[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?
In a few minutes. I can't figure out where this one actually came from.
[The Hold's library system isn't his father's, and that isn't his mothers. The wall of books has no obvious and open space for the last book that's in Alucard's hand, and he's absolutely not thinking about how wonderful the combination of blanket sharing and the detail of Sypha having no trousers on actually is.]
What is inside it? If it's another book of penis spells, perhaps you can't find the space because it belongs under Trevor's bed.
[It's an obvious attempt at levity, but the point isn't to be subtle. She pulls the blankets a little more closely around herself — not unlike the way her Speaker robes usually gather around her shoulders, really — and wanders over by him, as if expecting him to show her a look inside the book.]
Oh, they're not under anyone's bed. I put those next to the family genealogies some time ago.
[Because he's an asshole and the Hold is, technically, his now.
But he flips the book open (there's no label on the spine), then lets out a very soft sigh. There's no room for it because it's not a printed book. It's one of his mother's research journals, the primary topic on the page he's flipped to being, naturally enough, head injuries.]
Ah. She always kept them on another shelf.
[He actually has a feeling Sypha took this one as is. But he holds the thing so carefully.]
[She's come to learn that there are very few shes in Alucard's life, and only one that prompts the sort of sigh that he'd just made there. She herself warrants a different kind of sigh, one that's a touch fonder and more heavy with exasperation. The ones reserved for his mother are always very quiet, and very sad.]
She was a scholar in her own right, wasn't she? There are whole shelves of her journals in here. And they're all so...
[She pauses a moment, looking for the right words for her sentiment.]
...She wrote them like they were meant to be read. Not like some of the Belmonts' books, that are just page after page of facts and information. Hers are written to teach.
[It's hard to say what part he's saying mmm to. Confirmation that yes, it's one of Lisa's books, yes, his mother was her own breed of academic and wished to share her knowledge, or just a noise made to fill in the silence.
He closes the journal after a moment more. It wasn't written terribly close to her death, this one, but there's still a terrible ache from holding it. Her journals are on the other side of the lab. He starts walking there, confident that Sypha will follow.]
Things that make what happened all the greater loss. [A word softly muttered comes next, the utmost contempt in Alucard's voice.] Witches.
[She does, in fact, trot right along with him, trailing behind him a few feet like a snuggly and particularly eager duckling.]
It must be hard to come in here, when so much of this...
[She doesn't finish the thought, however. They both know what she was thinking, and at second blush she wonders whether it's really a notion she should've voiced in the first place.]
It did occur to me several times during....all of that. Yes.
[They've probably all had the thought. This is a pitiful articulation of it, but at least he's said it which is better than anything he has done for the past week.
He's quiet when they reach the bookshelf that holds all of his mother's journals. The obvious spot for it is there, and the journal is now home. His fingers linger on the spine before his hand withdraws, and there's a greater slump to his shoulders than there was just a moment before.]
[And that's a good cue, perhaps, for Sypha to simply...walk right into the back of him, blanket and all, and unwrap it just enough to gather him into its folds with her as she embraces him from behind. She's quite warm, despite her bare feet (the heated floors help a great deal with that), and she rests her cheek between his shoulderblades as she draws him in close and just holds him.]
You've been remembering her.
[It's a softer, kinder way of hinting at the trauma he's clearly been reeling from. Remembering her is a gentler way of saying he's been drawing ugly parallels.]
[It always circles back to legacy, doesn't it? This one always achingly complex, but almost always defined by his father's actions. Horrors committed and imagined over centuries, all in contrast to just twenty years of something softer. It was easier to deal with in a way. Everything wrong his father did, that was a lesson. Things to avoid.
His mother was so much more raw and ugly to deal with because it had been senseless and infuriating and done for no reason beyond a stupid set of beliefs that contradicted where the world was heading. And every second on that stake was a reminder of that injustice, how no one said anything, how he and his father failed to act in time, and all the horrible miseries of it.
(The amount of fire and rage from Sypha was a parallel too. One he never expected to make.)
How warm is Sypha against the natural coldness of his skin? Infinitely so. He's so very still when the blanket wraps around him, and his hands seek hers in an instant.]
What is there to say? [His voice is so soft.] Who wants that to be one of the memories of their mother, and then to connect to it so intimately?
I've wanted to tell you something for a while now, but I could never find the right time. I don't know if this is the right time, either, but...
[She draws him a little closer, holding him, feeling his fingers weave through the spaces between hers.]
Someday, if you can allow it, I wish you would tell me stories of her. The ones that aren't in her books. So that I can help save them, too.
[And maybe, because it would lift that subconscious burden that rests on Alucard, too — left alone to be the sole keeper of his mother's memory, along with her legacy.]
I want to know about her, and about you. Trevor and I...we've always only seen the worst of it. I would like to know the best of it, too.
[Alucard's not sure what expression his face makes at Sypha's words. He knows they're too kind, a reflection of who Sypha is and her birthright as a Speaker. Because she's still a Speaker, even if she has a home now. Even if she mostly travels with two idiots instead of an entire caravan.
His hands are heavy in hers. Those hands are warm too, and he squeezes gently.]
I will. Just...[Just not right now.
And somewhere there's a quiet pained noise that comes up with a laugh that really isn't.]
...That I knew, already. Because you adore me, too.
[She presses her nose against his back, nudging against the long subtle ridge of his spine, and tightens her arms around him right back.]
When you stand in here, among her books and her tools...I can tell how much she loved you. Because I think you learned to love because of how she loved you first.
[Sypha's not wrong. Not about any of it, but especially not about that last part. And for that last part, there are no words in him. Just a little attempt to keep a very soft sob from creaking out of his throat (managed), and too many tears that there's no point in trying to hold them back. Waste of energy.]
[There are no words, in any language, that could possibly express the depth of her feelings for him right now. There's nothing to convey how deeply she loves him, how desperately she wishes there were any means in the world of easing his pain. How she wishes the world were not so terribly unfair, and senseless, and cruel. How she wishes she could give him his mother back, and the family that loved him so much.
All she can do at this point is to hold him, and so she does. Again, she has strength enough to support him. She keeps her arms around him, keeps herself pressed flush up against him, so he can't possibly lose sight of the fact that she's here with him, and that he still has a family who loves him desperately, even if it isn't the one he yearns for.]
[The words come out too softly, because anything else means a loud sob, and while there has never been any shame in Alucard for letting that out, there is always the fear of making the other two worry more than strictly required. It's stupid, he knows that it's stupid, but it has always been there. The three of them, they've shown all the vulnerable spots to each other since the start of this. But that doesn't stop the kneejerk response of trying to hide it.
Everything else is catharsis. Never has the love of the other two been in doubt. But never has an uncomfortable truth strayed far from Alucard's mind either: he only has this because of what happened to his mother and what the world demanded be done to deal with his father. The ugly parallels from the week before, the horror of history repeating itself for only a second, that's the worst part of all of this. Not being laid low by the stupidity and fears of men. Not the agony of the silver. Just the fire and the raw anger and the fucking stake.
There's a point in all of this that he lowers Sypha's arms so they rest around his middle instead, draws them away for just a moment, and lets go so that he can turn around and bury his face into the crook of her neck. There's warmth there too, and no shame in getting the area damp. She probably anticipated it at some point anyway.]
[She lets him cry, offering him the comfort of plausible denial by staying carefully behind him so that he doesn't have to show her his face, and when he turns around she keeps her eyes closed as he gravitates into her, lets her wrap her arms around him again. It's a little bit gawky, the way he has to bend to fit himself up against her neck, but she would stand on her toes for him for a week without flinching if it were to ease his pain even a fraction, and her focus is solely on making sure he's grounded and anchored as he finds his catharsis.]
You never had the chance to mourn her. Everything that's happened...it came so fast, so soon after.
[And even now, after vanquishing Dracula in this very castle, they've still kept busy, kept moving. Always moving ahead, never pausing to allow all of this to rise up to the surface on its own.]
We can make something for her. For both of them. A memorial.
[Alucard's back would hurt from this angle, if he was human. As it is, he can only register that this position is a bit odd, and nothing else really matters. Warm arms around him, and he's spent a few hours in tears here before. There's novelty to having another person around for once.
There had been the tiniest bit of dealing with grief the first time Alucard was left alone. He had needed that alone time more than anything on the heels of his father's death, but there had been the need to repair the castle and busy himself caught up in all of it.
Then Sypha says something else, and there's the tiniest, warmest noise against her neck that might be a fonder, warmer thing in any other circumstances.]
[Of course it does. Of course he would have, her Alucard with his soft heart and his deep, profound loneliness.]
Show it to me? When you're ready.
[Only when he's ready, and not a second before. There's no pressing him through his anguish, no hurrying him along to its conclusion. There's only staying by his side while he processes it, loving him and giving him the chance he needs to cry.]
Until then, I am not going anywhere. I'm here with you.
[It had been one of the first things he did. The little ashes that were on the floor of that bedroom, swept into an obsidian urn. A little carved spot on the lid for his father's wedding ring. Placed under his mother's portrait in the study, and the study left locked most days
He nods. It's nothing elaborate, just quiet and what feels right still.
This angle is still awful.]
Here can at least move to the next room where there's a chair.
[The number of chairs is not the point. But all of that also requires moving, and Alucard has to really force himself to straighten up even just a little. It is more like unfolding from Sypha's arms, and it is an embrace broken with great regret.]
[But she'll still bring him down for a kiss before he can get too far away from the reminders of their embrace, carefully pretending that she can't taste the salt of his tears clinging to his skin.]
[He wants the kiss to linger. So Alucard doesn't move to break it, bittersweet as the gesture feels in the moment. The reassurance in the kiss, that's all he wants right now. The worse of the catharsis is past, at least he thinks.]
I'm the better rescued maiden in this scenario anyway. Hair's right.
[So this is how they're going to walk instead. Alucard's arm around Sypha's shoulder in a side hug, because at least that means they're still touching. He'll shuffle along, eyes still bleary. The distance is short, there's a sofa in the other room too, and he'll try and compact himself the best he can to fit in her lap.]
[This is absolutely absurd, the two of them plus one sofa plus one blanket and Alucard's hilariously long legs trying to fit somewhere into the middle of it all. But she gets them arranged well enough, and wraps her arms around him tight, and nuzzles against him.]
I like the one where the prince locks himself away in a castle closed off by three magical doors, and says that he wants to see no one but the person who can open all three doors to reach him. The king and queen offer a reward to anyone who can free him, up to half the kingdom. So plenty of people try, men and women alike, but no one ever comes back, and finally someone who went with them to watch came back and said that when their friend had approached the door, it had turned into an awful face full of sharp teeth, and asked to be brought "an eye that cannot see". So the person had plucked out one of their own eyes and offered it to the door, but then the door said it was wrong, and ate him.
[She stops a minute.]
...Actually, looking back on it, this is a much more gruesome story than I remember it being when I first heard it as a little girl...
[Alucard's head winds up somewhere in the nebulous space between Sypha's shoulder and breast, and his eyes focus up at her. He's listening, and more than that he's not trying to hide his face after all this. That's progress, even though his eyes are still redrimmed and sting just a bit.]
Doors devouring people sounds about right for this kind of story. If not tame.
[When your dad's Dracula, the bedtime stories get way worse than this. And done when mom's not around.
Yes, well. In any case, the girl is a peasant from the village who no one pays much mind to. I think when I first heard it she is the daughter of the tailor? But where everyone else was seeking the prince because of the reward of half the kingdom, she spent day after day thinking to herself that he must be very lonesome shut away in his castle.
[It's a good position for her to keep a hand at the back of his head, stroking his hair even as she supports his neck. It's also good for smiling down at him, sweet and warm.]
So one day she decides that she will go and try, and so as not to worry her parents she sneaks out at night to travel to the castle with its monstrous door. And when she arrives, it turns into that same horrible face, and demands an eye that cannot see.
[Her smile widens just a touch.]
So, she offers it a silver needle from her father's shop, and the door devours it in its big sharp teeth, and turns back into a door as it swings open to reveal the next one.
[Alucard has one arm lowly slung across Sypha's middle, hand dangling off the edge of the sofa itself. His other is just sort of smooshed under Sypha's back, because where else is it going to go?]
It'd have to be a tailor in most versions then, for the needle to make sense as a solution.
[He's listening. And the cleverness of the solution sounds terribly familiar too. There's more curiosity in his face than any other emotion, because the story may mirror certain circumstances, but it is also nothing he's heard before.]
...Oh, I think the doors had colors, too! It doesn't make any difference to the story, but the first door was brown, and the second door is yellow.
[But details are important in the oral tradition, so these ones deserve to be cited even if she is delivering a sort of cliffs-notes version of the actual tale.]
The second door also turns into a horrible face full of sharp teeth, and when the girl greets the door, it asks her for "an ear that cannot hear".
No tailoring equipment, but it was something she could easily find around her little town.
[There's also probably an anachronism somewhere in here but guess what, Sypha didn't google to ensure perfect historical accuracy of this thing's presence in 1400s Europe and neither did I.]
Luckily for her, the door was willing to let her go back to the town to fetch it, and come back.
So she brought one back and gave it to the door, and the yellow door devoured it and turned back into a door and swung open again, this time with a red one behind it. And when she approached it, it turned into the most awful face of all, with the biggest mouth and the sharpest teeth, and this one said, "Give me a soul I can hold."
It might be! I don't think it's unheard-of that the prince left hints to the door riddles. He's not mean-spirited, even if his doors do eat a lot of people.
[She's amused, though, and pets his hair as she teases: ]
But that sort of answer is why it's good you are more the type of the handsome prince, and not the clever girl. The door wanted "a soul you can hold", so she took off her shoe and she fed it to the door.
I think it's nice that he read you bedtime stories.
[She wouldn't if she knew the content of those bedtime stories but that's fine. This is fine. It's all fine.]
Yes! She could just as easily have been that as well. Actually, it might almost be a little better that way...
[But anyway.]
Well, so the last door opens and when she passes through, she finds herself in the prince's chambers, which of course are magic, and when she gets there she finds that the handsome prince has been cursed into a big awful monster, with wings and claws and boils all over his body. And before she crosses over the threshold, he tells her that part of his curse is that he must attack and kill anyone who comes to him with even the slightest bit of fear in their heart, and to choose wisely before crossing over.
That seems to be something that stuck with you, Mr. Sleeps-For-A-Year.
[Also because sometimes Alucard's relationship to sleep is just plain funny. Sometimes he sleeps an hour a night; sometimes he knocks out for a week. "Sleep schedules are a problem" could be a prevailing caption of his life even now.]
Well, the point of the doors was to find someone clever enough to see things from different points of view. Someone who could see a monster for something other than a monster.
More than they are now. [He knows, okay. He knows and it's ridiculous, but he's avoided the sleeping for a week thing by and large. It means the other two have to cook for themselves, and that never actually ends well.]
Right, I follow the logic. And doubtlessly our hero did cross the threshold. What happened next?
Well, she kisses him and breaks his curse, of course. He turns back into a handsome prince with hair of gold and a noble face, and she takes him home to the king and queen and there's a lot of kissing and crying and happiness at his return. And then they offer the girl half the kingdom as a reward and she politely says no, thank you, she wouldn't even begin to know what to do with it so it's likely better that the prince just keep it.
[She smiles.]
So then they ask her what she would like, and she thinks about it a minute, and eventually she asks for the privilege of making the royal family's clothes so that her father's shop will always have plenty of business.
[Stories can always end at different points. Alucard shifts a little in Sypha's arms just because he imagines his weight should be at a slightly different angle. It means inching up closer to the crook of her neck, but only by a small margin.]
It'd be awfully silly if they got married after only knowing each other for ten minutes, don't you think? No, she goes back to her work and the prince is so taken with her that he starts making up every excuse he can think of to have her make clothes for him. Then one day, after she's made him a hundred garments and they've grown close from all the visiting, he asks her to make him a fine uniform for a ball, and to make herself a dress to join him at it.
[She moves when he moves, helping to oblige him, wanting to make him as comfortable as she can.]
The first ending is where many would decide to call it a night and conclude the tale. [Where to end things is always just as important as where to begin.
And maybe that's something to consider these days. Alucard thinks of everything wrapped up together, he thinks too damn much. It's why his brain is skilled at weaving together all these different threads, usually with no real benefit to himself.]
But I like this one much more. [It's more tender and sweet. He sighs, content with the conclusion.]
And I suppose if she were a shoemaker's daughter they would make him a lot of shoes.
[But it's good to see him unwinding, especially after his prolonged bout of crying earlier. His sighs are much easier to hear when they're soft and warm like this, and she ducks down a little to press a kiss against his head.]
I suppose someday you'll have to find me a beautiful dress too.
[Who needs that many pairs? The clothing does make more sense in terms of how much a prince might need, and he's applying logic to stories which means he ought to stop.
The kiss feels lovely, but the comment inspires redness in Alucard's cheeks.]
You'd wear something that isn't your robes? [Waitasec.] Or one of my shirts?
If I had something that wasn't my robes or one of your shirts. That's one of the reasons I take your shirts to begin with.
[Not the only reason, but one of them. There's a benign explanation, and then there are ulterior motives.]
Speakers always dress the same, for protection. It makes it harder to tell us apart, especially for the men and the women. So I've never had something like a woman's dress, much less any place to wear one.
And here I thought it was just to make me wonder why I was running out of clean ones so quickly.
[He's kidding. Mostly.]
My understanding of women's garments means that you're more likely than not to feel trapped by clothing. It's generally not as loose as you're used to.
[But there's something else to pick at here, and Alucard lets out a soft snort as he realizes it.]
So you don't want to see me in that sort of a dress.
[All of these protests sound very much like reluctance, Mr. Blushy Red-Cheeks.]
I don't think the point of them is to be comfortable, anyway. Certainly not to fight in, or travel in, or...do anything very useful in. You only ever see them in portraits because I think sitting still is about the only thing they're good for.
[All things considered she could make the educated guess that she probably won't like it, but...well. They're taking time off from adventuring for themselves, anyway, and it couldn't hurt. And it might be a nice distraction for Alucard. And even if the actuality doesn't pan out in the long run, maybe just the fantasy of it is worth it all in itself. Like telling bedtime stories. Like being romantic just for the sake of being romantic.]
If it's not too much trouble.
[...]
Besides, then you'll have more of your shirts back!
[There will be fabric ordered that is custom and probably too rich for any of them, and then there's the actual work of construction, but if the fabric is worth it's salt it can be made into something warm even if Sypha hates the whole thing. A coat or robe for dealing with the draftier parts of the castle, or just something more luxurious for loafing around.
The hand on Sypha's back tugs at the offending shirt.]
[Because she's wearing it right now. It is also the only thing she's wearing right now, aside from the blanket, and she's absolutely certain he knows that also.]
[In a better mood, he'd quite literally pounce on this opportunity. But the past hour and change have been nothing but an emotional roller coaster, and he's only just disembarking from the ride.]
[Not just about the shirt. She says it like a benediction, you should be happy, as though vowing to make it so and daring the world to defy her, if it's fool enough to try.]
Stay close to me, my heart, so that I can always keep you warm.
drops this onto this post because i do what i want
[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 energy is what makes Alucard realize that this is truly not just his mind making decisions for him. Relaying familiar words in the tones he has always heard, because there's a sort of gravity to his mother (he's not using the word specter or ghost, not yet) that does not match up in the past. It's the same kind of gravity he has in dreams too.
But there's fear that this might be some demon or ill thing with a familiar face. Voicing it, that's pointless. Worse, there's the desire to put that concern to the side, and he's off the chair.
And a very, very soft laugh from him.]
Nonsense. You know that at this point I haven't aged a day.
[She does come a little closer, but stops short of actually moving to him to try to touch him; it seems she's preferring at the moment to hang back a little, the better to look him over from head to toe.]
You've found yourself a pair of friends.
["Friends".]
I always did hope you would find someone to love, besides me.
[The distance is...there's meaning to it, isn't there? That there hasn't just been that running embrace (the other two do that sometimes when they're back at the castle from a very long trip. Sypha first because Alucard can just scoop her up and spin her around in his arms. Then Trevor knocks them both over onto the floor, Alucard bitches about something breaking, and there's the usual joy and stupid arguments echoing through the main hall.) Should he...?
No, he should look very embarrassed and go as blushfaced as a vampire can.]
Mother!
[How many years and it's childish embarrassment first?]
[Is there any truer confirmation of her identity than the fact that she can embarrass him this easily and with this much tactical precision? Perhaps not.]
Am I wrong?
[As though he's got any room to deny it.]
I hope your Belmont is treating you well. But you seem to be able to handle him without any trouble.
[We. So that's. That's a thing. And that was always one of the nightmares, wasn't it? Being confronted with some version of his mother and having to tell her what the world and his father's rage demanded of him. Breaking her heart for it, because there was no way that I killed my father because he mourned you in the worst way would end in anything but heartbreak. It was one of his least favorite nightmares. (He had quite a few least favorites, but it was in the top five.
There's no movement in him, nor does he meet his mother's eyes for this next part:]
How did that...go....
[Whatever strange reunion was had. And is this moving away from his romantic life? Hell yeah.]
[Her voice is very, very quiet, and forlorn. He doesn't move, or look at her, and she understands why; for a year, a war was cultivated in her name, for her sake. Like a perverse Helen of Troy, her death launched a thousand others. And standing on opposing sides of it all were the two people she loved most — and worse still, the two people whose motives she understood best.
She'd known even before her flesh had burned away what Vlad would do when he learned of it. She'd prayed her cries might reach him, and they hadn't.]
At the last, you reminded him that there was still something on this earth that he loved, Adrian.
[Because that had been a plagued thought. If that break through had happened sooner, perhaps the need for that terrible death would have been avoided. He'd have his father alive and the world would maybe be recovering from all those night creatures in a different way.
But he did not break through in time. He was half-dead before it happened. And that's a terrible truth too.]
[On this point, at least, she is suddenly and emphatically no-nonsense. Because it's very apparent where this line of thinking goes, getting tangled up in the thorns of what might have been. He could torment himself for a hundred years over notions of what he might have done differently, and in the end of things she still wouldn't be any less dead, or Vlad any less fallen.]
You made yourself responsible for him. But that doesn't make you responsible for his choices.
[And in 100 years, the cycle will begin anew. Not that any of them can know that now, but it is a truth that Alucard will reflect on one day and hate just as much as anything else.
He is amazing at finding new ways to guilt himself, even if his mother's stern voice jostles him from that train of thought for a hot minute.]
It makes me responsible for whatever legacy is left behind. His and yours.
[Because he will be thrice damned if his mother is only known in some dry academic footnotes as an executed witch.]
Of course you're responsible for the legacy we left behind. Our legacy is you, Adrian.
[And now, at last, she crosses to him, reaching up to try to take his face in her hands. Her tangibility is questionable, of course; the firm security of her fingers on his skin is somewhat absent. But it's not nothing, either, and she guides his face up so that he can't look away from her.]
I've never wanted you to define your life by anyone else's. Don't spend the rest of yours chained to your memories of us. Don't make me the weight that keeps you anchored in unhappiness.
[How to articulate that it isn't that easy? That those memories are a way to cope with all the horrors and disgusting ways his mind is so very, very skilled at tormenting him?
And sometimes he needs the anchor, the you're acting like your father to keep tendencies at bay. The overprotective bordering on possessiveness, that one's the part Alucard fears most. That's the quickest path to a downfall.
He smiles, and it's a fragile thing.]
It isn't an anchor. And there is not unhappiness in it.
[She raises herself up, catching his cheek with a soft kiss.]
The day you learned to walk, it was so hard to let go of your hands. But you didn't fall. You wobbled your way to your father with a smile on your face, and he'd barely even caught you before you wanted to do it again, just to show off.
[Her hand slides around to the nape of his neck, gently supporting the back of his head.]
I was afraid to let go of you, but you weren't afraid, not in the slightest. That's all I want for you now. To be able to let go of our hands, and show us how far you can go.
[It's a long life ahead, if his father being alive for four centuries is anything to go by. That is a fact Alucard knows well, because he's already given thought to what will happen when he is alone again. (The rites of Sypha's people versus what to do with a man excommunicated from his God.) Holding on is...right. Not letting memories fade. Because that's all anyone will be in the end, memories.
There's such a familiar, pleasant weight in his mother's touch, even if it isn't as full as it ought to be. And he kisses her forehead so gently, because he doesn't know if he'll pass through.]
I think that a part of me is afraid of letting go in full.
[She's just tangible enough that he can be certain there's something there, though it's not the familiar physical weight of a solid form. She's present but she isn't, and perhaps a good portion of the reason he's able to interact with her even this much is because she's so determined that he should be able to.]
[Simple as that. A simple fear too. He doesn't have to elaborate, because this is his mother. She'll understand what is meant, even if there's only something half-tangible in front of him.]
[The weight of his forehead against hers is a strange thing. How real it is shifts in little increments, sometimes nearly solid, other times fading. There's no logic to it at all, just...just dream stuff. Dream stuff and his mother's will.]
I know. [But to know something and to do something are two very different things.]
There are times when it is easier. And others when it is impossible.
[All three of them worry just the right amount. It is stupid, stoic, and self-centered. He knows it too, that's the worst of it.
And to hell with it. If that's a request he'll give it, wrap up whatever he can of his mother in his arms because this dream is more likely to never be again.]
[She's there but she isn't, ephemeral yet solid enough for the duration. This is a dream, but it's a little bit more than a dream, and while she's not able to do everything she wishes she could, she can do just enough.
There are so many things she hasn't said, that she wants to; there are so many things she'll remember later and wish she'd thought of them now. There will never be enough time to tell him all the things she wants to, or what she's known and seen of him since she started to watch over him like this, or how proud she is of him — even for the choices she disagrees with or recoils from.
But maybe there don't need to be words. Maybe it's enough to cling to him, and to hold him tight, as the walls of the study around them start to fade into darkness.]
Alucard tries to keep the study in view. Keep them both in a place familiar, if not always warm. (Too many horrible things happened in the study for it to be full of warmth.) He holds onto his mother. He doesn't know if privileging one thing shall diminish the other. If it does, then he knows who the priority is.
There's such a heavy sigh out of him, all the exhaustion and grief manifested in a single, wretched noise.]
[He succeeds, of course, because this is his dream, after all. Forcing his will upon it like this might make it a touch more lucid, the surroundings more responsive to his intentions for them, but the price of lucidity is that in the waking world, he's just slightly closer now to rousing than he'd been before.
But in the dream, it holds. The study grows clearer again around the edges, the seeping darkness pressing back. And in his arms, Lisa grows just a touch more solid and heavy, because she is, on some level, subject to his will in his dreams, too.]
For as long as I can, my little star.
[She tucks against him, trying to bring him some comfort by the weight of her presence.]
And even when you're awake, I hear you. I watch you. I'm never far from you, believe me.
[There. There, that's better. It buys precious minutes, maybe it'll give them ten. Fifteen. Enough time for more than just this. Physical closeness is one thing, but there's that and there's talking.
They've had so little of that. He misses it, because the conversation Alucard had with his mother were never the ones he had with his father.]
...There are a few points in time I hope that's not the case.
[It's easier, somehow, to be holding on to him. It keeps her anchored, and so she lets her fingers curl lightly in his shirt, unmindful of how it will wrinkle if she does. It's only a dream, after all, but this will help her to stay.]
Now. Indulge a mother's curiosity and tell me about your friends? It's one thing to watch you with them, but I want to hear what you think of them, yourself.
[That weight on his shirt is the greatest thing. He smiles, not just for the gesture but for what his mother asks.]
You'd had thought Trevor rude the first time you met him. He is, mostly, but I know you too well. And you'd probably laugh about parallels, because I did too after I realized it.
I worry, a little, about him being a Belmont. Or I did, at least, until the two of you seemed to find your footing with each other.
[She sighs a little, smiling almost ruefully.]
I always worried about you that way. Hoping that you would manage to find the people in the world with enough of an open mind to take you as you are, for who you want to be. I wouldn't have guessed a son of the Belmonts to be among them.
Neither personalities made it easy. [Bluntly, they're both assholes. And prickly.] None of it would have happened without Sypha.
[And that's a truth too. Those first few moments of walking out into the sunlight after that horrid night, that was where it all managed to originate.]
In fairness, I wouldn't have expected it either. The circumstances were...[Nope. They're not talking about that now.]
[It's so unexpectedly good to hear him admit his feelings for them so frankly. Her son has always been one to keep his thoughts aloof and his emotions close to his chest; that he's willing to make a confession like that is warming, to say the least.]
I can see they've both been good for you. Trevor knows how to provoke you when you need provocation. And Sypha, it seems, has a knack for tempering that with acceptance.
You two would probably abandon all of us to just discuss theories into the morning light.
[That's something Alucard's always known. Magic and medical science. New applications of them both. The world moves forward, and everyone else has to just sit and listen to it. (Fondly. Maybe with some awkward if his father was around.
Ok, a lot of awkward.)]
Until they've both decided to be bullies. It's known to happen.
[Her eyebrows go up, a little surprised, and almost instinctively she glances to the ring on her finger — still there, the same as always, where it's meant to be — before turning her attention back to him.]
Well. He asked, first, which was surprising enough in and of itself. He found me a bouquet of flowers I'd never seen before — it had to have been incredibly taxing on him, but he waited until I was set to go into town for an afternoon, then moved the castle to wherever he'd found them and moved it back again, all before I got back home so I wouldn't suspect. We had dinner, I told him about my afternoon, and then he asked that I stay up until midnight for some astronomical phenomenon he wanted to show me.
[She's starting to smile, just from the reminiscing.]
He took me up to the roof of the castle's tallest tower, so that there was nothing at all above us except sky, all spread out from horizon to horizon, and told me he'd give me all of it and more, if I would give him just one thing in return. So I asked what it was, because I couldn't very well leave a question like that alone, and he picked up my hand and kissed it and said "this hand, to be mine."
[Alucard knew most of the small romantic stories of his parents. He listened when they spoke over him in his youth, or else he witnessed so many of their moments that he wove his own stories and understandings of what he witnessed.
He always knew that of the things he inherited from his father, he got this as well.
The smile on his face is so soft, so endeared, so happy to just know. Why hadn't he ever asked before? He should have. ]
He had them made, after I said yes. He was very proper about it — I think every cottage in Lupu wound up with some sort of gift, and certainly my parents had a whole chest of them. Not as a bride-price or anything like that — he hated the idea almost as much as I did — but I recall it was important to him, that lavishing of gifts. Paying his respects, I think, was how he saw it.
[She hums softly, her eyes closing halfway as she thinks back, collecting every detail she can.]
I had a necklace originally — it might still be in my old rooms, somewhere. And then we agreed on a sensible period of engagement, a few months, and then at the end of that few months, we had me kidnapped by a few of his generals, and after rescuing me and proving his worthiness in combat, the rings went on and that was that.
[There's a smile that endures. An entire village given gifs (he doesn't think horrid thoughts about those who betrayed her for it later, that's for Awake Alucard.)
And then...his generals. And it is ridiculous beyond words, and all Alucard can do is laugh. Laugh because images in his head are delightful. Laughs because it's too much of his father. Laughs because why did he expect anything else?]
I think that....that might be a bit overkill in my case.
It was a very pleasant kidnapping, I'll have you know. I met all of my abductors in advance, and we all visited the appointed place where I was to be taken, and Vlad personally threatened each and every one of them with the terrible vengeance he would visit on them if a single hair on my head — well, you can guess how that went. They were very respectful about the theft of my person.
[The or else is so palpable in that last remark.]
Thinking of what you'll do for your own loved ones, are you?
I feel that I might surprise them more if I did none at all.
[He's the overdramatic fuck, so it'd be fun to throw the insult in their faces. Then the dramatics can happen in full.
Maybe it's pointless to point out that Trevor's about as alone as he is when it comes to extended family. Sypha's caravan, that's it. And maybe any rites that are done should be according to those customs.
Alucard pauses, then kisses the hand that rests on his cheek.]
[He's so gentle, so sweet; she never gets tired of his little notes of affection, even as she offers him up her own in return. This, he got from her, and the rhythm of exchanging these little touches is so familiar.]
You'd best get to work acquiring some generals, then.
[She pauses, reminiscing idly.]
Do you remember the one that could turn into a mist? A female vampire, she visited once or twice. We had a very pleasant time together, while I was abducted and out of commission.
Mm. She was the ringleader of my kidnapping. There were a few others who answered to her for the purposes of the endeavor.
[She laughs softly.]
I'm afraid most of them didn't quite know what to do with me, I think. I suppose for them it was the equivalent of being told to cart, I don't know, a highly-prized goat to a woodshed somewhere and watch over it until its owner came to fetch it.
[Alucard doesn't know what's going on in the waking world. He's sure he doesn't care to know at the moment, because this conversation is so...so blissfully normal. He has his normal with the other two, but with his mother is so much more important.]
I don't think I could live with that kind of thinking. Beyond what I already have.
[It is very much a matter of need. And Alucard nods, knowing that he's directed this conversation away from the lightness of reunion. His own edification isn't a requirement but...well.
[She stops short, the train of thought falling away as an expression of hurt and melancholy drifts across her features, and when she picks it up again, it's much more quietly.]
I would've understood, at least, if it'd only been his way of grieving. I wouldn't have agreed with it, but he is what he is. I never thought I could make him a man instead of a monster; I only tried to encourage more of the one in the other.
[She presses her lips into a thin line.]
But to do it in my name — he knew I wouldn't have wanted — he knew I would never have wanted —
[The arms around his mother grow tighter. Squeeze gently. Because in the end, everything that was, it was about how his mother would feel about the matter. That's all it ever was, just one family's heartbreak destroying an entire country along with themselves.]
I know.
[Knowledge that had driven everything to it's horrible end.]
When the two of you wound up in your old room...I think that was the first time he truly remembered me in a year of his grief. Not just the shadows of my memory that haunted him.
[She draws in a breath she doesn't need, and lets it out again, simply because.]
I still love him. He still loves me. What he did to you in particular haunts him the most — I don't think he regrets the rest of it much, even now. We...
[She closes her eyes, turning her face away.]
I'm still furious. But I can't bear the thought of being away from him.
[He would like to move away from that terrible memory, thanks mom. Alucard's worked very hard to find ways to deal with all of that, because in that horrid little moment he had hoped that maybe the insane patricide quest might have been stopped.]
You get all the time to find a way through it now.
[Her face is away, but Alucard rests his face on the top of his mother's head. Just a warm weight. Just there.]
[This is an awkward, embarrassing thing for a mother to be admitting to her son, of all people, but here she is, and so it goes. She leans heavily against him, holding on as if seeking his support and his warmth.]
...Do you want to see him? If we were able to visit you again.
[Awkward, maybe. But honest. And utterly unsurprising, because his parents were practically on top of each other most nights Alucard remembers. It was ridiculous, still is when he reflects on those memories, but it also defined them.
The question isn't an easy one to answer.]
I think that'd need to be a very, very long dream.
[Which is not to say no, but it would be much messier than this.]
It's as much you as it is me, I think. I'm loath to try to explain it without proper evidence, but my guess is that it's some sort of psychic resonance. Likely in a similar vein as the way you call your sword to you, only here what you've pulled is...me.
[She shrugs a little, though her mood does seem to perk up a touch at the prospect of scientific theory.]
Is there anything different about tonight, from what you do normally?
I should say not. Between your Sypha all but melting the castle's traveling machinery, your Trevor's response to a present threat being to immediately punch it in the face, and your own irrepressible flair for the dramatic, I'd say the three of you are a well-matched set when it comes to a lack of subtlety.
[Not that she's one to talk; obviously he gets at least half of it from her. But still, objectively speaking, the point stands.]
Hm. I wonder where my own lack of understanding comes from. What a mystery this is.
[There's a moment where he pulls away, just to put a finger to his lips and tap it thoughtfully. A great problem. Nay, the greatest. But then that actually becomes a serious gesture.]
We're trying to reverse it. Safer that way. And...
[Things shift again. Something dims just beyond the two of them, and Alucard hisses. Not yet. (It's morning, isn't it? He needs to get started on breakfast.)]
[She noticed it too — perhaps even more acutely than he did, being that she is in some ways subject to the whims of his dreams in a way that he isn't.]
You might find some help in our old room. A few pages, somewhere, about the nature of the castle — your father wrote them for me early on. Not that I could've ever moved it on my own, but...well. You of all people know it's more than just a machine. It was supposed to help me better understand it, if I ever needed to ask something of it. Between you and Sypha, it might help you make some progress.
I'll...I'll look. I haven't gone in there in for a time [he's absolutely locked it] , but I'll find it.
[He'll take Sypha and Trevor with him. He'll need them both. And he hopes that they'll both be in bed when he wakes, as he'll need them for that too. There's something dark and wretched starting to rise up in his throat and he fights it back down.
This entire dream has been happiness. No tears permitted.
He squeezes his mother again. One last time. A real good-bye this time.]
I love you, Adrian. I know you'll never forget...but still, never forget that.
[He hugs her tight, and she hugs him back; she can tell, now, that the instant he relinquishes her even a fraction she'll start to slip away, but there's still just enough chance for her to raise herself up and draw him a little bit down, and let him feel the touch of her lips against his forehead.]
My boy. I won't tell you not to weep for me. But try to find a smile for each tear you shed, too.
[There's words said. Muffled, but they're said, and then there is the waking world. (I love you or I'll try. Maybe both.) Alucard doesn't shift much in his sleep (which was deeply unnerving when all of this began), but it has some advantages. Like the fact it means there's a 99% chance of Sypha's head being tucked neatly under his chin still.
There's sunlight in the room. That much is clear before Alucard even opens his eyes. He can feel it, and that's odd because usually he is the one to open the curtains.
Wait.
His eyes flutter open, wondering if he's actually slept the latest of the three for the very first time in ever.]
[The first tragedy: Sypha is not, in fact, still under his chin, as this appears to be the 1% of the time when he has been foiled in his estimation. It appears she has, however, sought to make amends in her absence, if the fact that he seems to have wound up with a pillow nestled in his arms and tucked under his chin in a similarly Sypha-ish way is any indication.
The bedroom is empty. The castle is silent. The windows are allowing in a healthy amount of sunlight and —
Actually, scratch that, the castle isn't silent.
Because there, distantly, is the sound of Sypha's voice, a little urgent and faintly chiding — It is not going to be much of a surprise if it's too burnt to put on a plate!]
[Well. Waking up in this bed alone is a new experience. Deeply worrying as well, as Alucard pulls himself up out of the blankets that have since been piled atop him, and neither of the two are even in the same room.
He doesn't hear anything until he's in the hallway, suspecting that if the two are anywhere, it may well be the kitchen. Maybe they're just waiting for him to show up, or at least that's the assumption until he hears Sypha's voice and...
...oh God, they're trying to cook.
Maybe it's a stupid use of vampire speed. No, scratch that, it's a stupid use of vampire speed, but Alucard's in the door frame of the kitchen within seconds, unsure what to expect.]
— sure you're supposed to turn them over before the edges start to — Alucard!
[Okay, well, that was terrifying, one second there was nothing in the door and now suddenly there is a bae in the doorway, looking beautifully sleep-rumpled and handsome and bite-able.
And meanwhile here in the kitchen there is Trevor, burning the living daylights out of what were probably supposed to be a pan of fried eggs, and Sypha hovering nearby to presumably Armchair Iron Chef this travesty.]
Good morning. Thank you both for getting the fire started.
[Because advanced wood burning stove technology or just 15th century hearth fires, the fire part's important.
Just as important is the smell. A smell that's deeply offensive, based on how Alucard's nose just recoils once a whiff of it hits him. Walking in and peering over Trevor's shoulder reveals exactly what happened and you know what?
He's not going to question any of this. It's hardly the point.]
[Trevor grumbles something along the lines of you can go back to bed and stop spoiling the fucking surprise, but there's no particular teeth in the remark, just the sort of vague irritation that's probably more directed at the eggs than at Alucard himself.
Sypha, on the other hand, is not content to start her day without her mandatory morning hug, and this seems like as good of a time as any to get it, so over she goes, walking pretty much directly into Alucard's side with expectant deliberation.]
It's not like you to sleep so long, so we thought you might not be feeling well...
That cat is so firmly out of the bag that I don't think the bag exists anymore. Please just. Take that pan off the stove before the egg becomes a part of it, please.
[Cast iron cannot be killed but leave it to a Belmont to try. Either way, Sypha's got a point. The side hug becomes a proper one after just a moment of shifting around, and there's a soft dhampir kiss to the top of her head too.]
I'm fine. I was simply having a much needed conversation.
[Is he smiling at some weird inside joke? Sure is. And looking a bit too sentimental about it as well.]
With your pillow? I never knew you were one for pillow talk, Alucard.
