul mood he's in for those dreams is gone by the time that all three plates are ready to be devoured.
But this isn't the dream as it usually is. The door is closed most days, because that's how he spends his waking time in the room. Door closed. Memories done in private. (He showed Sypha earlier today. Maybe that's why this is different. She'll say it is later, he's sure.)
And there's his mother. Not acting out the rote motions of memory (she's usually gone by this point when he thinks there's some kind of ghost in the halls), but interacting in dreams.
Which means he isn't there to question logic. Just to ensure that this isn't guilt taking a new and exciting form.]
[There are ways that phantoms and specters behave, in dreams that are largely figments of one's imagination, or of the latent guilt resting in their subconscious. The ghosts act mysteriously, behave ethereally. They are aloof, and distant, and enigmatic.
This one, however, seems the very antithesis of aloof; quite the contrary, her expression brightens visibly when she's acknowledged, and she takes a few subconscious steps toward him like she's drawn to his presence, or at the very least like it's simply her instinct to move to him and take him in her arms.]
[The first day is a total wash. Alucard's rapid vampire healing powers apply to everything but being totally fucked into oblivion by Sypha and Trevor, meaning that he's not articulate beyond a few words for the first half hour, and the idea of moving is just off the books for half an hour more. Food gets made eventually, but the rest of the day is dedicated to lazing about on the other two, and reminding Sypha (when they get into bed that night) that vengence will find her.
The second day finds a good mood enduring, and Alucard refuses to spoil it. Third? He can't, because then Trevor will declare, "and on the third day, vampire Jesus was depressed again" and Trevor can go to hell for that. So the fourth day it is in order to investigate the notes that might help the castle move again.
Alucard never locked the door that lead to his parent's room. It was closed a year before he returned home, and as the door opens, a time capsule reveals itself. Dust has long since settled over every inch of the place. The fire has long gone cold. (It was there just because his father had wanted it, not for real actual warmth.) And the rest well...the rest was in media res.]
[Sypha's not entirely sure if this is something that Alucard would rather do alone or not, but ultimately she decides not to give him a choice in the matter, either way. When the day comes to go poke around in the part of the castle where conspicuously none of them ever go, she tags along and figures that if he doesn't want her to join him, he'll tell her so.
As they reach the door, she presses herself against his side, quiet and steady and mostly just so that he can feel her presence in a tangible sense as they peer in through the door and start to look around.
...And then she ruins it by sneezing, because wow, that is a lot of dust.]
[It's better to do this together. And probably better to do it without Trevor, because Dracula is still his family's Dracula, not just Alucard's dad. Not discussing family particulars has always been an agreed upon and respected boundary.]
To the surprise of exactly no one, I'm sure.
[Alucard would never call that fight meeting-his-father in any dating sense of the concept, but he would admit that the lavishness, the over-the-top nature shone through a little too clearly.
The door was never locked. Why would it have been? His mother had simply closed it when returned to Lupu, and...Alcuard still didn't know if his father ever came back here.
What catches his own eye first though is the thing on the nightstand. It smells. And...he groans like he's still a teenage boy, mortified.]
[There's a lot of time spent in the engine room these days. After completeing what Alucard simply has called "the damage assesment" he spends too much time matching the destroyed bits to the completed diagram his mother had (he's made a copy already and tucked the original back away for now). They have a map of everything that is broken now, and the jobs of the mechanisms as well.
So the only work left to do is to make anew what must be made anew and to hope that the attempt finds success.
There's other work too, work he does in secret. And for that work, there is, one afternoon, a large lump of something wrapped up and placed on Sypha's part of the bed, along with a much longer bolt of fabric. (Harder to disguise.) The blue is deep and rich and threaded with gold, catching ever-just-so in the light. Heavy fabric, the kind meant to keep out winter's chill, and yet soft to cause no complaint.
[Very mysterious, this discovery of a bolt of cloth abandoned — or perhaps left too deliberately to be properly called abandoned — there on her section of the bed. It's fairly obvious where it must have come from and who must have left it there; there are exactly two likely suspects, and something so lavish isn't really Trevor's style.
The intent, probably is that she unwrap the lump and examine the contents, which she will assuredly do in another minute or two. But for the moment she's alone in the bedroom and there's no one to see (unless the castle itself is watching, which technically Alucard has promised it isn't, but one never knows), and so she indulges the whim of unwrapping the bolt a few turns and digging her hands into the fabric.