[So long as Sypha is getting her hug, all is right with the world. Except for the part about Trevor making one last valiant effort to gouge the egg off of the surface of the skillet before surrendering to the inevitable and dumping the whole thing into the dishpan instead, smoking egg refuse and all.]
[It's on fire, Trevor insists with the matter-of-fact certainty of someone who has absolutely no idea what he's talking about. You put things that are on fire in water. Then they're not on fire anymore.]
We're not defeated! We're just, um. Still developing a strategy!
[He is so not about to have this fight. Alucard walks over and plucks the pan out of the sink, and just leaves it on the counter for the time being. There's still steam coming off the thing in a bad way, but it was only in the water for a few moments. The pan will be fine.]
You both realize that the reason I do so is apparent before you, correct?
[He's smiling when he asks the question though. It's such a sweet gesture.]
[That's a nice way of taking a shit on our cooking, Trevor observes, without denying that Alucard is, in fact, entirely correct.
Sypha, however, appears to still be in that phase of morning sleepiness that she doesn't want to be without physical contact for too long, and so when Alucard goes to take care of the pan, she naturally gravitates back to Trevor, winding up leaning against his shoulder in the cuddliest of fashions.]
We were going to try scrambled, but we couldn't remember the proportion of eggs to milk.
[Translation: they already did try scrambled and got the proportion wrong, and threw that out and tried to save it with fried.]
[He worries. He does, and this is just going to start over from scratch in every way. First thing he starts off doing is drying the poor pan out, and then using Vampire Nails to remove the offending and abused egg from the surface.]
Half of one of our cups per-egg, for future reference. Both of you sit, you've been working hard enough as it is.
[We're still alive, aren't we? Trevor grumps, but opts to make himself useful by picking up Sypha and carrying her out of the way of Alucard's kitchen wizardry. It prompts a hint of a squeal out of her, but soon enough Trevor's dropped himself into a chair and dragged Sypha into his lap with him, which means she's back to getting her recommended morning's dose of cuddling while they set up to play audience for the show.]
It still doesn't seem very fair, though, that you have to cook your own surprise breakfast.
Between the dream and this, I think I'm good on surprises for at least two months.
[There's warmth in his voice at that, and it's impossible to stop the smile that crosses Alucard's face when he sees the exact position the two have settled into. It's enough of a sight that he'd prefer to admire it for a minue or two, but food and they're probably hungrier than he is. So Alucard's eyes linger for just a moment, before he goes and gets half a dozen eggs (two each) begins cooking in earnest.]
[Which, of course, really just prompts him to dig it further into her side, even as she squirms and he play-wrestles her until they're some semblance of comfortably settled again.]
And just how long is "a bit" before you explain this dream of yours, exactly? You can't keep mentioning it but then keeping us in suspense!
[Alucard doesn't have to turn around to know what's going on. He has witnessed the War of the Elbows many times (he has defended his own honor in quite a few), and there's a regular pattern to it all.
He has the eggs in the pan and is working on them by the time the war's over. While he works, he begins to explain.]
Well, I wasn't very well going to talk over you two while you were doing that, now was I?
[The eggs are done. He takes them off the stove, the rest of the cooking done by the pan's remaining heat, and then he goes for the bread box. Good, crusty rye for toast. A bread knife lives in that box, so he takes that out too.]
I had an actual, lucid conversation with my mother. Not just a replay of memories.
[Well, that shuts the two of them up fast. Especially because Alucard really isn't one to be given to whimsical fantasies when it comes to something like this, which means the natural logical conclusion is that he's not describing a fantasy at all, but a reality.
And that's...well, that's just...]
In...in your dreams?
[She glances at Trevor, who looks just as perplexed and at a loss as she feels herself.]
We did spent a fair amount of time trying to figure out the mechanics.
[Nerds. He comes from a line of nerds. Sure, one was a vampire king for centuries, but still a goddamn nerd.]
I'm sleeping in between the two of you again this evening. To test at least one theory.
[The bread, once sliced, gets stuck onto a long skewer. Alucard then walks over to the fire box for the stove, opens it, and sticks the stake-o-bread in for just a few quick moments.
The toast gets pulled out seconds later, and maybe the most remarkable part of all of this is the total lack of grief around Alucard as he's discussing this. A thawing well. Slow and sure.]
That would lend itself to some very interesting magical questions, if the simple act of sleeping between Trevor and I is what caused something like that...
[Hypothesis: can she and Trevor summon back the dead by creating some sort of weird magical resonance that acts on whatever is dropped in-between them. WILD.]
...Alucard, you're...sure it was her? From the way she spoke, and the things she said to you...?
Notes for repairing the castle! That's...very specific! But it would also be immensely helpful, considering how broken it happens to be, at the moment...
[Because you broke it, Trevor reminds her, helpfully.]
[Alucard can only nod in agreement with a reminder of whose fault it is, but he at least has the good sense to turn around and remove the toast and get it all on plates. Eggs too.]
We can focus on that part later. The point is, the dream was much realer than it ought to have been, and I put stock in it.
[And that's what kept you in bed until halfway to noon, Trevor sums up, because Trevor has priorities. Trevor also has a mighty hunger, just as Sypha does, and as food starts coming off of the stove and onto serving plates, their attention abruptly piques and hones in on the dishes in Alucard's hands.]
Well. Even if it is, it's good to see you so happy. You don't look even the slightest bit gloomy!
[She doesn't mean to imply the for once that's suggested on the end of that, but it's probably there anyway.]
[Trevor is rewarded with a stink eye for the comment, but the food gets put down on the table all the same. The other two will have to untangle themselves to actually come and eat, so Alucard sits himself in the chair that will let him see that particular process unfold.
...but really, Sypha. He heard that implied for once. He's not going to call her for it though. Better approach: distract.]
Do your people have anything in your histories about distinguishing true dreams from the more mundane ones?
[What follows is the very definition of a tragedy: the food is out of reach, but to get it, Sypha would have to abandon her comfortable cuddle huddle. Thus no matter what she does, she is deprived and that's terrible.
Trevor, on the other hand, knows what he's about, and what he's about right now is breakfast. So Sypha ends up lifted and carried over to the table, where she can be comfortably deposited in a chair of her own before Trevor claims one within reach of the breakfast plates.]
Mm...that depends. Do you mean distinguishing them while you are having them, or after the fact, once you've woken up?
[It's ridiculous how Sypha just refuses to accept that food means the end of cuddle o'clock. He'd point out that if the two stayed in bed this problem wouldn't exist, but they made their (very sweet) choices.
Alucard does nudge his foot against hers though. Since she's now terribly free from being cuddled.]
Well, of course the most obvious difference is that a real dream has to include a message. Every culture distinguishes prophetic dreams as something separate, and for good reason, because that sort of dream comes from the outside, while the others only come from within.
[She hums softly, nudging his foot right back; she's still a little miffed about the lack of cuddles, but having a project to think about is certainly helping somewhat with distracting her from it.]
Another strong signal is being able to recognize that a part of the dream does not make sense. If it is a dream entirely of your own creation, then it will always seem to make sense, even where it is nonsensical. To be able to recognize that something is wrong is a hallmark of something else causing it.
[There will be more cuddles later. Promise. Cross his heart even. For now, there will just have to be this. And listening very carefully while spreading half of the eggs on the toast to just eat everything in one fell swoop.]
Well, the message point will be tested shortly, although I doubt that was the point of the whole thing.
[If anything, that felt like an after thought. But Sypha keeps talking, and he nods along.]
It could be small. But it would be the sort of thing that the dreamer could not ignore, once he'd observed it. It could be something as simple as...hmm. As simple as, "these walls are blue, but I know they're supposed to be red"! Even something like that, so long as it's wrong, could be enough. What makes the difference is what happens after you notice it.
[She shrugs a little, finally relenting enough to reach for her own breakfast.]
If the wrongness fades away, or you start to ignore it, then it isn't a real dream. If it wakes you up, it isn't a real dream. But if the dream persists despite the wrongness, then it's much more likely to be true.
[But none of it quite jives, does it? Aside from his mother being there at all and the interaction being far more real. Perhaps this is just something that won't match up with centuries of lore behind it. Just a dhampir's gut instinct and nothing else.
It's something to chew on, literally in this case.]
[He's halfway through the egg-on-toast already. And Trevor's probably checked out because this has hit exacting theories or, more accurately, "nerd time."]
So, in a place where you would have expected her to be.
[Hmmm. She ponders a little more, poking at her eggs and toast not because she's playing with her food instead of eating it, but because there's something about the nudging that's helping her to think.]
...Most cultures would seem to agree that spirits will more easily be drawn back to places they were comfortable with in their lives. Things they had attachments to, as though they had created a sort of magnetism between themselves and those things in life. Like having a tether, and a lighthouse. Something to guide the way to the correct place, and something to help hold there once they arrive.
[She hums.]
You know how you feel about the study. How did your mother feel about it?
[Yeah, well, as Sypha totally doesn't play with her food, Alucard eats the last bit of what's on his own plate, and he moves it aside. Forearms on the table, leaning forward just a little bit more. At this point he'd debate getting up to make seconds (not unusual), but this conversation is more important.]
Usually it was the natural starting point for looking for where my father had gotten to. Then the library. Then the lab. Then the rest was just waiting for him to find her instead.
Ah. [So, that's one logical part of this explained.]
The former. That particular pattern isn't unfamiliar to me.
[He's careful not to clarify if he means in dreams or in the waking world. The answer is both, and they don't need to know how much time he spends in that study brooding when they're not home.]
Have you ever had a dream of seeing someone else in the study? Like me, or Trevor.
[Or your father, she thinks, but it's far better to leave that one alone.]
That goes to the form of the dream. If it's a model your dreams are used to following, and you only fit in a different person every time, that's one thing. But if the person you meet there isn't interchangeable, that's another one entirely.
In it? No. Never. Passing outside of it, yes. Many a time.
[Maybe he will have to admit to the memories that haunt the hallways this time around. At the very least, it will come up within the year, but it shall be an easier thing to share due to this particular dream.]
I see. And gut instinct factors into all of this as well I'm assuming, correct?
Yes. Just from what you've said, I think there's enough evidence to suggest that this was not a mere figment of your sleeping mind.
[She polishes off another goodly bite of her breakfast, then starts ticking things off on her fingers as she chews.]
A message, a place associated with her, and a deviation from the usual in that specific way — someone usually passing by outside who specifically comes in to see you — those would all fit the mark of a prophetic dream.
[A prophecy to what, just get the castle moving again? Alucard hopes that it isn't the point of the dream alone. It'd be a sad thing if seeing his mother was only ever prompted by need.]
Mm. It is always a reassuring thing when the wisdom of ages backs up one's gut.
If there's success in the experiment, yes. If not, then at least you won't need to worry about breakfast.
[It does, however occur to Alucard that he may not be able to escape Sypha's grasp in the morning if he is in the center of the two of them. Morning cuddles are Required, and today he has avoided his duty.
A bridge to cross later.]
The particulate notes about the castle are, apparently, in my parent's bedroom though.
...I don't think we've ever been in there, have we? We always just...avoided it.
[Which doesn't inherently mean that Alucard has avoided it, of course, but she'd be willing to bet that he'd been just as inclined to leave it shut and untouched. There are few places in the castle likely to have heavier memories than that, after all.]
So if they really are there, it's unlikely your sleeping mind could have just made them up. But she would have known. It was her room, after all.
[It's confirmation of both parts. That no, she and Trevor have not been in there before, and that no, his own mind could not have thought up this particular location. Alucard had not even ventured near the room to lock it properly, as it was a part of the castle mercifully spared from the destructive fight. It was simply...there.
It's a place he knows will suck the contentment out of him, and so he smiles softly as he says:]
[Because, perhaps, she senses the precariousness of the moment and of his mood, and she wants to do her part to preserve it, too. That means a distraction, and she can't think of a better one than scooting up and out of her chair and over by him, arms out in expectation of being accepted into his.]
Hm, this seems more like an attempt to avoid doing the dishes.
[Trevor agrees that it absolutely is, but too late. Sypha's made a decision, and they can only abide by it. With her arms outstreched, Alucard inches his chair away from the table just enough and then slides Sypha over onto his lap.
She's a familiar and warm weight, and both his arms wrap around her waist, delighted.]
This is the problem with you leaving me in bed alone. You have to do this at the table instead, and the chairs aren't as comfortable as the mattress.
[Kisses first. Sypha's forehead. The tip of her nose. Both of her cheeks, then her lips. Gentle and chase because well, he knows he tastes most like egg right now. Not the most attractive thing to kiss.]
I'm plenty happy, breakfast surprise having taken a different form than intended.
[Then a perfectly decent proposal.]
Mmm, I think perhaps that is in order. I'd even dare to say dishes can wait.
[This is a rare mood. They're all aware of it. It's important to take advantage of it.]
You, allowing the dishes to go neglected? You really are in a good mood.
[And absolutely none of them are going to complain about it. And every one of them is smart enough to take advantage of this.]
A mood that is infectious, I might add.
[She slumps contentedly against him, resting her head on his shoulder, so that every time she exhales he gets treated to a warm little breath of air washing over the side of his neck.]
Really, the fact I'm not fussing about dishes is the truest indicator of mood?
[The grumpy noise he makes is all smoke and mirrors. Trevor's watching this with a stupid smile on his face, and the position that Sypha's in just makes the next part easier. It is no effort at all for Alucard to shift where his arms are, and scoop Sypha up like the royalty they treat her as as Alucard rises to his feet.]
Really now, Sypha. Would you like to adjust that criteria of yours?
You have to admit, it is a very reliable indicator. Perhaps not the best one altogether, but at least a reliable one.
[She squeaks a little, though, when he gets up and takes her along with him, equal parts startled and pleased. It's familiar enough that it's easy to wrap herself around him to make the carrying easier, with her arms adjusted neatly around his shoulders and her knees held together so that he can hook efficiently beneath them.]
[It's so easy to fall into this familiar rapport. Alucard would be a liar if he said he didn't adore it, just like he didn't adore the all too easy to tote around Speaker in his arms and the way she knew how to hang on.
The only thing left to do is start to walk out of the kitchen entirely, Trevor right behind and just laughing at this ridiculous display.]
And if I am, it's only because you've made some very compelling suggestions in the last few minutes.
Well, then. I think I should do what I can to encourage your good mood, don't you think so?
[Well, allegedly, anyway. Really it's more like she's out to tease him in one of her favorite ways, given that his hands are occupied with holding her and his focus is on trying to get her back to the bedroom. She, on the other hand, has a little more free range of movement — and more importantly, she knows what he likes.
So maybe it comes as no surprise when she dips down to kiss at his neck, just a little above where his pulse rests, and throws in a light scrape of her teeth for good measure.]
So long as it isn't terribly distracting to my grip.
[He's had practice at this, so the bar for terribly distracting is rather high at this point in time. Just to be on the safe side though, Alucard makes sure his grip is firm without being painful.
Alucard's also able to keep moving even as Sypha hones in on the spot that always makes him gasp in delight. This time is no different, and she's far too quick to add teeth. There is encouraging, and then there is this.]
[She's not altogether too concerned about the possibility of him dropping her, less from anything to do with underestimating how distracting she might be and more just because that's a measure of her faith in him — confident, unshakeable.]
[One of the three of them has to at least be aware of these things! And it sure as hell ain't Sypha right now, plus Trevor's been waiting for the hallway to get just a little bit wider, allowing himself and Alucard to walk shoulder to shoulder. Easier for trying to steal kisses from Sypha like that.]
I thought you were the prince, and Trevor was something else. It's important to be accurate.
[It's also important to share, which means that at regular intervals Alucard will be subject to the impossible cuteness that is literally carrying Sypha while she leans over for kisses from Trevor. A feat of gymnastic greatness.]
...Or is a boyar the same? I don't remember...
[She probably does, but she knows she can bait Alucard into being an insufferable know-it-all, which is also always fun.]
[There's a groan from Trevor halfway through one of those kisses, You're going to get him started on this again? and Alucard cannot help but just hold his nose far too high.]
Well just for that, I'm not going to get into particulars lest I offend delicate sensibilities.
[Thank God as far as Trevor's concerned. Alucard's much too invested in being a transport for cuteness, all but glowing as he watches the two smooch.]
He is very cute when he's showing off, though. Just because you don't like the topic of choice...
[Not to be outdone, she works her fingers through Alucard's hair, nails scritching lightly at the nape of his neck while she continues to draw her kisses from Trevor with every offer of them.]
[Just pick a different topic. Like books or science. Which are equally unsexy, but things that Alucard is even nerdier about so the showing off potential is much greater.
Or the other option is to keep kissing Sypha to keep her from enabling, which is the thing Trevor decides to go with in the end. Alucard keeps trying to watch, but Sypha's nails are far, far too clever for their own good and that means he's making a stupid noise instead. He'd rather be underneath her on the bed while she does that, free to squirm in delight instead of clamp down because he's still carrying her.
Thank God the bedroom door is still open. There's no need to try and open it with an armful of Sypha, making life much easier. Rather than just put Sypha down on the bed and then climb in beside her, Alucard sits himself down with her still in his arms.
Actually, to hell with it. He lies right down, dragging Sypha with him so Trevor has enough time to climb into bed too.]
[Speaking of being very cute, there's another of those startled squeak noises, this time from the unexpected flop of Alucard hauling her down onto the mattress with him in a tangle of limbs. She's got the advantage, though, being on top of him for the moment. With Trevor making his way in to the tangle, that probably won't last for long, but for the time being, she's going to make the best of it.]
Come, now. Show off for me. Dazzle us with your silver tongue.
[While trying not to laugh at the irony of a silver-tongued vampire, of course. But it's easy to press her laughter against his neck, letting it rumble beneath his ear.]
[There's only one way to stop smart ass remarks when all three of them are like this. Alucard's move up to Sypha's back because there's a little spot midway up her spine that he loves to press again, and the rest is just tilting his head downward so he can put his lips on hers. Not forcefully, but enough to suggest that maybe her mouth is better occupied like this, all warmth against cooler air.
Trevor's on the other side of Sypha soon enough, leaning on his side rather than flat on his back. Hardly the strangest configuration of the three of them, with too much ample room for Sypha to shift and then be capable of resting atop both her boys at once.
[It's a pleased little noise, when she sees what they've done, and one that turns rich with amusement when she works out that there's an added fringe benefit to her boys from being like this as well — if she's atop both of them, then she's also warming both of them, and everyone is all the more snug for it.
It's a shame that she can't kiss both of them at once, but they've grown adept at navigating those logistics by now, and when she's finished taking her fill of Alucard's mouth, she reaches to twist her fingers in the hair at the back of Trevor's head and guides him down into the space she's just vacated, wanting to see him take his share, too.
They look good together, after all. Her two boys, light and dark, two halves of a whole, and hers, all hers.]
[Snug may not be the name of the game for the present moment, but it is a wonderful, wonderful by product born of Trevor's arm low around Sypha's waist, his hand brushing against whatever he can reach of Alucard. There's no shifting from this current configuration at the moment, and that's just fine.
Under other circumstances, the two boys might be more performative after Sypha's guidance mostly because her reactions are absolutely worth it. Not right now though, all those deep kisses are as genuine as anything else that has come before, although Trevor's not a fan of the fact his other arm is just kind of flopped above Alucard's head with no actual comfortable place to go.
Speaking of. One of Alucard's dips down Sypha's back again, hand daring to give her ass a firm squeeze. Just to see what happens. Just to test the mood.]
[They are a disaster of tangled limbs, with Sypha perhaps the only one granted the privilege of being truly comfortable, and yet it works out. Everyone is where they should be — close at hand, never out of reach. She could be happy just curling up atop them both and lounging forever, she thinks dreamily, hidden away from everything else in this little den of contentment they've built together.
Of course, it seems Alucard has ideas of his own, and for a second she really thinks his fingers are going to settle in the shallow hollow at the small of her back, light but possessive. But then they don't, and claiming a handful of her ass is equally possessive, albeit with a slightly different lean to the intentions.]
Mmm, careful.
[She's grinning. He's beneath her, and that's dangerous — especially if she can manage to bait Trevor into falling into league with her, which is always a possibility.]
You are in a precarious position to be teasing, Alucard.
[It a question said with full awareness of how precarious that position is, and maybe a little too much excitement about that fact as well. Precarious in this case usually means about two seconds from being completely overwhelmed by them both, and that's never a hardship. If anything, it's a delight, and it helps curb his own instincts which boil down to spoiling the other two in every way possible.
As if to hedge his bets (like Alucard needs to), he squeezes just a tiny bit more, mouth returning to Trevor's. Trevor who is very carefully listening to all of this.]
[She squirms a little, mostly just as unspoken confirmation that yes, she feels what he's doing there, and yes, she knows what he's up to, and yes, she's going to take the bait —]
You are, after all, on the bottom.
[She reaches behind herself, tracing her fingers down the length of his arm like a guideline until she finds his wrist, and wraps her fingers loosely around it before guiding his arm up and away, stretched over his head where she can pin it to the mattress.]
[Now that squirm is just rude given where Sypha is, but that's also part of the delight in all of this. Less delightful is that Trevor picks this exact moment to stop kissing the vampire, because Sypha's about to put something in motion and there needs to be just a little bit more room for movement.
It's a light pin. Alucard prefers that, because it's a show of just how much he's happy to let this happen. They both know that he could break it in half a second. Instead he's smirking up at Sypha like a total idiot, half trying to play along and half trying not to have hearts in his eyes for every word that leaves her lips.]
Hm, it would appear that way.
[Yeah, he can't help but let a grin slip through those words.]
[He's such a sucker, and more importantly, she's such a sucker for the both of them. She flicks a glance at Trevor, pleased to see him withdrawing just enough that it might just signal his agreement to play her accomplice, and shuffles herself a little so that she's less outright sprawled atop Alucard and more sitting over him, straddling his waist to help give the illusion of pinning him that way, too.]
The freedom of such a handsome prince must be worth a very high price.
[With her free hand, she runs her finger down his chest, letting it hook and catch against the collar of his nightshirt.]
It was very careless of you, letting yourself get caught like that.
[This is all very ridiculous, which goes all too well with Alucard's mood. There's no blushing at how Sypha's fingers catch at that collar, but there is more red in his cheeks given how she's sitting on him now. It's ridiculous how easily they can get to him. (It's wonderful.)]
I'd dare to say you've overestimated. I can only think of two people who'd pay such a price and they seem to be otherwise occupied.
[Okay now Trevor's just trying not to laugh. This is beyond ridiculous.]
[Oh, it's our now? Alucard knew it was inevitable that he was going to get ganged up on, but this quickly? He is a fool for not anticipating this. Or exactly how hard Sypha's willing to tease, because those fingers are so very, very cruel right now.]
That is an exceedingly unfair question.
[Likewise unfair is the fact Trevor's now nuzzling against Alucard's neck, as if that's going to force a gut response out of the vampire instead of the more measured responses he's giving now. All it does is prompt a soft whine of delight before he returns to the question.]
No matter how I respond, you're going to do as you wish.
[She hums happily, pleased to see Trevor's initiative unfolding in the form of going straight for their vampire's neck, because there are a handful of ways to get his poise to start coming undone and that's definitely one of them.]
Yes, of course we are.
[It's not as though she needs an answer. If he wasn't enjoying himself, he would've broken free and turned the tables by now. But there are a lot of components that go into Alucard's enjoyment of this, she suspects. The attention, the two of them working together, the whimsical fantasy of being at their mercy...
Speaking of whimsy, she shifts her hold on his hand, moving from pinning his wrist to holding his hand itself, with her fingers interwoven between his. Because sometimes she fights dirty.]
[It's a longer, slower way to extract truth from the vampire, but it's effective. It also has the advantage of making him writhe every so often, which just adds to the sense of it being a long acting truth serum. A silly way to think of it, but an accurate one.
There's another happy noise as Trevor's nuzzles becoming long, lingering kisses there, combined with Sypha's hand in his. It is only natural for his fingers to close in, rest against the top of her hand, squeeze with a certain level of tenderness that lets her know this is all so very, very perfect.
What he wants is to just stay here for the whole day, looking up at them both, overwhelmed and delighted for it. But that's not the answer that fits the mood or an actually helpful one that lets Sypha know how to proceed.]
It'd be terribly unfair to lose both hands, I think.
[It's odd how, in some ways, pleasing Alucard is so...simple. He cherishes such little things, never asks for much in order to be happy. He could be content just to look at his lovers and know that they love him in return, to reach for them and feel his fingers brush against them, and remind him that they're close at hand.
It makes her want to spoil him with it. They all take their turns at being the center of attention, but this morning has Alucard in such a rare good mood that she can't help but want to make it last and last until he's soaked through and saturated in it.]
Such torture. If I leave you with just one hand, you'll have to choose which one of us you want to reach for.
[And with Trevor working neatly on one side of Alucard's neck, Sypha gravitates to the other, nipping her way up to his earlobe to catch it between her teeth.]
[How can he not? Everything about their lives is endlessly complicated. Caught up in legacies and expectations and so much set ablaze by forces well beyond their control. The world is an endless, unrelenting shitstorm. Showing the other two all the affection that Alucard has is the easiest thing in the world. It makes him beyond happy to do so. Anything else, anything they give in return, that is simple to accept back. It always will be.
It is impossible for him to offer a good angle for his neck like this. To lean one way or the other would be to expose less flesh for them to kiss, and if the point is to be spoiled and at their mercy then he would be working against that objective. All Alucard can do is arch his neck upward just a little bit, careful not to disturb and what was Sypha's previous thought about poise coming undone?
Because the only response she gets as she moves up the other side of Alucard's neck is a hissed, delighted yesssss that doesn't seem to be agreeing with anything she's just said. Just letting them both know that he's coming undone, and they've barely done anything at all.
There's a more coherent response by the time Sypha's gotten to his ear.]
[She kisses against his ear again, quietly cataloguing every sound that he makes, and takes pity on him by drawing back just enough that he can make more room for Trevor if he likes.
First, however, a little show is in order, and she brushes her fingers against Trevor's jaw to get his attention before leading him up to kiss her, crossing over to meet his mouth while they're directly in Alucard's line of sight.
It's surprisingly sweet, for being as mean as it is, but she won't make Alucard suffer long. Soon enough she lets Trevor return to his work, and focuses down on her half-vampire lover again.]
But sometimes you give too much, you know. You ought to be taught to lie back and take.
[Alucard knows he could watch the two kiss all day. It's been known to happen every so often, and the sighs of contentment from just being there to watch it are as sappy and overly romantic as one might expect based on well, all of him. Subtle's not anyone's game in this relationship.
He doesn't try to sit up to see their kiss as a better angle, even if this is the one opportunity to free the hand that is still (nominally) pinned to the bed. This is all too wonderful to try and disturb. Especially because Trevor leans into Sypha's kisses with gusto. Especially because they're both so in love with each other.
Trevor's mouth may eventually return to where it was before (god, there's licking now too), but the hand that had been just resting on Alucard's chest doesn't. It goes towards the nearest of Alucard's thighs, and the grip there is firmer than expected. There's a soft gasp, and Alucard's free hand moves so it can tangle up in Trevor's hair. Stay there.
He can barely keep his attention on Sypha like this.]
Have I put up any resistance? [Fuck, fuck, fuck that hand is starting to slide down and then up again, taking the fabric of Alucard's bedclothes with it.]
You continue to show a remarkable grasp on your composure. Which I think counts as resistance, when I want to make you forget even your own name.
[They work well like this, herself and Trevor. There's an easy, natural rhythm to it — he acts, and she speaks, and they tie up their vampire on two fronts instead of just one. He can't focus too much on what Sypha is saying while Trevor's hands are skimming across his skin; he can't fixate too strongly on the tactile sensations Trevor is creating while Sypha keeps him tangled in the threads of conversation.
It's always good to have a firm plan of attack, when going up against a vampire. Disorient them, distract them. And when Alucard tips over the edge, they'll support him.]
Nor have you made any of those sounds that I like so much, yet. Tsk, tsk.
Is it any fun if everything is thrown to the wind in an instant?
[He knows the answer. It's of course not, this is all a part of the joy in two of them ganging up on the third. So there has to be some remaining composure, if just for a few minutes more.
There's a flash of hip where Trevor's moved the fabric of Alucard's nightclothes to one side. More pale skin exposed to the air, and there's a breathy sigh at that. That and a moment where Alucard's eyelids flutter close in an attempt to maintain his ability to speak.
That's a nice way of saying you like to make us work for it.
[Again, she takes a moment to reach for Trevor, instinctive in the way it completes the circuit between the three of them. She strokes his hair, runs her hand down his cheek; as she cups his jaw in her palm, it puts her thumb perfectly in line with his lips, and he flashes a crooked grin as he draws it into his mouth to tease.
It's how it should be, even when it's two against one. They're a triangle, a closed circuit, with every side supporting the other. It's good to still have that affection present, too, in the spaces between when they're both working their Alucard over in tandem.]
I'm going to bite you, my Alucard.
[Which she says for two reasons. One is to wind him up with anticipation, which is always a vital part of the process. The other, though, is because there's an understated check of permission in it — a presented opportunity for him to refuse, if for some reason he needs to refuse. Biting is one of those activities that needs an extra check and balance, when it comes to Alucard, and she would never be so careless as to ignore that.]
[He's smug when he says that. He's right, so he gets to be smug about it.
Smugness, naturally deserves what Alucard sees next. All teasing, attention from himself gone, and the terrible desire to insert himself into what he's witnessing save for the hand still tangled up in Trevor's hair. Alucard tugs, just so he feels included. Showing off like this, it's rude, but that's the entire point. Watching it all, he sighs, patience still enduring.
The hand that's in with Trevor's hair releases with Sypha's word, and it is coupled with a sharp intake of breath. (Trevor's moving too. No more lips at his neck, he's moving down towards Alucard's legs entirely now.) That hand goes to Sypha's breasts now, resting there gently.]
Please.
[Anticipation mixed with just a little bit of begging.]
[And herein lies his folly, relinquishing his hold on Trevor to reach for Sypha instead; she's already got one of his arms over his head, and it would really just complete the picture if that one turned into two.
Still, she's not altogether cruel about it. She lets him touch her, arching her back a little to better push her chest against his palm, but doesn't let him linger long before she catches that hand of his and brings it up to her mouth to kiss at each of the fingertips in its turn.]
[There are such worse mistakes to make. Because to have his hand moved, to have each part of his hand kissed with such attention to detail (and yes he knows it's to tease it all out, he doesn't care, this is glorious) is no hardship at all.
It's impossible not to pause for air at this point. Trevor's found a new spot, and it's in covering Alucard's thighs in terribly lingering kisses, a hand on each knee to hold the vampire steady. A perfect trap.
He has air. And he has his hands in Sypha's, and he has all his nerves ablaze, and God this would have played out so differently if the two had not tried to cook this morning, wouldn't it?]
Please bite me.
[The request is punctuated by soft groan. Some time ago one of them (Alucard can never remember who) figured out that the major leg artery is another spot that undoes the vampire, and Trevor's putting that knowledge to very good use now.]
Mmm, but I see two of us here. How will we ever know who you're talking to?
[Perhaps deliberately, perhaps just in good fun, or perhaps just by sheer coincidence, she catches the tip of his middle finger in her mouth and closes her lips over it, sucking just lightly enough for him to feel it before releasing it again.
He'd really better hurry up; she's starting to get sweetly frustrated from how much she wants to bite him and hear him cry out, but she's not going to surrender the advantage before he does first.
So. Trevor's got Alucard's knees trapped, and that makes two of his limbs. She'll see to the other two, she decides, and guides his other wrist up to join the first, so that they're both pinned up and out of the way against the mattress.]
[It is a weak protest, because he should have known better than to leave out her name. So now he's pinned and all the attention to below his waist is making him writhe under Sypha's weight. Which Trevor seems very aware of, because the intensity of attention only increases after that.
The other hand, now just as trapped as the first, squeezes Sypha's more forcefully than intended.]
Please Sypha. [And because if he doesn't say it in full, then she'll make him say this all again. She still might, but he has to let air come back into his lungs first.]
[She is absolutely terrible, but there's something absolutely electrifying about the way he falters and catches himself, how he realizes halfway through his begging that he's got to try it again or she'll take advantage of the openings he's left. It's lovely to see him like this, making mistakes and having to double back to correct them. Her lovely perfect Alucard, always so collected and so controlled, is unraveling at his edges and that's an aphrodisiac all in itself.]
Better. That was very pretty, you know.
[Of course, it's a little uncomfortable to keep her hands raised to hold his down while getting into position to bite his neck, so she has to think a minute about the logistics before eventually shrugging and relinquishing his wrists in favor of another devious idea.]
Keep your hands there. You'll be in trouble if you move them.
[And now she's free to get comfortable as she shifts and tucks her face against his neck, running the flat of her tongue over his pulse point before setting her teeth to it instead, and biting down.]
[Oh he's so fucked. The minute Sypha's hands leave his, he's fucked because it is instinct to touch and grab and caress and hold onto whichever one of them he can reach at all times. The whimper that responds to Sypha's command is totally one that asks how fucked am I if I don't?.
She knows it'll fail too, and that's what makes it worse. Alucard shifts just enough to accomodate the new distribution of weight (Trevor's not moved yet, but it seems like he was just waiting for this to happen.) All he can do is tilt his neck just a little bit more so that Sypha can go wherever she wants.
His nightshirt pulls just a little bit more as he does so, exposing more collarbone and shoulder. It shouldn't look as inappropriate as it does, but that's the nature of these things. The littlest bit of exposure becomes so much more pleasing. Just as teeth and pressure do, and there's a loud groan as Sypha delivers on what has been teased for far too long.]
[What a mess he is, pretty and disheveled and whimpering. Of course they both know this won't last for long before he moves, but the fun is in the interim, seeing how long his resolve can hold out in the face of herself and Trevor using all of his weak points against him. And the nice thing about Alucard is that one of his weak points, she's discovered, is his own mind; play her cards carefully, and he'll do half the work for her, all in his own head.
She takes her time biting him, working his skin with tongue and teeth, knowing full well that the bruise won't last but making sure he feels every second of her leaving it, anyway. He always looks so good with the marks of her possession on him, she muses; it never fails to send a rush of heat through her, to let her gaze skim over her perfect proper Alucard in all his ethereal beauty and see those little blotches of red and purple like ink spilt on a page, outlined in the memory of her teeth.
When she's finished, she draws back to look him over, and it's not enough. Just one isn't enough, not when the redness is already starting to fade away at the edges even now. So she drops to his shoulder and bites him again, pulling his collar out of the way as, fruitlessly, she tries and tries to mark him faster than his own nature can erase the signs that she's been there.]
[What else can Alucard do in this moment except writhe and moan in absolute contentment under the weight of them both? His hands cannot move (they can, but whatever Sypha has in her head is enough to keep them still). He cannot shift his head because it would limit the skin that Sypha can kiss and bite and tease. He cannot move his legs because Trevor's put all his weight there, and so there is only this. This and not knowing which name to stutter out in the few moments he can articulate anything, because they're both overwhelming him.
At some point, Trevor decides his own nightshirt needs to go, and that affords a different view of the whole beautiful mess - that of from the top down. Alucard lost in sensation, his hands clenched into fists because he hasn't gone completely over the edge yet, Sypha having the absolute time of her life making it so, fading red marks on the vampires neck, and enough of Alucard's nightclothes hiked up now to show that he's halfway aroused.
That's a quick enough fix. If Alucard caught any of Trevor's staring (his eyes are on Sypha, which is fair considering the angle he is at), he's unaware. The only thing he feels is a hand around his cock, which prompts a new and deeper moan. One that grows louder as hand is exchanged for mouth.
(There's an art to arranging bodies here too, and Trevor's very careful not to accidentally headbutt Sypha's ass or legs.)]
[It would be polite, she thinks, to make an adjustment to get a little more out of Trevor's way, because the logistics of threesomes are always a little complicated, even if they also happen to be the delicious spice of a relationship. The problem is, she also really just likes sitting on Alucard like this, and while in theory she could just scoot up a little and coax him into putting his mouth to work for her — no, that's too much like giving, when this one time alone she wants to focus entirely on making him lie there and take it.
So, hmm. Decisions, decisions.
Ultimately, she does abandon her seat on him for the moment, mostly because moving out of the way will mean letting Alucard actually watch what Trevor is doing to him, which is just another layer of encouraging the arousal she knows must be starting to consume him.]
Look at him.
[Knelt at his side, now, she skims a hand over his chest and lets it slip beneath the rumpled hem of his nightshirt's collar, carefully avoiding the ridge of the scar she knows is there in favor of tracing the rises and valleys of his pectorals like a cartographer mapping a terrain.]
His hair looks so thick and so soft, doesn't it?
[Which at first seems like a fleeting nonsense remark, up until she very deliberately picks up her hand and reaches down to bury her fingers in Trevor's hair, adding just a touch of her own guidance as he works — and very emphatically demonstrating precisely what Alucard probably wishes he could do with his hands, and can't.]
[Well, the headbutt to the butt isn't happening, because that was going to be the check-in move to decide where, precisely, this was heading. (A joke that Trevor would absolutely make right now too if he wasn't otherwise occupied.) As it is, he looks up just in time to see Sypha shift, and the immediate trajectory is crystal clear.
Alucard's certain that Sypha's not going to be content to shower his neck in affection. He wouldn't if the tables were turned (and they so often are), but there's such a look of disappointment on his face as she moves off of him. The warmth will linger (it always does), but it is not there and immediate and ever pressing. There's only the weight and fire below now.
There's just enough daringness in Alucard for him to grab a pillow and prop his head up on an angle so that he can follow Sypha's new instructions. (Flat on the back is terrible for good observation.) His hands don't move below his own ears, so she can't deploy whatever terrible punishment she has in mind. What he sees is too much, too overwhelming. His fingernails dig into his palms. There's not much more restraint left there.
He twists so he can lean into Sypha's hand. His chest is a favored place for attention too, even if it pales in comparison to the neck. Trevor's hands force Alucard's hips to stay in place, if only for now. (Trevor's also starting to have a problem, but that's secondary to the point right now.)]
It....always is.
[Fuck. Trevor leans into Sypha's hand, and Alucard feels every inch of that movement around him.]
[She would be remiss if she didn't shower Trevor in a given portion of her attention, too; it's really just icing on the cake that, per the whimsical rules of their little game, she's allowed to pet him like this and Alucard isn't.
She's watching him, though, and she sees the way he tucks his nails against his palms, the way he's fighting to be good no matter how difficult she makes it for him. Honestly, the fact that he's held himself back this long at all, without a tie around his wrists or a separate hand holding him down, is a testament to his powers of self-restraint — or perhaps just to his willingness to play along.
It almost makes her want to take pity on him.
Still running her hand through the thick of Trevor's hair, she reaches up to Alucard with the other and skims her fingers along his jawline.]
...You can put your hands on one of us.
[A generosity. Mostly just because she wants to see what he'll do.]
[It's both, of course. Proving that he can do this and knowing full well Sypha would make good on any threat she made as a part of the rules for this morning. Both of Alucard's fists unclench, if only because he's been given permission to touch anything at all.
Choice is agony. Movement is also agony because Trevor's leaning into Sypha's hand a little too much and he has absolutely mastered multitasking right now. So for a precious second there's no movement in his hands. Alucard moves his head instead, so that the fingers that were on his jawline are close to his lips instead and he can kiss at whatever he can reach of them.
He wants his hands on both of them. To grab hair or arm or ass or anything at all, to pull them both as close as can be and just feel their own heightened heartbeats against his. Maybe he could get away with it now, but it wouldn't be the same.
So he completes the circut instead. His hand atop Sypha's, the one that's exploring every inch of his chest. The grip is firm and needy and so very desperate.
(Trevor picks this exact moment to finally withdraw his mouth. His plan's done, every inch of Alucard's fully aroused now, and it's all the better to smirk up at the both of them with.)]
[It's the truth; the faint blush that heats her cheeks is confirmation enough of that. She's not sure exactly what she thought might come of the liberty she'd granted him, though — perhaps that he'd sink his fingers into Trevor's hair, or grab for her and pull her back on top of him. But no, he chooses to cling to her hand, and something about that makes her melt a little in a way she hadn't been expecting.
Her sweet romantic of a vampire. She can feel his desperation through the clutch of his hand, and it makes her idly wonder if perhaps he's been made to suffer enough.]
What do you want, Alucard?
[It's an echo from before, but softer this time. This time there's a gentleness in her voice that promises he'll get what he asks for, if he can find the presence of mind to fit it to words.]
[He did want to grab Trevor's hair. Keep him where he was until all was done, but that would be too easy for this....everything. There's enough sense to process that, but precious little else.
Trevor shifts a little too. He sits next to Sypha, wraps both of his arms around her because unlike others involved here he can, and maybe that's going to just egg things on a bit more. His chin rests on her shoulder (okay he's resting his stubble there), trying very hard to put on a poker face.