It's soft. More importantly, it's fine and well-made — a treat, in cloth form. She ducks down and rubs it along her cheek, fingertips ghosting over the woven threads, tracing the patterns and watching the way it pools when she moves it and glitters when the candlelight catches it. It's — a fantasy, almost, in tangible form. Fairy tales so often involve things like this, garments made of fabric woven from gold or silver or stars. It makes her wonder where he found it, and what he could possibly be up to.
...Well. There's always the lump, to investigate.
So carefully, she folds the bolt of cloth back up and turns her attention to the wrapped-up lump, looking for a way to get it open and see what it could be.]
[It's very deliberate. And it is very much left to Sypha to explore the lump, even if the cloth of gold is the easier thing to poke at first. The bolt of fabric is all possibility, all openess. The lump's contents are slightly less open, if only because they have been made already.
Within the lump are five dresses, three on the plainer side of things. Every day dresses, for when speaker robes are to be washed or else a change of pace is needed. The first is a blue, not dissimilar to the blue of speaker robes. The second is a dark, deep green, nearly a forest. The third is a lighter blue, like spring flowers, the sleeves the shortest of three. A thing meant for summer.
The other two are far more sumptuous, all with careful folds and rutching and sleeves that might weight a man down. (The fabric is impossibly light.) One is a light purple, the other a softer green.
[Mornings, even after long and mad nights spent in the city itself, have a routine. Alucard is the first to rise, and his eyes open to see the other two in bed with him, snugged up together or sprawled out, depending on the season. Sometimes he rises late, but even then, it is earlier than the other two. He slips out of grip as carefully as he can, walks over to the wardrobe and wraps the warmest, softest silk bathrobe around himself, puts on slippers, and walks downstairs to begin breakfast.
He woke to only Trevor in bed this morning, and Alucard knows full well Sypha was with the two when they all piled in last night. (Knows because there is a near collar of perfect bitemarks around Trevor's neck, and that sure as hell isn't his handiwork.) He followed the rest of the routine, but breakfast was not the thought on his mind.
The estate, such as it is, sprawls Most of it climbs high into the trees, but the east wing is firmly on the ground. It was an addition for his mother, and then for himself, and an accommodation of some of the modern things his father never did invent. Specifically, it had a garage, and Alucard knows that if there is a siren call that the other two can't resist, it is finding was to supposedly improve the car.
His car. A car that should not have magic or modifications made to it, in spite of protests and in spite of incremental changes over the years.
There's no knocking as he opens the door that connects house to the garage. (The garage is very neatly ordered, with space for three cars. One of those spaces long became dedicated to magic and science that needed to be done outside, not in the lab, and it is useful in that way.]
[It really should come as no real surprise that Sypha loves cars. Her people are wanderers and vagabonds, always on the move, old friends to riverboats and railways and everything in between — but cars are a luxury that their lifestyle could never sustain, and so it's really only now that she's been presented with the opportunity to get to know one up close and personal.
It's beautiful in her eyes, even if the shape objectively is funny and clunky and the color is a little bit awful. It's like a plaything, almost, filled with metal that glitters and catches the eye, decked with mirrors and hubcaps and levers to make it go. (And a horn! The horn is magnificent, even if someone always whines that she's loud enough to wake the dead every time she hits it.) But most of all, it's freedom — not just the ability to go, but the opportunity to do it entirely of her own volition, not subject to schedules and tickets and boarding times. With a car, one simply sits and goes, anywhere that there's a road and a will to follow it.
So perhaps unsurprisingly, she's sitting behind the wheel when Alucard appears in the doorway; the car is off, thankfully, but that hasn't stopped her from settling into the driver's seat and looking around, like she's familiarizing herself with the control for the hundred millionth time.]
[There's something a little profound about the fact that Alucard's birthday falls so close to the height of daylight, in Sypha's opinion. For all that he's often cold physically and reserved emotionally, one wouldn't inherently expect his birthday to fall in the midst of summer, warm and bright and when the world is bustling with life. But what most people don't realize is that the summer suits him — lovely and golden and just made for staying out all night.
And speaking of staying out all night, they're set to be sooner rather than later; there's an event coming up this weekend that Alucard has hinted is one they Should Not Miss, which means it's important that he be seen there for one reason or another, which means they'll absolutely be spending the whole night there for the sake of those appearances. Not that she minds, really; she and Trevor get to reap the benefits of the fun, while Alucard has to balance entertainment and business, but so it goes.
Right now, though, she's on her way back from a drive, which superficially had been for the purposes of picking up some supplies from the market but really had just been an excuse to play with her car, and as she pulls up to the front of the house she holds off on putting the car away properly in the garage, mostly so that she can idle underneath one of the windows and honk the horn, hoping to draw out one of her two charming beaus.]
[The matter of a summer birthday was not as weird within the world of the strange and unearthly as any might think at first blush. Everyone knew that those born in June and July were those whose parents saw the beautiful autumn for what it was. Well, anything that started out human at any rate. Turning dates were often in autumn. Birthdates in June and July.
It means that the Important Parties happen all at once. Being forced into his father's position requires attendence at certain key ones, and this weekend is not going to be different. There has been some murmurs lately about unsettling elements at the edge of the city, stranger happenings that ought not to be happening in the bayous beyond. None of the information in full has made it's way to Alucard's ears, and so his presence is Required.
Sypha and Trevor coming is what makes it Not Work though. Plus the presence of a Belmont has a wonderful way of throwing everyone off, and Alucard's never going to get sick of that.
It all goes to shit when he gets the mail for the day though. Only 1 envelope, the style of it far too old fashioned for it to be anyone else. He recognizes the script. (There is a sheer hilarity of his father using stamps and the actual mail service, but that will be something noted much later on.)
Alucard's sitting on the sofa in the front room when Sypha honks. He doesn't register it. His eyes are glued to the page.]
[It is, for all intents and purposes, a very short letter. It starts with the word Son as a salutation, but conspicuously lacks any sort of modifier — no my, no dear.
The next line of calligraphy is brief: You have been in my thoughts, of late. Word of your affairs in the city has reached me. I expect all is well.
And the next: I shall travel soon.
And the closing: Your father.
Meanwhile, the lack of reaction to the honking has Sypha sounding the horn again, and when that doesn't pan out, she shrugs and hops out of the car, leaving it out for the time being while she goes to investigate.]
[Sunday goes by in a blur. It's hardly surprising, given the fact that none of them have any intention of getting out of bed after the catastrophe that was Saturday night, and so the only real movement that occurs is when someone inevitably shuffles out of bed just long enough to retrieve a glass of water or stop by the bathroom or, in one case, hastily prepare enough food for three and halfway consider serving it properly before saying fuck it, the sheets will wash, and bringing it all back to bed.
There's a great deal of doting on Alucard, of course, but there's also plenty of letting Alucard dote right back, in equal measure. Sometimes it's all three of them, and sometimes it's two while the third watches, and sometimes it's two while the third dozes contentedly nearby, until eventually they all fall together into a tangle of limbs and contented sighs.
But soon enough Monday comes, and the time comes to rouse themselves again. While Trevor (and possibly Alucard) peel off for a shower, Sypha shuffles downstairs to check the newspapers and review what they know about the attacks on Saturday's party.
It isn't much. Just five hunters and the mysterious delivery of an invitation. Though if she could get her hands on the actual invitation, there might be something she could magic up to assist — but that would require both digging and a plan, and those things are better left for when all three of them are present.]
[The sheets will wash is also because there are other stains on the sheets to send to the laundry and let the cleaners have Judgmental Opinions on the topic. Sunday is mercifully quiet, and while Alucard says very little, he makes his gratitude known in all ways great and small. And if he falls asleep very early on Sunday then that's the price of all that affection, because they're warm and safe and for a glorious 24 hours, this is the only world they have. The only one that matters.
With Monday there is a much needed shower. Coffee. Soft bathrobes and warmed slippers and just enough quiet that Alucard isn't daring enough to break the silence yet. He puts pancakes down besides Sypha without a word, and he takes the paper wordlessly.
Underreporting. Theodora's doing, probably, and that's a blessing.]
[He can have the paper, but she's absolutely going to catch his wrist and tug it back down to brush her lips against the back of it — the toll he must pay for the price of his theft.]
I was thinking Trevor and I ought to look into this business of the stolen invitation. There are things I can make it tell me, I think, if we can find it. And if it hasn't been burned to hide the evidence, of course.
[Winters aren't cold here, not really. This January is an exception, with the usual weather dipping into the 40s at night. Very cold for the city indeed, and the house is colder without Trevor's presence at the moment. Some of the Church Ladies needed an extra set of hands for a weekend getaway, and that means Alucard and Sypha have been left at the house alone.
There's plenty of fireplaces in the house, even if his father mastered central heating ages ago. It's about the smell and the sound rather than the warmth, and Alucard has not been surprised to find Sypha dozing there on and off all day.
Which is where she is now as well, the night having creeped in after dinner was made and wolfed down. He's not shocked to find Sypha by the fire again.]