He's failing, but Alucard's a mess so there's no bantering about it at all. Alucard's going to be a mess for about an hour after this too, because his response happily reveals that he's just on the edge of everything.]
[Suddenly, she is trapped. Suddenly Trevor's prickly chin is tickling her skin, and she can't help but squirm a little herself as she's drawn against him, still clinging to Alucard's hand. And just look at him, laid out like a feast, or maybe more like a half-melted puddle of something sweet.]
You have us.
[Which goes without saying, of course, but it's a sweet endearment to offer up anyway.]
Though it's going to take some work to find a good position, if you're set on having both of us at once.
[There's a very gentle nudge from Trevor at the words "good position." Sypha started this. Sypha gets to figure out what constitutes as a good position, because her fault. Just like she broke it except in this time the thing tha's gotten broken is the vampire's ability to articulate just about anything.
Because he's at that point. He's nodded along to what's been said, but reason's left him, he's an absolute turned on mess and it's Sypha's fault. (And Trevor's, but mostly Sypha's.)
Alucard turns to face them both. Just a little on his side, he's in their hands.]
Yes, I know.
[Three words, said with such headiness. Neediness. Anticipation. As if the other two needed more confirmation of Alucard's state.]
[Oh, good fuck, look at him. Sypha broke it, indeed, where "it" is defined as "Alucard".
She elbows at Trevor a little in token retaliation for his own nudging, then wriggles free of his arms just enough to lean down and kiss Alucard properly on his soft, beautiful mouth, because he deserves it.]
Just for that, you can do the hard work. Alucard, stay on your side. And you, lie down behind him, with his back to your chest.
[Which also puts him out of the running for kisses because NO KISSES FOR BLAMEY BLAMERS. But that's also her cue to shift and take up her own position in front of Alucard, facing him and easily within reach.
Arranging the three of them is never an easy prospect, and this is perhaps no exception. But preparing Alucard to take Trevor at this point would take time she doesn't feel like wasting (and he doesn't deserve it anyway, awful thing), whereas she's much better suited to let him slip inside her while Treffy fits himself between Alucard's thighs from behind, and lets the rocking of his hips drive the both of them forward into her.
It's far from ideal, but in the long run, it works — rather like the three of them, really.]
[Sypha has 200% broken the vampire. That fact, along with the retalatory elbow from Sypha, gets a very soft laugh from Trevor because what else can he do? He lets Sypha free of his arms, and really, that's not hard work she's assigning him! (He's getting kisses though, you aren't in charge of him entirely Sypha.)
Broken vampire is also extremely happy to do as he's told, and the minute that he can grab onto Sypha, he does. She's so warm in his arms, warmer around him, and everything else is trying to kiss whoever he can whenever it's possible. Trevor steals quite a few (hard work tax he'll claim later), because he shouldn't be denied looking at Alucard as he unravels in full just for one or two rude comments.
Which Alucard does. Being so very pleasantly stuck between the two, there's no point in trying to hold back or maintain his ability to talk or do anything else besides enjoy every part of this. The fact the two of them are on either side, the way Trevor's hips move them all along, the noises Sypha makes when he buries his mouth into her shoulder because there's loud and then there's whatever he's doing at the moment. Because he's loud and he's undignified and there's so much happening around him that he wants to respond to, but everything is overloaded in the best, most wonderful, perfect way.
Unsurprisingly, he finishes first. It's not a muffled noise, because Trevor figures out what's happening and tugs Alucard's hair just enough so that the other two can enjoy the display. They've worked hard (hah) to make it happen, and there's a terrible pride in seeing the final result. In watching everything reach a crescendo and knowing it's made all the more intense because there's no place for Alucard to move. There's just the weight of the two of them and the knowledge that the other two will still be there when Alucard finishes, because they're not done.
Until they are, and then there's nothing but a very collapsed pile of limbs in bed, all heavy breathing and satisfied because there are good mornings, and then there's this wonderful one.]
[Sypha, lazy and spoiled thing that she is, lifts her head up a little from where she's landed half-draped over Alucard, one arm somehow managing to land in the perfect position to keep a handful of Trevor's ass, and sighs pleasantly before settling back down again with the sleepy contentment of someone blissfully unable to perceive how comfortable or uncomfortable an arrangement of limbs might objectively be, being too preoccupied with warm satisfaction.]
[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.]
[She peeks, and then abruptly she spots them too — dishes, a mug, left to languish there on the nightstand for goodness knows how long. She doesn't even want to get close to them, from how absolutely rank they probably are inside, but thinking about them for too long makes room for realization to start to set in, and then the affront just turns into a sort of rueful melancholy.]
...Oh.
[She wraps both her arms around one of his, holding on to him for support.]
Always did this. Complained the kitchen was too far away, and then they'd snipe about the growing pile of stuff on the nightstand.
[Strangely enough, there's more warmth in Alucard's tone than sorrow. It's there, oh yes, but it isn't dominant. There's a soft noise, a not quite a laugh, and Sypha's warmth just lets him speak freely.]
I've never been sure he even came back in here.
[It's painful over two years later. (He counts the year that he was forced to rest.) The immediate aftermath...he can't even imagine.]
[No different, she muses, than the elbow wars that ensue between them over breakfast, or the bedroom kicking in search of a better portion of blanket, or complaints about Trevor's laundry or how long Alucard takes brushing his hair in the morning or her habit of stealing food off of other people's plates when she thinks no one is watching.
It's better that Trevor isn't here for this, indeed. Being in this bedroom makes Dracula so much less of a vengeful force of evil and so much more of just a man, and a father, and a husband.]
...Perhaps that's how your mother could be so sure that we would find her papers where she thought they would be. Because no one...would have moved them.
I wasn't allowed the same privilege. I once dragged an entire deer into my room out of spite for it.
[That had been the worst laundry day, but it had been worth it because of his mother's face. The shock of seeing the sight, the anger of ignoring a particular rule, and the yes, my son's still half-vampire I should have expected this.
But going through all of this, it doesn't hurt as much as Alucard expected it to. That dream was more than just the castle's fate, it was closure in a way that he never, ever anticipated the luxury of closure would be offered to. Grief had lifted more than just slightly.
His fingers don't touch anything yet. He instead muses on Sypha's words, nodding along.]
Yes, that's likely. And I know there was never any locked storage here in this room, so the only option are drawers or stuck under something.
[He'll earn himself a nudge for that, even as her teasing comes with the probable intent of trying to help keep his mood light.]
Mm. So the question is, where would your mother have kept such a thing. Someplace where she could get to it easily, surely. She would be the only one who would've needed documents like those, yes? Because your father wrote them down for her to begin with.
I'm glad to see you have carried the tradition for very stupid arguments on through the present day. Though I hope you have lost your attachment to eating whole deer in the bed.
[She tips her head to the side, pressing a kiss against his shoulder, before tugging him over toward the bed so that they can examine the nightstand together.]
Mm, do you want to know a funny secret? I like furniture with little drawers in it, like this. I think it's fun, to have a little place to keep treasures in close at hand.
[Bedroom furniture being, of course, an almost nonexistent commodity in the Speaker lifestyle.]
Some things are very much inherited. Dramatics, if you two are anything to go by, and stupid arguments. [He is not dramatic. They're just biased.] There will never be an animal in bed. You have my word.
[She can make a joke about it too, if she'd like. But for now, he'll take that kiss so happily. Sypha knows she can drag him all over creation too, so there's no hardship in going over to the nightstand - save for the smell.]
[You better believe she's absolutely going to go for it. Fortunately, there are more important things to do here than standing around making innuendo — like exploring this little nightstand drawer.]
Mm, it's not as though a society of nomads had much need for fixtures like these. They're designed to stay still, and we are made for moving around.
[Still, she's delighted as she curls her fingers around the drawer knob and slides it open, peering inside with eager curiosity at the assortment of handkerchiefs, candle stubs, matchsticks, and wide, flat box covered in black velvet.]
...Hmm, that doesn't look like something that would hold papers, does it...
[But someone had to do it. Either way, Alucard is carefully observing from behind Sypha as the drawer opens. It isn't as if he expects something to leap out, but he knows that sometimes memories are triggered by little things. Scent is one of them, and here and now, mixed with all the dust, is something much more familiar. Herbs and refined medicines and just a little too much soap because cleanliness was important for his mother's work. (Just not the dishes.)
What's in there is very normal. The box is probably jewelry. (Her wedding ring is long gone.) For completeness's sake, Alucard picks it up carefully.]
[She's careful in the way that she asks, resting a hand on his arm as she turns her attention to him fully. On one hand, the search is important and they both clearly want to be thorough about it, but on the other...
Everything in this room is a remnant of his mother. And boxes like that aren't meant for mere trifles. There's a memory in there, and possibly a strong one, and she's here as much for moral support as to actually assist in the poking around. If he doesn't want to face it, she'll find a means of ensuring that he doesn't have to.]
I could look first, just to see if there's paper inside. And if not we could leave it alone.
[There is not, it turns out, paper inside the box. There is, however, precisely what one might expect to find in the sort of case that would evidence jewelry — a necklace, massive and ornate almost to the point of being gaudy, but for the fact that the absolutely breathtaking craftsmanship pulls it back from the ledge of being so. It's the type of piece that belongs in a collection amidst the crown jewels of a nation, wrought with red gemstones set in an unusually lightweight, silvery metal — cleverly, so as to minimize the weight on the neck of the wearer without sacrificing any of the ostentation.
It's a necklace fit for a queen. Quite possibly, it was designed specifically to rival any that currently exists in the coffers of any royal currently on the earth.
[Very, very carefully, Alucard reaches out and puts a single finger to the metal. Silver would be heavier, but this box already weighs a ton.
There's no burning. There's nothing at all, and a very small smile flicks across his face at that. Leave it to his father to just be like that. To have something like this made and then set it all in faux silver.]
Nor is it silver.
[A wedding present, if Alucard had to make a guess. Anniversary if not that. Either way, this is too intimate for him to be looking at, and so the box is simply set down on the nightstand.]
[It's a good thing he puts it away when he does, or Sypha would have to get in on this jewelry-poking action, wide-eyed and fascinated by the treasure they've discovered.]
...It's beautiful. It must have been special to her, that she kept it so close at hand, and not with her others.
[...Oh.]
Because I assume she must've had...many others...
[Presuming that Dracula was anything like his son when it came to EXTRAVAGANT GIFTS, which is not that far of a leap, considering he had to get it from somewhere.]
...Knowing them both, that's an entirely fair assumption.
[His father was Like This. And that is the long and short of it all.]
Wedding or engagement. Those would be my guesses.
[He's been thinking about both. As beautiful as that necklace is, it is also hardly practical. His mother kept it on hand, so very close to them both, and the piece was more statement than meant to be worn.]
...We should look for a painting of it. Not now, but...sometime. Something like that is made to be seen — I'll bet there's one around somewhere, of her wearing it.
[But they're not here for darkness, they're here for unbreaking the castle. So that's her cue to riffle quickly through the rest of the contents of the drawer, just to confirm their suspicions.]
[Wedding or engagement portrait? It's an absolute possibility. And as Sypha goes through what remains in the drawer, Alucard bends down because there's another logical place to keep things: under the bed.
He's still at a bad angle though, so what this really requires is him getting down on his stomach and looking properly. Dust bunnies, dust bunny village, dust bunny wastelands...two boxes. One on either side of the bed it seems, their ends butted up against each other.]
I think I found a second option. Can you please step back so I'm not under foot?
[She says, waggling her eyebrows at him before obligingly backing up to give him his space. She's half-tempted to crouch down with him, but one look at the dust bunny apocalypse underneath there quickly dissuades her from the notion; she's sneezy enough already, as it is.]
The dust bunnies put up no fight as Alucard pulls the box out. It's not terribly fancy, just wood covered in dust. A lot of it, thicker than the rest of the room. No one ever dusted under the bed, so it isn't a terrible shock.
He doesn't blow all the accumulated dust off either - that'd be rude. All he does is sit up on the floor, and lift the lid carefully.]
[She's in no position to be making that demand, either.
Now she hunkers down, however, crouching at his side to peer in as the lid is lifted. This box is considerably bigger than a slender, elegant jewelry box; that's probably a good sign.]
...Journals?
[The top layer, at least. Three plain journals of the make and design that Lisa favored, along with some looseleaf sheets tucked underneath.]
[The sheets are where Alucard goes first, the journals gently placed atop the box's lid for the time being. With the box firmly in his lap, the sheets are unfolded very, very carefully.
Not that he need treat any of this like a relic. The paper is sturdy. Hardly ancient. The ink is still wonderfully dark and crisp, making it easier to read.]
Starting here makes more sense, the information was written down and then given.
[And indeed, what only Alucard will immediately notice is that the handwriting on the looseleaf isn't his mother's neat, compact lettering, but letters with more of an elegant flourish — Vlad's.
The good news is, they seem to be on the right track.
The bad news is, the top sheet is definitely a love letter, with a few paragraphs along the top to serve as introduction for what appear to be a handful of short verses centered on the page below it.]
And then there's the fact that his father was the most over the top vampire to ever vampire, which means that the top sheet is handed to Sypha almost immediately because Alucard is not about to read that.]
Neither of you get to complain about anything I say or do romantically ever again.
[There's poetry. Real poetry. Too much poetry, really.
[His suffering is not in vain! The other sheets seem more promising at first glance, as these ones have diagrams painstakingly inscribed on them with little figures that look like gears — and then, jackpot, one of the twenty-sided figure that represents the control mechanism for the castle's movements.
Unfortunately, Sypha being Sypha, she's reading the letter.]
It's not all romantic. There are also some very strong opinions on peasants.
[Which is a basic fact of being around his father. Moreover and more to the point though are the pages he has now, and he spreads each out on top of the box carefully. Then nudges Sypha with an elbow, real excitement in his voice.]
These are the pages in questions. The gears were things I already understood, but the actual control mechanism has always been beyond me. This was meant for...[He turns one of the pages over.] Emergencies, and specifically for someone not used to doing magic, never mind controlling an entire castle.
"There, you see, Lisa, I have crafted my love into verses, as these peasant men do while they toil all day in their fields."
[She recites, just to belabor the point, before carefully setting the love letter aside onto the mattress and moving to look at the diagram pages with him, instead.]
...Could your mother do magic, to begin with? She loved science so much, it's hard to imagine her tolerating something like magic, and a spell will always fail if you don't first believe it can succeed...
[At least it's said with a groan and a laugh. Because it is funnier rather than anything else, and there's still so much weight of just being in here.]
Not to my knowledge. But she was stubborn and hardheaded, and if intent is the foundation for magic then I doubt that there would have been too great a struggle.
At any age, I would have wanted to help her move it.
[He never did, of course. He understood so many of the mechanics that went into the castle, what kept it running. Gresit was testament to that. But moving the castle was something else entirely and....
...and as good and as soft and as lovely as Sypha's hand is (and he leans into it so very much), there's a note that catches his eye in particular.]
I think I found the part that you broke the hardest.
But that's actually the point. The part of the engines that process intent are both the hardest to break and the hardest to repair. And this page [he taps it gently] talks about the particulars. Not in great depth, but it's more than just looking at the damage will do. The mechanics and magic of it are intertwined to function properly, see?
[He will be forgiven only long enough for her to read this very interesting manuscript, because it is very interesting and thus more worthy of her attention at the moment.]
So...if I am reading this correctly, the person who moves the castle...doesn't move the castle. They instruct, in such a way that the castle knows how to obey, and then it moves itself.
[She frowns slightly, eyes skimming over the page again.]
It's like a trained dog. The dog knows the command for "come", and will come for its master. But I put a leash around it and...well, dragged it.
[Alucard re-reads the page again, thoughtful. Considering. Then correcting, because there's something else at hand.]
But there is an element of guidance though. I think that the better comparison would be working with horses? They know what to do but you have to nudge them along the appropriate path.
A better question, I think, is — will we have to reteach the castle how to obey? Or only fix the mechanisms that allow it to move?
[It's a little bizarre to be referring to the castle like a living thing while physically inside the castle. Despite herself, she glances at one of the walls, like she's expecting it to be eavesdropping.]
I don't think we've made an extensive study of how it broke, exactly.
It's sort of a cute thought, though, isn't it? You and your castle, like childhood playmates!
[Says Sypha, whose knowledge of childhood playmates comes pretty much exclusively from hearing folktales and legends that include them as a narrative staple.]
Well. We will certainly have to release the locking spell, but that should not be too difficult. And I think you may have to focus on the mechanisms themselves; I'm not sure if I could even lift them, much less repair them.
Back to the matter at hand. Alucard hums thoughtfully, considering the plan.]
Let's observe the damage first, and link each part to what's presented on the page. I'll...need a notebook, first, but that means all the research and results we do shall be recorded in one place.
[They get to do science!! Together!]
Don't even release the locking spell, we need to account for that in our initial observations.
Mm, all right. Then shall we leave these things out, or put the room back the way we found it...?
[Either option has its merits. On one hand, restoring the room to the way Lisa must have left it. On the other...reclaiming it, in some capacity, from being a moment frozen in time, a monument to a dead woman.]
That cup's getting washed. Possibly thrown away because I have no idea how much is just stuck to it now.
[He eyes the thing on the nightstand with Great Suspicion and concern. There's new lifeforms in that thing, he knows it.
But as for the rest. The journals are put away carefully, and for now, the box goes back to under the bed. They've touched precious little else, really.]
I'll keep it as it was for now. We'll have to come back anyway, that gives me more time to think.
[She takes a minute when he's finished putting everything away, leaning into his side and letting her head come to rest on his shoulder.]
Your mother was a woman who was careless with her dishes. There are so many sides of her in this castle — the beautiful paintings, her writing in the journals, the things you remember of her — but it's...nice, to know that there are these things, too. She left her mugs out because she didn't feel like taking them down to the wash.
[She hesitates a moment.]
Or your father, full of scorn but still writing your mother poems the way that peasants did for their lovers. To the rest of us, they were like figures of legend. It's...nice, to be able to see them the way you knew them. Like people.
[Warm. Sypha's always warm, and to have her leaning on him like this is just a perfect little touch of warmth to compliment the room. It was always warm here, in all the strange little ways that no one would ever expect his father's bedroom to be. (Or for it to have a bed in the first place.) It's impossible not to wrap his arm around Sypha's middle, tugging her just that tiniest bit closer.]
It is always easier to build up a mythology when the little details are obscured.
[But Sypha knows that. She knows stories better than the other two, how they work, why they work. Because that's about intent too, isn't it? Just like magic.]
Mmhmm. "Ţepeş, Belnades, and Belmont". You get top billing because it doesn't have as nice of a ring to it any other way.
[How strange, these days, to think that she'd once described Alucard as a cold spot in the room. He is, still, in many ways. But his sadness isn't something bottomless and engulfing, not anymore. Maybe it's more like an ocean now, still vast and deep, but with islands he's made out of moments like this, for the people he loves.]
I'm going to make sure all the legends include the part about you putting your cold feet on me in the winter.
[But the surnames are what are easier to remember. For Trevor and himself, it is also redemption. Putting new deeds to old names, old names with too much baggage these days. He makes the suggestion anyway, because the person is the important part.]
If you didn't run warm, we wouldn't have this problem.
[It is said with such smug satisfaction that he probably has earned an elbow.]
[He just laughs at that. He can't not, the elbow is earned, as is the sentiment. For the rest of it, there is only quiet contentment, because this is now how Alucard expected this to go at all.
[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.
The finished dresses are, admittedly, not nearly so instantly eye-catching as the bolt of cloth is, but that's less a criticism of the dresses and more just a reflection of how extra the cloth of gold is, in and of itself. But that doesn't mean she fusses over them any less; each one gets its turn beneath her scrutiny, lifting them up and turning them over to examine the fastenings and the craftsmanship, in part out of wonder and in part from the sheer practicality of, well, she's never actually worn such a thing before, and doesn't precisely know all the ins and outs of how it works.
But she's nothing if not ambitious, and so it happens that the one she ultimately selects is the soft green one, mostly on the principle of "go big or go home". So she re-folds the others and replaces them back in their lump, before tiptoeing over to the door and closing it to ensure against any random passerby seeing what she's doing (there are only two other people in the entire castle but OH WELL) before returning to figure out the trappings of this dress.
There are, unsurprisingly, several false starts, in which she's not entirely sure if she's supposed to step into it or pull it over her head, and where to loosen what cleverly-crafted pieces to get her limbs where they belong before tightening things up again. But eventually she's pretty much worked out the basics, and she wriggles into it carefully to avoid the risk of pulling out any stitching, and she...actually discovers she can't get it properly fastened on her own because she can't reach it but she does the best she can at making it halfway to functional, at least.
And then she looks at herself in the mirror, and the sight nearly bowls her over. She's so used to the Speakers' atmosphere of conformity and androgyny that it's startling to see herself like this — narrow-waisted, long-sleeved, full-skirted, femininity shouted to the world instead of kept under wraps.
She stares at herself awhile, twisting and turning and discovering with pleasure how every movement makes the skirt swish. Then, when she's had her fill of staring, it's off to find Alucard, with her skirts lightly picked up to keep them clear of her feet — and that affords her no small measure of girlish glee in and of itself.]
[Alucard has been keeping an ear out for reactions for most of the afternoon. Trevor's gift is further afield, something that requires more concentration, but the library is close enough to their bedroom (on purpose) that he knows when Sypha's at least gotten to the room.
The delay, he imagines, is because everything still must be tested for size. He's good, but not perfect, and the requirement of secrecy does have the potential to leave something to be desired.
He can refit and readjust. That's easy work once Sypha's decided what changes ought to be made.
When Sypha finds him, he's at the table they've used for castle research and repairs, head down and trying very, very hard to not look up. This is totally casual. Yup. Not just waiting for anyone to come stumbling in.]
[The doorway proves an interesting challenge, itself; she's not quite used to skirts this full, and catches herself checking to make sure she's got clearance to sashay through before coming inside. Curious how she's noticing all these little things she never really thought about before, thanks to the comfort of Speaker robes.
On the other hand, Speaker robes aren't precisely conducive to posing, which is what she's surreptitiously attempting to do once she's through the door — just what she'd done in the mirror in the bedroom, a slight angle to the side, shoulders back, chin raised just a touch to elongate her neck, skirt billowed out all around her legs, and arms...
Okay, she didn't really figure out the arms very well, but bent slightly at the elbow is probably better than just straight down at her sides, at least.]
[He looks up at the ahem, trying to hide the smile on his face. The time delay is for the exact reason he thought it might be, and God.
There's a very quiet, perfect moment where Alucard just sits there, chin in hand, looking beyond dazzled at Sypha. He does it a lot to them both, because that's just what he does, but in this moment there's far more weight to it. The gravity is known only to himself for the time being, but that's just fine.
Maybe she's started to learn his flare for the dramatic too. Because that's what that pose is, and after looking, he is on his feet to greet her properly.]
I was hoping you'd get to the bedroom earlier rather than later today.
Imagine my surprise, when I found something on the bed that wasn't there before! Astonishing, really...
[It's difficult to play coy, though, when he looks at her like that, which means the lofty act and innocent affect are a little bit spoiled by the blush that heats her cheeks. Still, she holds the pose until he gets nearer to her, and only then does a half-turn to reveal the semi-disarray of the fastenings she wasn't quite able to do herself.]
[He grins, a little too cheeky, but crouches down to help with back. He thought that this was simplified enough to be done by oneself, but more fool him. It is complicated, and that's only apparent now with Sypha actually wearing the dress.
Still, it takes no time at all to fix everything properly, and it gives the skirt of the dress just enough clearance so that Sypha doesn't have to hold it any time she needs to move.]
[She wriggles around a little, testing the new fit now that he's gotten her settled, and — oh, yes, that's much better. And all the more impressive for it, considering he's pulled it off this well without ever letting on, much less having her actually do a proper fitting.]
I think this is perhaps the most impractical thing I have ever worn. It's only good for looking beautiful.
[Oh. Oh, right, his arm. Not just for hugging, but for — aha. This is absolutely stupid and ridiculous and fantastical and true, she wouldn't want to do this every day, but just this once, and just for fun? Amazing.
So she takes his arm, a little too delicately at first because she's imitating pictures and emulating stories, but quickly discovers she's got to be a little more solid than that and readjusts.]
[He tries not to laugh at that um. Manages, even, although his smile flickers closer to a laugh for just that moment. This isn't terribly over the top to him, but...well, the rest is the important part.
Alcuard moves them both over to the sofa, careful as anything, because it is clear that Sypha's adjusting and he'll not rush that forward.]
I think it's more interesting if I'm not. If I'm just myself.
Just yourself is the best of all. Then I am just me, too.
[She's also getting better at moving around with every step, having discovered that smaller, quicker steps are more conducive to keeping her skirt from going everywhere than a long stride that would risk kicking it around and tangling it.]
[He sits first. It's only because there is a sneaking suspicion that if walking is a learning experience, then sitting? Sitting is about to be an adventure, and he wants the most comfort possible before this conversation continues.]
[And thus Sypha learns firsthand through trial and error, the necessary art of "how to get a skirt tucked so you can bend at the knees and sit on a thing", which possibly crumples it in the back once or twice before she susses it out, but at least in short order, she's seated.]
This is so complicated! But I suppose that's what I get for choosing the fancy one...
[Alucard has the good grace not to laugh at any of this. But he doesn't stop smiling, and he does offer his arm once or twice when he feels it's needed.]
You...really did pick the most ornate one, didn't you?
[She says, as she leans into him and figures out how to get her legs up onto the sofa, bent at the knees and still blanketed under her skirt so she's curled catlike against him, and almost certainly draws attention to it specifically so that now he'll be trapped thinking about it this whole time.]
[But he would dare to kiss the top of her head several times over, both arms wrapping around her waist gently. A few moments of gentle quiet.
Fuck. She's beautiful like this. Always has been. Always will be. But being curled up like this feels like the first time they found themselves like this in the library, and that second first time feeling never happens.
[He's got his arms around her, yes, but hers are free, and with the way she's angled into him, it's not at all difficult to shift her arm around and lightly walk her index and middle fingers up his chest.]
[That's unfair, Sypha. But he kisses the top of her head to re-center, and then keeps going.]
There's little point in assuming that the way things are will change between the three of us. [They've been rocky steady as anything since the two came back to the castle for the very first time.] And if we did not live outside of any law of our own, I would worry about the feasibility of anything I am about to say, for no church or court would grant us this one thing.
[He's gentle as he keeps speaking. Confident, but only just so.]
I'd like to solemnize what is already here. If only between us three. If only for our own pleasure and joy of it. I cannot do that without the two of you in agreement.
[That is a lot of roundabout words to sift through and reorganize in order to more clearly see the meaning in the midst of them, but fortunately she is a Speaker and words are what she Does and so it's sooner rather than later that the recognition sinks in.]
...Alucard.
[That's worthy of lifting her head up to look him in the eyes.]
Did you trick me into a fancy dress just so that I would look nice when you asked me to marry you?
Are you getting anxious because I have not answered you yet?
[Okay, okay, enough is enough.]
I love you. There is nothing in the world that makes me happier than when I am with you, and with Trevor. I don't care, either, if the church or the courts or if anyone else even knows. I just know I want you to smile at me like that, forever.
[She reaches up, brushing her fingers along the line of his jaw, the way she knows he likes.]
[What else is there to do then? Kiss the fingers that brush along his jawline. Then Sypha's hand in full, and then her lips, because there are no more words needed. For all he cares, whatever they decide to do to make this official could be done now, and he'd be as happy for those words as any other vow made.
Yes.
He never doubted. But the words are still lovely to hear.]
[No interventions. Just sitting here and listening to this with absolute delight because all that's going through Alucard's head (beyond what this evening shall be like) is my wife.]
Because you've yet to utter the words Her Royal Highness. Mistake one. Mistake two, thinking that there's any title I care more about than getting to be one of two husbands to you.
[Sypha's right. Because his face somehow manages to grow fonder, softer, and even more stupidly, desperately, ridiculously happy than it already is . There are no tears, but the warmth and adoration that radiates off that face could get a field to grow.]
My wife.
[And okay, maybe he's a little teared up now, but that's going to be solved with another kiss because shut up.]
[Is it time for swooning into his arms because this seems like a great time to just drape herself all over him, which is also conducive to kissing so it works out.]
Your wife!
[They've done reverence; now this iteration rings with joy and delight and elation.]
Your wife, that's it, you're going to have me as your wife! And when I sleep on you in the summers and make you hot from soaking up all of your coolness, you will just have to accept it as my wife privilege!
[Better her than him, which is liable to happen about now.]
Yes.
[Yes to all of it. Yes to the tone of this and the sheer joy of hearing Sypha say it too. Maybe he'll just start calling her that today, maybe not, but the sheer heights that his heart has just soared to are impossible to articulate.]
[She goes with him obligingly, lifting her chin for a kiss that feels like it's straight out of a fairy tale itself, and when he's done she steals a second and a third before she lets him get away.
If she weren't in her exceedingly fancy dress, and thus worried about taking good care of it, she'd be far more maneuverable at the moment. But as it is, she still manages to twist a little and situate herself so that she can get in close to his ear, which is mostly what she's after because she finds she wants, more than anything, to hear him laugh like that again.
Maybe she really is a furnace, she thinks idly. Something to warm him from the outside when he draws near to it, helping the cold spot in the room lose its chill when it has no way of accomplishing that itself.]
Your wife, your wife, your wife.
[Like a chant, like a spell, three times in all, and she presses each one against his ear, velvet and hot.]
[It has never, ever escaped Alucard's notice that for two men so scarred by fire, they've placed all of their affections with a woman who burns like a bonfire at night. Heating everything, shining through all the dark. It's the most joyful irony in life, and he'd never exchange it.
Never has he felt that thought more keenly than in this moment, between all the kisses, between Sypha so, so carefully rearranging herself (he swore that design was simple in comparison to some of the others!) She's here, and the words said are a spell. Magic is intent, after all, and what else is this entire arrangement going to be? Intention. Intention to just formalize things a little more, intention to have a tiny little sign that the world can see that there is so much more than scholar, hunter, soldier.
(Will they all just wear one ring, or two? That's a discussion to have later.)
Trevor's still absent. Maybe leaving that gift in the Hold was an error in judgement. A thought for later, because Sypha's demanded all of his attention. All the warmth in him right now is because of her, and those words only add fuel to that same warmth.]
Yes. [There's still such joy in his voice. He sighs, so soft and content.]
[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.]
Mm, I think you knocked him out for most of the morning.
[His slippers make no noise on the garage floor, and it's an easy enough thing to walk over to the driver's side of the car. He never rolled the window back up after last night (he knows he drove the three of them home), so it's the easiest thing in the world to put his forearm there, and to lean his head in for this discussion.]
I meant did you sleep for more than two or three hours. You do not rise so early most days.
[Now that's a fair point; it's rare to unheard-of that she be the first one out of bed, after all, but here she is. And here he is, leaning up by the window to see her, which coincidentally also puts him at the perfect height for her to lean over and press a kiss to his cheek.]
I think I'm just too excited to sleep much. I was talking last night to someone about magical theory, and I keep thinking of everything we discussed. It makes it hard to settle down! So after I fell asleep and woke up a few times, I decided to just get up.
[That kiss gets a soft little hum of contentment. It's a nice thing to have in the morning, since usually it doesn't happen until he has made coffee and the other two have chugged an entire pot of it for themselves. (Alucard uses a peculator for theirs, and a press of his father's invention for his own. He needs strictly less, and it is easier than having to wait for the pot on the stove to go again.)]
...I'll assume that it's theory related to travel, since you're sitting here in the car?
[He grins up at her, and there's that terrible nerdy as fuck tone to it that means he really is. That nothing would make him happier.]
But I don't believe in that kind of discussion on an empty stomach either.
[Alucard is smart enough to realize that he is leaning on the door, so he stops doing that. Opens it for her too, and is gentleman enough to offer his hand to help her out.
There's been a lot of theory lately. It's given him a thought on what to do with the extra space in the garage.]
Then I suppose you will just have to make me breakfast.
[Well-played. She scoots her legs around, taking his hand as she hops down out of the car, and doesn't let it go once her feet are back on the ground.]
Though I should warn you, you aren't going to like the idea.
[Hand in hand. Out the garage, through the corridor, past the purchased works of art that hang on the walls. (His father was an early adopted of the impressionists.)]
But you should tell me regardless, so that I might poke holes in the theory.
Well. The part you won't like is that we were talking about blood magic.
[She says it matter-of-factly, as she holds on to his hand and bumps her shoulder lightly against him, like this is everyday conversation worthy only of passing remark.]
I've never heard of doing magic the way that they were describing. But they said that instead of using magic just to operate the existing parts in the car, they animate the car itself. Which sounds like the same thing! But it turns out it's a little different, I think.
But no, it is a different concept. They're talking about using magic to power all the parts of the car that allow for it to function, rather than gasoline. Or steam. Or electricity.
[His father had a prototype or two of the last one...]
Not on the seats! On the engine, I think. Or the hood? Well, anyway.
[She waves a dismissive hand, presumably at the very notion of getting blood all over the nice interior of the car.]
It sounded like making a golem, except instead of a golem, it's the car. And, well, instead of animating it with rituals like a golem, you...summon a demon into the the blood you marked it with and somehow it possesses the car. But in theory it was very interesting! And terrible.
The engine would make more sense in context, but I still don't approve of the concept.
[The kitchen then. It is a bright and airy thing, windows everywhere, curtains fluttering in the breeze. Beautiful marble counters from the Italian mountains, the rest the technology of the age but so much more refined. As always, the coffee pot sits on the counter, and Alucard goes to it first.]
I mean, binding a demon to a car seems like a fast way to get into an accident. Excellent vengeance, but hardly an option for every day driving.
Yes, I was told that it is an important part of the process to find a demon you can intimidate properly.
[Hopefully he doesn't need his entire body in the process of making breakfast, because when he moves to the counter, Sypha does too, coming up behind him and wrapping her arms around his waist as she leans touch-hungry against the length of his back.]
The person I was talking to seemed to be awfully derisive of them.
Demons are hard to control at the best of times, and I will bet you your conversation companion was terribly, terribly drunk.
[Alucard has long since mastered the art of cooking with Sypha holding onto the back of him. Little steps, and making sure everything is within arm's reach. For coffee, it's the easiest thing in the world because there is a dedicated part of the countertops just for coffee. He takes the filter and puts it in the basket, adds the grinds, and he put the water in the pot last night.
The hard part is this one: inching to the stovetop without disturbing her terribly. Alucard is careful, and soon enough the coffee pot is where it ought to be, gas flame heating it from below.]
Oh, yes, he was absolutely zozzled, no doubt of that.
[At least she's not out to actively inhibit him; she shuffles along when he shuffles too, intent only on making his job tricky as opposed to outright impossible.]
But still very nice! And charming. He said if I ever got tired of going with you to please consider him first in line to be my next beau. But I wouldn't be too worried, because I heard him say that to three other guests besides me, too.
Anyone talking about demons in cars will always be that far gone.
[There's nothing left to do but let the peculator do it's thing. So in the mean time, Alucard backs up just enough so he can turn around in Sypha's arms, and moves them back over to the counter. Slowly.]
You didn't get a name, did you?
[Hm. Sypha's not at a good height right now for kissing properly, and too much time last night was spent focused on Trevor.
(Not too much time at all. There's a luxury in just watching the two, some evenings.)]
Hmm! No flames. Now I have to admit I am a little disappointed.
[Only about the lack of follow-through, though. She's not in the least bit disappointed with this turn of events, in part because she's well aware that getting put on the counter is a sign that kisses are going to be forthcoming, and in part because so often Alucard is picky about his kitchen countertops and the things that are put on them.
Fortunately, with her weight now supported by something other than her legs, she's free to hook them loosely around Alucard's waist, mostly to trap him in place.]
I'll bet you anything it's just some two bit human mage thinking he's clever and trying to worm his way into higher circles.
[This part of the countertop is perfectly safe, and it means that when Alucard grins up at Sypha, he's....actually looking up. Counters in the house did err towards the taller end of the spectrum, given his father's height.]
Oh, do you think so? Well, that's not nearly so much fun. I want to talk to the creatures of the night, the real ones; they have much different perspectives on magic.
The ones who aren't worth your time will always carry themselves in the same way. Overly assertive, demanding respect without ever truly having earned it. You learn to pick out the demeanor over time.
[Speaking of perspective. This is a nice one.]
Mm, much better. You have a terrible habit of making me terrified to turn the gas on, in case I elbow you in the face.
Do you remember when I broke Trevor's wrist? Now stretch that guilt out for six weeks.
[Alucard, if nothing else, knows how he will react in certain situations.]
Hmmm. [There's a quite consideration as Alucard rests his hands on the top of Sypha's thighs. His bathrobe sleeves cover said hands, and perhaps it looks a little silly. From where he stands, he can press a very soft kiss to Sypha's chest.]
Self assured without being overbearing. Someone who knows her skills, will talk of them happily, and is open to new theories. Just enough arrogance because you know you stand taller than your peers.
[If the coffee decides to be done now, at this precise moment, she is going to break the entire coffeepot into pieces. Fortunately, it has the good sense to carry on a little longer, which frees her to pull her shoulders back just slightly, arching her spine a touch in an almost-but-not-quite lean into the touch of his mouth.]
What a way to describe someone. It almost sounds as though you are in love with her.
[The water has to boil first, and then the coffee must simmer for a full seven minutes. There is time enough for indulgence, and Alucard kisses the same spot again.]
[She says, as she picks up a hand and strokes it through his hair, raking the strands back and around to where her hand settles at the nape of his neck and holds there.]
[Which means he nudges Sypha so very gently with his nose, and looks up at her with a grin that's both terribly fond and the tiniest bit cocksure, because he actually is aware of the answer.]
[The best part of this angle is that if Alucard wants to kiss Sypha on the lips, he has to stand on tip toes. Which he does without question, because there are mornings where this doesn't happen. Grumpier ones, or ones that involve someone's hangover, or mornings where there's too much to do.
Sure, he's absolutely going to taste like last night's entire buffet (so much blood sausage), but that's the risk with morning kisses.]
[Like it's going to stop her from reaching for another kiss while he's close at hand, though, because the standing on tiptoes is actually very charming a look on Alucard, and she in turn likes the experience of leaning down to reward him with them.]
Hmm. I suppose poor Muffy will have to go on being disappointed. I'm not nearly tired of going with you yet.
[Terrible protest. But true, there's no point in doing that before coffee. Speaking of, the water has hit a boil, and he nudges Sypha gently to request that she let go for now.]
I intend to make that true for a lifetime. But I suppose that means I must give other things as well.
[There's a very thoughtful hum.]
I've been thinking about the other space in the garage, you know.
[She SUPPOSES she can be generous, just this once, and at length releases him from her trap. She stays on the counter, though, because it's a fun vantage point for watching him. Sometimes she likes being tall.]
[Once at the stove, Alucard turns the burner down to a simmering heat, and he knows the timing by heart now. The rest is easy. To the fridge first, for bacon, potatoes, and other leftovers. He's sick of eggs, so for today, it's hash.]
If I got you two a car to experiment with, would you leave mine alone?
[Was there a second half to that question? Probably. Did Sypha hear it? Verdict is still out. There are, after all, much more pressing things to be concerned with and all of them are their own car.]
Oh no, we'll buy you this thing and teach you on it too. This is absolutely about keeping my car pristine.
[And about doing something nice, but he's terribly worried about that car. It is less about the expense and more about the sentiment, as it was a precious last thing that he and his father considered before everything went to hell.]
Oh, of course not. You have to be comfortable behind the wheel, and that is a very personal choice.
[He smiles, quite pleased at all of this, and removes the bacon from the pan it has been frying in. It goes onto a plate, and then all the other components of the hash go right into the pan.]
There's a few sellers that are all on the same road.
[He exchanges the tongs used for the bacon for a wooden spoon, and is careful as he moves everything in the pan.]
And of course. I just know that one day theory will become practical application
Aha, see, so you did have it all figured out. How much trouble will I be in if one of your pieces of bacon goes missing before breakfast is ready?
[It's not a non sequitur if you say it real casual and all in the same breath.]
...It's an expensive gift, a whole car. Even if I'm sharing it with Trevor. Have I done anything for you that is equivalent in how special that is? Not equal, perhaps, but at least comparable.
[He pauses, and one of the three plates he put aside is grabbed. Two rashers of bacon, and he offers the plate with a very smug smile indeed. He knows.]
Are you saying neither of you are worth expensive gifts? It's far more practical than some others I might think of. And it will keep you thinking and experimenting for years to come.
You eat the bacon, it isn't a waste. And there's a reason I do it, which you'll reap momentarily.
[Sypha, trust the dhampir with food.]