[The house always takes on a different character when one of them is missing from it. Sypha assumes that's true for when she's not present in it, also, though of course she would have no experience with it firsthand. But it's different when it's two and not three; when Alucard is absent, things always feel a little reckless and forbidden — playing in a house while its master is away — and when Trevor is gone, things turn lazy and whimsical without his grounding presence to reel them in.
She is, in fact, partly awake when Alucard comes looking for her. Mostly asleep, but conscious enough that when he comes in, she rouses a little and orients on the sound of his voice, even if she doesn't quite manage to get her eyes open yet. It's warm by the fire, but more importantly she likes the flicker of the flames, the way that they move and shift and make the firewood embers glow. It's always easier to think, somehow, when she's watching the fire. It's soothing, but more importantly it seems to spur on her intuition, unlocking flights of fancy that leap from one topic to the next with little to no foundation in between, crashing together thoughts in new and interesting ways that fosters innovation, amidst all the nonsense.
But now: Alucard. Drowsily, she corrals her thoughts and turns them vaguely toward him, finally opening her eyes halfway to focus on the blur of gold and white that is his approach, probably.]
Mmmyes.
[She is practically purring each word, she's so content.]
[Alucard never invites people to his house, she notices. No one, that is, except her.
For months now, there has been a tension in the air — as though the whole lot of vampires that reside here in this city and its surrounding areas are all collectively holding their breath, which is a funny thought given vampires and their lack of a need to breathe in the first place. But it's there, and she can feel it, and she's not even a vampire herself. She's only the ward of one, kept carefully behind closed doors, spirited to the mundane parts of the city whenever she has a need to get out, and always shielded from the supernatural half as thoroughly as can be managed.
At first, she'd thought that was for her own benefit. More and more, she's started to wonder if it isn't just as much for Alucard's, in its own way.
But then some unknown clock had struck, or some thread of tension had snapped, or some decision had been made. Someone had determined that the city needed to stop holding its breath, and breathe again. Alucard had perceived the opportunity for what it was, and saw in it both the potential for danger, and a risky chance that he would never have cause to seize again.
He often tells her what she needs to know, about the vampire politics, but always only what she needs to know. So she knows the ones who will leave her alone, and the ones to stay away from. She knows where she can walk and where she must avoid. She knows everyone is waiting for Dracula. She knows that Alucard has no idea where he is.
But tonight, one way or another, the business of the city will resume. The gears will turn, the politics will set again in motion. And if they do, while a vacuum of power still exists, then sooner or later that vacuum will be exposed, and there will be chaos as all manner of vampires rush to fill it.
So. Alucard has come up with a different solution. A riskier one, but a better one altogether.
And tonight, she is to be a part of it. No more hiding, no more sneaking. Tonight, they will see her for what she is, too, and that prospect would be daunting were it not for the fact that Alucard will be at her side, always, to keep her safe.]
That's in effect, what he is. No one has breathed the word, no one has thought of bestowing any titles upon him just as they never have his father, but the word is known all the same. It has been six months since Lisa Tepes was murdered. It has been six months since Dracula fled the city. The assumption of a swift return is well and truly dashed, and there is a need for the reins to be taken up. As stable as the city is, as well protected it is, there is a need. So the crown passes. Because what is Vlad Dracula Tepes if not the closest thing to vampire royalty?
He had a plan, before all of this. He'd bullshit his way through a PhD and see to it that the world could have the technology that was common in the Tepes home. Share it. Make it so that great advances in the world could come through science applied for good, not through means of war. Alucard had talked about that plan with his parents. They both approved, and never could he had hoped for any greater blessing upon an endeavor.
Instead he is here. Gloved hand in Sypha's, weeds for a corsage. Black suit and suit, black coat, precious color to him save for the dark blood red that marks him out for his new position. He is in mourning. Yet he is here.
This is coronation and not. There is to be no explicit acknowledgement of the change. There is only the quiet permission given for Alucard to walk into the festivities armed. His sword hangs at his side because that is his privilege. All planning has gone into Theodora's hands, because she is the only person with a yard and home big enough for not only the entire vampire community, but the whole supernatural community to fit in. (She bought the land so cheap when the French were here darling.)
To bring Sypha along is selfish. It is to put her at risk to all kinds of machinations, because she is a Speaker and she is a mage in her own right, but her hand is in his. That scares him as much as taking on his father's mantle.]
I don't know when we'll be able to return home tonight.
[They've crossed the threshold of the house, but are yet to enter the backyard and the party itself. Theodora's marked out a sideroom for them both, because this entrance needs to be timed.]
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[In the end, they make it home with no one's blood being consumed save for two unfortunate deer. Hardly the best thing to eat after an ordeal, but stubborn shits are going to stubborn and that first deer allowed Alucard to become an active enough member of their little band again. Driving shifts, night watches, all of it. His movement closer to that of a mortal man's, and that was enough to see everyone home.
There's a bed big enough for three there, and the first day is spent with all three in it, a mess of limbs and finally indulged exhaustion. The heated floors help. The fireplace helps. All three of them help, and the rest is so deeply needed.
Two weeks before heading out. That's the thing they agree on eventually, over a stunningly late breakfast that's mostly protein. Then it's back to all regular activties and time left to heal.
And to the surprise of utterly no one, Alucard withdraws more than normal. Spends more time down in the Hold, adding Index entries, and swearing every time he finds some stupid artifact he's allergic to. He's gotten used to it, but his mood's darker for an hour afterwards. He comes to bed later. Gets up earlier. And is thinking too fucking much as Trevor so bluntly puts it.
Lab today. His mother's, because a few books from the lab ended up down in the Hold, and they're not meant to be there. He's quiet as he stands in front of the bookshelf, returning everything to it's proper place.]
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The part that's almost funny about the way she eventually notices Alucard's moody absences is that she actually picks up on them because of Trevor. Not because he points them out, no, but because she starts to realize that the balance of time she spends between the two of them is tilting toward Trevor, just by natural virtue of the fact that he's around and available more. And that soon lends itself to curiosity of where Alucard is getting off to and what's keeping him so long when he goes, until finally comes the day he's in the lab reshelving books and she wanders in to find him.
Trevor is napping, for once, and up until this point she'd been cuddled up with him. But now she comes downstairs with her hair tousled and a blanket wrapped around her, and it's tricky to make out from the way the blanket is draped, but the little flashes of bare leg underneath are more than enough to suggest she's still wearing whatever shirt of Alucard's she'd stolen to sleep in, not her usual skirt and shirt.]
Oh, you're in here. I thought you'd gone down to the Hold.
[Presumably he had, but now here he is.]
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[Alucard's lost in thought. Of course he is, he's always lost in thought when he gets like this. There's no point in denying that he's been doing it more and more the past week. What surprises him is that no one's actually commented on the matter yet. It usually lasts four days at the most.
There's only two books left to be put away, and he's careful as the first one is slid back to where it ought to be. Something about bones, this one.]
Oh. I was, and...these were out of place. That's all.
[He frowns at the blanket.] Is it that cold in here?
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drops this onto this post because i do what i want
It happens just once, in the right place and at the right time — on a night when Alucard has finally relented enough to sleep in the middle of the tangle of three, with Trevor's arms around him and Sypha's head tucked under his chin, and the castle still and quiet, and the blankets warm and thick.
It's a dream that begins like a memory: his father's study, the great tall chair by the fire. It faces the door, this time, the way it had for all his years of growing up with these corridors as a playground. The fire is glowing, red-orange and warm. The room is quiet, and still, but oddly not lonely.
It's only after he sits in the chair, and faces the door, that something changes. He'll look once, and find the open portal to the corridor empty.
If he looks twice, he'll find that it's empty no longer — filled now with the figure of a blond woman in a sensible burgundy dress, her soft hair so much like his own in the way that it frames her face in waves.]
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(He'll wake and mutter that this is because he slept in the middle for once instead of his normal spot. He usually sleeps closest to the door out of instinct. Pointless as Trevor has pointed out time and again. Smarter men would come through the windows these days. Instinct remains. And it is nice to have two pairs of warm arms around him with all the additional blankets.)
The study it is. Another night of grief, most likely, because that's what this set up always means. Alucard doesn't wake up from this particular dream anymore, he lets it go where it decides to, then rises to make breakfast. Whatever foul mood he's in for those dreams is gone by the time that all three plates are ready to be devoured.
But this isn't the dream as it usually is. The door is closed most days, because that's how he spends his waking time in the room. Door closed. Memories done in private. (He showed Sypha earlier today. Maybe that's why this is different. She'll say it is later, he's sure.)
And there's his mother. Not acting out the rote motions of memory (she's usually gone by this point when he thinks there's some kind of ghost in the halls), but interacting in dreams.
Which means he isn't there to question logic. Just to ensure that this isn't guilt taking a new and exciting form.]
...Mother?
[Soft. Concerned. Uncertain.]