I don't know how many times I will have to repeat that having you here at all is beyond anything else I could ever ask of you. Either of you. That I can give you additional comforts makes me happy, there's no requirement to mutter about what is and isn't fair.
Oh, don't get grumpy. Making you happy just by existing is a passive thing. Sometimes I just want to know I do active things, too. Then making you happy wasn't just a phenomenon; it came about because of my intent.
[She loudly crunches her bacon as if for emphasis, or at least for punctuation.]
I want to love you actively, Alucard. I want to throw myself into it and love you so hard that I could go faster than a ninety-mile-an-hour death machine. That's all it is. I want to do, from love, and see the results in you. I love you too much to let my love sit still.
[He's just adding things to the pan at the exact right moment and letting the bacon fat sizzle and interact with all the water in the leftover potatoes first! So he has time for a better and less childish response!]
Maybe I should not have called the car that. [He says in very honest apprasial of his own words.]
But I follow your point. But I also can't tell you how to repay anything I do, because it's on you to figure out. I...actually don't know how to even make a suggestion on where to begin, if I'm being entirely honest.
I could tell fortunes by the roadside until I save up enough pennies to buy you a flower as pretty as you.
[Maybe the needling has an ulterior motive. Alucard always cooks better when he's inspired, and the easiest way to inspire him is to get him grumping...]
But actually, I've been thinking I could start enchanting things for you. I'm better at making magic stick to objects than you are. I don't mean the car! But other things.
[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.]
[The postal stamps indicate that it's from the northwest. Oregon specifically, which suits, Alucard supposes. Gray and gloom and mostly forests, limiting contact with the human world. Remote. What he needs, Alucard thinks with horrible bitterness, with only a care for home now. After so long an absence.
And no word other than soon.
He can't put the letter down. It's still in his hand when Sypha walks in, and the only greeting she is given is the worst, most weary sigh Alucard has ever managed to sigh in front of either of them.]
[Stating the obvious, certainly, but also a way of trying to draw him up and out of the funk he's clearly in, contextualizing it in the hopes of getting him to focus on her instead of...whatever it is that's in his hand.]
Someone sent you a letter?
[A party invitation, perhaps? That would be the logical conclusion, even though Alucard never looks so morose about party invitations, even ones he isn't the slightest bit interested in.]
[He says it and all the air's just gone out of him. Too much weight for two simple words, and it is all Alucard can manage. He holds the letter out for Sypha to take, because he doesn't want to look at it anymore.
I expect all is well.
It fucking well isn't, and it would be fine if he was here. Even in grief, boldness would be stopped.]
[She takes it without hesitation, the expression on her face crumpling into one of equal parts sympathy and heartache, but she doesn't even bother to read it; she simply finds a place to set it aside and abandons it like Alucard's father abandoned him, moving to the sofa and sliding in next to Alucard to wrap her arms around him.]
[He doesn't move. He's as still as the grave when Sypha sits beside him, puts arms around him, offers the kind of warmth that contrasts with the sticky horrible humidity of summers. (The house has air conditioning because his father was a genius in many ways, but that was a crowning achievement.]
[Well. Because of — he knows why. Saying it aloud would make it more real, somehow, and she just doesn't want to. What she wants is to hold him instead, and rest her head on his arm, and give him something tactile to focus on instead of the dark thoughts that are sure to be circulating with the memories of his father.]
I don't have the time to think about what's going on in his head right now.
[Maybe? Is it better or worse if it is? Alucard doesn't know. All he knows is that he would very, very much like to have gotten this on a Monday instead. He's drained already, and the weekend is long and exhausting.
He does not swear often. Or ever. So when he does, it is with meaning.]
[She winces, as the sharp edges of the expletive's consonants cut like knives to her soul, and she hugs him a little tighter before shifting, pulling on him to try to get him into a better position to face her.]
Alucard, look at me.
[She hates this, hates what even just handwritten words from his father can do to him, hates how she knows how beautiful his smiles are when he saves them for her and yet a single happenstance like this can take them all away in an instant.]
Stay with me. Please. Don't go off in your head where I can't follow...
[The pull works. Alucard's not so far inside his own head yet that the gesture is something he can shrug off, drowning in a sea of his own selfish emotions.
When he does turn and look, there's just devastation on his face. Just an idiot twenty something forced into a position he never expected to have at so tender an age, ill prepared and aware that he's starting to struggle with all of it.
He tamps all of it down for now, so that the only thing there is a thin smile he doesn't feel.]
[She's loath to let go of him even for a second, but it's still only for a second — just long enough for her to bring her hands up and take his face in them, as much to keep him from trying to bury it in his hands as to help him stay looking at her.]
Don't run off.
[And she leans in toward him, touching her lips first to the high curve of one cheek, then the other, and then finally up to his forehead.]
But you don't have to be strong right now, either. Not for me.
[It's all so terribly tender. It's the opposite of how Alucard deals with just about anything directly involving his father and emotions, which is to put up an all too thick wall of ice and pretend none of the matter bothers him. The approach has served well in the past, save for the very first night after his mother's death where the two crossed paths at her grave. That had been a well of tears, and every party Alucard was required to drop by commented that he looked like shit.
This is not that bad. And Sypha's always been able to pull Alucard closer to softness. His forehead comes to rest against hers, and his eyes remain closed. The rest is quiet, contemplative silence.]
[What never fails to startle her, somehow, is how easy it is to just...forget everything else, when it comes to soothing Alucard. The car is abandoned outside; whatever it was she'd thought of showing him or bringing back from her errands is irrelevant. It can all wait, all of it, because in moments like this it's not that he's her highest priority; it's that he's her only priority, and everything else can go by the wayside.
From what she understands of his relationship with his father, that's essentially the exact opposite of how things are between the two of them. She still doesn't even know what the letter said, but it doesn't matter. She's certain it was selfish, because his father is always selfish. How could he not be, to ignore his son's grief in favor of merely nursing his own?
And yet, she thinks fiercely, it's not because of Dracula that she puts Alucard first. She does that all on her own, of her own volition, because her choices are defined by no one but herself, however they might be used as a lens to illuminate the flaws in others.]
We will work it out. You, and me, and Trevor. You were alone before, when having to deal with him, but you are not anymore.
[Alucard's explanation of where, exactly, he stands with his father was the straight forward one he gave to anyone who didn't have the information already. His mother was murdered by a rogue priest and a mob, accused of witchcraft. His father handled grief badly, killed the priest (a fight between himself and his father that had to be taken to somewhere with a deep forest to deal with the unearthly noises intermixed with words), and then fled elsewhere to come to terms with that loss. Abdication, leaving myself as a sort of regent in the mean time.
Anything else, anything more personal, that stayed within him even from the other two. It hurt to talk about, that was a part of it, but the rest just didn't seem that useful to dwell on. There was more cheerfulness in the house these days, and to ruin it would be a sin of sorts.
It just means that there are days like this, where memory or for the first time in a very long one, a letter might prompt ice.
Alucard tips his head upwards just long enough to kiss Sypha's forehead, then rises to his feet. Grabs the envelope while he's at it, because even this much information about where his father is must be kept from the world at large. Alucard is nothing if not a good son.]
[Aren't you dealing with him right now, she almost says, but lets it go in favor of watching him instead. The letter will disappear now, she knows, and she wonders vaguely if she ought to have read it when she had the chance, if its contents might hold some key to knowing how best to comfort Alucard in the wake of this new upset. But no — perhaps on some level, there's an equal amount of comfort to be found in her ignorance. Maybe it makes her a sanctuary from it, drawing border lines that she can welcome him past and hide him from the burdens waiting for him on the other side.]
You don't think he's coming here, then.
[That's treading a little close to what he'd already told her before, about not having the capacity to predict his father's decisions right now, but it's a question that's worth asking anyway.]
[There's bitterness there, and Alucard doesn't find himself caring about that fact either. He begins to walk to the kitchen, as it's too hot to start a fire to burn all of this. The stove burners are more than enough, and he has a pair of spring loaded metal tongs. That's all he needs.]
Doesn't matter regardless. We have lives to get on with, especially this weekend.
[He doesn't bother grabbing the letter. Let it be buried, the postal codes are the issue at hand.]
Mmm. Is it just the one party we have to be at, or will we have to go hopping?
["We" is sort of a smokescreen; it's Alucard who has to be at these things, but frankly she and Trevor have attended enough affairs on his arms by now that someone would say something about it if they didn't show, either.
They're the stuff of novelty, by now — Alucard's pets, almost. She hears the way the partygoers talk sometimes, when they get drunk enough to turn out loose-lipped. She and Trevor are genuinely well-liked, but it's an affection predicated on Alucard's status and control of the city, no different than a king affording status to a favored courtesan. Certainly no one would take well to Trevor's presence if it wasn't for the blanket of Alucard's protection and approval; no supernatural community would be eager to harbor a Belmont. And even the intellectuals who sit and talk to her at such length about scholarly things wouldn't stay academic for long, if there were no threat of Alucard's reprisal between their teeth and her neck.
And he never asked for this. It was left for him, whether he likes it or not — a high and lofty throne with manacles on the arms.]
I thought I heard someone say in town that there are a few of them being planned to compete with each other.
[She hops up to follow him, mostly so that they don't have to yell to prolong their conversation, and absently grabs the letter as she goes.]
The Friday ones will be a three for one, we can take your car for those. [Show off, because he knows there have been a few new modifications.
He turns the burner on and takes the tongs out of the utensil crock. Burning paper is not a smell Alucard likes, but this one he is happy to embrace.]
Saturday, it'll be just the one, even though there are five for the evening. It's the more prudent choice, and eventually everyone at all the other events with gravitate there. I don't expect to leave much before two in the morning.
[It's tiring. He hates it, because if there's something that Alucard has never hesitated to show the other two it's that he much prefers the quieter life. Sitting around in the library reading, or else using whatever's in the lab to improve on what work his parents left behind. (He likes it best, of course, when Sypha joins him.) It suits him much more, even if there are moments at the whirlwind of functions where he actually seems happy for once in his fucking life. (Hanging back with Trevor and watching Sypha butt heads and be right about magical theory. Her dragging one or both of them out to dance. Watching the two do just that, and smiling all the while because they're here and there's such a reserved offense at the idea that it makes him feel just a little better for having to take on too many expectations so soon.
(He hears the word pets every so often and ignores it. He has to, because if it was clear how much he loathes it, it would be all anyone would call the other two. He remembers the gossip about his mother after her death. The same word was used.)]
Everyone loves one upmanship. And putting on greater airs than they already have.
So really we will have to save ourselves up for Saturday. That will be the long one, because we'll be at each of the Friday ones for less time.
[She wanders in after him, tempted to move up behind him and hug him like she usually does when they're in the kitchen together, but given the envelope burning and the mood, she decides against it. Luckily, there's a countertop for her instead, and she hops up to occupy it, letting her legs dangle as she watches him.]
I can drive on Friday. Then I'll have good excuse not to drink, and you won't have to babysit me by the end of the night.
Mm, more drinking on Saturday. I'll drive there and back.
[Which means just wandering around for multiple hours with a single glass of something bubbly, keeping an eye on everything and doing all the work that no one in the community seems to enjoy doing during the week. When Alucard has an office with open hours. Even at night because he's respectful like that.
The envelope is gone. The ashes fall onto the stovetop, and he turns the burner off. Pitches the tongs into the sink, he'll wash them later.]
I'd like to at least walk in on your arm on Friday though.
[She extends her arms, making little grabby hands at him now that he's finished. Up on the counter like this, she's at a good height for draping her arms over his shoulders and playing with his hair even while he's standing up.]
I think that can be arranged. I think I can arrange for you to help me out of my suit on Friday night, as well. If that would help you get through the evening.
[He can't deny those grabby arms. Or the satisfaction of burning something up, because as Alucard moves over to let himself be embraced, there's a little shift into something warmer in him.]
I'm intrigued, but perhaps you should elaborate.
[Mostly because he has no idea which suit might be in question, and that is a very, very important detail indeed.]
Well. On Saturday I will certainly be very drunk, and so I expect I will not even make it out of my clothes at all before I fall asleep.
[A distraction? A distraction. Wrapping her arms around him and digging her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck is a good start; plying him with some of his favorite mental images is just the next step.]
But on Friday, if I am going to have you on my arm, then I'll have to look very dashing. I think perhaps I'll wear the black one with the cummerbund and the shirt with the black pearl buttons.
[She shifts her dangling leg a little, nudging her toes against his outer thigh.]
[He's a little twitchy about the clothes. But the rest of it, the rest is so lovely. There's a little sigh at the fingers finding all the right spots, and when Alucard rests his chin on Sypha's chest, he angles up so he can look at her properly.]
Mmm, it's one of my favorites.
[This is a lie. All of them are his favorites. But that one is special, it was given on his mother's birthday. Something to make that day easier to take.]
Sharp as anything. Compliments your mind.
[He presses against the foot there. Just a little. Just to let her know he feels it.]
[She's practically petting him, but then, what's so wrong with that? Nothing. Especially not when it means he's unwinding beneath her affection; with the prospect of this weekend looming, he needs every bit of relief he can get.]
Only you would know to ply me with sweet words about my sharp mind. Because you know me so well.
[In fairness, petting Alucard isn't always a weird thing. He's a wolf some days, and so petting just carries over. The sighs and other noises are not as charming as they are when he's in that other form though, that much he is always aware of.]
Because you've let me.
[It's an important reminder for himself. All of this is just because the other two trusted him enough to allow him in. Invited him, and Trevor would make a shitty vampire joke about that if he wasn't...wherever. Which is something to worry about.]
It is when it is offered for the purposes of flattery.
[He's perfectly positioned for her to tilt her chin down and kiss his forehead, too, which she does without hesitation and only belatedly realizes that doing so inadvertently pushes his face a little too close to her throat. But, well, that was a genuine accident, so.]
For example: you are terribly handsome, and loving, and considerate, and I like to sneak peeks at your backside while you are cooking and don't know I'm looking.
[There's only just a small chuffed noise against her throat. A cooler breeze, but there's at least a little happiness in it, mostly because that kiss is so very, very wonderful to recieve.]
Sypha, I've caught you looking about five times.
[He's a vampire, after all. Keen eyes.]
But I take your point. And I'll say thank you for it.
I said, when you don't know I'm looking. Because you don't know. You have never caught me, not even once, and so this comes as a complete surprise to you.
[Hell if she's going to let superhuman vampire senses spoil her fun.]
...It really will be all right, you know. It's only a weekend. We will get through it.
[HE'S A KILLJOY. He also knows better than to really believe Sypha's words, because there have been too many uncomfortable murmurs begining to churn. All the same, he can't help but want to believe that statement, so he pretends that it's entirely correct.]
I know.
[Friday is easy. They leave the estate at eight, because Fashionably Late is the directive for the night. It's a warm night but with precious little humidity, and Alucard is all linen and softer colors because what else can one wear in the summer? (Autumnal is better suited for his own color tastes, he thinks privately.) But more than that is walking in on Sypha's left side, and the thrill of disapproving glares for it. He's not a teenager with the ability to rebel, so this is (plus being entwined with a Belmont) shall be as close as he can ever get to acting out.
They linger for an hour and a half. Next party. Same routine. Last party, same, and then home and there is a bed not meant for sleeping in at all. There has never been a question of how very fine Sypha looks in a suit, only a question of how long until hands wander from either one of them to try and find the right way to undo her clothes and not. (There is also Alucard muttering about dry cleaning in the morning, because the cleaners are absolutely starting to notice things.)
Saturday sees a little more of a somber color scheme, if vest and tie that's closer to Speaker blues can be called somber. (There are cufflinks, they're set with a ruby as red as what is on the Belmont crest.) Then there is the car flying through the city streets and then out beyond, because there's a general rule for any large parties: outside, because New Orleans can accept a certain amount of weird, but you can't push it.
They're there at ten in the evening, because that's the right time to arrive. (It is a science, these things.) And once inside (Trevor's on his left tonight when they walk in, Sypha on the right), there is nothing but wild abandon. The venue is one of those old, venerable houses that has stood since the 1700s, white columns and beautiful deep green shutters, the inside meant for food and the backyard expanded for everything else. Dance floors are there made from a mage's will, the bar serves real alcohol imported from Europe rather than the fucking poison America's bootleggers have tried to pass off, and there's just enough of a slow in the festivities when the three walk in that it doesn't feel like overkill.
Immediately there's about five people Alucard's pulled into Required Conversation with. He can't run off either, because these are some of the people who've heard more tell about what darkness is threatening to creep into the city, and thus it's actually important. There's only a chance for a quick farewell to them both, and the promise he'll find them the minute he's freed.]
[Sypha does her best for him, for this. There are some burdens that it's simply beyond her ability to ease — she can't very well lift the weight of playing patriarch to the city's supernatural element, and she can't make the rumors and gossip that plague him go away. But she can support him as best she can, at these over-the-top affairs, whether by darting in for a quick rescue at an opportune moment, or by gathering information in her own right from creatures who'll loose their lips more easily for a pretty face.
She pulls him away to dance a few times, on Friday, but Friday is more like a marathon with natural stops in-between, and so most of the comfort she extends comes in the moments when they're in transit, when she urges him into the car next to Trevor to rest his head on Trevor's shoulder while she drives, or when she steals a kiss and a touch of the hand before they emerge once again into the glittering lights of the nightlife.
Saturday, however, is a revel, and that takes a different type of preparation. Saturday is about seeing and being seen, and because this one is particularly important, she's turned out in a proper dress — feathered headband, beaded fringe, and even heels that will assuredly leave her feet bruised and sore in the morning. But it's a look that's carefully orchestrated, aiming to strike a balance with Trevor; her dress comes in complementary hues to the suit they'd only just barely managed to wrangle Trevor into, and that's wholly intentional, to make for a single pleasing glance when they walk in together on each of Alucard's arms.
It also means that they look like bookends together, which suits just as well. And when Alucard bids them goodbye for the moment, Sypha is quick to tug Trevor straight for the dance floor at first, determined to get in one before the drinking starts to unfold — and not least of which because there's no better or subtler calling card for Alucard's arrival than people catching sight of his two humans tripping the light fantastic across the floor.]
[His father never had to do any of this. It's a bitter thought that always comes to mind during these long, long affairs when Alucard would like to do nothing more than go home. But his father is ancient even by vampire standards, 800 years and change, which means he only needs to be present in a city to bring everything to heel. Anywhere he goes, order follows, because there are 800 years of history wrapped up in just the name Dracula.
He is only twenty and change, and there is no history. There is only the hustle, and tonight, smiling very thinly at every offer of birthday greetings that are even remembered. (Better when they aren't, sometimes it's nice when his age is forgotten.) He's so very ready to be done, and yet here he stands, weighed down by the seventh story of the night of werewolf packs being picked off in the countryside, or new and unfamiliar ghosts fleeing inward for some greater threat has come down the road. Spells not working right because of some kind of interference. They are all things on the edges, but they give no comfort.
On Monday, they will investigate. Three of them, Trevor in the lead because he understands and processes this kind of stuff best. He's born for it, far better than Alucard or Sypha could ever hope to be in a lifetime. There will be results that are half-helpful if they're lucky, and Alucard will then begin the tiresome work of figuring out how to anticipate what is blowing into the city.
The few times he has the chance to look up, the two are easy to find. If not by sight than by Sypha's laugh, because it's so bright and crystal clear. Easiest thing for him to hear in a room, just like Trevor's low grumbles that someone's said something just shitty enough that he can't act out. (And thus neither can Alucard.)
Now is one of those times, two hours into the night and a toast to the full moon that's hanging high above the trees. It mixes with all the floating fae lights that illuminate the festivities, and he'll admit, it's a damn magical sight. Better for the two in the picture, and he focuses on them to the exclusion of everyone else in the moment.]
[It's after her initial whirl with Trevor that the two of them split off, Trevor ostensibly to go win pocketfuls of other people's money from some round of betting or another, and Sypha to draw attention from the usual crowd of scholars and self-styled warlocks eager to impress her with their supposedly vaunted knowledge. She accepts dances every time they're solicited, and in the midst of the fun, she hears things, too. One of the crafters she dances with is just bursting with pride in a secret he's been sworn not to tell, but he's too eager to keep it entirely under wraps, either — and so she learns that he's received an overture for a contract of some form or another, something that will put his name on the map, for having worked it.
Curious.
Another, an older vampire who she's been acquainted with a handful of times and who teases her about seeking a bite to drink every time they cross paths, takes a moment to advise her solemnly that the climate is changing, for humans, though in what way, he refuses to say. He mentions in passing that if she finds herself in need of shelter, that he'll accept her under his wing, and it's a remark with a darker implication to it than the usual attempts at stealing her away from Alucard, and she wonders.
Eventually, though, she reunites with Trevor, and this time when they dance she can feel Alucard watching; after awhile, she inclines her head at him, silently inviting him to come and cut in, if he's got a moment to spare and the interest in being seen joining their fun.]
[He catches that gesture. It's...it's probably a good idea, but there's at least one other required discussion he has to have before the rest of the night can be thrown to abandon, and that's when he prefers to be on the dance floor with the two. Besides, there's precious room to move around right now, and this still about being seen. The three can't be the center of attention at the moment.
So he responds with the come over here gesture instead. Tugging his head back twice, letting the two catch just a hint of exhaustion in his eyes. The glass of champagne he picked up about an hour and a half ago is still in hand, barely touched.
[That's a look she definitely recognizes, yes. There's still the matter of finishing out the song, of course, but once it's through Sypha is quick to go click-clacking over to where Alucard is waiting, her every movement a veritable symphony of rhythm to all of the vampires and their supernatural hearing, between the rattle of beads and the swish of fabric and the clip of her heels on the floor.]
Mm, is this for me?
[She says, playfully taking hold of his drink and bringing it up so that she can steal a sip from it.]
And a kiss too, please.
[She tilts her chin, turning her head to the side to give him easy access to the apple of her cheek.]
[Trevor's right behind her. Thank goodness, because it looks like he's starting to get as Sick of This as Alucard is. The three of them, they need a break it seems, and Alucard takes careful note of it.]
All yours.
[He's so happy to let her take the glass. The kiss on Sypha's cheek is given with the first real show of enthusiasm of the night, and Trevor gets one too for the sake of completeness.]
Mm. It's quieter in the house right now.
[Meaning that they have just enough room for a breather.]
[Trevor, unsurprisingly, grumbles at the smooch he is given like the ungrateful thing he is; Sypha does not, because she knows what she wants and how to get it.]
I have heard a few things.
[She remarks, as she raises the glass to her lips, which serves the double purpose of disguising the fact that she's talking.]
We'll have much to talk about when we are home, I think.
[Trevor gives an affirmative nod after Sypha speaks. Because he's heard plenty of things, and that's why this party has been labeled as work instead of just a more normal social outing. Alucard does his very best not to look weary about those words, and he tugs at Sypha's hip gently.]
I know. But I also imagine your feet need a break, and there's comfier seating inside.
[He wants five minutes with just them. That's all this is.]
Mm, I certainly won't say no to getting off my feet. Or being swept off of them.
[She cocks her hip, bumping it playfully against Alucard's hand, but nods and casts around for a flat surface upon which to deposit his former drink. It's never a bad thing to have one in hand while talking in public, for various reasons, but there are still hours left before this party will start to break up, and she doesn't want to consume any more than is strictly necessary.]
[Hand in hand, rather than arm and arm. He wants that warm weight in his palm, and it's easy to slip into their host's house. Midnight is the height of revels, and while the house itself is not without guests, the change in density is noticeable.
There is a drawing room that has no one else at all in it, full of the overly plush sort of sofas that were fashionable a decade ago. Perfect, and Alucard does not sit until the other two do. Sypha needs room to take off her shoes, Trevor's already stretched out, and so Alcard's in the corner until Sypha settles on where she wants to be.
The doors aren't closed, but there is such a blessed softness to the noise. Gentle conversation drifting in. Music muted. And for a glorious moment, just the three of them.]
[They are, in fact, incredibly stupid shoes. Beautiful to look at, finely made, a perfect match for her dress — and she's so utterly glad to be free of them, bending down to unbuckle the straps before nudging her feet free of them one by one. Though it's tempting to just kick them off and leave them anywhere, this is a stranger's house and not their own, so she puts them together neatly and leaves them in front of an end table where she can find them later.
Decisions, decisions. She flexes her feet from the ankles and picks her seat opposite Trevor, so that the natural space for Alucard to join them is in the middle, where she suspects he'll most want to be.]
[There are many other ways to sit with the other two that Alucard prefers. Both of them on either side of Trevor, using his chest as a pillow. Sypha stretched across both their laps, tired and content, himself and Trevor trapped until either Sypha has the sense to get up and move to bed or one of them picks her up and does the job for her. Alucard in wolf form fitting the whole of himself on Trevor, because sometimes Trevor would rather be around a big dog than a person. Being at home between them both is lovely, and he usually melts into it.
In public, he can't, not really. Between them both is the pertinent way to sit, it encourages the fewest rumors, but it doesn't let Alucard melt in their arms. The most he can do is just have them close, arms around both their waists, his head resting on Trevor's shoulder and the certainty Sypha is going to snug up close to them in a way where she might as well just be seated on Alucard's lap.
Better than nothing at all.
He sighs, the noise ambigious. It could be content. It could be weary.
Then he nudges Sypha.]
I believe you could just go without the shoes for the rest of the night. I doubt anyone would care.
You don't think anyone would notice when I am two inches shorter all of a sudden?
[He's not wrong in the slightest, either, about Sypha's plans; she leans into him almost as soon as he's seated, reaching a hand behind his back to try to get even just a slight fold of Trevor's shirt caught in the curl of her fingertips.
Their poor Alucard. He's being worn so thin by this, and yet as close as they are to being through with the evening, it's still not close enough yet. There are still at least two more hours of mingling and posturing to be done, on top of all the efforts he's put in already, and even after that they still need to get home.
Yet again, as she has so many times before in the past few days, she thinks of his father and feels a flare of anger simmering in the pit of her stomach. Abandoning him to this —]
I'll have to stand on the tops of your shoes, if we dance. So my feet won't get bumped or stepped on.
[She rests her cheek against his shoulder, closing her eyes and melting against him.
It lasts all of about five minutes, before a shout goes up from outside.]
This crowd? No. It'll be magic or they'll be to drunk to notice.
[They're both such warm comforts. Trevor far rougher and only barely tolerating any of this, and Alucard always wishes he could display the same contempt. With Sypha, he can let out the rest of his feelings, and the three of them can pile here for stolen minutes. Grabbing onto whatever comfort they can find.
Alucard's practically a puddle when Sypha leans against him as she does. Trevor lets out a low laugh because he can't have two puddles of goo on the sofa and then....
...then they're all on their feet. Trevor declaring that the go bag is in the car and leaping over the sofa to go get it. Alucard grabbing Sypha's hand and hanging on tightly, barely restraining himself from tapping into his vampiric heritage to speed outside.
What he finds is mist. Mist creeping in from the north, mist staying too high afloat. Head leave. There's a moment's sniff, and before Alucard can say anything else, someone at the back of the venue lets out a pained screech of holy water!
Alucard hisses, low and vampiric, and looks around. Improvised weapon time.]
[At first glance, the plot — if it can really be called a plot, she isn't sure — makes an evil sort of sense. A mist of holy water in the air, cast over a gathering of supernatural creatures where anyone who's anyone would be reveling. Of course they made for an easy target, they'd all gotten together into the same place to do it.
It's only afterward that things start making less sense from there. If it is a plot, who gains from it? Why this, why now? And furthermore, how did they get their hands on this much holy water, to even have wrought this at all?
Later. That's a question for later; for now, there's a problem in the air — quite literally — and Trevor is off and running, and Alucard needs her.]
I — yes. At least I can try — I can get most of it, if not all.
[She's not usually so unconfident about her own skills; it's not a facet of a lack of belief in herself, but rather just a sign of how distracted she is, trying to track the mist and how it's flowing.
She's just lifting her hands and starting to focus when something occurs to her.]
I can't freeze it — with the way it's passing over us, it'll get too heavy and fall down right on top of us.
[Which is worse: holy water mist, or holy water ICICLE KNIVES FALLING FROM THE SKY.]
It'll have to be wind. Alucard, I can blow it away, but it will have to go somewhere...
Wind. Blow it to the east, there's nothing on the next lot, no one will be exiting that way, all the cars are parked to the west.
[It's a snap decision. One made with all barely constrained rage because this is a boldness never attempted before. (It would not be tempted if his father was here.)]
I'm going beyond the property line. Do whatever you need, and anyone stupid enough to question you answers to me.
[The only thing Alucard does before launching off into the night is to take a pole that holds up a string of lights and snap it in two over his knee. Improvised weapon. It'll have to do, and even as the mist hovers over the festivities, Alucard cuts his way through it. His is a wolf, low enough to be clear of the mist, the pole in his mouth because that's the only way to carry anything as a wolf.
He is swift. He is certain. And by the time he is at the farthest edge of the party, Trevor is there too. Vampire Killer is in his hand. Trevor is yelling something, using his last name as currency, and they are both off into the treeline.]
[He's already long gone by the time she says it, perhaps even past the range of a wolf's hearing. But still, there's no time for sentimentality, not when she has a party to defend, and lives to preserve.
Step one does prove to be ice, after all, but not of the fog itself. Instead, to the north, she raises a high wall of ice, hoping to barricade off the fog from wherever it's coming from, forcing it to run into the frozen expanse and hopefully condense into liquid again before it has a chance to blow past it.
The rest of it is more difficult, and requires her full and deliberate focus. She spreads her hands wide, eyes focused on the fog, then brings them together with flat hands angled vertically. In the air around them, the fog collapses inward, growing denser and denser albeit in a much smaller area as she compacts it together, trying to shape as much of it as she can into a cube.
It's somewhere around here, as the skies begin to clear, that the denizens of the party start returning, chattering in wonder at their salvation overhead. A few are foolish enough to approach her, babbling some nonsense she can't afford to focus on right now; even so, her control slips slightly from the distraction, and some of the mist escapes, leaving her to curse under her breath and refocus to corral it again.
(She kicks that one in the shins. It's a shame she's not wearing her shoes, she thinks; it would've hurt more.)
But soon enough, she's got as much of it together as she can, and slowly she starts to push it to the east, a swirling cloudy mass of a thing in cube form that leaves her gritting her teeth from the concentration of holding it together, trying to get it far enough away that she can release it without risking it scattering and coming back.]
[Vampire Killer is not quite as effective on humans as it is on vampires, and using it in a forest is a difficult thing, even with the full moon hanging high above the trees. That's fine, because there's only 5 hunters, and the red hot second they see a flash of the Belmont crest is the second that all of them stop.
(There is a mage in their number. He is further back, swearing a storm up as he encounters Sypha's icewall and cannot find a way around it. Alucard drags him over to the other four, so that they can be addressed as a group. There's a tremble in the man's step (not a man, he's maybe sixteen.)
No need for the improvised weapon then. Alucard throws it aside.]
By rights, and by expectation, I ought to destroy all five of you. My father would not give you even this much of his time.
[Alucard knows that Trevor does not like talk of Dracula. It's a different kind of family pain fron Alucard's, and it comes out when Dracula is mentioned not as Alucard's father, but as a vampire power that has survived the centuries in spite of the Belmonts' best effort. He will apologize for it later. For now, he has to use the word as a weapon, because these five, they are here not because of their own skill. They're not local either, because they didn't know that there's a Belmont in the city.
Curious.
But he lets Trevor do the questions for the first few minutes. Listens. Then takes over himself, because the threat of Belmont does nothing to get the information they really need. Son of Dracula though? That tends to loosen lips.
"A...we got a letter, a copy of the invitation, left on our door..."
[Back at the party, now that the immediate threat of burning by holy mist has been alleviated, the vampires are quickly growing restless. It's a powder keg of immortals just waiting to be ignited by one rabblerouser's careless words, and even as exhausted as she is by the effort she's just expended, Sypha can see immediately that if she allows this to go unchecked, it won't be long before the party turns into a mob.
Even now, there are rumblings. Shouted questions of who could be behind such a thing, murmurs of holy water and blessed things that eventually coalesce into the natural conclusion: hunters. Humans.
It doesn't escape Sypha's notice, either, that she is a human among the vampires, herself.
And yet oddly, she's not afraid. If anything, she's affronted — not just the thought of them behaving like this, but at the trouble it would make for Alucard if they were to get out of hand, and how tired he would be if he had to bring them all to heel and remind them to stay in line and behave —
Oh, no. Not on her watch.]
No one leaves!
[Each word comes sharp and biting.]
No one is leaving. You will stay, all of you, until this has been sorted out.
[Oy, and what if we don't care to stay? one of the younger, upstart vampires sneers. You can't keep us here! Just what do you think you can do about it, anyway?]
If it is trouble you want, then try it, and find out.
[Their host, a woman who moved far south from New England back when the word of the day was witchcraft mixed with endless land disputes and who herself goes only by the name of Theodora, picks the exact moment that someone is fool enough to question Sypha's own authority in order to supplement it. She was a witch once, a vampire now, she threatens to be a ghost if someone gets lucky enough to kill her.
Anyone who steps foot off property when we're ignorant of particulars is well and dead to this house and my kin. She has brood, they live not only in the city but further on west. Hospitality is their greatest trait, and for those who need to travel, such blessings can be life or death. The Speaker's words are that of sense. Wait.
The last word is nearly a dip into vampiric compulsion. Enough to make it clear how serious she is. And with that she walks past Sypha with head held high, and a softer I'll see what's about because unless the hunters are actually Belmont level, they have been caught now.
(It is not unremarked upon by most that Alucard's ethics are very different from that of his father. In so much that he has them at all. It is not beyond the realm of possibility to think that some delay is happening because of those very ethics.)
But no. The delay is based in questions, and Alucard's shoulders are heavy by the time his host actually makes her way out to the new party in the woods. The hunters are well and truly unnerved because of Alucard's calmness, his ability to coax answers from them, and with Theodora now there, he says the worst words of all.]
They interrupted your party. I won't have death, but warn the world as you see fit.
[The hunters are aware, perhaps, that the arrival of yet another vampire is in no way a change for the better, for them. It also becomes immediately clear when Alucard speaks that they would have been much, much better off to have the son of Dracula adjudicating their fates than this, and in that moment anxiety breaks into abject terror — for one of them, at least.
It's the mage, the boy not yet even a man. He's nowhere close to prepared to look danger in the eye, not at this age (not when his last name isn't Belmont). Like a fool, he's already trying to run before he's even managed to push himself to his feet, stumbling and scrabbling as he heaves himself up and tries to make a break for the deeper cover of the trees.]
[Alucard sighs. He and Trevor offer Theodora the twin tired glance of let that one go. Not out of hope of mercy, but because Trevor has some Opinions on doing much more than what is required, and Alucard can't imagine that what their host has in mind can be any worse than what that boy just dreamed up in is head.
Of course, darling.
Because that's what she calls everyone. And because she is a witch, she is much more creative than any vampire might be with the right kind of response for this is. Any vampire might just shred and claw and mark. Witches can curse and doom and make life far more difficult than a vampire can.
(Trevor is still fucking uncomfortable with it. He doesn't say it until they're out of hearing range, and Alucard nods in exhausted agreement. It's a too complicated web they weave of alliances. Makes it look like Belmonts turning on other hunters. Big problem.)
And when they meet the ice wall, Alucard knocks on it twice. Polite as can be.]
[Really, she has half a mind to turn the whole thing to water and flood out all the restless guests, but that would also involve flooding Theodora's house and there are some courtesies one does not unwisely spit on.
It's actually rather beautiful how the wall falls away; she's been practicing, clearly, and it goes from a solid figure at first to one fractured and etched like cut glass, before eventually shattering softly in key structural places that make it tumble to the ground like a chandelier falling, contained shards of crystal that make a beautiful noise when they crash down in cascade yet never once stray from the boundary lines she's set for them.]
Yes, of course.
[And there in the yard, she stands, a tiny barefoot thing amidst a crowd of cowed vampires, regent of her small and ephemeral kingdom.]
[It's a very beautiful sight indeed. Alucard's smiling by the time all of the water has fallen away to allow himself and Trevor (and Theodora, she's got a good hustle) to re-enter the property and the party. A real smile, the kind he reserves for when he sees something wonderful and new and inspiring - so the kind that Sypha's magic so often pulls from him.
They're a strange sight on the other side of the ice. Alucard in the middle, his hair windswept but suit otherwise fine. Trevor (The Belmont) still looking just barely presentable, Vampire Killer in hand. Theodora with no blood on her or her all too beautiful dark purple dress, satisfaction on her face. They pass into the party proper, and Alucard doesn't stop until he's at Sypha's side.
It is so magnificent just seeing here there, barefooted and having just prevented a riot of sorts, and when they're home he'll confide all these things. For now, there is business.]
As it stands, we have dealt with the problem. Five hunters from well beyond the city limits who had one of the invitations here slipped under their door. They were unaware of the city's current balance, and thought their attack wise.
[He's calm and cool, speaking with authority.]
They've been seen to. But this combined with what I have heard from many of you confirms that there are those beyond our norms who seek us harm. It is being looked into, and that threat shall be stamped out with no mercy given.
You all know how to get in touch with me, and my doors are open.
[And with that, Theodora decides that tonight is perhaps best concluded. There's no relief on Alucard's face, but inside he nearly collapses with it.]
[She gravitates backwards just a fraction when Alucard starts to speak, just enough to subtly put him at the forefront of the picture they make while she settles back in support, like ceding the imaginary podium to him while the partygoers look on. The explanation of what had happened is as much news to her as it is to the vampires, and she can't help but cast a surreptitious glance at Trevor in quiet astonishment.
That the hunters encroached on the city isn't the bizarre part. It's not even the part about how they somehow missed that there was a Belmont already here. It's the fact that they were invited to come and raid by someone taking a covert hand in this attack, and while they may have caught the instrument of chaos in the form of the hunters, they've missed the influence that spurred them on to do it in the first place.
Still, things wrap up quickly. The festivities are over, and Sypha is half tempted to just abandon her shoes to the parlor and retrieve them later, except that it occurs to her that she'll need them to drive, so she has to go back and get them. When she returns, she's tugging them on one by one, making a little face as they start to press uncomfortably on her sore feet again.]
I will drive us home, unless you think that driving would settle your nerves.
[So she says, quietly enough that even in a room full of vampires, it's for Alucard's ears only.]
[It is not good news to deliver. Alucard already knows what will be thought. "No one would do this if Dracula was still here." "If whoever's responsible is a vampire, maybe we're better off." "God, he didn't kill them, did he?"
He can sit with those thoughts later. There are farewells to take care of first, and apologies to their host to deliver who takes it all with grace. (Darling, Godbrand showed up with a land boat back in 1809 in Quebec, please don't worry about bad party endings.) Alucard's glad that she takes it so easily, but no one else has such a mood.
There are only a few others left by the time Sypha finds them again. Alucard's surveying the damage.]
[She says, as she links her arm through his, which is and always will be her right even if right now it's as much about comfort as it is about status. The only time she'll let go, and even then only for a moment, is to pay her own respects to their host on the way out — no sense in not being polite, after all.]
Come, then. Let's go home.
[And when they get to the car, she'll curl up with Trevor, letting Alucard have his space to drive and get himself sorted as he needs, so that he'll be ready to talk by the time they get home, if not sooner.]
[Alucard helps Sypha into the car first. Trevor's go bag is sprawled out on the lawn and must be repacked, so there's just enough time to press a soft kiss to her lips by way of an apology for a truly rotten night. Trevor's in the car soon enough, and home it is.
There is silence from Alucard as they go over country roads, going ever closer to the estate. His father's home is safer after tonight. Better defended. Only a Belmont would dare to approach, and right now, there's one living there. All the wards, all the protections, they respond only to Tepes blood. A fortress.
Quiet continues as the garage door opens. Trevor's out the passenger door first, and he's there to help Sypha down while Alucard goes over and unlocks the door that leads from garage to the house itself.]
Does anyone need food or water before we head upstairs?
[Sypha needs to get out of that terribly heavy dress. Trevor's probably going to claw out of that suit soon. Alucard would really, really like to be in a pair of PJ pants.]
Water for me, please. Or I'll have a headache in the morning.
[Ever helpful, she's already got Trevor pulled down by the lapels so that she can start un-knotting his tie for him. She knows how this goes. Her shoes have already, yet again, been abandoned somewhere — probably kicked into a corner, where they stand a chance of being overlooked by Alucard until the morning.]
[Trevor's also shed his suitjacket. And the vest. And is working on the shirt because he needs to be freed. Alucard doesn't even comment that he's just thrown everything on the hallway floor. No point, they're all exhausted. He just goes for the kitchen and assembles everything: three glasses, a tray, the carafe filled with ice cold water because they really need it.]