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[There are ways that phantoms and specters behave, in dreams that are largely figments of one's imagination, or of the latent guilt resting in their subconscious. The ghosts act mysteriously, behave ethereally. They are aloof, and distant, and enigmatic.
This one, however, seems the very antithesis of aloof; quite the contrary, her expression brightens visibly when she's acknowledged, and she takes a few subconscious steps toward him like she's drawn to his presence, or at the very least like it's simply her instinct to move to him and take him in her arms.]
My, look how you've grown.
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The second day finds a good mood enduring, and Alucard refuses to spoil it. Third? He can't, because then Trevor will declare, "and on the third day, vampire Jesus was depressed again" and Trevor can go to hell for that. So the fourth day it is in order to investigate the notes that might help the castle move again.
Alucard never locked the door that lead to his parent's room. It was closed a year before he returned home, and as the door opens, a time capsule reveals itself. Dust has long since settled over every inch of the place. The fire has long gone cold. (It was there just because his father had wanted it, not for real actual warmth.) And the rest well...the rest was in media res.]
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As they reach the door, she presses herself against his side, quiet and steady and mostly just so that he can feel her presence in a tangible sense as they peer in through the door and start to look around.
...And then she ruins it by sneezing, because wow, that is a lot of dust.]
This is it, then...?
[It's...it sure is something, all right.]
It's very...lavish.
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To the surprise of exactly no one, I'm sure.
[Alucard would never call that fight meeting-his-father in any dating sense of the concept, but he would admit that the lavishness, the over-the-top nature shone through a little too clearly.
The door was never locked. Why would it have been? His mother had simply closed it when returned to Lupu, and...Alcuard still didn't know if his father ever came back here.
What catches his own eye first though is the thing on the nightstand. It smells. And...he groans like he's still a teenage boy, mortified.]
Mother.
[Dishes. The fucking dishes.]
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So the only work left to do is to make anew what must be made anew and to hope that the attempt finds success.
There's other work too, work he does in secret. And for that work, there is, one afternoon, a large lump of something wrapped up and placed on Sypha's part of the bed, along with a much longer bolt of fabric. (Harder to disguise.) The blue is deep and rich and threaded with gold, catching ever-just-so in the light. Heavy fabric, the kind meant to keep out winter's chill, and yet soft to cause no complaint.
Alucard's working in the library for the day.]
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The intent, probably is that she unwrap the lump and examine the contents, which she will assuredly do in another minute or two. But for the moment she's alone in the bedroom and there's no one to see (unless the castle itself is watching, which technically Alucard has promised it isn't, but one never knows), and so she indulges the whim of unwrapping the bolt a few turns and digging her hands into the fabric.
It's soft. More importantly, it's fine and well-made — a treat, in cloth form. She ducks down and rubs it along her cheek, fingertips ghosting over the woven threads, tracing the patterns and watching the way it pools when she moves it and glitters when the candlelight catches it. It's — a fantasy, almost, in tangible form. Fairy tales so often involve things like this, garments made of fabric woven from gold or silver or stars. It makes her wonder where he found it, and what he could possibly be up to.
...Well. There's always the lump, to investigate.
So carefully, she folds the bolt of cloth back up and turns her attention to the wrapped-up lump, looking for a way to get it open and see what it could be.]
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Within the lump are five dresses, three on the plainer side of things. Every day dresses, for when speaker robes are to be washed or else a change of pace is needed. The first is a blue, not dissimilar to the blue of speaker robes. The second is a dark, deep green, nearly a forest. The third is a lighter blue, like spring flowers, the sleeves the shortest of three. A thing meant for summer.
The other two are far more sumptuous, all with careful folds and rutching and sleeves that might weight a man down. (The fabric is impossibly light.) One is a light purple, the other a softer green.
There's no note. No explanation. Nothing at all.]
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20s AU!!!
He woke to only Trevor in bed this morning, and Alucard knows full well Sypha was with the two when they all piled in last night. (Knows because there is a near collar of perfect bitemarks around Trevor's neck, and that sure as hell isn't his handiwork.) He followed the rest of the routine, but breakfast was not the thought on his mind.
The estate, such as it is, sprawls Most of it climbs high into the trees, but the east wing is firmly on the ground. It was an addition for his mother, and then for himself, and an accommodation of some of the modern things his father never did invent. Specifically, it had a garage, and Alucard knows that if there is a siren call that the other two can't resist, it is finding was to supposedly improve the car.
His car. A car that should not have magic or modifications made to it, in spite of protests and in spite of incremental changes over the years.
There's no knocking as he opens the door that connects house to the garage. (The garage is very neatly ordered, with space for three cars. One of those spaces long became dedicated to magic and science that needed to be done outside, not in the lab, and it is useful in that way.]
Sypha?
[Firm. Concerned. Very much not amused.]
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It's beautiful in her eyes, even if the shape objectively is funny and clunky and the color is a little bit awful. It's like a plaything, almost, filled with metal that glitters and catches the eye, decked with mirrors and hubcaps and levers to make it go. (And a horn! The horn is magnificent, even if someone always whines that she's loud enough to wake the dead every time she hits it.) But most of all, it's freedom — not just the ability to go, but the opportunity to do it entirely of her own volition, not subject to schedules and tickets and boarding times. With a car, one simply sits and goes, anywhere that there's a road and a will to follow it.
So perhaps unsurprisingly, she's sitting behind the wheel when Alucard appears in the doorway; the car is off, thankfully, but that hasn't stopped her from settling into the driver's seat and looking around, like she's familiarizing herself with the control for the hundred millionth time.]
Alucard! Good morning!
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[It's probably the easiest question to ask. Easier because it isn't have you been pouring magic into the gas tank?
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MORE 20s AU
And speaking of staying out all night, they're set to be sooner rather than later; there's an event coming up this weekend that Alucard has hinted is one they Should Not Miss, which means it's important that he be seen there for one reason or another, which means they'll absolutely be spending the whole night there for the sake of those appearances. Not that she minds, really; she and Trevor get to reap the benefits of the fun, while Alucard has to balance entertainment and business, but so it goes.
Right now, though, she's on her way back from a drive, which superficially had been for the purposes of picking up some supplies from the market but really had just been an excuse to play with her car, and as she pulls up to the front of the house she holds off on putting the car away properly in the garage, mostly so that she can idle underneath one of the windows and honk the horn, hoping to draw out one of her two charming beaus.]
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It means that the Important Parties happen all at once. Being forced into his father's position requires attendence at certain key ones, and this weekend is not going to be different. There has been some murmurs lately about unsettling elements at the edge of the city, stranger happenings that ought not to be happening in the bayous beyond. None of the information in full has made it's way to Alucard's ears, and so his presence is Required.
Sypha and Trevor coming is what makes it Not Work though. Plus the presence of a Belmont has a wonderful way of throwing everyone off, and Alucard's never going to get sick of that.
It all goes to shit when he gets the mail for the day though. Only 1 envelope, the style of it far too old fashioned for it to be anyone else. He recognizes the script. (There is a sheer hilarity of his father using stamps and the actual mail service, but that will be something noted much later on.)
Alucard's sitting on the sofa in the front room when Sypha honks. He doesn't register it. His eyes are glued to the page.]
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The next line of calligraphy is brief: You have been in my thoughts, of late. Word of your affairs in the city has reached me. I expect all is well.
And the next: I shall travel soon.
And the closing: Your father.
Meanwhile, the lack of reaction to the honking has Sypha sounding the horn again, and when that doesn't pan out, she shrugs and hops out of the car, leaving it out for the time being while she goes to investigate.]
...Alucard?
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There's a great deal of doting on Alucard, of course, but there's also plenty of letting Alucard dote right back, in equal measure. Sometimes it's all three of them, and sometimes it's two while the third watches, and sometimes it's two while the third dozes contentedly nearby, until eventually they all fall together into a tangle of limbs and contented sighs.
But soon enough Monday comes, and the time comes to rouse themselves again. While Trevor (and possibly Alucard) peel off for a shower, Sypha shuffles downstairs to check the newspapers and review what they know about the attacks on Saturday's party.
It isn't much. Just five hunters and the mysterious delivery of an invitation. Though if she could get her hands on the actual invitation, there might be something she could magic up to assist — but that would require both digging and a plan, and those things are better left for when all three of them are present.]
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With Monday there is a much needed shower. Coffee. Soft bathrobes and warmed slippers and just enough quiet that Alucard isn't daring enough to break the silence yet. He puts pancakes down besides Sypha without a word, and he takes the paper wordlessly.
Underreporting. Theodora's doing, probably, and that's a blessing.]
Your car today, I think.
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[He can have the paper, but she's absolutely going to catch his wrist and tug it back down to brush her lips against the back of it — the toll he must pay for the price of his theft.]
I was thinking Trevor and I ought to look into this business of the stolen invitation. There are things I can make it tell me, I think, if we can find it. And if it hasn't been burned to hide the evidence, of course.