[She slaps at Trevor's hands, preventing him from doing something ridiculous like ripping the buttons straight off of his shirt in his haste to get out of his suit, and starts to deftly undo them herself — a course of action she probably only gets away with because it's actually sort of hot, how expertly she's getting Trevor out of his clothes. The fact that she wastes no time slipping her hands inside his opened shirt and running her palms over his chest is just icing on the cake, really.
She manages to make it last just long enough for Alucard to return, permitting him an eyeful of an absolutely disheveled Trevor with Sypha blatantly feeling him up, and once he's had his look she crosses over immediately to give him the same treatment — albeit more respectfully of his clothes, opening the fastenings while still leaving them technically on his body so that he can sort it out when they get upstairs.]
That is in fact a very nice thing to walk in on. By a lot. Because Trevor's chest is a total damn weak point that is now pretty much the height of hilarity (Trevor's literally just shoved Alucard's face into his own chest several times when the vampire's looked out of sorts, it's worked.) And Sypha in that dress doing just about anything is bound to hit both of them a little too hard.
Yet for all of that Alucard still blushes like well. Like only he can, because god sometimes they all just need one on one time.
There's just enough time for Alucard to set the tray down. No one's having any fun if he drops it, getting water and glass all over the floor.
Sypha's hands feel wonderful. Warm. And he's still plenty red.]
Treffy is so impatient. But you're so very good for me.
[She delicately works his tie free, leaving the ends hanging around his neck as she starts undoing the buttons of his shirt one by one, working from the one at the throat down.]
You'll hold still and let me do this properly, won't you, my Alucard? Because you know how to behave.
[Is she laying it on a little thick? Perhaps. But Alucard has been forced into day after day of being in control, being dominant, being authoritative. All she's doing is taking up the reins, and making it clear that if she's got them, then he doesn't have to keep them himself.]
Mmm. And there.
[She finishes with his shirt, unfastens the button of his trousers for good measure, and steps back to admire her handiwork with a satisfied grin.]
[He very much would like to point out that all three of them are still. in. the hallway. It's a fact that's being telegraphed across his face for all of five seconds, and Trevor catches it. And he is nearly cracking up for it because the vampire is being absolutely covered in thick affection and all he can think about is the damn hallway floor. It's...so very him, and it's a terribly funny contrast some nights.
But the rest of Alucard would very much just like to melt under Sypha's hands, and he nearly does. There's enough suit undone that he's just standing there a little embarrassed by how quickly he's fallen into all those wonderful touches, and there's the rest of him that's pretty sure that just a single carafe of water is not going to be enough.
(Duh. Ice mage. It's a non-issue.)
Then Trevor laughs again and nudges Sypha pointedly. We should go upstairs before he swoons.]
[She looks the two of them over with a critical eye, appraising their relative level of disheveled undress, and then with a satisfied nod makes sure they're both watching as she reaches up and behind her neck to find the fastening that's holding the halter closed.
She holds there a minute, smiling slightly, and then pushes the pearl button through its loop and lets it free, leaving the top half of her dress held up by gravity and prayer alone.]
There. Now we can go upstairs.
[And she will lead the way, not least of which because it means the boys will only be able to see her back the whole way up, because sometimes a tease is in order and after the night they've all had, they deserve it.]
[Well that's the hottest thing Alucard's seen in the past few days. There's a very tiny choked whimper that gets let out in the slowest possible way, and Trevor has to elbow Alucard to make sure that the vampire's even there.
He seems to be. Enough in his mind that he still grabs the tray with the carafe and water glasses because he's still Alucard even if he's about to forget even that for the night, and Trevor's just shaking his head with endless fondness for this entire damn situation.
It has been a very long and tiring night for all the wrong reasons. At least that much can now be put to rights.]
[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.
[Alucard can't help but blush. It's a lovely thing to have in the morning, lips right there. (Trevor does it a lot too, so they've clearly been conferencing about things lately.)]
I'm going to presume it has been burnt as evidence. The five were from halfway up the state, so we'd be best off tracking the way they came through the woods last night and seeing if there was a point of safety they were using before mounting their idiocy.
[There's more pancakes to make, so Alucard returns to his station at the cast iron pan.]
And seeing what they might have left behind at that safe place, you mean?
[It would be an absolute crime not to eat these pancakes before they go cold, so she's going to waste no time in doing precisely that, letting them melt on her tongue with an expression of sheer contentment on her face.]
You are going to make me fat, if you keep cooking like this.
Exactly so. If there's any traces of their, hm, let's say patron for lack of a better word, is there, then we're in a much better place than before.
[Alucard's not looking at Sypha. Because there are pancakes to focus on. But he can smile all the same, soft and content and maybe a little lovesick from yesterday.]
If we're going to spend our Sundays like that, I am not going to worry.
[It absolutely does, but that's not the point. The point is to try to make him blush, because these are the fun games we play on Monday mornings after an entire Sunday spent like that.]
Mmmm. There is something bothering me about that, the business of their patron. To have received the invitation at all, it would have had to be a member of the society themselves, isn't that right? Or even just to have known that there would be a party that night at all. But how would someone supernatural contract with five hunters without having those hunters turn on them, themselves?
It does, and we barely ate yesterday. Food is needed.
[The next plate of pancakes is done. Trevor's, if Trevor ever comes back downstairs from the shower. Alucard puts a metal cover over those, then moves on so he can have his already.]
Parties tend to be common knowledge, but that's within the larger community. You know the ecosystem here, after all, it isn't just vampires.
But as for contacting the hunters, there could always be additional proxies. Or else the thing was picked up at some point and just sent through the actual postal service with no additional contact or instructions. Based on conversations, I'm inclined to think that may be what happened.
If Trevor were here, he would say something crude. He's not, but I'm sure he would appreciate it if we pretended he were here and had said it anyway.
[Regardless, she's back to eating, which means her thoughts are interspersed by the light click of fork against plate, and the occasional garbled word because she's chewing around it.]
In short, secrecy and anonymity are, in this case, mutually exclusive. To be truly secret, our patron would have to do everything themselves, but to be truly anonymous, they would have to use middlemen, which creates a trail.
Hm, let's table this for now and when he's back, continue.
[There's the sizzle of batter hitting lightly greased pan, and Alucard's careful not to let the pancakes burn as he uses Vampire Senses to smell for just the right moment.]
Precisely so. That trail is our lifeline. If we can find it. Supposing that whoever responsible is up there in years, they are probably very good at covering their tracks.
Be prepared to say that again, the part about eating, and we will see if I'm right.
[She pokes at her pancakes, sighing happily. There is very little on this earth better than Alucard's cooking, and particularly so when he's feeling inspired, which he seems to be this morning.]
What makes you think it is someone old, and not a young and foolish upstart?
This could quickly degrade into discussions of eating other things. Fair warning.
[There. Time to flip, and the spatula moves quickly to make sure that everything's turned over in time. Alucard always serves himself last, it's basic politeness, but he really is getting hungry now.]
I don't, not really. Both are options, but I'm banking on the former because it feels...more right. He's not the only vampire from Europe to come to America late and struggle in finding a good swath of territory. There's a few in Canada that would probably be interested.
[Excluding Godbrand because So Many Viking Sites there.]
[It makes her laugh, though, more out of fondness for Trevor than any particular approval of the subject material in question.
Still, she sobers quickly, when something he says stands out to her, and she glances down at her pancakes for the sake of not looking at Alucard directly.]
This...isn't really his territory anymore, though. Is it? It's...yours now. So is someone moving against him, or against you...? I think that question needs an answer, also.
[The pancakes are off the cast iron pan and onto Alucard's plate. That also means that he's just seated himself as Sypha paws and parses through things said and...
...well. Fuck.
He reaches for the maple syrup first.]
Still his, as he isn't deceased nor has he specified that the claim is given up. Just missing in action. [The pancakes may be drowned in syrup today.]
Which is the other reason I assume it to be someone older. No one young is actually that stupid.
Then that should narrow the suspects greatly. Most of the elders aren't that stupid, even. It would have to be someone with a combination of old enough to have amassed that sort of power, but brash enough to think they could succeed.
[CSI: New Orleans. Here they sit, profiling their mysterious foe over breakfast.]
And also, despite being old, familiar enough with modern developments to use them to advantage. Some of the old ones do not bother to adapt to the times, do they.
They don't like the far and frozen north, do they? I suppose the weather here alone would be enough of an excuse to try to come south.
[Besides, people have to bundle up in the north, to keep warm. More bundling means less exposed skin, means less advantage when it comes to picking a meal. Warm climates come with the benefit of encouraging that sort of revelry.]
...You know that —
[She stops short, hesitating a minute as she mulls over a thought, and then carefully advances.]
Our investigation today has to find something. Whether we really do or not. Because people will be watching to see if we are able to address this or not, so today must be a success. Or at the very least everyone must think it is.
There's been earlier and smaller encroachments that have been impossible to respond to because the acts are simple. Almost childish. Homes with crosses thrown into the windows during daylight hours, that sort of thing. Mostly happening on the edges of town, to those who generally decline a more active social life in the city.
[There's a sigh from Alucard, already weary.]
This was testing the waters to see how we respond. So we must be wise in that. Otherwise the next thing, that will have a real death toll.
In short, a response too extreme in either direction would work against us. To not respond adequately enough would suggest that we cannot defend our own territory. But a disproportionate answer would make it seem as though we are scared, or perhaps hiding a greater weakness behind a show of strength.
[She reaches across the table, palm-up, looking for his hand.]
The eternal balance. And smokescreen, for that matter.
[That hand doesn't find Sypha's. He's focused on getting the rest of his pancakes in him before the idea of eating churns Alucard's stomach too much. They are very good pancakes, although he'd prefer if there were blackberries at the market right now. Much tastier to have them in the batter.
The eternal thought is also there, weighing in Alucard's mind. No one would be stupid enough to attempt this if Dracula was still present in the city.]
Doubtlessly Belmont records can be crosschecked for age in order to produce an actual list. Although I expect certain friends of his would be better up to date.
[After a minute, when he doesn't reach for her, she subtly turns her hand over and curls the fingers in, surreptitious and nonchalant. It's a little awkward to leave it there, near him, but worse still to have to pull it back, so she focuses instead on eating her pancakes one-handed as well.]
What a shame we sinned all through Sunday, instead of allowing him to go to church.
[Because she sounds so penitent about that, oh, yes.]
Well, perhaps they will forgive him a belated visit. Should we all go, or just drop him off while you and I go back to the forest?
[Under the table, there's a very, very soft nudge from Alucard. He saw the hand he just. Everything's tiresome already. He'll take her hand later. In the sunshine.]
Oh, I imagine that they'll forgive him. If he misses things, then it's a whole heavenly host of speculation for them, and I imagine that counts as a blessing.
[They're a little too on the nose, those Church Ladies.]
We need him for the work. Also, I think knitting is at 3 today, and I expect to be done by then.
[She doesn't take her hand back, still, but the nudge is at least reassuring. She'll move the next opportunity she can get to do it casually; for the time being, the pancakes are soft enough and sufficiently saturated in syrup to break them apart one-handed with the edge of the fork.]
Then it seems as though we have a plan. And all that remains is to get some breakfast into Trevor, so that we are all ready to go at once.
[There's the tell-tale sign of a thudding noise coming from the general direction of the stairs. Alucard hums in approval, and by the time Trevor's actually down and in the kitchen, Alucard has made sure that the cover on Trevor's plate is removed, there's two very, very strong cups of coffee at Trevor's place, and they're all about as content as they're going to be today.]
[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 knows that this weekend trip is really to deal with some problems deep in one of the bayous. How the Church Ladies get their information is a carefully guarded secret, one that he never pries into. Nor has his father attempted to, so far as Alucard can tell. It just means the house is without Trevor and the bed feels a little too big.
Sypha's going to be down for the count at this point, and for a moment, he debates just scooping her up in his arms and carrying her to bed. Her hair's catching the light in all the right places though, she's spread out so beautifully, she looks so happy.
He's going to linger and watch. Just for a few moments.]
[She is comfortable, now that he mentions it. So very comfortable, and warm, and the kind of sleepy where the positioning of her limbs doesn't really seem to matter much because of how pleasantly boneless she feels, such that when she rolls over a little to try and look at him better, one of her arms and one of her legs end up at half-odd angles just because she sort of forgot to move them along with the rest of her, and she's not conscious enough to reposition herself into a configuration that makes sense.]
M'thinking.
[And then she goes silent, though she probably doesn't mean to; she's thinking all of the things she's thinking that she means to tell him, but she's forgotten that for him to appreciate them, they need to actually come out of her mouth.
Well, anyway. Regardless. He's standing, and he's watching her, and she remembers vaguely that she's on the sofa, and she puts two and two together in a logical way, even if factually it doesn't quite hold up.]
Mmmmmmmm. M'in the way.
[Because naturally he wants to sit. And he can't. Because she is here, in the way.]
[Oh, this is too much. She's asleep for all intents and purposes, lured there by the sound and warmth of fire and the sofa's comfort. Alucard's seen Sypha like this plenty of times before, but usually the reasons are much more intimate than just a fire in the fireplace.
It's also too much to watch Sypha try and sit up. Alucard shakes his head, and rather than make Sypha do the work, he puts his arms under her knees and back and scoops her up instead. Just long enough to get her clear. Then he spins himself around, sits down on the sofa properly, and lays Sypha across his lap.]
[It's also curious, because by virtue of that lift-and-spin move, Sypha has ended up rotated a hundred and eighty degrees from the direction she'd previously been, which is new and interesting and just slightly beyond her to properly appreciate at the moment. The fire used to be one way and now it's the other; she can still track it from its glow and its warmth, but it really shouldn't just move around like that when she's trying to watch it, because it makes it difficult to follow.
His arms are still supporting her, she observes, and so almost thoughtfully she finds control of one hand and lifts it until she's fairly certain the fingers are resting against his arm somewhere near the elbow, then painstakingly begins to follow it up toward his shoulder like a garden path because she's reasonably confident she'll find Alucard at the end of it.]
[Not now. Not for warmth of the fire, although that is a factor, but for the way that Sypha's hand travels up his arm. The way it finds his shoulder. He watches it all so very carefully, reveling in it.
Today, somehow, has been quiet. The week has been. It is as if the cold snap has settled everyone and encouraged them to take more than five seconds to calm down. It's almost as if his father was back in the city and order was properly returned. If this is a taste of what his life would be like with the three of them and no other responsibilities, then Alucard intends to hold fast and cling as long as he can.]
[Breaking contact with him for only a moment, she lightly flails her arm in the vague direction of where she thinks the fire is and curls her fingers into a grasping motion, sweeping it back in a clumsy and scattered pulling motion. It's the right sort of movement, recognizably so, but with absolutely no focused intent behind it, there's no magic — just a shift of the arm.
Which is probably a very good thing, so that she's not pulling fire around and throwing it places in her sleep.
When her arm comes back again, it lightly thunks against his chest instead of his shoulder, and she frowns a little while she feels around, making sleepy appraisal of the body beneath her fingers until she sort of figures out what it is she's touching.]
[It’s good that Sypha’s intent is waylaid by exhaustion. Alucard can’t imagine that her trying to really do magic while mostly asleep would end well. The only thing that can end well is how they’re piled together right now, Sypha all soft and warm and his own body trying to catch up. (He’s got the slippers on, which helps. Everything else is PJs and the bathrobe.]
You did. Thank you.
[He’s happy like this. Sypha’s hand on his chest (vampire tiddies aren’t Belmont ones, admittedly) is the last piece of perfection for the scene.]
[She is nothing if not helpful and eager to please, even mostly asleep. Her hand slips down a little, more just from being drawn by gravity and a lack of concentration on keeping it aloft, until finally it settles and she's back to drowsing, punctuated only by the occasional jaw-cracking yawn.]
Mmm. I was thinking.
[She's also forgotten she said that already, a minute or two ago. Maybe this time she'll remember to elaborate aloud, instead of in her head.]
You need to bird.
[...Well, she made it halfway. That last bit is just incomprehensible dream gibberish.]
[They should get to bed. Sypha's made that clear. But all her funny half-asleep talk is too endearing to not listen to, so Alucard delays it.
He loves holding onto her like this. She's warm, so warm, so gentle in these moments. It's his favorite thing about her. About both of them. They're harder than diamonds with the world. The hands that hold onto him now have done such feats. Trevor's too, but Trevor's hands are always rougher, they have more callouses. It's harder to forget with him. But here, with him, in these moments, there is only softness.
One day, perhaps, his father will return. Alucard will retreat from the world, have his reputation be nothing more than a fop of a princeling, living off his father's work by rutting with a Speaker and a hunter, engaging with the world so minimally that he ought not to be counted as a presence among Society. A dream. Impossible.
Except for these moments when it feels entirely possible. He smiles down at Sypha in his arms, and he kisses the top of her head. Breathes out a single word.]
Hearthfire.
[Because that's what Sypha and Trevor represent. Home. Home in all the ways that matter. He isn't the kind of man to revel in petnames. There are a million darlings and sweethearts, and it's patronizing besides. The world does enough of that to them. But he can murmur a few honest associations now and again.]
[That rouses her, a little. It's not enough to pull her back from the sticky strands of dreaming that have been wrapping around her like a web, but the word catches at her like a hook, less because of what it is in and of itself and more because of how he says it. Even half-asleep, even halfway to senseless, there's a part of Sypha that is resonant with Alucard, that knows to pay attention when it hears that rare tone of voice.]
...Where?
[She thinks that's the right answer, maybe. There's a fire somewhere. She lost track of it a while ago, or maybe it was only a minute ago, but it's there somewhere.
She blinks once, twice, with heavy lashes and eyelids that can barely stay open, and tilts her chin up just a little to try to find his face. Her gaze is unfocused and soft with sleep, but after a moment she seems to find him, and it registers that he's smiling.]
[He said that out loud didn't he? The embarrassment doesn't really show on his face for once, and he shifts just enough so he can stand with Sypha in his arms. He'll come back and put the fire out once she's in bed.]
Let's get you under the blankets.
[There's endless adoration on his face. No attempt to hide it. It radiates off him, ripping outwards.]
[She curls inward when he lifts her, snuggling up close against his chest as her fingers curl into the soft material of his robe. Presumably the way she compacts makes it easier to carry her, but it's also about as close to midair cuddling as it's possible to get.
About fifteen seconds pass before it occurs to her that she's forgotten a vital addendum, and she sleepily adds: ]
And Trevor.
[...Wait. That seems wrong. There's only two and that's not right, and she needs to fix it.]
[Very perfect. Alucard's laugh is more like a whisper on the breeze at those declarations, but the sound is there and he can do nothing more than whisk her off to their bed to ensure she's comfy and snug and can rest far more comfortably than she ever would on the couch.
(He leaves her there alone for a few minutes. Just enough time to see to the fire. Then he is in bed, both arms around her, pulling her nearly atop him, and resting.)
An early night. A late morning, because the world is cold and quiet still, and while snow does not happen so far south, the feeling of it can take hold from time to time. The sense that there is a warm blanket muting the world.
He isn't up until ten in the morning. Alucard stirs only slightly, eyes going to the clock that rests on one of the nightstands that flank the bed. There's a soft sigh, then he looks to see if Sypha's awakened before him.]
[Very rarely is Sypha ever up before Alucard is, and today is no exception. Granted, she'd woken up before he had, probably owing to the fact that she'd been dozing already before he'd put her to bed, and thus ran the necessary length of her sleep cycle before him. But in the course of the night they've shifted around, just from natural moving and rearranging, such that she's on her side facing him, trapped snugly between the wall and his body, like a barrier between her and the rest of the room.
She's still half-dozing herself, or at least lounging around in bed, but she's managed to find herself a loose section of his hair and has been methodically working tiny braids into it while he slept, each a slightly different weave — some three strands, some four, this one a herringbone, that one a rope, and all left unfinished at the ends, at risk of unraveling with the slightest jostling.]
[Alucard's voice is thick and very much struggling to the concept of being awake. It takes a few moments for him to even register how they've shifted over the night (the patterns are very different from when Trevor is home).
His hair's heavier than normal. Strange.]
Comfy?
[Because he can feel fingers in his hair, and that means Sypha is at a truly weird angle or she's found a nice way to do this and lounge at the same time.]
[Rather than bat the braid away, Alucard does nothing more than wiggle his nose. The braid slips out of place, falling to hang where it ought to. There's no move to undo it, but there is a move for Alucard to turn over onto his side.]
I did. You were barely awake on the sofa, and there was no point in letting you rest there. Your back would be very unhappy now.
[He is much comfier now. Lounging is best done like this: too many pillows to support his head. Side lounge. One arm under all of the pillows, and his free hand creeping to Sypha's side.]
[She laughs at the face he makes, reaching just enough to tug lightly on the strand of braid he's just repositioned. Then that in itself gives her an idea, and she picks up three of the braids she's already done and absently starts to weave them together in their turn.]
Let's see...I remember I was watching the fire, and thinking.
[That's a good start. She hums, as she continues to sift through her drowsy recollection of the previous night.]
You came in. I remember you seemed...so happy.
[Hmm. Her brow furrows, as she ponders a little more.]
[Too many, clearly. Alucard can't believe he slept through that much hairbraiding. He's impressed in a way, Sypha's touches have become defter over time. That or he needed more sleep than he thought, which is possible.
He listens though. Is quiet and then....very blushed, for his definition of it.]
Nearly this whole side. If I'd had some beads, I would have strung them on as well. Did you know in some cultures, important life events are commemorated by carved beads threaded onto braided strands of hair?
[She finishes off her plait, then gives that a tug for good measure.]
...I wonder if I dreamed it, then. Heartfire...
[Denying it may prove even worse than admitting to it, because now she's going to SOLVE THIS MYSTERY.]
...Hearth fire? Hmm. It sounds like a spell, or —
[Wait a minute.]
What do you mean, it's nothing? Then you do know what it is!
[The question is gentle, and if anything, Alucard's impressed. Sypha's fingers work fast, which he knows from other experiences anyway, but it's always worth marveling at talent, as well as enjoying it. There's a shift, a slight one, as Alucard gets comfortable.]
How big are the beads then? I can see people working at a small scale, but only just so.
[He'll have to undo the braids later. For now, they stay. Stay and watch Sypha solve a pointless mystery.]
Long enough. I tried to go very carefully, so that I would not disturb you.
[And she's clearly proud to have succeeded, even if god forbid he see himself in a mirror right now, with half his hair loose and the other half this braided monstrosity.
She raises a hand, though, making a circle with her thumb and forefinger about the size of a cherry or small grape.]
About this big. The carving is very delicate, and the material has to be lightweight so as not to weigh the hair down too much.
[...But.]
You realize I will sit on you and extract a confession, don't you?
[Maybe he'll shower first this morning. And make up for getting rid of all the braids by asking Sypha to brush his hair.]
I see. And it's all done with delicate tools as well, I imagine, otherwise the material would break. I'm sure the practice is ancient and...
[On one hand: oh no, don't throw him into the briar patch. On the other: this is a pretty dumb thing to be getting into briar patches about in the first place. So confession it is, soft and embarrassed.]
There's precious little I dislike more than patronizing names for you both. But that is, I suppose, how I see you at times like last night. It simply is not something I voice.
[For her. So that's what it was, then — her explanation, colored by his bashfulness, offered up in mitigation once she'd coaxed it out of him. A patronizing name, or so he calls it. A bit of affection, spoken, to go with the expression that she remembers him wearing while he looked at her.
Hearthfire. That's how he sees her, he says; that's the word that comes to mind when a moment passes between them like the one last night. As though she is the fire that warms his home, a light to make his shadows withdraw, burning red-orange in tandem with his own gold and moonlight white.
He always compares her to fire, doesn't he? And not just to flames in particular but to heat, to the sensation of being warm. Sometimes he teases her about it, with more unflattering nicknames than this one, but always he acknowledges her as the warm spot in the room, his foil when he himself is so often cold.
(It surprises her, a little, to consider that. In his worse moments, she sometimes perceives him as a deep well of sadness, withdrawn in a way that gives off a chill. It's never really occurred to her that he might harbor similar thoughts of her in return, perceiving her as the warmest place in a room, a burning flame that night moths couldn't help but be drawn to.)
His fire, but not just any fire. The one that burns in his hearth. The one that burns in his heart.
And he thinks such a thing is patronizing.]
Why don't you voice it?
[She's barely even noticed that her cheeks have flushed; now even her face is hot, further proving his point.]
There are many terms of endearment used. Thousands of others who response to all of the same ones. There is only one Sypha, same as there is only one Trevor. [There's a terribly large amount of Trevors, but that's not the point.]
Your names are yours and yours alone. Why would I use something else that is not fully you?
[At the end of the day, he cares about them being them. They mean the world to Alucard, he's shown that in all ways great and small. But they are unto themselves, people in their own right, and that is something too much of the world around them seems keen to forget or ignore. (Pets. He hates it.)]
[Is it possible for her to flush any redder? It turns out that it is, and she has to press her lips together, chewing on her lower lip because her mouth is aching with a smile that pulls unbidden at the corners of her lips.]
...Yes. But for me, there is only one Alucard to call me such sweet things.
[And she really does shift now, nudging the blankets aside just enough that she's able to climb on top of him, forearms braced on either side of his head so that she can look down into his face. If her hair were long enough, it would make a curtain around the two of them; as it is, it's too short to do her that courtesy, but given the way she holds his gaze, in Sypha's mind there's nothing else in the rest of the world but the two of them right now, anyway.
(And Trevor, of course. Always Trevor. He's always there as a part of them, even when he's not there in reality.) ]
And Sypha is my name that everyone has the right to use and to call me. But only you have the right to call me that endearment.
[Oh. Oh that's cute. Alucard may be very flustered about this, but the look on Sypha's face eases so much. He forgets that his Overthinking sometimes means he misses obvious things, like terms of endearment being something others like. Or that he can make Sypha smile like that with just a word.
He likes doing that last thing whenever he can, after all.]
All the same.
[He sighs, but then Sypha's climbed atop him. He's still on his side, so he shifts to change that. Make it easier for her to look at his stupid, embarrassed face. It's about as red as his face can ever get, although maybe sillier for all of those tiny braids.]
You'd get sick of it if I used it constantly anyway.
Well, yes. I like the sound of my name in your voice, too.
[She ducks down a little, stealing a kiss from the corner of his mouth, very lightly and very fleeting. What a pair they make, both red in the face for related yet differing reasons.]
But could you, just once? While I'm awake, so I can appreciate it.
[And yet, here she is, cuddled up with him beneath the covers, her half-braided overly sentimental blushing beau of a vampire, letting him haggle with her about the whens and the hows of calling her a pet name.]
I don't want to get up yet. We can stay a little longer, can't we?
Mmm, is that why you watched me sleep for an hour?
[They are so very warm like this, Sypha being where she is. Snug for the blankets piled atop them both to keep out the chill. Alucard looking ridiculous for Sypha's efforts and his own...everything, because he's a disaster.]
You're the one atop me, Sypha. I don't see how I can get up unless you allow it.
No, I watched you sleep for an hour because you are very handsome when you sleep.
[She is nothing if not honest. Also warm. Also settling down over him because holding herself up isn't as comfortable as just draping herself over him, and she's probably light enough that it's not a massive burden on him, anyway.]
And also because you watched me sleep last night, I think. Or at least saw me when I was close to it. Fair is fair.
When you're awake, you are very beautiful. A slight but significant difference.
[There's no way he'll resist that bait, but that's sort of the point. Baiting clarification through deliberate ambiguity is always an enjoyable game to play, especially on a lazy morning in bed.]
Are you warm enough? Comfortable? I am not crushing anything?
Hm, I hadn't been aware of that. How, precisely, do you define that difference?
[He shifts a little, just to make it clear to Sypha that he is, in fact, very comfortable indeed. She's the warmest weight. The best weight.]
You'd know if you were. But this does beg the question of how long do you wish to laze here versus how much do you want me to go and make coffee? [Some routines are important. And moreover, he really, really needs it.]
A force of nature is not handsome, but it can be beautiful.
[She bends, kissing the tip of his nose, because she's in reach for it and he hasn't tried to gracefully rearrange her, so why not.]
When you sleep, you are soft and content, like a picture from out of a storybook, very handsome. But awake, you become like a diamond. Your wit, your resolve, your sadness and joy both. Your different facets shine depending on how the light hits you. Beauty is a more nuanced thing, than simply being handsome. And you are much more than the pretty face you show when you are asleep.
[She settles back down again, resting her head on his shoulder.]
Just ten more minutes, now that we're both awake. I just want to enjoy being with you.
[His nose wiggles just a little from that touch. He had a planned response to this, he really did, but leave it to Sypha to stun him into complete and utter silence. Make him as red as he can possibly get. To want to melt into the bed for all of the warmth in those words, in how she says them.
The most she gets is a little strangled noise of surprise and delight, which is to say she's bested the vampire, and neither of them have gotten out of bed yet.
What else can he do in this moment but tuck a few stray strands of Sypha's hair back where they ought to be when she settles again? Kiss her gently on her forehead, because that's what's in reach? Hold her fast where she is, because what other place ought she be but there?
Alucard sighs, content. Murmurs some noise that's agreement, because really, how does one follow up words like those?
But ten minutes do pass. Become fifteen, and there's a cry from Alucard's stomach that interrupts the peace and quiet. Rather than nudge Sypha, he kisses the top of her head to reclaim attention.]
I'll make something we can both have up here. All I intend to do for the rest of the day is to stay in bed, tending to the fire.
[Evidently, one follows up endearments like hers with, well, a remark like that, because it's visible in her expression how the pieces fall into place, and confusion shifts into recognition. One for one, it seems, they're even; her eyes widen just a fraction, and her lips part just enough to allow for a silent intake of breath to pass through, and her cheeks flush pink for a hint of a moment, as much with unexpected pleasure as with fluster.
Tending to the fire, indeed. It's such a little thing, to leave her so overwhelmed.]
...Oh.
[Oh.]
You'll have to be quick. It's not sensible to leave such things unattended for long.
I'm afraid it will be fifteen minutes at the very least.
[Because coffee takes time. So does the rest of breakfast, even with vampire speed. Stoves, stoves work in real time, no matter how hard his father tried to change that. Laws of heat abide by no rule but their own.
He can't help but relish that reaction. It's a fair turn for leaving him breathless earlier, but more than that, it's just a sight to see. Rendering Speakers speechless that's an accomplishment.]
Are you now going to make as many puns about fire as you can? Because I am enjoying them immensely.
[Reluctantly, and at length, she finally lets go and lightly rolls off of him, landing with a pleasant flump on the mattress on her side, facing him with a smile on her face.]
Such as: are you carrying a torch for me, my old flame? I can think of no one who could hold a candle to you.
I'll lose a pun contest with you, and I've no intent to shame myself in such a humiliating defeat.
[Besides, there's something more important than puns. Alucard lingers where he is just a few moments longer. Long enough to place a kiss on her lips, one to her neck, and one to whatever bit of exposed shoulder he can reach. Soft as anything. Not teasing, not in truth.
And then he is out of bed. Out with his slippers on his feet, bathrobe forgotten. To the kitchen, because coffee is needed. Coffee and real food, because to feed a fire you have to...actually feed a fire, which this morning translates into poached eggs over English muffins, sausages, bacon, plus extra toast with butter and jam on the side. It's all brought up on a tray holding two plates, the coffee pot, and two mugs. (The fine china is the only china the house has, so it's used on the regular.)
Alucard had the foresight to leave the door open, so there's no struggling with the knob. There is only walking over to present the entire tray in front of Sypha, trying not to look too terribly proud of the work.]
[Despite her grumbling, the time passes by much more quickly for Sypha than she would've thought it would, even once he's gone. Being the preliminary source of heat of the pair means that his absence isn't felt that badly in terms of a lack of ambient warmth, and once she pulls the covers back up around her to help keep it in, it's not altogether difficult to roll over and bury her face in his pillow and breathe deep the lingering smell of his hair while she waits.
She falls back asleep before long, dozing in her nest of warmth and blankets, and eventually rouses when she hears his footsteps on the stairs. By the time he reaches the door, she's rolling over onto her back and sitting up, scowling only moderately at the chill in the air outside of the blankets.]
...Oh, you're spoiling me.
[And suddenly she realizes just how hungry she is, with the aroma of breakfast in the air, and all of it made better by Alucard's return.]
Here, let me have it while you get back in bed. It's better under the covers.
[It should be noted that, among so many other things, all of the braids are still in place. Cooking? Far more important than fussing with his hair. There was no time to focus on that.
All the same, the tray gets handed over to Sypha first so that nothing will spill over the bed. (Coffee is the probable worst stain of them all, but bacon grease is a close second. Alucard is careful as he sits on the edge of the bed (slippers off first!) and then settles in. Makes sure the blankets are up enough to be warm, but down low enough that they won't catch crumbs.]
It's nearly eleven. At this point, we may as well be having lunch.
[She balances the tray admirably, letting him get situated before passing it back to him (she'd sooner trust his reflexes to catch impending spills than her own) and snuggling in close to his side so that she's within reach of the plates, herself.]
...Alucard.
[She lightly walks her fingers up his arm, gently coaxing as she thinks out loud.]
I know that for...many reasons, you tend not to show Trevor and I when you have a meal in blood instead of in eggs and muffins. But I don't remember seeing you even sneak off for one in some time. You...have been, haven't you? And I simply haven't noticed?
[Once they are both settled, he pours the coffee. Most important thing. Alucard takes his dark and bitter, and he drinks it all before he ever eats. It is a strange little ritual, and one he imagines is born of older traditions back in his father's homeland. The Turks, after all, once occupied Wallachia, and it is their custom to have coffee before any other meal.
His leg moves to brush against Sypha's. Rest there, for he is terrible and a prelude is always nice. As nice as the fingers on his arm, even if the question is not his favorite.]
I have. Just at meetings, rather than independent.
[It's been stressful lately. He hates taking human blood, but when it's offered at long talks, he is in no place to refuse.]
[Nothing from a vein. Glasses only, because what prince must work for his meals? It is the only way to cast the dislike of it, and those nights are the ones he did not kiss either of them. Trevor would know immediately anyway, and things with Trevor are so very tenuous.
The head on his shoulder gets a kiss. (Maybe a little coffee in the hair too.]
I never want you to. I...worry, you know. That it forces the burden of my emotional well being on you too much.
It's different when I ask for it. That's not forcing anything; it is my choice.
[A little sigh escapes her when his kiss brushes against her head, and she holds there a minute before reaching for a piece of the bacon and testing it with her fingertips to see if it's too hot to pick up. When she finds it's sufficiently cooled, she murmurs her nonverbal approval and picks up a piece to chew on, crunching happily.]
I couldn't love you without accepting that burden, however much of a burden it might be. Love is not for only when it is easy. I want to support you, whether you are at your best or your worst.
[The coffee is done. He reaches for toast first, because he doesn't have to do much to it. Eggs, sausage, that requires utensils. A few more moments like this.
He sighs. It is happy, for the most part. That well of sadness, it bubbles up. But it does not overflow. There's something murmured. Hearthfire again, sincere and whispered and too quiet for anyone else to ever overhear.
There are days Alucard thinks of what is deserved and not. It cannot be helped, it is a natural thought to anyone.
He breathes out.]
I love you for that. More than I can find words for.
[What would a Speaker be without words, after all. It's in the very definition.]
You've never needed them to show your love. It helps, of course, but it's like I have said before: you love by doing, through action. And sometimes through inaction.
[She smiles faintly.]
I'm lying on your arm, and you can't eat a sausage one-handed. So you're putting it off, so that we can go a little longer before I have to move my head. Otherwise you would've already had them by now, because your coffee is finished.
[Idly, she licks her fingers once she's finished with her piece of bacon, sucking off the remainder of the grease and delicious fried bits.]
You write notes and hide them for me because you know I love written things, because Speakers don't use them. You leave strawberries out on the counter because you're going to bake with them later and pretend that you always meant to make a half-batch instead of a full one, because half of the berries have gone missing in the interim. You gave me my own whole room in this great big house, even though I never sleep in it and you knew that too, but because I have never had a bedroom or a closet or a desk with little drawers and knobs and that room, it isn't ours, it's mine.
[And she laughs a little, softly.]
Sometimes I don't think you even realize how often you tell me you love me. But I know. You do it without words.
[It's the best and worst part of half your heart belonging to a Speaker: any declaration of love is going to be outclassed in every way possible, and you are going to sit there a total mess.
Which is what Alucard is doing in this very moment, heat in his cheeks, free hand caught up in Sypha's hair, eyes glistening from the sweetness and understanding of it all. That last part though, that last part is the key to it all.
He grew up watching displays of endless affection. It's the easier part for him to follow, because actions come easier than words. Intent, the magic of intent, it translates better for him when he can do something so simple as make sure Sypha has her own room in the house or to always prepare only half a batch of strawberry muffins.
So he can be forgiven at being stunned into silence. And just stuffing his face full of toast rather than trying to reply.]
[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.]
[She is, in some fashion, as much of an accessory to Alucard tonight as his sword is. This may be her presentation to vampire society, but this night is about him, and so it simply must be that all things revolve around him, be perceived in relation to him. It's the reason her shirt is blood red instead of white; it's the reason the same color shapes her lips when normally she would never wear lipstick so bold. It's the reason the buttons down the front of her vest are black pearl, and the ones on her coat are inlaid with the same. It's the reason her pinstripes are silver like the sword that hangs at his side. It's the reason she's in black like he is too, and there are no flowers to be found anywhere on her.
Tonight, she understands, more than ever, she is his. She is always his, but tonight she is His, and she understands why.
She understands, too, that beneath the impeccable exterior still lies a young man grieving for his mother and shattered by the abandonment of his father. Beneath his shirt there still lies the scar that she was invited in to his home to treat.]
I slept all morning, into the afternoon. And I had coffee before we came, so I think I will be all right until the sun comes up.
[She turns toward him, reaching up to fuss with his lapels, with his hair. She can't kiss him without marring her lipstick, and that's agony, too.]
I'll sneak into the kitchen and make more if you need it.
[Because tonight they have to stay until first light. (Unlike every vampire here, he can stay beyond first light if he must.) That is hardly the worst of it, but it factors into so much. The worst of it, beyond the fact that this is required in the first place, is that Sypha doesn't get to walk into the room as no one more than herself. This is posturing, this is politics, this is stuff neither of his parents were strictly required to do because of his father's long, long shadow. He need only reside in the city, and everything came to heel.
He makes the comparisons first and tries to live with them because everyone else will do the same thing. If he can beat the to the thought, then he can move around them. Make sure he is nothing more than a seatwarmer until his father returns. This cannot be a lifetime appointment.
He'd rather Sypha in all the blues that look so lovely with her eyes. Red is..it is not terrible, but it also isn't her. He sighs heavily, knowing that no one else is in the room. She can hear how full of dread he is, hear it as he tucks a stray piece of her hair back into place.]
Would it help to sneak off together...? To pretend that you...
[She hesitates, watching him, and absently touches the ribbon tie that keeps her collar clasped closed at her throat. It sits high on her neck, and that's not a coincidence. Obscuring her throat means the collected vampires won't have the pleasure of getting an eyeful, while she mingles. It also means none of them can see what's there beneath the fabric — or what isn't.]
I don't know if that would be...expected. Or if it would help? But I can pretend, if it would help.
This is about as much artifice as I can stand at the moment. If we need coffee, we just go get what we need.
[It is all artifice. What they both wear, how they have to move tonight, what thin polite things Alucard must say when barely felt condolences are offered. (A handful of vampires actually meant them at the wake. Everything else was politic. He and his father both knew it, and he and his father both barely contained their contempt for every lie uttered.)
Only a few more minutes now. They'll kiss when this is done. All he can do is rest his forehead on Sypha's shoulder.]
...I don't know what I am supposed to be tonight, Alucard. What role I play in the story we're telling.
[She's careful, when she reaches to stroke his hair, that she doesn't muss it or let even a single perfectly-arranged lock go out of place. But her bare fingers sink into his mane, rest against the back of his head, and cradle the nape of his neck — what small comfort she can offer him, as they stand on the precipice of terror.]
Am I your pet, your...food? Your healer? Your witch? I don't know...which of these things, what would be of the most use...
[He wants to be at home. At home in bed being held like this, and at least he can wrap both arms around her like he would if they were anywhere else. He can breath in her scent (six months without a nomad's life and she still smells like the road, like the wilds, not like the city at all), he can find some tiny thing to cling to for the rest of the night.]
You are yourself. I won't accept anything else. Nor will I accept anyone seeing you as anything but yourself. Everything else is...it is slight of hand. Enough to disorient, enough to confuse, enough to be armor should anyone's understanding be unclear.
[Sleight of hand. She can do sleight of hand, she can do stage theatrics. She knows how to disorient, and more importantly she knows how to make everyone look where she wants them to look, so that they won't see what she's really doing with her other hand all along.
She scratches her nails lightly along his scalp, seeking to comfort, desperate to offer some small measure of sanctuary to him before this night properly begins.]
...I am, though.
[She corrects him softly, as her hand stills.]
Because you are being used, too, aren't you? We both are. By this — all of this. The spectacle. The hierarchy. We are being fed to it, the both of us.
[He whispers it for the confession it is. Even as the nails in his scalp calm him. Center him. Pull him out of his head, just as he is about to apologize for dragging her in so deep.]
[She angles her head just so, carefully, so that she can nudge her nose against his hair, with her lips curled in against the possibility of the strands sticking unpleasantly to the color painting them.]
Be strong, for as long as you can. And when you can be strong no longer, then trust that I will be there to be strong in your place.
[There's such warm air against his skin. It nearly makes him relax. The fleeting moment of it, his heart getting pushed back to where it ought to be instead of in his throat, it means the world.]
I am in your hands.
[What more of a leap of faith can he take? It is at that moment there's a polite knock on the door, Theodora calling Adrian, Miss Sypha, now would be the time.
He straightens up slowly. Reaches over to kiss Sypha's forehead, because that won't show on either of them, then nods. When he steps out of the door, he must be that same ice cold well she met and remarked upon so many months ago.
Speaking of hands. He takes her left hand in his right, and squeezes it gently.]
[It's such a silly thing to remark on — a last fleeting moment of panicked stage fright before her first steps into the footlights.]
Do I — need...gloves?
[It would be too late now to acquire them anyway, even if she did, but this is a last cleansing of nervousness and apprehension, setting it free from her body in the last moments she has of solitude so that it can't weigh her down when the performance begins.]
[Over the cliff they walk. Out the side room, through the open doors that lead onto a grand balcony, and overlooking the whole of the yard that seems to stretch on forever. It is a more formal affair, long banqueting tables with white linen cloths, tablesettings with too many forks and a namecard for each. Fae lights and electric ones combined illuminating the whole of the place, the fae lights closer to fireflights with a greater power. Their colors change as they flicker.
Alucard does not flinch as he feels eyes find him. There is no record scratch moment where the festivities stop, but he can see turned heads. The whole city is watching, and that's no exaggeration. Vampires are always drawn to these things, but he can see some of the covens that live in the area. Independent practitioners. The fainter images of some of the ghosts that are not tied down. The demons who live with human hosts and find pleasure in these affairs. All others who are impacted by Dracula's departure and now are his wards.
He takes the responsibility seriously. Stability until his father returns. Then he can get on with his life as it ought to be.
Alucard's eyes go to Sypha. To check in, if only for a moment.]
[Be yourself, he'd told her. They should see you as yourself. And with each step they take as they leave their side room and walk forward toward destiny, she feels a little more of her apprehensions melting away — not because she's any less anxious about what waits for them when they step into the moonlight, but because this is how it always is when one walks onto a stage. Fears and doubts melt away to be left behind the curtains, and ahead there is only the performance, only the actor and her wits and the moment.
They step onto the balcony, her left hand in his right. Alucard is tall next to her, and stable, and solemn, and cold.
But she is herself, and in that first moment, taken as she is with the sight of the fae lights and the whole of the city sprawled out below her, an impulse possesses her that she can't hope to restrain —
And won't, because they should see her as herself.
So she raises her free hand, rising up and bending at the elbow to bring the fingertips to touch against her lips for a kiss, and as she sweeps it out again in an arc, it's not an invisible kiss that's blown but a thousand tiny embers of flame, shed across the expanse of the party below like a meteor shower, each one lighting up the darkness for the barest hint of a moment before burning out and settling back again into night.
She doesn't do it for the attention, but it certainly garners it. So, let them see her: the whimsy of the witch, and the solemnity of the vampire, regent and consort looking out over their kingdom and its subjects.]
[Any day Alucard gets accused of being overdramatic shall be responded to with a reminder of this moment. It is so very dramatic and it feels so very right for the moment. It is fire, and everyone assembled knows Alucard's feelings about fire. He's addressed the problem, it seems.
His hand remains latched to hers, fingers laced together. He squeezes for just a moment, cool leather against her warmth. That was wonderful.
That was beginning the party in full. There is a change in the band's tempo, brighter than the soft evening music of before. Invitation to begin dancing. Invitation to begin indulgence. Invitation to all those night things who must obey such sacred concepts.
And for many, it also is an invitation to begin to speak with Alucard. Coldness, in these moments, serve him well. He is able to speak of stability with such certainty, of his father's return with such confidence, that any who seem to have doubt go away with fewer concerns than before. (It shall not last.) He is able to listen to more personal plights (slight things most of the days, and a few concerns with the Church Ladies which he can easily talk out) without betraying too much sympathy that he'd have otherwise.
It's boring. It's tedious. And at a certain break he nudges Sypha softly.]
You're not compelled to linger here if you want to explore. Look for myself or our host when you must.
[It's easier to breathe once things get properly under way. She still stays by his side, still keeps hold of his hand for as long as he can afford to grant it to her, but it's apparent that the people who approach them are coming to pay respects to Alucard specifically, with herself being spared only a passing glance, if she even warrants acknowledgement to begin with at all.
It drags on, and she eavesdrops, and much of it doesn't make sense. She watches their faces instead, trying to make a game of which ones are lying and which ones are telling the truth, based on the slight tells in their features. Perhaps she'll ask Alucard about them later. She attends to the refreshments, the drinks, the little details. She'll need to master all of them as quickly as possible, for her to fit in here. Alucard can shelter her tonight, but he won't be able to forever.
But then, eventually, a lull comes, and he nudges her.]
Are you sure you can do without me?
[It sounds like a tease, which is good, because it hides the genuine concern inherent in the question. She does want to look around more than she's been able to at his side, but it's not for the sake of appearances that she's been staying close. Leaving him isn't even a consideration, unless he's going to be all right.]
[Every single one who ignores Sypha gets an annoyed glance. This is one of the many reasons Alucard didn't want to drag Sypha into this world, and the rudeness towards mortals was one of them. A few have the grace to look cowed by his disapproval. The rest don't care, and he bites down that ire like he's not a twenty something about to explode from the evening's pressure.
He hates that Sypha's relegated to detail work. It isn't fair. It's hardly right. How many Speakers stay in a city? What more could she tell them? But no. Not a single question her way.
There's something happening inside. Alucard catches a scent of it, and Sypha's question is well timed.]
I shall survive fifteen minutes and not a moment more.
[There's more vampire specific refreshments about to come, and there's a point he's been proud of around her. She's never witnessed him take this nutrition.]
So much trouble I could get up to in fifteen minutes...
[But she steps just slightly away from his side, a little forward and a half-pivot, so that she's more facing him than she is standing next to him. It's partly so that she can see his face but mostly so that no one else can come and take this place as the focal point of his attention from her until she's done. Not that she thinks he would let them, but still. Social grace.]
I'm going to go look at the spells they're using to light the perimeter of the garden. They seem very cleverly done! Certainly I could spend fifteen minutes alone just looking at that, so I expect that is where you will find me.
[She glances once up into his eyes, with a question in her own — that's what you need, isn't it? — and looks for the confirmation that she's right.]
[Need. Not want. Because what he needs to take blood without a moment's hesitation here, and Alucard knows himself. He won't touch it at all if Sypha is present. Such things are best served warm, so...so this must be done.
He nods once to show that he'll bear it as best he can. At any other moment he'd put a kiss to her forehead or stroke her cheek before departing, but that can't be done here either. Mourning is mourning after all.
(After tonight, he will have to transition to colors. Hers, perhaps, blue is not so bad a match with golds and blacks and moonlight whites.)]
[Her heart aches for him, watching the reservation he's required to maintain just for the sake of appearances. The solemn, almost stiff nod looks nothing like her Alucard, the one she has the privilege of seeing behind the safety of closed doors. She aches for the Alucard she knows, the secret one between just the two of them, who smiles and cooks and holds still for what seems like hours while she brushes his hair, who lifts her like she's weightless when she falls asleep in some inconvenient place, whose face lights up with unparalleled delight when he thinks she's being brilliant in some fashion or another.
Her Alucard is there, somewhere, buried beneath all the formality and pretense. He's the one she smiles for, surreptitiously, even as she maintains her own show of deliberate whimsy.
(It makes her a foil to him, and that's important. The eye, she knows, likes to see things in contrasts, in dualities. He looks more solemn simply by virtue of standing next to her when she doesn't. He gains more gravitas when held up next to her, when she's merry.)
She makes sure her smile lights up her whole face, watching him.]
Don't do anything fun without me! Or dance with anyone prettier than me. I might get jealous.
[And off she goes, hiding her reluctance to leave his side behind a light bounce in her step.
The nice thing is, she wasn't lying about being interested in the fae lights, so she really does make a beeline for them once she's on her own. The spells are fascinating, not for their complexity but simply because they're worked in a way she's never seen before. It's more than enough to hold her attention for a little while, at least.
Coincidentally, she's more than enough to hold the attention of a handful of young vampires for a little while, herself, but it'll be a minute or two before they properly make their move.]
[There's a flicker of real warmth just before Sypha departs. It's kindled because of that smile, but also because he understands Sypha's own plan now. A study in contrasts, enough to make a first night of this easier and enough to have any questions be about how this happened, not why this? Because the why is obvious, and the brightness does invite questions from anyone who's old enough to actually behave.
It's the plan of a trickster, and what a role to play. What a way to skirt the already liminal space. Who else but her would think of it? Who else but Sypha could pull it off?
He watches her depart, and the smile fades. The warmth is gone, and even as there is blood served, he is cold and stiff and gains no color from it as he drinks. (Usual mutters about quality are said, and no questions asked about how. Ethical consumption is the watchword of any who live in the city.)
Alucard's eyes are never far from her though, even as deeper conversation progresses. Something about the Church Ladies having a harder time of it, too many funerals, some younger ones might be joining their ranks so that means some re-learning of the laws of the land. Another thing about something happening in Texas with the Morris family. Distant kin expected to join them, which does no one any harm because Texas is large.
Fifteen minutes are over. Morrises can wait.
The blood glass is put aside, drained, and he begins to make his way over to where Sypha is.]
[She's about halfway through sussing out just how the fae light spells are crafted when she starts to sense the approach of a few partygoers — three of them, in total, all young, two fanged. There's nothing about the way that they draw near that's inherently predatory, but there's still always something about partygoers that advance in groups on a single individual that lends itself to the feeling of a group of sharks moving in on blood in the water.
They're presumably harmless, though all of them carry a drink in their hands, and she notices with some curiosity that one's glass is filled with liquid the color of champagne, while another has something similarly bubbly but with more of a pink-rose tint to it.
You're her, aren't you? The human Speaker, the one with the rosé remarks pleasantly.]
Why, yes. Mm, but I think you are a step ahead of me, may I have the courtesy of your names?
[They introduce themselves, one by one — Richard and Walter and Charles — and they engage her in idle chatter for a few minutes before eventually, Walter remarks, gosh, what lugs we are, taking up the time of a pretty belle without even handing her a drink —
And she can't actually tell if it's coordinated or not, but she suspects that it is, or at least something they've done in practice before, because a little too quickly Charles has a glass of that rosé in his hand and is pressing it toward her, and all of a sudden she wants to look for Alucard, but she knows better than to take her eyes off of a cluster of sharks.]
[Alucard's already walking over to Sypha when three gentlemen he only vaguely recalls meeting seem to reach he first. He isn't concerned exactly - Sypha can hold her own. She's lived a life on the road, there's no doubt that she has dealt with far worse than three tipsy idiots at a party where decorum is actually important.
He doesn't speed up. What he does instead is make sure the three have their backs towards him as he approaches, his eyes making contact with Sypha to ask how far gone any situation is or is not.]
Did you satisfiy your curiosity with the spellwork, Sypha?
[The look in her eyes when she glances up is almost categorically the universal sign for "If these fuckboys even try to start shit I will set them on fire", but, you know, in a pretty and smiling sort of way.]
Mm! Almost, but I wound up a little distracted.
[Detained, more like, but it's almost funny to watch two significant things occur in a matter of an instant: first, the three young vampires whirling around to glimpse Alucard making his approach, and second, Charles very hastily hiding the glass in his hand behind his back.
— Lord, Richard sort of blurts out, when it occurs to them in a split-second that they actually have no idea what sort of address Alucard might be demanding right now, and opting to err on the side of not getting their heads ripped off. Uh. Good — good evening, lord.]
[He sees that glass. Alucard's eyes narrow at it, because he can smell what it really is. There's about twenty lectures to launch into including "you wouldn't do this to a new member of the local coven, hm?" and "so we should talk about human medical needs" but he settles on the disapproving face of "you know better" because it's going to get to the heart of the matter. You wouldn't do this if my father was here. Behave.
That ice wall can be pushed outward against those who earn it. Their confusion about the nonsense of titles helps as well.]
Unless you're interested in discussing theory for the next half hour, I don't think this is the kind of conversation any of you three would enjoy.
[The fact that Alucard doesn't correct them on the point of the title leaves an ambiguity that produces the same effect as if he'd outright confirmed it. This time it's Charles who weighs in with a hasty, yet almost sullen, Uh...no, no, lord, and Richard who quickly spurs them along to return to the party. Well met, miss, sorry to interrupt — and off they go, taking their pretty glasses with them.
Carefully, ever so carefully, Sypha watches them go. And gauges the distance between herself and the closest vampires to them. And compares that to what she knows of a vampire's typical range of earshot.
And then smiles, brilliantly, at Alucard.]
Your timing is perfect, as always. Just when I was growing tired of boys.
[Contrasts. And what will those eavesdroppers hear? Three youths have left; an adult remains.]
[Fifteen minutes seems about right for someone to be an idiot, so at least Alucard can be satisfied with that. His face is impassive as the trio retreats for the rest of the party, and beyond them, no one seems to be paying any attention at all. Sypha's comment gets a few nods, he can see those, and the rest of the world does not care.]
I did say fifteen minutes and not a moment more, didn't I?
[These breaks can only be that long then, it seems.]
The music is slower than the modern pieces for now. Do you know the steps?
I'm best with country dances and sailors' hornpipes, but I know enough of slower ones to keep up.
[She gravitates toward him, just a little, but doesn't return to his side or reach for his hand just yet. If they were at home, she'd already be draped down his arm with her head resting on his shoulder — but this isn't home, and here they are.]
It is, yes. Quick enough to pick up though, and if not, put your feet atop mine.
[They'll cheat because they can and who will say a word? Alucard's quiet for a moment more, and here he does need to offer his arm instead of his hand because that's more proper for dancing.
Dinner will be in half an hour yet, which means that if they go for ten minutes in dancing, then while away the remaining twenty, they will be a third of the way through the night. It is silly, counting down, but it helps Alucard remain so very sane and so very, very grounded in what he must do.
This though, as much as this is politics it is also pleasure. Because it is an excuse to be close to her, to have her body pressed against his, to ignore the world for just a few precious minutes while the noise and the music and the heady smells drift over them both. They can ignore all of those things and focus on each other.]
[She does, ultimately, end up with her feet atop his — just the tips of her toes — but not because she needs it so much as because she wants it. She wants to, wants this, wants to be close to him as much as she can, and it's such a small and affectionate little thing, to step surreptitiously up onto the tops of his shoes and let him carry her around the dance floor.
It's a risk, because everything is a risk. But there's a stubborn, selfish recklessness in her over it, too. Let them see that she belongs here, she thinks fiercely. Let them see how loved she is.
She realizes too late how much it must make him resemble his father, in the eyes of the old ones who remember.]
This is nice.
[She says it softly, pressed up against him, for no one's ears but his own.]
[It's the easiest part of the night by far. Sypha's weight on his feet is nothing at all, and te thrill of closeness carries him for the duration of the first dance and well into the second. There's fewer eyes on them right now, far fewer than there will be at dinner. (He has seen the arrangements, he is at the head of the table. Sypha to his right, because that is How These Things Work.) A luxury they can't pass up.
His thoughts are on her, not what they resemble. That's for the drive home.]
The dances will be faster after dinner. Modern.
[He sighs, and it's one of those sighs he makes when they're alone and in each other's company. Not talking, usually just reading in the vicinity of each other, some drama on the radio.]
Perhaps it will be you who stands on my feet, then. I'm far better than you at them, I am sure.
[She wants so desperately to kiss him. It would be so easy to bring them to a standstill, reach up and draw him down and do it, and if they were at home, she would.
Hm, I'd be afraid to crush them and to float would give away the game.
[On less formal nights, he'd indulge every urge that says his mouth needs to be on Sypha's. Now. And for the next several minutes. Tonight is too formal, too high in expectation, and he makes a note to cover her in kisses when they stir tomorrow.]
[She can feel the tension between them, the ache and the want pulled taut like an overtuned E string, trembling with every breath and held back only through sheer force of self-control, mostly Alucard's. He doesn't look like himself tonight, she muses idly, even as the rest of her unfinished thought slips away into nothingness, replaced solely by the glitter-glow of the magical lights and the glint of the gold of his eyes. He looks like a vampire prince, more statue than alive, straight out of a story breathed into being with the rise of the moon. But looking at him makes her long for her Alucard, with a softness in his features that isn't there tonight, and a boyishness to the upturn of his lips that runs warm instead of ice-cold.
She wants to kiss this prince until the spell breaks and he becomes hers again. This is perfect, it's all too perfect, and she wants to rip it all apart until he's her Alucard once more.
They're perfect. Together, they're perfect. And perfect is what the eyes on them will see, for the rest of the night, but for just this one moment she falters, fractures just enough to remember the rest of her earlier thought, and finish it.]
I'm glad I came back. From the train. Back to you.
[The music is coming to an end. Alucard can hear the last page of sheet music turn, they'll call this here because when that last note plays, there will be an announcement for all to take their seats. This is really the last time they'll get to have, to be as close to themselves as they'll be afforded for the rest of the night.
He'd rather be curled up talking theory right now. Those lights, how to make the microwave heat more evenly because there's cold spots even if the plate's burning, anything. Their life is perfect when there's no one else around to observe it. Observe them. Alucard's presence at these things in the past has always been limited. When he has popped up in circles they have always been the intellectual or the magic ones, because that's what fascinates him most. Never politics. Never this.
Yet this is how it must be. Slight of hand, even as that slight of hand is perfection.
He can't sigh with the terrible longing he feels right now.]
And here I thought you might've heard a story or two about what happens when you go to a vampire's castle for business and not bothered.
[He likes laughing about the book. His father, less so.
The song does end. Dinner is called exactly when Alucard expects it to be, and there is no luxury spared for the meal. Blood at the start for those who require it (he takes his in full view because he must.) Courses tailored for everyone's needs - vampires with blood sausages and blood soups, those more mortal have finer cuisines that include a bevy of seafood served off bone white china - wines that match each selection. There is small talk, but Alucard is quiet for most of it. When he can, he touches his foot to Sypha's. A promise that he isn't in his own head.
It is all such fine food. The music that comes after is just as fine and cheerfully, proudly modern, allowing those who are older to depart with grace and dignity while those younger can enjoy the rest of festivities until dawn. (He catches a few mutters. That dancing, if it wasn't for the hair you'd swear they were his parents. His heart stops.) Alucard still must circulate and take all remaining conversations, but those fall off as dawn approaches. He is apart from Sypha, but never for long. She needs that time apart to plant her feet in this society as her own person, not just as the Speaker who is with Dracula's son. There's one or two vampires that approach that he can trust to engage with her levelly (thank God for James and his shit science), and that is a place to grow.
Dawn threatens. They are the last two to leave, save Theodora and her kin who must, must retire. The goodbyes are scant but warm, and the two are shuffled out into the dawn.
Home then. Home with no incidents. Home where all this artifice can be shed.]
[There are, thankfully, no more incidents like the one with the young vampires of earlier. They keep their distance, now, and she learns the merits of plucking a safe drink of her own and simply keeping it in her hand for the duration — one trick circumvented, courtesy of experience. When she separates from Alucard, her wandering usually takes her back to the spells being worked around the yard; she's in the process of puzzling one out when one of the older vampires wanders over to politely engage her, and she quickly comes to like him, even if he is a bit funny in his behaviors.
James is, if not explicitly kind to her, at the very least courteous. Once or twice he makes a thoughtless passing comment about humans that makes her cringe a little inside, but they quickly hit it off when he starts to ruminate on the war, and she doesn't actually realize which one he means until he brings up an old Speaker acquaintance of his — Paul Revere.
Time goes by quickly after that. She warms to James a little more when he catches her hand in his and pats it with the other, making her promise to attend the next event so that they can continue their conversation. The night grows darker and darker, until at last it gets close to dawn, and the various denizens of the night take that as their cue to leave.
At last, when she returns to Alucard's side and goodbyes are being exchanged, she can take the liberty of leaning on him a little by feigning sleepiness, now that it's only Theodora and her relations there to see. And it's sleepiness that stops being so feigned once they're back in Alucard's car, and she goes boneless with weariness in her seat while he spirits them back toward home at last.]
...Alucard. There won't be any vampires in the daylight, will there?
[Dawn is breaking, as they drive. She lifts her head and looks at him, slow and drowsy and reminiscent of slow-burning embers and fireglow.]
[They're so close to home. Just five more minutes. He doesn't want to stop at all, he just wants to finish this. Exhaustion is creeping on him too, this night has been nothing but. He nods to confirm that there's no more threat of vampires being awake now. Dawn has come.
So he pulls over. Unsure of where this is about to go.]
[The car stops. There's no danger now, whether from the now-sleeping supernatural community or from the forward movement of the car, and he is here and she is here and it turns out, she can't wait five more minutes.
They're exhausted and burnt out and run ragged with perfection, and somehow still perfect is her awful red lipstick that matches his accents and it won't be for long, as she slides across the seat to him and takes his face in her hands and kisses him like she's starving.]
[The kiss shouldn't take him by surprise. It does, and the last thing Alucard manages to do is actually turn the car off because he thought this was just a temporary stop. After that, everything just becomes a floodgate.
He kisses back. Terribly and desperately and both his arms wrapping around her, clinging for dear life because that's all he wanted to do since before they even left. He is tired and exhausted and still so scared of the thing he's taken on, and Sypha is here and there's no complication and she deserves all the affection and adoration in the world.]
[She could fit a narrative to this, if she wanted. She's a Speaker; turning a string of events into a story is what she was born and raised to do. And half of good storytelling is knowing how to deftly weave in things that weren't there in practice, but that knit the retelling together — morals and themes and trends and callbacks. She could put all of that into this. She could make up a pretty thread of how they need this because home is sacred, home is just theirs, and so the poison needs to be drawn out before they enter it so as not to bring the stains in with them.
She could, but none of that has anything to do with why she's kissing him now.
The sentiment is so raw, so aching, that she (she! she, of all people) can't even fit words to it. She needs him, and he needs her, and they've needed each other all night but they couldn't, it couldn't be allowed. But now the rules are lifted, because they're safe here, and there's no one to give a damn if her fingers are slipping down the line of his jaw to his throat, to the buttons of his shirt, loosening them not because she wants to reach under it but simply because she can't stand how perfect he is right now, and wants to be the one to dishevel him.]
Adrian.
[She smothers the word against his lips, smudging her lipstick on his mouth as one kiss turns to two and to three in an ever-lengthening chain. There's the faintest hint of a copper taste in his mouth and she doesn't let herself think about it. She comes close to cutting her tongue on the tip of one of his fangs, and she doesn't let herself think about that either.]
I will kill you. If you take your hands off me.
[Not that she thinks there's any real chance of that, but it bears remarking, just the same.]
[He kisses back to show he understands. To show that he isn't thinking about how they can't be doing this in the car, there's hardly enough room in the front seat (he totally is though.) All he's focused on is how wonderful his name is on her lips, now sweet it sounds after a night of a name that might as well be a title.
He can't even bring himself to try and touch her clothes, tug at that high collar because it's ridiculous, he can only drag her closer towards him until he can't put her on his lap. Steering wheel is in the way.
So they'll just have to continue at this terrible angle, chasing the night away with every kiss. There's detailed ignored because they're not as important as this, as being here as the sun rises high, as morning unfolds in full.
Alucard doesn't know how long they sit there like this. He knows that to break all of this is a sin, but they're out of places to go.]
We'll be more comfortable for this when we're in our own bed, Sypha.
[It's only when his shirt is a mess and his mouth is smudged red with something that thankfully isn't blood and his eyes are glittering bright with life rather than the dead sarcophagus gold that they'd been at the party, only then that she slowly lets him draw away enough for her to look at him, just look at him. They're just minutes from home, she knows, and she ought to let him drive, but she doesn't — not for a little bit longer yet.
She just wants to look at him. For a little while, that's all she does, is just look at him, beautiful and flawed and weary prince that he is, shedding his perfection with the light of the dawn, as though the sunbeams crawling up from the edge of the sky are burning away all the marble rigidity in his frame.]
Yes, I know.
[She breathes in deep, filling her chest with it, and lets it out again in a sigh that makes her shoulders sag and her expression soften. It was good to kiss him, and she's sleepy-sated now — for a little while, at least. Until they can make it home, perhaps.]
[They're contrasting again, aren't they? Alucard's clung to Sypha so fiercely but there's almost nothing out of place. Her shirt's untucked, her hair is a little more mussed than it was before. That's it. Wheras she's undone so much of him already (that's something else to unpack). He knows what he must look like, all undone because the tension of the night has finally snapped.
He's breathless when she pulls away. Just looks at him, and there's not an ounce of shame in letting her witness everything that's truly happening in his head. He is tired, he is scared, he is so glad for her, for this moment, and he wants to hold onto that moment for as long as he can now.
[There is a benign way to parse that sentence and a scandalous one, and either one could apply here. Perhaps they both could. Perhaps that's exactly the point.
She rakes her hand through his hair, rumpling the strands, petting him loose.]
Which is where we should hurry to be. Home, and to bed, and not to get up again for at least half the day.
[It's entirely dependent on exhaustion levels in the next five minutes.
He starts the car again. There's never been any kind of magic modification done to it, but it roars to life in an instant. It allows for just enough time to steal another kiss. To make sure Sypha's aware how much everything has meant tonight. He worries about so much, panics about making her the guardian of his emotional well being in many ways. That the need is sometimes too much of a demand.]
I'll be there until moonrise, I expect.
[At least. To be in the arms of sleep is a thing to be wishes. So he drives them both home. Just five minutes. Five minutes to get home, pass through the gates, put the car in the garage. To slide out and then refuse Sypha even a moment to get out under her own steam.
She's in his arms. Where she ought to have been all night.]
[She wraps around him unhesitatingly when he lifts her, thankful that her suit comes with crisp-pleated trousers instead of a narrow skirt because it means she can wind her legs around him that much more easily and cling. He'll complain about the risk of dropping her if she's too mischievous while he's carrying her, she knows, and while she knows full well that he would never allow such a thing in reality, she's benevolent tonight and only tips her head to suck a series of open-lipped kisses along the line of his jaw.]
You look a mess.
[Something she'd remarked on before, in the car, but now that they're back in the house, it's a comment that brings their night full-circle. He'd left perfect, and now he's returned a mess, and it's because he would've been perfect getting through the door but for her, almost gleefully terrorizing him in her relentless attempt to ruin the image he's been wearing all night.]
But everyone seemed impressed with you. It was a good night, from what I overheard. You've certainly secured respect.
[Having her latched on like this, well. Walk or float. He decides to walk, because to float would drain energy that Alucard doesn't feel he has. Not really. They'd just crash on the stairs and this morning would end on a truly sour note indeed. So he makes sure to hold onto Sypha tightly, soft noises following every kiss.]
The exterior matches the interior then.
[There's no hiding that, there's only naming it for what it is as they go up the stairs. (The house has a lot of those, and hidden compartments, and it's far too easy to get lost if you don't live there.)]
So long as it endures until a return.
[Which is what this is, in the end. An endurance run.
His room. Their room. The one with more windows than any other bedroom in the house, bookshelf featuring his personal collections, too small dresser that he ought to just get rid of, bed that was never quite meant for two that has become one now. Sypha's placed down on it gently.]
Yes. But now the foundation is laid. The next one will be easier — reinforcing what is already there. Not something that needs to be built anew each time.
[He sets her down, and she reaches forward to catch hold of his arms, wrapping her fingers around his wrists to keep him from retreating further than arm's length away, or from really doing anything except paying attention to her.]
And speaking of time, it's time for you to let me take care of you now. But what that means — I need you to tell me. What do you need from me? Tell me, so I can give it to you.
[She's said it best already. Alucard communicates much better through actions than words. So that means that when Sypha latches onto his wrists, he can only crouch down so they're at eye level. Lean in and try to explain with another kiss.
How he manages both aggression and tenderness in the same moment is a question to be pondered later. All that's clear as lips meet lips, move beyond those down Sypha's neck and then back again, is that what's needed is affection. There's apology threaded in there somewhere too, the horrible weight of knowing that this thing will not leave them unchanged, and coupled with it is gratitude. That she's willing to do this in spite of everything.
His arms leave her wrists. One hand is desperate to get rid of all that red, because it's not her color. Shouldn't become her color either.]
[He speaks through actions, and she answers in words, but even her words are a fitting complement to the way he expresses his needs, because all of her answers are really given in the implications, not in what she says outright. It's rare that she uses his given name, but not unheard-of; tonight, it's a deliberate choice she's made twice now, in part because it will startle him to hear it — and thus, keep him from sinking into his own head — and part because it's not Alucard, heir and regent to Dracula, son of the king of vampires, noble lord now in his own right. It makes him someone else, someone hidden-away. It makes him only hers, for a little while now, and that's what she wants him to hear when she says it.]
Just rip the shirt. It's horrible anyway.
[And because a shirt can be mended, in theory, or replaced if not. She'd tasted the aggression in the movement of his mouth on hers and instantly, effortlessly, offers him up an outlet for it.
Even as she says it, she's helping him, working her arms free of her jacket and unfastening the buttons of the vest, because that much she actually likes and wants to save, so she needs to get it out of the firing line.]
[It's good to just hear his name said. As it should be in this house, with just them. Far sweeter after all that's come before, even if the request is going to get ignored because he still paid good money for that. Even if the color is wrong for her. Even if the whole look feels against all Sypha is. They'll need it one day.
Which means that even as her neck is covered in kisses, long and slow, quick and red hot, he's unbuttoning it. Making sure it's off her shoulders making sure it's gone to a part of the room where they're not going to see it when they're lying in bed after all of this. He's cling to her then, he already knows it.
This angle, however, is getting uncomfortable, and for that he nudges her gently.]
[The fact that they've even managed to get her halfway undressed is nothing short of a miracle, with all the potential distractions around to intervene. Her hands are all over; sometimes she's helping him as best she can, but sometimes she's running her fingers up his arms to his shoulders, playing with his hair, brushing against his neck and down to the hollow at the base of his throat. And he's distracting, too, with the way he goes after her neck; it's evidently a course of action she approves of, with the way little noises start to spill from her mouth with every touch of his lips on her skin.]
Do it yourself.
[She's baiting him again, and carefully this time. But he's spent the entire night acting according to a script, and not his own wishes; it's not stubbornness or reluctance that makes her do it, but encouragement to act, in whatever way he sees fit.
This is how he speaks to her, all of the things he can't bear to say. So she makes this liaison between them the canvas, and puts the pen in his hand; he'll show her what he needs, what he's thinking, where his fears lie. She only has to give him the opportunities he needs to do it.]
You carried me all the way upstairs from the car. You can move me two feet more.
[It isn't exactly an elegant movement. It's also a delayed one because Alucard pauses just long enough to slide his shoes off. (Small detail but important.) Elegance right now is overrated, he's undone. Been undone the minute Sypha told him to pull the car over and everything else is just an elaboration upon that point.
They're on their sides together. Far more comfortable a place to be, far warmer for the bed coverings underneath. It lets him press against Sypha immediately, the attention to her neck moving to her chest instead because that's where there is more bare skin and that is where he wants to be. One arm is just above him, reaching up towards nothing, the other is low around Sypha's waist, teasing at grabbing her behind but not quite there.
Never mind that he's still dressed. There's a sigh on his lips that chases away exhaustion, the vibration of it pressed to a breast, coupled with a single utterance of her name. It's drenched with adoration.]
[It's a good position, in a number of ways. One is that there's no need to fuss with a great lot of bending and leaning; they're easily within reach of each other, and can slide around as they please with the mattress to support them, freeing up limbs for exploring that otherwise would've been necessary for simple support. It means she can get her hands in his hair more easily, and encourage him with all the attention to his hair and the back of his head that he likes best.
There's something almost picturesque about it, the way they're positioned, the manner in which he's clasped to her breast. He's shown her Renaissance paintings before, and she half thinks that they must look like one, or would at least give a reimagining of one a run for its money.]
You make my name sound wonderful when you say it like that.
[He tilts his head up to ask the question. Her face is beautiful right now. Radiant, but then, when isn't it? The hands in his hair are warm and comforting and wonderful, they're hands he's trusted in so many times over in the past few months.
He breathes out. Tries to put a fraction of his head in order, enough of him registering that it's unfair for her top to be bear when his isn't. But that requires stirring from how they are, and he'll have none of that.]
[She has to stifle a giggle when the caress of his breath washes over her skin and tickles, but for the most part she manages to keep a lid on her mirth and maintains a sense of cool composure.]
Do you know how I feel right now? Very seductive. Like some sort of exotic courtesan, entertaining a patron of my cabaret.
[It's silly, intentionally so. It's also just a little bit scandalous, and she likes that too.]
Look at you. Too taken with me to even bother to take off much more than your shoes.
Shush. If it were someone else saying it about me, then I would agree, and probably slap them. But for me to say it about myself is different. Nonsense or not, I am allowed to feel as I please, and describe it however I want.
[She moves one hand from his hair, though, sliding it down to catch his chin instead, and tilt his face up.]
Now come here. If you want us to be equals, then you have some clothing to lose.
[But the way he melts into the hand that has his chin, presses into it, that means he understands and won't argue the point any further. It will rankle, of course it will, but Sypha's views of herself are more important than his stupid fears.
He leans just enough to brush his lips against Sypha's wrist.]
[She hums pleasantly as his lips touch her wrist, pausing in her deliberation of where to begin with him to close her eyes and simply enjoy the feeling.]
You are wrinkling your pants, and this evening when we wake up you are going to be absolutely crabby about it.
[A finger comes up to lightly touch his mouth, a movement similar to hushing him but not quite, and when her fingertip touches against his lip it's cooler than it ought to be — the barest suggestion of ice.]
But for now I will try to make you forget all about such things entirely.
[It's...easy, when it's like this. Because listening to Sypha is a foundation of this. He had to, because she was the doctor in charge and he saw what happened to his mother's patients when they didn't listen to those instructions. (There's also a whole lot to unpack there, but those are thoughts for another time.)
He stills at that gesture. Just leans against that finger long enough to make it clear that he's listening. Whatever she wants.]
[It's a little gawky, to try to scoot down the mattress a few inches on her side to better take hold of his shirt, but soon her slender fingers are working the buttons free one by one, and when she gets them open she pushes her hands inside the loose folds to stroke over his chest, pushing the fabric back almost carelessly.
His scar is still there, of course. It always will be. And though she avoids touching it with the sweep of her fingertips, she carefully leans into him and brings her lips to touch against it, up near where it approaches his collarbones.]
You are beautiful.
[She moves down a little further, this time laying her kiss over the scar where it cuts across his pecs, in the narrow valley between them.]
[Always that scar. Division and binding. He's grown used to it in the mirror, such as it is. He's had to - it's too big and obvious to not be adjusted to. The flesh still feels, but by and large Alucard has removed the emotional associations from it. It's there. That's all it is, just as an arm or a leg simply is.
Sypha's touches sometimes rekindle the feelings he's drained from it. When she does, it's closer to a reminder of why this house is not as lonely as it could be instead of a cold reminder of fury and abandonment. It's for that first reason he sighs as if all breath has left him when her lips brush against it for the first time.
Where to hold onto her is a question that shifts with so much. For now, one hand rests in her hair, the other on her shoulders, soft as anything. He's there, he has her and she has him. There is no happier place than this, not as she trails kisses over his chest just as he did to hers minutes ago.]
You'll have to sit up, to take the shirt off entirely.
[Not that she's making it easy for him to want to, with the way she's following the ridge of his scar with her kisses, letting it take her back up toward the juncture of his neck and shoulder. It's only after she's moved away from it that she stops being so careful, letting her teeth come out to nip and indent his skin here and there while she bites him.]
[It is terrible to have to nudge Sypha upwards at all from this spot she's claimed as fully hers. There's such a soft moan as her teeth enter all of this, something quieter and more familiar from times before. But Alucard does so, just long enough to put all of the terrible annoying layers he has on his chest aside.
He'll hate himself for not folding everything come evening, but that's for Future Alucard. Present Alucard is taking the temporary permission to sit up to plant a series of kisses to the top of Sypha's head.]
Mine as well. But yours first, or you'll start looking at me and forget.
[She lets her laugh rumble against his skin before allowing him to readjust; she keeps contact with him even while his top half is occupied by sliding her foot over to nudge his calf with her toes, rubbing them lightly against it just for the sake of touching him in some way.]
[She slides her foot down the length of his calf, over his ankle; her toes come to rest lightly atop his own foot, an echo of how they'd danced at the party when her feet were atop his.]
[He had an inkling of a plan when they walked in the door. He wanted to wrap around her entirely, but it hadn't been a good plan. Easy to throw it aside.
Entwining his legs around Sypha is all he can think of as her foot slides down him. That echo, he knows it, and he's beside himself for it.]
[She steals a kiss, however, before shuffling up and hopping over his legs until she's standing at the bedside rather than lying on the mattress, watching him with more than a little amusement considering their relative state of undress and the fact that all of the windows are open enough to be streaming in sunlight.]
[Thank God his father would never truck with having neighbors near his castle.
Likewise, thank God that it takes no time at all to pull the comforter and sheets back so that they can be comfortable. Or perhaps better said, preventing any mess from getting onto the comforter.
Alucard's sitting up though. He has both of his arms open for Sypha.]
I will expect a dozen kisses, to make it up to me.
[Her face lights up with a smile of genuine exhausted pleasure, however, at the sight of his outstretched arms, and within moments she's put herself snugly inside them, curling in on him and breathing a contented little sigh of her own.]
[Beneath the covers, she runs her hand lightly down his side, following the lean lines of his torso to the curve of his hip and lingering there while she gauges his demeanor with quiet thoughtfulness. When they'd met, it was because he'd needed someone to take care of him; now, long afterward, some of that initial dynamic still remains. It's not a question of whether he's exhausted; she already knows he is. The question is how desperate is he to get to sleep, or is he more hungry for passion, and willing to push sleepiness aside awhile to satisfy that craving.
One good test, she's found, is to touch him a little, and see whether he pushes back into it, or accepts it more passively. So, as she lifts her face for more kisses, she traces idle circles against his hip, occasionally allowing her hand to slide a little lower to rest atop his thigh.]
[It's impossible for Alucard to not spend days worrying that he has put Sypha on too high a pedestal or forced her into a position of guardianship for himself that is unfair and unasked for, and all born of that inital dynamic. He works hard to make sure that all other things are prized, it shows most when there's time to research and experiment, but nights like this invite those thoughts back.
Those thoughts are why his emotions try to hide any additional need for attention. Much simpler to shower Sypha with a torrent of affection, every touch a way to make it clear how dear she is for all aspects of this relationship. Much easier to kiss her endlessly and let any additional leans into her touch be natural reactions.
The hand that is atop his thigh is soon met with his own. Holding on gently, not daring it to move down, not yet. His other hand slides down Sypha's back slowly, tracing over her spine wit the lightest touch.]
That same hand travels up Sypha's spine one final time. When it descends, it lingers at the waistline of her trousers. Fingers sliding under the fabric just enough to make the suggestion, but not dare ask out loud. Not yet, at any rate.]
[Her eyelids flutter, lashes long where they frame the blue of her eyes, and she's quiet a minute as she simply soaks in the sensation of the way he touches her.
There's something left to do, though, before she can let them fall into the pleasure of losing themselves in each other, and she tilts her gaze up to watch him softly.]
I need your words this time, my heart. I want to share with you the catharsis we both need, after tonight, but you need to let go of all the things you kept behind your mask all night, first.
Mmm. I'd be flat on the ground if you asked it of me.
[Which is Overly Sappy he knows, but no less a truth for it. Watching those eyes, seeing her so content in his arms, it's enough to chase every other thought away.
I would still rather the handful of reasons I know, than to be left guessing at the millions of ones I don't know. Do you really think I'm ever not worried about you?