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There's plenty of fireplaces in the house, even if his father mastered central heating ages ago. It's about the smell and the sound rather than the warmth, and Alucard has not been surprised to find Sypha dozing there on and off all day.
Which is where she is now as well, the night having creeped in after dinner was made and wolfed down. He's not shocked to find Sypha by the fire again.]
...Are you awake?
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She is, in fact, partly awake when Alucard comes looking for her. Mostly asleep, but conscious enough that when he comes in, she rouses a little and orients on the sound of his voice, even if she doesn't quite manage to get her eyes open yet. It's warm by the fire, but more importantly she likes the flicker of the flames, the way that they move and shift and make the firewood embers glow. It's always easier to think, somehow, when she's watching the fire. It's soothing, but more importantly it seems to spur on her intuition, unlocking flights of fancy that leap from one topic to the next with little to no foundation in between, crashing together thoughts in new and interesting ways that fosters innovation, amidst all the nonsense.
But now: Alucard. Drowsily, she corrals her thoughts and turns them vaguely toward him, finally opening her eyes halfway to focus on the blur of gold and white that is his approach, probably.]
Mmmyes.
[She is practically purring each word, she's so content.]
Hello.
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For months now, there has been a tension in the air — as though the whole lot of vampires that reside here in this city and its surrounding areas are all collectively holding their breath, which is a funny thought given vampires and their lack of a need to breathe in the first place. But it's there, and she can feel it, and she's not even a vampire herself. She's only the ward of one, kept carefully behind closed doors, spirited to the mundane parts of the city whenever she has a need to get out, and always shielded from the supernatural half as thoroughly as can be managed.
At first, she'd thought that was for her own benefit. More and more, she's started to wonder if it isn't just as much for Alucard's, in its own way.
But then some unknown clock had struck, or some thread of tension had snapped, or some decision had been made. Someone had determined that the city needed to stop holding its breath, and breathe again. Alucard had perceived the opportunity for what it was, and saw in it both the potential for danger, and a risky chance that he would never have cause to seize again.
He often tells her what she needs to know, about the vampire politics, but always only what she needs to know. So she knows the ones who will leave her alone, and the ones to stay away from. She knows where she can walk and where she must avoid. She knows everyone is waiting for Dracula. She knows that Alucard has no idea where he is.
But tonight, one way or another, the business of the city will resume. The gears will turn, the politics will set again in motion. And if they do, while a vacuum of power still exists, then sooner or later that vacuum will be exposed, and there will be chaos as all manner of vampires rush to fill it.
So. Alucard has come up with a different solution. A riskier one, but a better one altogether.
And tonight, she is to be a part of it. No more hiding, no more sneaking. Tonight, they will see her for what she is, too, and that prospect would be daunting were it not for the fact that Alucard will be at her side, always, to keep her safe.]
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That's in effect, what he is. No one has breathed the word, no one has thought of bestowing any titles upon him just as they never have his father, but the word is known all the same. It has been six months since Lisa Tepes was murdered. It has been six months since Dracula fled the city. The assumption of a swift return is well and truly dashed, and there is a need for the reins to be taken up. As stable as the city is, as well protected it is, there is a need. So the crown passes. Because what is Vlad Dracula Tepes if not the closest thing to vampire royalty?
He had a plan, before all of this. He'd bullshit his way through a PhD and see to it that the world could have the technology that was common in the Tepes home. Share it. Make it so that great advances in the world could come through science applied for good, not through means of war. Alucard had talked about that plan with his parents. They both approved, and never could he had hoped for any greater blessing upon an endeavor.
Instead he is here. Gloved hand in Sypha's, weeds for a corsage. Black suit and suit, black coat, precious color to him save for the dark blood red that marks him out for his new position. He is in mourning. Yet he is here.
This is coronation and not. There is to be no explicit acknowledgement of the change. There is only the quiet permission given for Alucard to walk into the festivities armed. His sword hangs at his side because that is his privilege. All planning has gone into Theodora's hands, because she is the only person with a yard and home big enough for not only the entire vampire community, but the whole supernatural community to fit in. (She bought the land so cheap when the French were here darling.)
To bring Sypha along is selfish. It is to put her at risk to all kinds of machinations, because she is a Speaker and she is a mage in her own right, but her hand is in his. That scares him as much as taking on his father's mantle.]
I don't know when we'll be able to return home tonight.
[They've crossed the threshold of the house, but are yet to enter the backyard and the party itself. Theodora's marked out a sideroom for them both, because this entrance needs to be timed.]
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