[She moves her hand back up the length of his side, tracking aimlessly on its way toward his shoulder, just touching for the sake of the contact.]
We're in this together, my love. So let me do this with you, instead of just being at your side while you do.
I like to lie to myself that you're not sometimes.
[But he's already so undone from all of this that there's nothing gained from burying what's not been articulated yet. It's known that he doesn't want this. Hates this, because it's another horrible reminder of how this has all come to pass.
Her hands are so warm against him. It feels like pressing against soft earth warmed by the sun.]
Where shall I begin then? That this creates all new fears of someone fool enough to try and use us against each other? That this will be a lifetime appointment which carries all the attendant threats on my life and anyone who may so much as speak with me once? How this is a millstone, and that I fear dragging you along with me even if you are willing?
[It's not severe, but it is emphatic, as though now that he's shown her the first glimpse of the thoughts that are plaguing his mind, she's in a rush to hook them and reel them to her before he can think twice about it and draw them back inside him.]
Be afraid, while you know you are safe here with me. Despair, while I am here to guide you back to the path of hope. Be crushed by the weight of this, here, where the only weight is me, and you already know full well that I am not so very heavy.
[She surges up, kissing him adamantly.]
Talk to me. Even if I have to find your words myself and draw them out from you one by one.
[Well. That startles her, all right — enough so that she's stopped in her figurative tracks, blinking uncertainly and the curveball he's just thrown at her.]
[Alucard nudges Sypha's face up, he wants her eyes to meet his for what comes next.]
I live in two places. You should not pick one or the other if it feels wrong to you. I asked so much, you gave so freely, but...it shouldn't be the only thing to define you. Because if you choose that path, then how shall all the world see you?
[It's been a long time since she's even mentioned the Speakers. Maybe he's right; in retrospect, she'd buried that part of her life as much as she's been able to, hasn't she, since abandoning them on the train. Maybe it was so that she wouldn't miss them so much. Maybe it was so that she would never have to confront doubts about whether she'd made that decision in haste.
She doesn't regret being here, being with him, loving him. That part, she knows she was right about. But maybe she's avoided finding her own catharsis, herself, by keeping it pushed away rather than confronting it like she's insisting that he do, himself.]
Or to be individuals. We act for the needs of the community, the group. So long as the community continues, the stories continue...to lose one, it does not matter so very much.
[She smiles, softly, and it wobbles.]
That's why I knew they would not see it as a betrayal, that I left. Because the work can still continue without me. It is no more of a loss than...cutting your fingernails.
[He strokes her back as he listens. It's just for the sake of touch, of movement, of something to encourage thoughts just as she does to him so many times before. A fair exchange of how to abide all of the things that live inside them that they coax out of each other.
She gave up so much on the whim of a vampire didn't she? Alucard has always reminded himself of that. It's why he is how he is to her. Reassurances that she did not forsake her people for no good reason at all. But that means demanding a world built around this castle, and that is not right either.
That wobble in her smile breaks him.]
It may not matter in the longest run, but you are still loved and missed. You are family to more than myself. [SHIT. DID HE JUST SAY THAT?] There are months that you should go beyond this city. To that world again, because they need you too.
[There's a hitch in her breath now, too, but she's determined to be honest, whatever the cost. It's why she doesn't shy away from expressing the feeling that made her breath stutter; she has, perhaps, always had an easier time of committing to her emotions in that fashion than he has.
She laughs a little, and it's nervous, vulnerable.]
That feels like you're sending me away.
[He's not, but they're no less her feelings whether they're irrational or not.]
I would be gone for more than just fifteen minutes, and not a moment more, if I were to go find them.
I am aware. And we'd have new fears for it as well, I'm sure but...I cannot be this selfish and demanding.
[They're still perfectly fitted together like this, aren't they? Close and nearly clinging to each other to navigate everything that has been forced to the surface.]
[She ducks her head, pushing it beneath his chin as she buries her face in his chest — a silent demand to be held tighter than she's been, looking for grounding as much as for comfort.]
I want to stay here, with you, in the first house I've ever lived in, and the first room that was ever mine, and my little drawers and your heated floors and —
[Again, one of those shuddering breaths; it's muffled this time, but he might well feel it as much as he hears it.]
It's so much easier to be brave for you than for myself, is all.
[He can do that. He can pull Sypha as close as he can to his chest, bury his face in the top of her hair, entwine her legs with his so that there's only one way that they could be closer.
This was never the intention. To have Sypha like this is terrifying, but it is a reminder they both need. Their relationship cannot be built of a single lane road.]
You will always have me. I am yours, utterly. Which means that I am to be as brave and as kind and as much a comfort as you have been for me. I want that.
[She falls silent a minute, bumping her nose against his collarbone, close to where the scar juts across his chest but not quite, and draws in a slow breath of just the scent of him, leftover perspiration from the party and a hint of the weeds he'd worn in his lapel, a touch of incense and smoke and leather.
He smells like both homes she's known. Her people's campgrounds always smelled of heat and oil and firesmoke, too.]
It's foolish, I know. I just need to hear you say it, plainly. That if I go...I can come back. That this house is mine to come back to, too.
This home will welcome you back every time you depart it's doors. They will open for you if I am here, they will open for you if I am out buying groceries. This home knows you, knows that you're a part of it. It is yours.
[Yours. And he kisses the top of her head to emphasize the point.]
If you can restrain yourself from being crabby about your wrinkled shirt.
[She nudges at him, though, intent on pushing him onto his back so that she can at least make good on her threat to be on top of him, even if it's only falling asleep half-draped over his chest.]
[Which he'll get over. Better to let Sypha push him down, use his feet to kick up the covers so that he can reach down juuuuust enough to grab them, then bundle himself and Sypha up as gently as he can. It is still warm out, and Sypha has a terrible way of making things warmer.
He's happy though, like this. Sypha here in his arms, the world kept at arm's length just for a little while. There's another kiss to the top of Sypha's head.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
--
[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.]
no subject
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.]
no subject
[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?
no subject
[In short: she is taking the bed's heat with her and no one can stop her. She is a warmth thief. Snuggles are her dominion.]
If you hurry, I'll share my blanket with you.
no subject
[The Hold's library system isn't his father's, and that isn't his mothers. The wall of books has no obvious and open space for the last book that's in Alucard's hand, and he's absolutely not thinking about how wonderful the combination of blanket sharing and the detail of Sypha having no trousers on actually is.]
no subject
[It's an obvious attempt at levity, but the point isn't to be subtle. She pulls the blankets a little more closely around herself — not unlike the way her Speaker robes usually gather around her shoulders, really — and wanders over by him, as if expecting him to show her a look inside the book.]
no subject
[Because he's an asshole and the Hold is, technically, his now.
But he flips the book open (there's no label on the spine), then lets out a very soft sigh. There's no room for it because it's not a printed book. It's one of his mother's research journals, the primary topic on the page he's flipped to being, naturally enough, head injuries.]
Ah. She always kept them on another shelf.
[He actually has a feeling Sypha took this one as is. But he holds the thing so carefully.]
no subject
[She's come to learn that there are very few shes in Alucard's life, and only one that prompts the sort of sigh that he'd just made there. She herself warrants a different kind of sigh, one that's a touch fonder and more heavy with exasperation. The ones reserved for his mother are always very quiet, and very sad.]
She was a scholar in her own right, wasn't she? There are whole shelves of her journals in here. And they're all so...
[She pauses a moment, looking for the right words for her sentiment.]
...She wrote them like they were meant to be read. Not like some of the Belmonts' books, that are just page after page of facts and information. Hers are written to teach.
no subject
[It's hard to say what part he's saying mmm to. Confirmation that yes, it's one of Lisa's books, yes, his mother was her own breed of academic and wished to share her knowledge, or just a noise made to fill in the silence.
He closes the journal after a moment more. It wasn't written terribly close to her death, this one, but there's still a terrible ache from holding it. Her journals are on the other side of the lab. He starts walking there, confident that Sypha will follow.]
Things that make what happened all the greater loss. [A word softly muttered comes next, the utmost contempt in Alucard's voice.] Witches.
no subject
It must be hard to come in here, when so much of this...
[She doesn't finish the thought, however. They both know what she was thinking, and at second blush she wonders whether it's really a notion she should've voiced in the first place.]
...Witches...
[So she opts for just echoing him, instead.]
no subject
[They've probably all had the thought. This is a pitiful articulation of it, but at least he's said it which is better than anything he has done for the past week.
He's quiet when they reach the bookshelf that holds all of his mother's journals. The obvious spot for it is there, and the journal is now home. His fingers linger on the spine before his hand withdraws, and there's a greater slump to his shoulders than there was just a moment before.]
no subject
You've been remembering her.
[It's a softer, kinder way of hinting at the trauma he's clearly been reeling from. Remembering her is a gentler way of saying he's been drawing ugly parallels.]
Tell me?
no subject
His mother was so much more raw and ugly to deal with because it had been senseless and infuriating and done for no reason beyond a stupid set of beliefs that contradicted where the world was heading. And every second on that stake was a reminder of that injustice, how no one said anything, how he and his father failed to act in time, and all the horrible miseries of it.
(The amount of fire and rage from Sypha was a parallel too. One he never expected to make.)
How warm is Sypha against the natural coldness of his skin? Infinitely so. He's so very still when the blanket wraps around him, and his hands seek hers in an instant.]
What is there to say? [His voice is so soft.] Who wants that to be one of the memories of their mother, and then to connect to it so intimately?
no subject
[She draws him a little closer, holding him, feeling his fingers weave through the spaces between hers.]
Someday, if you can allow it, I wish you would tell me stories of her. The ones that aren't in her books. So that I can help save them, too.
[And maybe, because it would lift that subconscious burden that rests on Alucard, too — left alone to be the sole keeper of his mother's memory, along with her legacy.]
I want to know about her, and about you. Trevor and I...we've always only seen the worst of it. I would like to know the best of it, too.
no subject
His hands are heavy in hers. Those hands are warm too, and he squeezes gently.]
I will. Just...[Just not right now.
And somewhere there's a quiet pained noise that comes up with a laugh that really isn't.]
She'd adore you. That much I know.
no subject
[She presses her nose against his back, nudging against the long subtle ridge of his spine, and tightens her arms around him right back.]
When you stand in here, among her books and her tools...I can tell how much she loved you. Because I think you learned to love because of how she loved you first.
no subject
no subject
All she can do at this point is to hold him, and so she does. Again, she has strength enough to support him. She keeps her arms around him, keeps herself pressed flush up against him, so he can't possibly lose sight of the fact that she's here with him, and that he still has a family who loves him desperately, even if it isn't the one he yearns for.]
And you are still loved. So, so much.
no subject
[The words come out too softly, because anything else means a loud sob, and while there has never been any shame in Alucard for letting that out, there is always the fear of making the other two worry more than strictly required. It's stupid, he knows that it's stupid, but it has always been there. The three of them, they've shown all the vulnerable spots to each other since the start of this. But that doesn't stop the kneejerk response of trying to hide it.
Everything else is catharsis. Never has the love of the other two been in doubt. But never has an uncomfortable truth strayed far from Alucard's mind either: he only has this because of what happened to his mother and what the world demanded be done to deal with his father. The ugly parallels from the week before, the horror of history repeating itself for only a second, that's the worst part of all of this. Not being laid low by the stupidity and fears of men. Not the agony of the silver. Just the fire and the raw anger and the fucking stake.
There's a point in all of this that he lowers Sypha's arms so they rest around his middle instead, draws them away for just a moment, and lets go so that he can turn around and bury his face into the crook of her neck. There's warmth there too, and no shame in getting the area damp. She probably anticipated it at some point anyway.]
no subject
You never had the chance to mourn her. Everything that's happened...it came so fast, so soon after.
[And even now, after vanquishing Dracula in this very castle, they've still kept busy, kept moving. Always moving ahead, never pausing to allow all of this to rise up to the surface on its own.]
We can make something for her. For both of them. A memorial.
no subject
There had been the tiniest bit of dealing with grief the first time Alucard was left alone. He had needed that alone time more than anything on the heels of his father's death, but there had been the need to repair the castle and busy himself caught up in all of it.
Then Sypha says something else, and there's the tiniest, warmest noise against her neck that might be a fonder, warmer thing in any other circumstances.]
Already exists.
no subject
Show it to me? When you're ready.
[Only when he's ready, and not a second before. There's no pressing him through his anguish, no hurrying him along to its conclusion. There's only staying by his side while he processes it, loving him and giving him the chance he needs to cry.]
Until then, I am not going anywhere. I'm here with you.
no subject
He nods. It's nothing elaborate, just quiet and what feels right still.
This angle is still awful.]
Here can at least move to the next room where there's a chair.
no subject
[She quips, soft but lightly, as she finds a lock of his hair and weaves it through the spaces between her fingers.]
I like the sound of that.
no subject
[The number of chairs is not the point. But all of that also requires moving, and Alucard has to really force himself to straighten up even just a little. It is more like unfolding from Sypha's arms, and it is an embrace broken with great regret.]
no subject
[One has to wonder if she's not deliberately playing to his romanticism with that idea, except that it's Sypha, so clearly she is.]
And then I could stay holding you, too.
no subject
I think things are a little to blurry for that to be a safe proposition.
[Besides, the romanticism of the moment would absolutely require positions reversed.]
no subject
[But she'll still bring him down for a kiss before he can get too far away from the reminders of their embrace, carefully pretending that she can't taste the salt of his tears clinging to his skin.]
That's all right, too.
no subject
I'm the better rescued maiden in this scenario anyway. Hair's right.
no subject
[She tugs lightly on his hair, since he brought it up, just a little for emphasis.]
She's always very clever, and wins him over with brilliance. And a little bit of sneakiness!
no subject
[So this is how they're going to walk instead. Alucard's arm around Sypha's shoulder in a side hug, because at least that means they're still touching. He'll shuffle along, eyes still bleary. The distance is short, there's a sofa in the other room too, and he'll try and compact himself the best he can to fit in her lap.]
Which is the best version of the story?
no subject
I like the one where the prince locks himself away in a castle closed off by three magical doors, and says that he wants to see no one but the person who can open all three doors to reach him. The king and queen offer a reward to anyone who can free him, up to half the kingdom. So plenty of people try, men and women alike, but no one ever comes back, and finally someone who went with them to watch came back and said that when their friend had approached the door, it had turned into an awful face full of sharp teeth, and asked to be brought "an eye that cannot see". So the person had plucked out one of their own eyes and offered it to the door, but then the door said it was wrong, and ate him.
[She stops a minute.]
...Actually, looking back on it, this is a much more gruesome story than I remember it being when I first heard it as a little girl...
no subject
Doors devouring people sounds about right for this kind of story. If not tame.
[When your dad's Dracula, the bedtime stories get way worse than this. And done when mom's not around.
no subject
[It's a good position for her to keep a hand at the back of his head, stroking his hair even as she supports his neck. It's also good for smiling down at him, sweet and warm.]
So one day she decides that she will go and try, and so as not to worry her parents she sneaks out at night to travel to the castle with its monstrous door. And when she arrives, it turns into that same horrible face, and demands an eye that cannot see.
[Her smile widens just a touch.]
So, she offers it a silver needle from her father's shop, and the door devours it in its big sharp teeth, and turns back into a door as it swings open to reveal the next one.
no subject
It'd have to be a tailor in most versions then, for the needle to make sense as a solution.
[He's listening. And the cleverness of the solution sounds terribly familiar too. There's more curiosity in his face than any other emotion, because the story may mirror certain circumstances, but it is also nothing he's heard before.]
no subject
[But details are important in the oral tradition, so these ones deserve to be cited even if she is delivering a sort of cliffs-notes version of the actual tale.]
The second door also turns into a horrible face full of sharp teeth, and when the girl greets the door, it asks her for "an ear that cannot hear".
[She pokes the very tip of his nose.]
Can you think of how she got past this one?
no subject
Does it involve more tailoring equipment, or do I need to expand beyond that particular box?
no subject
[There's also probably an anachronism somewhere in here but guess what, Sypha didn't google to ensure perfect historical accuracy of this thing's presence in 1400s Europe and neither did I.]
Luckily for her, the door was willing to let her go back to the town to fetch it, and come back.
no subject
[Well, fuck it. Alucard will let the cleverness be off his back this time, and he nudges Sypha gently.]
What was it then?
no subject
[Happyclaps.]
So she brought one back and gave it to the door, and the yellow door devoured it and turned back into a door and swung open again, this time with a red one behind it. And when she approached it, it turned into the most awful face of all, with the biggest mouth and the sharpest teeth, and this one said, "Give me a soul I can hold."
no subject
[Oh. Oh the happyclaps are the best. Always have been even if they sometimes mean dropping a castle on top of a basement.]
Hm. That seems like the kind of self-sacrifice door.
no subject
[She's amused, though, and pets his hair as she teases: ]
But that sort of answer is why it's good you are more the type of the handsome prince, and not the clever girl. The door wanted "a soul you can hold", so she took off her shoe and she fed it to the door.
no subject
[Enjoy that mental image Sypha.]
Mm, so in other versions, she could also be the daughter of a shoemaker and the effect is much the same.
[This counts as clever, right?]
no subject
[She wouldn't if she knew the content of those bedtime stories but that's fine. This is fine. It's all fine.]
Yes! She could just as easily have been that as well. Actually, it might almost be a little better that way...
[But anyway.]
Well, so the last door opens and when she passes through, she finds herself in the prince's chambers, which of course are magic, and when she gets there she finds that the handsome prince has been cursed into a big awful monster, with wings and claws and boils all over his body. And before she crosses over the threshold, he tells her that part of his curse is that he must attack and kill anyone who comes to him with even the slightest bit of fear in their heart, and to choose wisely before crossing over.
no subject
[And so easily messed up when Lisa was away.
But back to stories.]
This prince strikes me as far too overdramatic. And I am aware of the richness of that statement.
no subject
[Also because sometimes Alucard's relationship to sleep is just plain funny. Sometimes he sleeps an hour a night; sometimes he knocks out for a week. "Sleep schedules are a problem" could be a prevailing caption of his life even now.]
Well, the point of the doors was to find someone clever enough to see things from different points of view. Someone who could see a monster for something other than a monster.
no subject
Right, I follow the logic. And doubtlessly our hero did cross the threshold. What happened next?
no subject
[She smiles.]
So then they ask her what she would like, and she thinks about it a minute, and eventually she asks for the privilege of making the royal family's clothes so that her father's shop will always have plenty of business.
no subject
[Stories can always end at different points. Alucard shifts a little in Sypha's arms just because he imagines his weight should be at a slightly different angle. It means inching up closer to the crook of her neck, but only by a small margin.]
They never interact again outside of her work?
no subject
[She moves when he moves, helping to oblige him, wanting to make him as comfortable as she can.]
Then they declare their love and get married.
no subject
And maybe that's something to consider these days. Alucard thinks of everything wrapped up together, he thinks too damn much. It's why his brain is skilled at weaving together all these different threads, usually with no real benefit to himself.]
But I like this one much more. [It's more tender and sweet. He sighs, content with the conclusion.]
no subject
[But it's good to see him unwinding, especially after his prolonged bout of crying earlier. His sighs are much easier to hear when they're soft and warm like this, and she ducks down a little to press a kiss against his head.]
I suppose someday you'll have to find me a beautiful dress too.
no subject
[Who needs that many pairs? The clothing does make more sense in terms of how much a prince might need, and he's applying logic to stories which means he ought to stop.
The kiss feels lovely, but the comment inspires redness in Alucard's cheeks.]
You'd wear something that isn't your robes? [Waitasec.] Or one of my shirts?
[Which are clearly too big on her.]
no subject
[Not the only reason, but one of them. There's a benign explanation, and then there are ulterior motives.]
Speakers always dress the same, for protection. It makes it harder to tell us apart, especially for the men and the women. So I've never had something like a woman's dress, much less any place to wear one.
no subject
[He's kidding. Mostly.]
My understanding of women's garments means that you're more likely than not to feel trapped by clothing. It's generally not as loose as you're used to.
[But there's something else to pick at here, and Alucard lets out a soft snort as he realizes it.]
It's not as if we ever go somewhere nice.
no subject
[All of these protests sound very much like reluctance, Mr. Blushy Red-Cheeks.]
I don't think the point of them is to be comfortable, anyway. Certainly not to fight in, or travel in, or...do anything very useful in. You only ever see them in portraits because I think sitting still is about the only thing they're good for.
no subject
[He's just thinking ahead!]
If...if you really like, I could try and see what I can do.
no subject
[All things considered she could make the educated guess that she probably won't like it, but...well. They're taking time off from adventuring for themselves, anyway, and it couldn't hurt. And it might be a nice distraction for Alucard. And even if the actuality doesn't pan out in the long run, maybe just the fantasy of it is worth it all in itself. Like telling bedtime stories. Like being romantic just for the sake of being romantic.]
If it's not too much trouble.
[...]
Besides, then you'll have more of your shirts back!
no subject
[There will be fabric ordered that is custom and probably too rich for any of them, and then there's the actual work of construction, but if the fabric is worth it's salt it can be made into something warm even if Sypha hates the whole thing. A coat or robe for dealing with the draftier parts of the castle, or just something more luxurious for loafing around.
The hand on Sypha's back tugs at the offending shirt.]
And yes, I'd quite like them back too.
no subject
[Because she's wearing it right now. It is also the only thing she's wearing right now, aside from the blanket, and she's absolutely certain he knows that also.]
Alucard...
no subject
[In a better mood, he'd quite literally pounce on this opportunity. But the past hour and change have been nothing but an emotional roller coaster, and he's only just disembarking from the ride.]
Happier like this.
no subject
[Not just about the shirt. She says it like a benediction, you should be happy, as though vowing to make it so and daring the world to defy her, if it's fool enough to try.]
Stay close to me, my heart, so that I can always keep you warm.
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.]
no subject
(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.]
no subject
[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.
no subject
But there's fear that this might be some demon or ill thing with a familiar face. Voicing it, that's pointless. Worse, there's the desire to put that concern to the side, and he's off the chair.
And a very, very soft laugh from him.]
Nonsense. You know that at this point I haven't aged a day.
no subject
[She does come a little closer, but stops short of actually moving to him to try to touch him; it seems she's preferring at the moment to hang back a little, the better to look him over from head to toe.]
You've found yourself a pair of friends.
["Friends".]
I always did hope you would find someone to love, besides me.
no subject
No, he should look very embarrassed and go as blushfaced as a vampire can.]
Mother!
[How many years and it's childish embarrassment first?]
no subject
Am I wrong?
[As though he's got any room to deny it.]
I hope your Belmont is treating you well. But you seem to be able to handle him without any trouble.
no subject
How much, exactly have you been witnessing?
[If there's anything beyond handholding, he's going to just go back to Gresit and stay there.]
no subject
[She's quiet a minute, before she makes one small but dramatically significant grammatical change as she continues.]
But you're finding your way, now. So we don't worry quite as much.
no subject
[We. So that's. That's a thing. And that was always one of the nightmares, wasn't it? Being confronted with some version of his mother and having to tell her what the world and his father's rage demanded of him. Breaking her heart for it, because there was no way that I killed my father because he mourned you in the worst way would end in anything but heartbreak. It was one of his least favorite nightmares. (He had quite a few least favorites, but it was in the top five.
There's no movement in him, nor does he meet his mother's eyes for this next part:]
How did that...go....
[Whatever strange reunion was had. And is this moving away from his romantic life? Hell yeah.]
no subject
[Her voice is very, very quiet, and forlorn. He doesn't move, or look at her, and she understands why; for a year, a war was cultivated in her name, for her sake. Like a perverse Helen of Troy, her death launched a thousand others. And standing on opposing sides of it all were the two people she loved most — and worse still, the two people whose motives she understood best.
She'd known even before her flesh had burned away what Vlad would do when he learned of it. She'd prayed her cries might reach him, and they hadn't.]
At the last, you reminded him that there was still something on this earth that he loved, Adrian.
no subject
[Because that had been a plagued thought. If that break through had happened sooner, perhaps the need for that terrible death would have been avoided. He'd have his father alive and the world would maybe be recovering from all those night creatures in a different way.
But he did not break through in time. He was half-dead before it happened. And that's a terrible truth too.]
no subject
[On this point, at least, she is suddenly and emphatically no-nonsense. Because it's very apparent where this line of thinking goes, getting tangled up in the thorns of what might have been. He could torment himself for a hundred years over notions of what he might have done differently, and in the end of things she still wouldn't be any less dead, or Vlad any less fallen.]
You made yourself responsible for him. But that doesn't make you responsible for his choices.
no subject
He is amazing at finding new ways to guilt himself, even if his mother's stern voice jostles him from that train of thought for a hot minute.]
It makes me responsible for whatever legacy is left behind. His and yours.
[Because he will be thrice damned if his mother is only known in some dry academic footnotes as an executed witch.]
And for the fact that a death is still a death.
no subject
[And now, at last, she crosses to him, reaching up to try to take his face in her hands. Her tangibility is questionable, of course; the firm security of her fingers on his skin is somewhat absent. But it's not nothing, either, and she guides his face up so that he can't look away from her.]
I've never wanted you to define your life by anyone else's. Don't spend the rest of yours chained to your memories of us. Don't make me the weight that keeps you anchored in unhappiness.
no subject
[How to articulate that it isn't that easy? That those memories are a way to cope with all the horrors and disgusting ways his mind is so very, very skilled at tormenting him?
And sometimes he needs the anchor, the you're acting like your father to keep tendencies at bay. The overprotective bordering on possessiveness, that one's the part Alucard fears most. That's the quickest path to a downfall.
He smiles, and it's a fragile thing.]
It isn't an anchor. And there is not unhappiness in it.
no subject
[She raises herself up, catching his cheek with a soft kiss.]
The day you learned to walk, it was so hard to let go of your hands. But you didn't fall. You wobbled your way to your father with a smile on your face, and he'd barely even caught you before you wanted to do it again, just to show off.
[Her hand slides around to the nape of his neck, gently supporting the back of his head.]
I was afraid to let go of you, but you weren't afraid, not in the slightest. That's all I want for you now. To be able to let go of our hands, and show us how far you can go.
no subject
There's such a familiar, pleasant weight in his mother's touch, even if it isn't as full as it ought to be. And he kisses her forehead so gently, because he doesn't know if he'll pass through.]
I think that a part of me is afraid of letting go in full.
no subject
[She's just tangible enough that he can be certain there's something there, though it's not the familiar physical weight of a solid form. She's present but she isn't, and perhaps a good portion of the reason he's able to interact with her even this much is because she's so determined that he should be able to.]
What happens then?
no subject
[Simple as that. A simple fear too. He doesn't have to elaborate, because this is his mother. She'll understand what is meant, even if there's only something half-tangible in front of him.]
no subject
I would never ask you or want you to forget.
[She draws him down again, touching their foreheads together.]
I only want you to think of your own mark on the world. Not just preserving what remains of mine.
no subject
I know. [But to know something and to do something are two very different things.]
There are times when it is easier. And others when it is impossible.
no subject
[She smiles at him, but it wobbles, just a little.]
Watching over you is bittersweet when it's all I'm able to do. When what I wish I could do is have my son in my arms.
no subject
[All three of them worry just the right amount. It is stupid, stoic, and self-centered. He knows it too, that's the worst of it.
And to hell with it. If that's a request he'll give it, wrap up whatever he can of his mother in his arms because this dream is more likely to never be again.]
no subject
There are so many things she hasn't said, that she wants to; there are so many things she'll remember later and wish she'd thought of them now. There will never be enough time to tell him all the things she wants to, or what she's known and seen of him since she started to watch over him like this, or how proud she is of him — even for the choices she disagrees with or recoils from.
But maybe there don't need to be words. Maybe it's enough to cling to him, and to hold him tight, as the walls of the study around them start to fade into darkness.]
no subject
He refuses.
Alucard tries to keep the study in view. Keep them both in a place familiar, if not always warm. (Too many horrible things happened in the study for it to be full of warmth.) He holds onto his mother. He doesn't know if privileging one thing shall diminish the other. If it does, then he knows who the priority is.
There's such a heavy sigh out of him, all the exhaustion and grief manifested in a single, wretched noise.]
Stay. Please.
no subject
But in the dream, it holds. The study grows clearer again around the edges, the seeping darkness pressing back. And in his arms, Lisa grows just a touch more solid and heavy, because she is, on some level, subject to his will in his dreams, too.]
For as long as I can, my little star.
[She tucks against him, trying to bring him some comfort by the weight of her presence.]
And even when you're awake, I hear you. I watch you. I'm never far from you, believe me.
no subject
They've had so little of that. He misses it, because the conversation Alucard had with his mother were never the ones he had with his father.]
...There are a few points in time I hope that's not the case.
[There has to be some dark comedy in here.]
I miss talking. Just the two of us.
no subject
[It's easier, somehow, to be holding on to him. It keeps her anchored, and so she lets her fingers curl lightly in his shirt, unmindful of how it will wrinkle if she does. It's only a dream, after all, but this will help her to stay.]
Now. Indulge a mother's curiosity and tell me about your friends? It's one thing to watch you with them, but I want to hear what you think of them, yourself.
no subject
You'd had thought Trevor rude the first time you met him. He is, mostly, but I know you too well. And you'd probably laugh about parallels, because I did too after I realized it.
no subject
[She sighs a little, smiling almost ruefully.]
I always worried about you that way. Hoping that you would manage to find the people in the world with enough of an open mind to take you as you are, for who you want to be. I wouldn't have guessed a son of the Belmonts to be among them.
no subject
[And that's a truth too. Those first few moments of walking out into the sunlight after that horrid night, that was where it all managed to originate.]
In fairness, I wouldn't have expected it either. The circumstances were...[Nope. They're not talking about that now.]
I love them both.
no subject
[It's so unexpectedly good to hear him admit his feelings for them so frankly. Her son has always been one to keep his thoughts aloof and his emotions close to his chest; that he's willing to make a confession like that is warming, to say the least.]
I can see they've both been good for you. Trevor knows how to provoke you when you need provocation. And Sypha, it seems, has a knack for tempering that with acceptance.
no subject
[That's something Alucard's always known. Magic and medical science. New applications of them both. The world moves forward, and everyone else has to just sit and listen to it. (Fondly. Maybe with some awkward if his father was around.
Ok, a lot of awkward.)]
Until they've both decided to be bullies. It's known to happen.
[Speaking of fondness.]
no subject
[She reaches up, tugging lightly at a lock of his hair, playful.]
And you don't do the same in return, with each of them? You know you have to accept what you dish out in kind, my dearest.
no subject
[He smiles at that too. Doesn't blush, but it's so very near.]
I like to think I do it the least. [He fucking well does not.
But...there's something to ask. While they have time. Where she's here. And that question does put red in his cheeks.]
Mother, when you and father decided to...solemnize things, since I know no religious authority was involved, how did you go about it?
no subject
[Her eyebrows go up, a little surprised, and almost instinctively she glances to the ring on her finger — still there, the same as always, where it's meant to be — before turning her attention back to him.]
Well. He asked, first, which was surprising enough in and of itself. He found me a bouquet of flowers I'd never seen before — it had to have been incredibly taxing on him, but he waited until I was set to go into town for an afternoon, then moved the castle to wherever he'd found them and moved it back again, all before I got back home so I wouldn't suspect. We had dinner, I told him about my afternoon, and then he asked that I stay up until midnight for some astronomical phenomenon he wanted to show me.
[She's starting to smile, just from the reminiscing.]
He took me up to the roof of the castle's tallest tower, so that there was nothing at all above us except sky, all spread out from horizon to horizon, and told me he'd give me all of it and more, if I would give him just one thing in return. So I asked what it was, because I couldn't very well leave a question like that alone, and he picked up my hand and kissed it and said "this hand, to be mine."
[A beat.]
So you see, you get it from your father.
no subject
He always knew that of the things he inherited from his father, he got this as well.
The smile on his face is so soft, so endeared, so happy to just know. Why hadn't he ever asked before? He should have. ]
And the rings?
no subject
[She hums softly, her eyes closing halfway as she thinks back, collecting every detail she can.]
I had a necklace originally — it might still be in my old rooms, somewhere. And then we agreed on a sensible period of engagement, a few months, and then at the end of that few months, we had me kidnapped by a few of his generals, and after rescuing me and proving his worthiness in combat, the rings went on and that was that.
no subject
And then...his generals. And it is ridiculous beyond words, and all Alucard can do is laugh. Laugh because images in his head are delightful. Laughs because it's too much of his father. Laughs because why did he expect anything else?]
I think that....that might be a bit overkill in my case.
[However Sypha's going to love this story.]
no subject
[The or else is so palpable in that last remark.]
Thinking of what you'll do for your own loved ones, are you?
no subject
[He remembers the standard threats, at least. Bore witness to quite a few too.]
Mm. I don't expect things to change, and there's only a lifetime.
[For once, he manages to articulate that thought without sinking into a terrible fit of other depressed thoughts.]
no subject
[She tugs on his hair again, then reaches up to rest her hand against his cheek.]
But the principles are there. Respect their own loved ones, seal your promises. And try to make them laugh at least once, in the process.
no subject
[He's the overdramatic fuck, so it'd be fun to throw the insult in their faces. Then the dramatics can happen in full.
Maybe it's pointless to point out that Trevor's about as alone as he is when it comes to extended family. Sypha's caravan, that's it. And maybe any rites that are done should be according to those customs.
Alucard pauses, then kisses the hand that rests on his cheek.]
I may just be laughing at their face, but...
no subject
[He's so gentle, so sweet; she never gets tired of his little notes of affection, even as she offers him up her own in return. This, he got from her, and the rhythm of exchanging these little touches is so familiar.]
I'm sure he'd be thrilled to be won in combat.
no subject
no subject
no subject
I just do that on the first anniversary. False sense of security.
no subject
[She pauses, reminiscing idly.]
Do you remember the one that could turn into a mist? A female vampire, she visited once or twice. We had a very pleasant time together, while I was abducted and out of commission.
no subject
[The mere idea of having any more than three in the castle is a bridge too far at the moment.]
But I do remember her, yes. I was likely older for that visit.
no subject
[She laughs softly.]
I'm afraid most of them didn't quite know what to do with me, I think. I suppose for them it was the equivalent of being told to cart, I don't know, a highly-prized goat to a woodshed somewhere and watch over it until its owner came to fetch it.
no subject
[Alucard doesn't know what's going on in the waking world. He's sure he doesn't care to know at the moment, because this conversation is so...so blissfully normal. He has his normal with the other two, but with his mother is so much more important.]
I don't think I could live with that kind of thinking. Beyond what I already have.
no subject
[Well, and Vlad helped, but we all know where a lot of the good sense came from.]
So. Speaking of good sense, is there anything else you want to know about your father and I?
no subject
[He's just saying.]
That...hadn't actually been the point of the question. Not initially. [But there's one natural question to ask now:]
How badly did you yell at him after...everything?
no subject
[Oh, right. Of course. That. He would want to know, wouldn't he?
...Well. Maybe it's not about want, precisely. But certainly he needs to know.]
I couldn't speak to him, at first. I was so...
[...]
I knew I'd say something I'd wish I could take back later. So I didn't — we didn't speak. Later, I found the words.
[Translation: and then she screamed.]
no subject
Knowing is better than always wondering.]
I can't say I'm surprised.
no subject
[She stops short, the train of thought falling away as an expression of hurt and melancholy drifts across her features, and when she picks it up again, it's much more quietly.]
I would've understood, at least, if it'd only been his way of grieving. I wouldn't have agreed with it, but he is what he is. I never thought I could make him a man instead of a monster; I only tried to encourage more of the one in the other.
[She presses her lips into a thin line.]
But to do it in my name — he knew I wouldn't have wanted — he knew I would never have wanted —
no subject
I know.
[Knowledge that had driven everything to it's horrible end.]
And where do you both stand now?
no subject
[She draws in a breath she doesn't need, and lets it out again, simply because.]
I still love him. He still loves me. What he did to you in particular haunts him the most — I don't think he regrets the rest of it much, even now. We...
[She closes her eyes, turning her face away.]
I'm still furious. But I can't bear the thought of being away from him.
no subject
[He would like to move away from that terrible memory, thanks mom. Alucard's worked very hard to find ways to deal with all of that, because in that horrid little moment he had hoped that maybe the insane patricide quest might have been stopped.]
You get all the time to find a way through it now.
[Her face is away, but Alucard rests his face on the top of his mother's head. Just a warm weight. Just there.]
no subject
[This is an awkward, embarrassing thing for a mother to be admitting to her son, of all people, but here she is, and so it goes. She leans heavily against him, holding on as if seeking his support and his warmth.]
...Do you want to see him? If we were able to visit you again.
no subject
The question isn't an easy one to answer.]
I think that'd need to be a very, very long dream.
[Which is not to say no, but it would be much messier than this.]
How are you managing this anyway?
no subject
[She shrugs a little, though her mood does seem to perk up a touch at the prospect of scientific theory.]
Is there anything different about tonight, from what you do normally?
no subject
[He shakes his head no. Nothing else unusual at all.]
I suppose it'll have to be done again. To prove or disprove the theory.
no subject
[her son has a boyfriend AND a girlfriend and what better reaction can there possibly be than "yeah that's right get it boy".]
Have you been missing me moreso than usual?
no subject
[Please. This is embarrassing. Let him die.
Or just go and be serious again, that'll do it. Alucard pauses, wondering how much his mother saw of that....scrape.]
Something along those lines, I suppose. [If he has to almost burn at the stake for this to happen every time though, there's going to be problems.]
no subject
[She leans on him, a little more heavily.]
And you needn't Mother me. If you're going to keep a pair of lovers, you'd best get used to people remarking on ordinary facts about them.
no subject
[That weight is nothing at all. He's happy for it. That it is there only makes Alucard smile, even as he's dealing with this particular topic.]
Beyond Sypha's people, no one's aware and they're not my mother.
no subject
[She can't actually see his smile, the way they're currently positioned, but she knows it's there anyway. Mothers.]
The Speakers are aware of it, though, are they?
no subject
[So there are no village gossips. But Sypha's people well...]
...None one of us are known for our understanding of the concept of subtle.
no subject
[Not that she's one to talk; obviously he gets at least half of it from her. But still, objectively speaking, the point stands.]
It really is a shame, about the poor castle.
no subject
[There's a moment where he pulls away, just to put a finger to his lips and tap it thoughtfully. A great problem. Nay, the greatest. But then that actually becomes a serious gesture.]
We're trying to reverse it. Safer that way. And...
[Things shift again. Something dims just beyond the two of them, and Alucard hisses. Not yet. (It's morning, isn't it? He needs to get started on breakfast.)]
no subject
[She noticed it too — perhaps even more acutely than he did, being that she is in some ways subject to the whims of his dreams in a way that he isn't.]
You might find some help in our old room. A few pages, somewhere, about the nature of the castle — your father wrote them for me early on. Not that I could've ever moved it on my own, but...well. You of all people know it's more than just a machine. It was supposed to help me better understand it, if I ever needed to ask something of it. Between you and Sypha, it might help you make some progress.
no subject
I'll...I'll look. I haven't gone in there in for a time [he's absolutely locked it] , but I'll find it.
[He'll take Sypha and Trevor with him. He'll need them both. And he hopes that they'll both be in bed when he wakes, as he'll need them for that too. There's something dark and wretched starting to rise up in his throat and he fights it back down.
This entire dream has been happiness. No tears permitted.
He squeezes his mother again. One last time. A real good-bye this time.]
I miss you so much, mother.
no subject
[He hugs her tight, and she hugs him back; she can tell, now, that the instant he relinquishes her even a fraction she'll start to slip away, but there's still just enough chance for her to raise herself up and draw him a little bit down, and let him feel the touch of her lips against his forehead.]
My boy. I won't tell you not to weep for me. But try to find a smile for each tear you shed, too.
no subject
There's sunlight in the room. That much is clear before Alucard even opens his eyes. He can feel it, and that's odd because usually he is the one to open the curtains.
Wait.
His eyes flutter open, wondering if he's actually slept the latest of the three for the very first time in ever.]
no subject
The bedroom is empty. The castle is silent. The windows are allowing in a healthy amount of sunlight and —
Actually, scratch that, the castle isn't silent.
Because there, distantly, is the sound of Sypha's voice, a little urgent and faintly chiding — It is not going to be much of a surprise if it's too burnt to put on a plate!]
no subject
He doesn't hear anything until he's in the hallway, suspecting that if the two are anywhere, it may well be the kitchen. Maybe they're just waiting for him to show up, or at least that's the assumption until he hears Sypha's voice and...
...oh God, they're trying to cook.
Maybe it's a stupid use of vampire speed. No, scratch that, it's a stupid use of vampire speed, but Alucard's in the door frame of the kitchen within seconds, unsure what to expect.]
no subject
[Okay, well, that was terrifying, one second there was nothing in the door and now suddenly there is a bae in the doorway, looking beautifully sleep-rumpled and handsome and bite-able.
And meanwhile here in the kitchen there is Trevor, burning the living daylights out of what were probably supposed to be a pan of fried eggs, and Sypha hovering nearby to presumably Armchair Iron Chef this travesty.]
...Good morning!
no subject
[Because advanced wood burning stove technology or just 15th century hearth fires, the fire part's important.
Just as important is the smell. A smell that's deeply offensive, based on how Alucard's nose just recoils once a whiff of it hits him. Walking in and peering over Trevor's shoulder reveals exactly what happened and you know what?
He's not going to question any of this. It's hardly the point.]
How can I help?
[PLEASE LET HIM HELP.]
no subject
Sypha, on the other hand, is not content to start her day without her mandatory morning hug, and this seems like as good of a time as any to get it, so over she goes, walking pretty much directly into Alucard's side with expectant deliberation.]
It's not like you to sleep so long, so we thought you might not be feeling well...
no subject
[Cast iron cannot be killed but leave it to a Belmont to try. Either way, Sypha's got a point. The side hug becomes a proper one after just a moment of shifting around, and there's a soft dhampir kiss to the top of her head too.]
I'm fine. I was simply having a much needed conversation.
[Is he smiling at some weird inside joke? Sure is. And looking a bit too sentimental about it as well.]
no subject
[So long as Sypha is getting her hug, all is right with the world. Except for the part about Trevor making one last valiant effort to gouge the egg off of the surface of the skillet before surrendering to the inevitable and dumping the whole thing into the dishpan instead, smoking egg refuse and all.]
no subject
[Having two very different conversations is hard.]
I'll explain in a bit. Should I just let you two accept defeat at the hands of the kitchen and restart all of this?
no subject
We're not defeated! We're just, um. Still developing a strategy!
[Nice save, Sypha, I'm sure everyone believes you.]
The point was that you wouldn't have to cook, though, because you always do...
no subject
You both realize that the reason I do so is apparent before you, correct?
[He's smiling when he asks the question though. It's such a sweet gesture.]
no subject
Sypha, however, appears to still be in that phase of morning sleepiness that she doesn't want to be without physical contact for too long, and so when Alucard goes to take care of the pan, she naturally gravitates back to Trevor, winding up leaning against his shoulder in the cuddliest of fashions.]
We were going to try scrambled, but we couldn't remember the proportion of eggs to milk.
[Translation: they already did try scrambled and got the proportion wrong, and threw that out and tried to save it with fried.]
no subject
[He worries. He does, and this is just going to start over from scratch in every way. First thing he starts off doing is drying the poor pan out, and then using Vampire Nails to remove the offending and abused egg from the surface.]
Half of one of our cups per-egg, for future reference. Both of you sit, you've been working hard enough as it is.
no subject
It still doesn't seem very fair, though, that you have to cook your own surprise breakfast.
no subject
[There's warmth in his voice at that, and it's impossible to stop the smile that crosses Alucard's face when he sees the exact position the two have settled into. It's enough of a sight that he'd prefer to admire it for a minue or two, but food and they're probably hungrier than he is. So Alucard's eyes linger for just a moment, before he goes and gets half a dozen eggs (two each) begins cooking in earnest.]
Comfy enough?
no subject
[Which, of course, really just prompts him to dig it further into her side, even as she squirms and he play-wrestles her until they're some semblance of comfortably settled again.]
And just how long is "a bit" before you explain this dream of yours, exactly? You can't keep mentioning it but then keeping us in suspense!
no subject
He has the eggs in the pan and is working on them by the time the war's over. While he works, he begins to explain.]
Well, I wasn't very well going to talk over you two while you were doing that, now was I?
[The eggs are done. He takes them off the stove, the rest of the cooking done by the pan's remaining heat, and then he goes for the bread box. Good, crusty rye for toast. A bread knife lives in that box, so he takes that out too.]
I had an actual, lucid conversation with my mother. Not just a replay of memories.
no subject
And that's...well, that's just...]
In...in your dreams?
[She glances at Trevor, who looks just as perplexed and at a loss as she feels herself.]
How did...that come to pass...?
no subject
[Nerds. He comes from a line of nerds. Sure, one was a vampire king for centuries, but still a goddamn nerd.]
I'm sleeping in between the two of you again this evening. To test at least one theory.
[The bread, once sliced, gets stuck onto a long skewer. Alucard then walks over to the fire box for the stove, opens it, and sticks the stake-o-bread in for just a few quick moments.
The toast gets pulled out seconds later, and maybe the most remarkable part of all of this is the total lack of grief around Alucard as he's discussing this. A thawing well. Slow and sure.]
no subject
[Hypothesis: can she and Trevor summon back the dead by creating some sort of weird magical resonance that acts on whatever is dropped in-between them. WILD.]
...Alucard, you're...sure it was her? From the way she spoke, and the things she said to you...?
no subject
[Sypha, he's going to turn around, and point an entire stake of bread at you for doubt.]
Believe me, certain things said would be beyond myself to create. Such as notes on how to repair the castle.
* it's funny because it means bread in french
Notes for repairing the castle! That's...very specific! But it would also be immensely helpful, considering how broken it happens to be, at the moment...
[Because you broke it, Trevor reminds her, helpfully.]
GROANS
We can focus on that part later. The point is, the dream was much realer than it ought to have been, and I put stock in it.
[And clearly, he is happier for it.]
no subject
Well. Even if it is, it's good to see you so happy. You don't look even the slightest bit gloomy!
[She doesn't mean to imply the for once that's suggested on the end of that, but it's probably there anyway.]
no subject
...but really, Sypha. He heard that implied for once. He's not going to call her for it though. Better approach: distract.]
Do your people have anything in your histories about distinguishing true dreams from the more mundane ones?
no subject
Trevor, on the other hand, knows what he's about, and what he's about right now is breakfast. So Sypha ends up lifted and carried over to the table, where she can be comfortably deposited in a chair of her own before Trevor claims one within reach of the breakfast plates.]
Mm...that depends. Do you mean distinguishing them while you are having them, or after the fact, once you've woken up?
no subject
[It's ridiculous how Sypha just refuses to accept that food means the end of cuddle o'clock. He'd point out that if the two stayed in bed this problem wouldn't exist, but they made their (very sweet) choices.
Alucard does nudge his foot against hers though. Since she's now terribly free from being cuddled.]
no subject
[She hums softly, nudging his foot right back; she's still a little miffed about the lack of cuddles, but having a project to think about is certainly helping somewhat with distracting her from it.]
Another strong signal is being able to recognize that a part of the dream does not make sense. If it is a dream entirely of your own creation, then it will always seem to make sense, even where it is nonsensical. To be able to recognize that something is wrong is a hallmark of something else causing it.
no subject
Well, the message point will be tested shortly, although I doubt that was the point of the whole thing.
[If anything, that felt like an after thought. But Sypha keeps talking, and he nods along.]
I see. How obvious will that hallmark be?
no subject
[She shrugs a little, finally relenting enough to reach for her own breakfast.]
If the wrongness fades away, or you start to ignore it, then it isn't a real dream. If it wakes you up, it isn't a real dream. But if the dream persists despite the wrongness, then it's much more likely to be true.
no subject
[But none of it quite jives, does it? Aside from his mother being there at all and the interaction being far more real. Perhaps this is just something that won't match up with centuries of lore behind it. Just a dhampir's gut instinct and nothing else.
It's something to chew on, literally in this case.]
And the rarity of it all goes without saying.
no subject
[She takes a bite of her toast, humming softly.]
Was there something wrong with your dream? Something about it that wasn't as it should have been?
no subject
[He's halfway through the egg-on-toast already. And Trevor's probably checked out because this has hit exacting theories or, more accurately, "nerd time."]
no subject
[These boys and their inhaling their food.]
So you saw your mother, and that was all. Where did you see her...?
no subject
The study. Which...is not terribly unusual, in truth.
[He just doesn't go there when the other two are home. He also keeps the door closed when he isn't in there, naturally.]
no subject
[Hmmm. She ponders a little more, poking at her eggs and toast not because she's playing with her food instead of eating it, but because there's something about the nudging that's helping her to think.]
...Most cultures would seem to agree that spirits will more easily be drawn back to places they were comfortable with in their lives. Things they had attachments to, as though they had created a sort of magnetism between themselves and those things in life. Like having a tether, and a lighthouse. Something to guide the way to the correct place, and something to help hold there once they arrive.
[She hums.]
You know how you feel about the study. How did your mother feel about it?
no subject
Usually it was the natural starting point for looking for where my father had gotten to. Then the library. Then the lab. Then the rest was just waiting for him to find her instead.
Ah. [So, that's one logical part of this explained.]
no subject
[Things add up, indeed.]
Were you already there when it began? Or was she there first, and you found her?
no subject
[He's careful not to clarify if he means in dreams or in the waking world. The answer is both, and they don't need to know how much time he spends in that study brooding when they're not home.]
no subject
[Or your father, she thinks, but it's far better to leave that one alone.]
That goes to the form of the dream. If it's a model your dreams are used to following, and you only fit in a different person every time, that's one thing. But if the person you meet there isn't interchangeable, that's another one entirely.
no subject
[Maybe he will have to admit to the memories that haunt the hallways this time around. At the very least, it will come up within the year, but it shall be an easier thing to share due to this particular dream.]
I see. And gut instinct factors into all of this as well I'm assuming, correct?
no subject
[She polishes off another goodly bite of her breakfast, then starts ticking things off on her fingers as she chews.]
A message, a place associated with her, and a deviation from the usual in that specific way — someone usually passing by outside who specifically comes in to see you — those would all fit the mark of a prophetic dream.
no subject
Mm. It is always a reassuring thing when the wisdom of ages backs up one's gut.
no subject
[He did, after all, mention wanting to experiment with the conditions again, and see if he could replicate the phenomenon.]
At least this time we'll remember the right proportion of eggs to milk. ...I think.
no subject
[It does, however occur to Alucard that he may not be able to escape Sypha's grasp in the morning if he is in the center of the two of them. Morning cuddles are Required, and today he has avoided his duty.
A bridge to cross later.]
The particulate notes about the castle are, apparently, in my parent's bedroom though.
no subject
[Which doesn't inherently mean that Alucard has avoided it, of course, but she'd be willing to bet that he'd been just as inclined to leave it shut and untouched. There are few places in the castle likely to have heavier memories than that, after all.]
So if they really are there, it's unlikely your sleeping mind could have just made them up. But she would have known. It was her room, after all.
no subject
[It's confirmation of both parts. That no, she and Trevor have not been in there before, and that no, his own mind could not have thought up this particular location. Alucard had not even ventured near the room to lock it properly, as it was a part of the castle mercifully spared from the destructive fight. It was simply...there.
It's a place he knows will suck the contentment out of him, and so he smiles softly as he says:]
It can wait until the afternoon.
[A few more hours of this mood, at least.]
no subject
[Because, perhaps, she senses the precariousness of the moment and of his mood, and she wants to do her part to preserve it, too. That means a distraction, and she can't think of a better one than scooting up and out of her chair and over by him, arms out in expectation of being accepted into his.]
Kisses, please.
no subject
[Trevor agrees that it absolutely is, but too late. Sypha's made a decision, and they can only abide by it. With her arms outstreched, Alucard inches his chair away from the table just enough and then slides Sypha over onto his lap.
She's a familiar and warm weight, and both his arms wrap around her waist, delighted.]
This is the problem with you leaving me in bed alone. You have to do this at the table instead, and the chairs aren't as comfortable as the mattress.
no subject
[She nuzzles against him, nose brushing against the hair that falls against the side of his face, mouthing against the line of his jaw.]
But if you would be more comfortable in bed, we could always go back...
no subject
I'm plenty happy, breakfast surprise having taken a different form than intended.
[Then a perfectly decent proposal.]
Mmm, I think perhaps that is in order. I'd even dare to say dishes can wait.
[This is a rare mood. They're all aware of it. It's important to take advantage of it.]
no subject
[And absolutely none of them are going to complain about it. And every one of them is smart enough to take advantage of this.]
A mood that is infectious, I might add.
[She slumps contentedly against him, resting her head on his shoulder, so that every time she exhales he gets treated to a warm little breath of air washing over the side of his neck.]
no subject
[The grumpy noise he makes is all smoke and mirrors. Trevor's watching this with a stupid smile on his face, and the position that Sypha's in just makes the next part easier. It is no effort at all for Alucard to shift where his arms are, and scoop Sypha up like the royalty they treat her as as Alucard rises to his feet.]
Really now, Sypha. Would you like to adjust that criteria of yours?
no subject
[She squeaks a little, though, when he gets up and takes her along with him, equal parts startled and pleased. It's familiar enough that it's easy to wrap herself around him to make the carrying easier, with her arms adjusted neatly around his shoulders and her knees held together so that he can hook efficiently beneath them.]
You're playful, that's another good one, too.
no subject
[It's so easy to fall into this familiar rapport. Alucard would be a liar if he said he didn't adore it, just like he didn't adore the all too easy to tote around Speaker in his arms and the way she knew how to hang on.
The only thing left to do is start to walk out of the kitchen entirely, Trevor right behind and just laughing at this ridiculous display.]
And if I am, it's only because you've made some very compelling suggestions in the last few minutes.
no subject
[Well, allegedly, anyway. Really it's more like she's out to tease him in one of her favorite ways, given that his hands are occupied with holding her and his focus is on trying to get her back to the bedroom. She, on the other hand, has a little more free range of movement — and more importantly, she knows what he likes.
So maybe it comes as no surprise when she dips down to kiss at his neck, just a little above where his pulse rests, and throws in a light scrape of her teeth for good measure.]
no subject
[He's had practice at this, so the bar for terribly distracting is rather high at this point in time. Just to be on the safe side though, Alucard makes sure his grip is firm without being painful.
Alucard's also able to keep moving even as Sypha hones in on the spot that always makes him gasp in delight. This time is no different, and she's far too quick to add teeth. There is encouraging, and then there is this.]
Sypha!
[It's half delighted, half embarrassed.]
no subject
[She's not altogether too concerned about the possibility of him dropping her, less from anything to do with underestimating how distracting she might be and more just because that's a measure of her faith in him — confident, unshakeable.]
My handsome prince, whisking me away.
no subject
Mm, you should make that plural.
[Because otherwise, that's just rude.]
no subject
[It's also important to share, which means that at regular intervals Alucard will be subject to the impossible cuteness that is literally carrying Sypha while she leans over for kisses from Trevor. A feat of gymnastic greatness.]
...Or is a boyar the same? I don't remember...
[She probably does, but she knows she can bait Alucard into being an insufferable know-it-all, which is also always fun.]
no subject
Well just for that, I'm not going to get into particulars lest I offend delicate sensibilities.
[Thank God as far as Trevor's concerned. Alucard's much too invested in being a transport for cuteness, all but glowing as he watches the two smooch.]
no subject
[Not to be outdone, she works her fingers through Alucard's hair, nails scritching lightly at the nape of his neck while she continues to draw her kisses from Trevor with every offer of them.]
no subject
Or the other option is to keep kissing Sypha to keep her from enabling, which is the thing Trevor decides to go with in the end. Alucard keeps trying to watch, but Sypha's nails are far, far too clever for their own good and that means he's making a stupid noise instead. He'd rather be underneath her on the bed while she does that, free to squirm in delight instead of clamp down because he's still carrying her.
Thank God the bedroom door is still open. There's no need to try and open it with an armful of Sypha, making life much easier. Rather than just put Sypha down on the bed and then climb in beside her, Alucard sits himself down with her still in his arms.
Actually, to hell with it. He lies right down, dragging Sypha with him so Trevor has enough time to climb into bed too.]
no subject
[Speaking of being very cute, there's another of those startled squeak noises, this time from the unexpected flop of Alucard hauling her down onto the mattress with him in a tangle of limbs. She's got the advantage, though, being on top of him for the moment. With Trevor making his way in to the tangle, that probably won't last for long, but for the time being, she's going to make the best of it.]
Come, now. Show off for me. Dazzle us with your silver tongue.
[While trying not to laugh at the irony of a silver-tongued vampire, of course. But it's easy to press her laughter against his neck, letting it rumble beneath his ear.]
no subject
Trevor's on the other side of Sypha soon enough, leaning on his side rather than flat on his back. Hardly the strangest configuration of the three of them, with too much ample room for Sypha to shift and then be capable of resting atop both her boys at once.
Absolutely intentional.]
no subject
[It's a pleased little noise, when she sees what they've done, and one that turns rich with amusement when she works out that there's an added fringe benefit to her boys from being like this as well — if she's atop both of them, then she's also warming both of them, and everyone is all the more snug for it.
It's a shame that she can't kiss both of them at once, but they've grown adept at navigating those logistics by now, and when she's finished taking her fill of Alucard's mouth, she reaches to twist her fingers in the hair at the back of Trevor's head and guides him down into the space she's just vacated, wanting to see him take his share, too.
They look good together, after all. Her two boys, light and dark, two halves of a whole, and hers, all hers.]
no subject
Under other circumstances, the two boys might be more performative after Sypha's guidance mostly because her reactions are absolutely worth it. Not right now though, all those deep kisses are as genuine as anything else that has come before, although Trevor's not a fan of the fact his other arm is just kind of flopped above Alucard's head with no actual comfortable place to go.
Speaking of. One of Alucard's dips down Sypha's back again, hand daring to give her ass a firm squeeze. Just to see what happens. Just to test the mood.]
no subject
Of course, it seems Alucard has ideas of his own, and for a second she really thinks his fingers are going to settle in the shallow hollow at the small of her back, light but possessive. But then they don't, and claiming a handful of her ass is equally possessive, albeit with a slightly different lean to the intentions.]
Mmm, careful.
[She's grinning. He's beneath her, and that's dangerous — especially if she can manage to bait Trevor into falling into league with her, which is always a possibility.]
You are in a precarious position to be teasing, Alucard.
no subject
[It a question said with full awareness of how precarious that position is, and maybe a little too much excitement about that fact as well. Precarious in this case usually means about two seconds from being completely overwhelmed by them both, and that's never a hardship. If anything, it's a delight, and it helps curb his own instincts which boil down to spoiling the other two in every way possible.
As if to hedge his bets (like Alucard needs to), he squeezes just a tiny bit more, mouth returning to Trevor's. Trevor who is very carefully listening to all of this.]
no subject
[She squirms a little, mostly just as unspoken confirmation that yes, she feels what he's doing there, and yes, she knows what he's up to, and yes, she's going to take the bait —]
You are, after all, on the bottom.
[She reaches behind herself, tracing her fingers down the length of his arm like a guideline until she finds his wrist, and wraps her fingers loosely around it before guiding his arm up and away, stretched over his head where she can pin it to the mattress.]
Which makes you at my mercy.
no subject
It's a light pin. Alucard prefers that, because it's a show of just how much he's happy to let this happen. They both know that he could break it in half a second. Instead he's smirking up at Sypha like a total idiot, half trying to play along and half trying not to have hearts in his eyes for every word that leaves her lips.]
Hm, it would appear that way.
[Yeah, he can't help but let a grin slip through those words.]
Should I dare to ask what you intend to do?
no subject
[He's such a sucker, and more importantly, she's such a sucker for the both of them. She flicks a glance at Trevor, pleased to see him withdrawing just enough that it might just signal his agreement to play her accomplice, and shuffles herself a little so that she's less outright sprawled atop Alucard and more sitting over him, straddling his waist to help give the illusion of pinning him that way, too.]
The freedom of such a handsome prince must be worth a very high price.
[With her free hand, she runs her finger down his chest, letting it hook and catch against the collar of his nightshirt.]
It was very careless of you, letting yourself get caught like that.
no subject
[This is all very ridiculous, which goes all too well with Alucard's mood. There's no blushing at how Sypha's fingers catch at that collar, but there is more red in his cheeks given how she's sitting on him now. It's ridiculous how easily they can get to him. (It's wonderful.)]
I'd dare to say you've overestimated. I can only think of two people who'd pay such a price and they seem to be otherwise occupied.
[Okay now Trevor's just trying not to laugh. This is beyond ridiculous.]
no subject
["Our", now, since Trevor is now getting roped in as her accomplice whether he likes it or not.]
You look wonderful like this, you know.
[She walks her fingers back up his chest to the hollow at the base of his throat, dipping in with just her fingertips.]
Is it torture, to be all tied up and not able to touch?
no subject
That is an exceedingly unfair question.
[Likewise unfair is the fact Trevor's now nuzzling against Alucard's neck, as if that's going to force a gut response out of the vampire instead of the more measured responses he's giving now. All it does is prompt a soft whine of delight before he returns to the question.]
No matter how I respond, you're going to do as you wish.
no subject
Yes, of course we are.
[It's not as though she needs an answer. If he wasn't enjoying himself, he would've broken free and turned the tables by now. But there are a lot of components that go into Alucard's enjoyment of this, she suspects. The attention, the two of them working together, the whimsical fantasy of being at their mercy...
Speaking of whimsy, she shifts her hold on his hand, moving from pinning his wrist to holding his hand itself, with her fingers interwoven between his. Because sometimes she fights dirty.]
But it would be nice to know what you want.
no subject
There's another happy noise as Trevor's nuzzles becoming long, lingering kisses there, combined with Sypha's hand in his. It is only natural for his fingers to close in, rest against the top of her hand, squeeze with a certain level of tenderness that lets her know this is all so very, very perfect.
What he wants is to just stay here for the whole day, looking up at them both, overwhelmed and delighted for it. But that's not the answer that fits the mood or an actually helpful one that lets Sypha know how to proceed.]
It'd be terribly unfair to lose both hands, I think.
[But he'll sacrifice one.]
no subject
[It's odd how, in some ways, pleasing Alucard is so...simple. He cherishes such little things, never asks for much in order to be happy. He could be content just to look at his lovers and know that they love him in return, to reach for them and feel his fingers brush against them, and remind him that they're close at hand.
It makes her want to spoil him with it. They all take their turns at being the center of attention, but this morning has Alucard in such a rare good mood that she can't help but want to make it last and last until he's soaked through and saturated in it.]
Such torture. If I leave you with just one hand, you'll have to choose which one of us you want to reach for.
[And with Trevor working neatly on one side of Alucard's neck, Sypha gravitates to the other, nipping her way up to his earlobe to catch it between her teeth.]
no subject
It is impossible for him to offer a good angle for his neck like this. To lean one way or the other would be to expose less flesh for them to kiss, and if the point is to be spoiled and at their mercy then he would be working against that objective. All Alucard can do is arch his neck upward just a little bit, careful not to disturb and what was Sypha's previous thought about poise coming undone?
Because the only response she gets as she moves up the other side of Alucard's neck is a hissed, delighted yesssss that doesn't seem to be agreeing with anything she's just said. Just letting them both know that he's coming undone, and they've barely done anything at all.
There's a more coherent response by the time Sypha's gotten to his ear.]
As if that isn't always the problem.
[Because it is. The eteneral struggle.]
no subject
[She kisses against his ear again, quietly cataloguing every sound that he makes, and takes pity on him by drawing back just enough that he can make more room for Trevor if he likes.
First, however, a little show is in order, and she brushes her fingers against Trevor's jaw to get his attention before leading him up to kiss her, crossing over to meet his mouth while they're directly in Alucard's line of sight.
It's surprisingly sweet, for being as mean as it is, but she won't make Alucard suffer long. Soon enough she lets Trevor return to his work, and focuses down on her half-vampire lover again.]
But sometimes you give too much, you know. You ought to be taught to lie back and take.
no subject
He doesn't try to sit up to see their kiss as a better angle, even if this is the one opportunity to free the hand that is still (nominally) pinned to the bed. This is all too wonderful to try and disturb. Especially because Trevor leans into Sypha's kisses with gusto. Especially because they're both so in love with each other.
Trevor's mouth may eventually return to where it was before (god, there's licking now too), but the hand that had been just resting on Alucard's chest doesn't. It goes towards the nearest of Alucard's thighs, and the grip there is firmer than expected. There's a soft gasp, and Alucard's free hand moves so it can tangle up in Trevor's hair. Stay there.
He can barely keep his attention on Sypha like this.]
Have I put up any resistance? [Fuck, fuck, fuck that hand is starting to slide down and then up again, taking the fabric of Alucard's bedclothes with it.]
no subject
[They work well like this, herself and Trevor. There's an easy, natural rhythm to it — he acts, and she speaks, and they tie up their vampire on two fronts instead of just one. He can't focus too much on what Sypha is saying while Trevor's hands are skimming across his skin; he can't fixate too strongly on the tactile sensations Trevor is creating while Sypha keeps him tangled in the threads of conversation.
It's always good to have a firm plan of attack, when going up against a vampire. Disorient them, distract them. And when Alucard tips over the edge, they'll support him.]
Nor have you made any of those sounds that I like so much, yet. Tsk, tsk.
no subject
[He knows the answer. It's of course not, this is all a part of the joy in two of them ganging up on the third. So there has to be some remaining composure, if just for a few minutes more.
There's a flash of hip where Trevor's moved the fabric of Alucard's nightclothes to one side. More pale skin exposed to the air, and there's a breathy sigh at that. That and a moment where Alucard's eyelids flutter close in an attempt to maintain his ability to speak.
His hand squeezes Sypha's.]
You know how to fix that problem.
no subject
[Again, she takes a moment to reach for Trevor, instinctive in the way it completes the circuit between the three of them. She strokes his hair, runs her hand down his cheek; as she cups his jaw in her palm, it puts her thumb perfectly in line with his lips, and he flashes a crooked grin as he draws it into his mouth to tease.
It's how it should be, even when it's two against one. They're a triangle, a closed circuit, with every side supporting the other. It's good to still have that affection present, too, in the spaces between when they're both working their Alucard over in tandem.]
I'm going to bite you, my Alucard.
[Which she says for two reasons. One is to wind him up with anticipation, which is always a vital part of the process. The other, though, is because there's an understated check of permission in it — a presented opportunity for him to refuse, if for some reason he needs to refuse. Biting is one of those activities that needs an extra check and balance, when it comes to Alucard, and she would never be so careless as to ignore that.]
no subject
[He's smug when he says that. He's right, so he gets to be smug about it.
Smugness, naturally deserves what Alucard sees next. All teasing, attention from himself gone, and the terrible desire to insert himself into what he's witnessing save for the hand still tangled up in Trevor's hair. Alucard tugs, just so he feels included. Showing off like this, it's rude, but that's the entire point. Watching it all, he sighs, patience still enduring.
The hand that's in with Trevor's hair releases with Sypha's word, and it is coupled with a sharp intake of breath. (Trevor's moving too. No more lips at his neck, he's moving down towards Alucard's legs entirely now.) That hand goes to Sypha's breasts now, resting there gently.]
Please.
[Anticipation mixed with just a little bit of begging.]
no subject
[And herein lies his folly, relinquishing his hold on Trevor to reach for Sypha instead; she's already got one of his arms over his head, and it would really just complete the picture if that one turned into two.
Still, she's not altogether cruel about it. She lets him touch her, arching her back a little to better push her chest against his palm, but doesn't let him linger long before she catches that hand of his and brings it up to her mouth to kiss at each of the fingertips in its turn.]
Use your words.
[Cruel.]
Please, what?
no subject
It's impossible not to pause for air at this point. Trevor's found a new spot, and it's in covering Alucard's thighs in terribly lingering kisses, a hand on each knee to hold the vampire steady. A perfect trap.
He has air. And he has his hands in Sypha's, and he has all his nerves ablaze, and God this would have played out so differently if the two had not tried to cook this morning, wouldn't it?]
Please bite me.
[The request is punctuated by soft groan. Some time ago one of them (Alucard can never remember who) figured out that the major leg artery is another spot that undoes the vampire, and Trevor's putting that knowledge to very good use now.]
no subject
[Perhaps deliberately, perhaps just in good fun, or perhaps just by sheer coincidence, she catches the tip of his middle finger in her mouth and closes her lips over it, sucking just lightly enough for him to feel it before releasing it again.
He'd really better hurry up; she's starting to get sweetly frustrated from how much she wants to bite him and hear him cry out, but she's not going to surrender the advantage before he does first.
So. Trevor's got Alucard's knees trapped, and that makes two of his limbs. She'll see to the other two, she decides, and guides his other wrist up to join the first, so that they're both pinned up and out of the way against the mattress.]
Specifics, Alucard.
no subject
[It is a weak protest, because he should have known better than to leave out her name. So now he's pinned and all the attention to below his waist is making him writhe under Sypha's weight. Which Trevor seems very aware of, because the intensity of attention only increases after that.
The other hand, now just as trapped as the first, squeezes Sypha's more forcefully than intended.]
Please Sypha. [And because if he doesn't say it in full, then she'll make him say this all again. She still might, but he has to let air come back into his lungs first.]
Please bite me.
no subject
Better. That was very pretty, you know.
[Of course, it's a little uncomfortable to keep her hands raised to hold his down while getting into position to bite his neck, so she has to think a minute about the logistics before eventually shrugging and relinquishing his wrists in favor of another devious idea.]
Keep your hands there. You'll be in trouble if you move them.
[And now she's free to get comfortable as she shifts and tucks her face against his neck, running the flat of her tongue over his pulse point before setting her teeth to it instead, and biting down.]
no subject
She knows it'll fail too, and that's what makes it worse. Alucard shifts just enough to accomodate the new distribution of weight (Trevor's not moved yet, but it seems like he was just waiting for this to happen.) All he can do is tilt his neck just a little bit more so that Sypha can go wherever she wants.
His nightshirt pulls just a little bit more as he does so, exposing more collarbone and shoulder. It shouldn't look as inappropriate as it does, but that's the nature of these things. The littlest bit of exposure becomes so much more pleasing. Just as teeth and pressure do, and there's a loud groan as Sypha delivers on what has been teased for far too long.]
no subject
She takes her time biting him, working his skin with tongue and teeth, knowing full well that the bruise won't last but making sure he feels every second of her leaving it, anyway. He always looks so good with the marks of her possession on him, she muses; it never fails to send a rush of heat through her, to let her gaze skim over her perfect proper Alucard in all his ethereal beauty and see those little blotches of red and purple like ink spilt on a page, outlined in the memory of her teeth.
When she's finished, she draws back to look him over, and it's not enough. Just one isn't enough, not when the redness is already starting to fade away at the edges even now. So she drops to his shoulder and bites him again, pulling his collar out of the way as, fruitlessly, she tries and tries to mark him faster than his own nature can erase the signs that she's been there.]
no subject
At some point, Trevor decides his own nightshirt needs to go, and that affords a different view of the whole beautiful mess - that of from the top down. Alucard lost in sensation, his hands clenched into fists because he hasn't gone completely over the edge yet, Sypha having the absolute time of her life making it so, fading red marks on the vampires neck, and enough of Alucard's nightclothes hiked up now to show that he's halfway aroused.
That's a quick enough fix. If Alucard caught any of Trevor's staring (his eyes are on Sypha, which is fair considering the angle he is at), he's unaware. The only thing he feels is a hand around his cock, which prompts a new and deeper moan. One that grows louder as hand is exchanged for mouth.
(There's an art to arranging bodies here too, and Trevor's very careful not to accidentally headbutt Sypha's ass or legs.)]
no subject
[It would be polite, she thinks, to make an adjustment to get a little more out of Trevor's way, because the logistics of threesomes are always a little complicated, even if they also happen to be the delicious spice of a relationship. The problem is, she also really just likes sitting on Alucard like this, and while in theory she could just scoot up a little and coax him into putting his mouth to work for her — no, that's too much like giving, when this one time alone she wants to focus entirely on making him lie there and take it.
So, hmm. Decisions, decisions.
Ultimately, she does abandon her seat on him for the moment, mostly because moving out of the way will mean letting Alucard actually watch what Trevor is doing to him, which is just another layer of encouraging the arousal she knows must be starting to consume him.]
Look at him.
[Knelt at his side, now, she skims a hand over his chest and lets it slip beneath the rumpled hem of his nightshirt's collar, carefully avoiding the ridge of the scar she knows is there in favor of tracing the rises and valleys of his pectorals like a cartographer mapping a terrain.]
His hair looks so thick and so soft, doesn't it?
[Which at first seems like a fleeting nonsense remark, up until she very deliberately picks up her hand and reaches down to bury her fingers in Trevor's hair, adding just a touch of her own guidance as he works — and very emphatically demonstrating precisely what Alucard probably wishes he could do with his hands, and can't.]
no subject
Alucard's certain that Sypha's not going to be content to shower his neck in affection. He wouldn't if the tables were turned (and they so often are), but there's such a look of disappointment on his face as she moves off of him. The warmth will linger (it always does), but it is not there and immediate and ever pressing. There's only the weight and fire below now.
There's just enough daringness in Alucard for him to grab a pillow and prop his head up on an angle so that he can follow Sypha's new instructions. (Flat on the back is terrible for good observation.) His hands don't move below his own ears, so she can't deploy whatever terrible punishment she has in mind. What he sees is too much, too overwhelming. His fingernails dig into his palms. There's not much more restraint left there.
He twists so he can lean into Sypha's hand. His chest is a favored place for attention too, even if it pales in comparison to the neck. Trevor's hands force Alucard's hips to stay in place, if only for now. (Trevor's also starting to have a problem, but that's secondary to the point right now.)]
It....always is.
[Fuck. Trevor leans into Sypha's hand, and Alucard feels every inch of that movement around him.]
no subject
She's watching him, though, and she sees the way he tucks his nails against his palms, the way he's fighting to be good no matter how difficult she makes it for him. Honestly, the fact that he's held himself back this long at all, without a tie around his wrists or a separate hand holding him down, is a testament to his powers of self-restraint — or perhaps just to his willingness to play along.
It almost makes her want to take pity on him.
Still running her hand through the thick of Trevor's hair, she reaches up to Alucard with the other and skims her fingers along his jawline.]
...You can put your hands on one of us.
[A generosity. Mostly just because she wants to see what he'll do.]
no subject
Choice is agony. Movement is also agony because Trevor's leaning into Sypha's hand a little too much and he has absolutely mastered multitasking right now. So for a precious second there's no movement in his hands. Alucard moves his head instead, so that the fingers that were on his jawline are close to his lips instead and he can kiss at whatever he can reach of them.
He wants his hands on both of them. To grab hair or arm or ass or anything at all, to pull them both as close as can be and just feel their own heightened heartbeats against his. Maybe he could get away with it now, but it wouldn't be the same.
So he completes the circut instead. His hand atop Sypha's, the one that's exploring every inch of his chest. The grip is firm and needy and so very desperate.
(Trevor picks this exact moment to finally withdraw his mouth. His plan's done, every inch of Alucard's fully aroused now, and it's all the better to smirk up at the both of them with.)]
no subject
[It's the truth; the faint blush that heats her cheeks is confirmation enough of that. She's not sure exactly what she thought might come of the liberty she'd granted him, though — perhaps that he'd sink his fingers into Trevor's hair, or grab for her and pull her back on top of him. But no, he chooses to cling to her hand, and something about that makes her melt a little in a way she hadn't been expecting.
Her sweet romantic of a vampire. She can feel his desperation through the clutch of his hand, and it makes her idly wonder if perhaps he's been made to suffer enough.]
What do you want, Alucard?
[It's an echo from before, but softer this time. This time there's a gentleness in her voice that promises he'll get what he asks for, if he can find the presence of mind to fit it to words.]
no subject
Trevor shifts a little too. He sits next to Sypha, wraps both of his arms around her because unlike others involved here he can, and maybe that's going to just egg things on a bit more. His chin rests on her shoulder (okay he's resting his stubble there), trying very hard to put on a poker face.
He's failing, but Alucard's a mess so there's no bantering about it at all. Alucard's going to be a mess for about an hour after this too, because his response happily reveals that he's just on the edge of everything.]
Both of you.
no subject
[Suddenly, she is trapped. Suddenly Trevor's prickly chin is tickling her skin, and she can't help but squirm a little herself as she's drawn against him, still clinging to Alucard's hand. And just look at him, laid out like a feast, or maybe more like a half-melted puddle of something sweet.]
You have us.
[Which goes without saying, of course, but it's a sweet endearment to offer up anyway.]
Though it's going to take some work to find a good position, if you're set on having both of us at once.
no subject
Because he's at that point. He's nodded along to what's been said, but reason's left him, he's an absolute turned on mess and it's Sypha's fault. (And Trevor's, but mostly Sypha's.)
Alucard turns to face them both. Just a little on his side, he's in their hands.]
Yes, I know.
[Three words, said with such headiness. Neediness. Anticipation. As if the other two needed more confirmation of Alucard's state.]
no subject
[Oh, good fuck, look at him. Sypha broke it, indeed, where "it" is defined as "Alucard".
She elbows at Trevor a little in token retaliation for his own nudging, then wriggles free of his arms just enough to lean down and kiss Alucard properly on his soft, beautiful mouth, because he deserves it.]
Just for that, you can do the hard work. Alucard, stay on your side. And you, lie down behind him, with his back to your chest.
[Which also puts him out of the running for kisses because NO KISSES FOR BLAMEY BLAMERS. But that's also her cue to shift and take up her own position in front of Alucard, facing him and easily within reach.
Arranging the three of them is never an easy prospect, and this is perhaps no exception. But preparing Alucard to take Trevor at this point would take time she doesn't feel like wasting (and he doesn't deserve it anyway, awful thing), whereas she's much better suited to let him slip inside her while Treffy fits himself between Alucard's thighs from behind, and lets the rocking of his hips drive the both of them forward into her.
It's far from ideal, but in the long run, it works — rather like the three of them, really.]
no subject
Broken vampire is also extremely happy to do as he's told, and the minute that he can grab onto Sypha, he does. She's so warm in his arms, warmer around him, and everything else is trying to kiss whoever he can whenever it's possible. Trevor steals quite a few (hard work tax he'll claim later), because he shouldn't be denied looking at Alucard as he unravels in full just for one or two rude comments.
Which Alucard does. Being so very pleasantly stuck between the two, there's no point in trying to hold back or maintain his ability to talk or do anything else besides enjoy every part of this. The fact the two of them are on either side, the way Trevor's hips move them all along, the noises Sypha makes when he buries his mouth into her shoulder because there's loud and then there's whatever he's doing at the moment. Because he's loud and he's undignified and there's so much happening around him that he wants to respond to, but everything is overloaded in the best, most wonderful, perfect way.
Unsurprisingly, he finishes first. It's not a muffled noise, because Trevor figures out what's happening and tugs Alucard's hair just enough so that the other two can enjoy the display. They've worked hard (hah) to make it happen, and there's a terrible pride in seeing the final result. In watching everything reach a crescendo and knowing it's made all the more intense because there's no place for Alucard to move. There's just the weight of the two of them and the knowledge that the other two will still be there when Alucard finishes, because they're not done.
Until they are, and then there's nothing but a very collapsed pile of limbs in bed, all heavy breathing and satisfied because there are good mornings, and then there's this wonderful one.]
no subject
[Sypha, lazy and spoiled thing that she is, lifts her head up a little from where she's landed half-draped over Alucard, one arm somehow managing to land in the perfect position to keep a handful of Trevor's ass, and sighs pleasantly before settling back down again with the sleepy contentment of someone blissfully unable to perceive how comfortable or uncomfortable an arrangement of limbs might objectively be, being too preoccupied with warm satisfaction.]
I think that was worth burning the eggs.
no subject
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.]
no subject
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.
no subject
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.]
no subject
[She peeks, and then abruptly she spots them too — dishes, a mug, left to languish there on the nightstand for goodness knows how long. She doesn't even want to get close to them, from how absolutely rank they probably are inside, but thinking about them for too long makes room for realization to start to set in, and then the affront just turns into a sort of rueful melancholy.]
...Oh.
[She wraps both her arms around one of his, holding on to him for support.]
He left it...the way that she did.
no subject
[Strangely enough, there's more warmth in Alucard's tone than sorrow. It's there, oh yes, but it isn't dominant. There's a soft noise, a not quite a laugh, and Sypha's warmth just lets him speak freely.]
I've never been sure he even came back in here.
[It's painful over two years later. (He counts the year that he was forced to rest.) The immediate aftermath...he can't even imagine.]
no subject
[No different, she muses, than the elbow wars that ensue between them over breakfast, or the bedroom kicking in search of a better portion of blanket, or complaints about Trevor's laundry or how long Alucard takes brushing his hair in the morning or her habit of stealing food off of other people's plates when she thinks no one is watching.
It's better that Trevor isn't here for this, indeed. Being in this bedroom makes Dracula so much less of a vengeful force of evil and so much more of just a man, and a father, and a husband.]
...Perhaps that's how your mother could be so sure that we would find her papers where she thought they would be. Because no one...would have moved them.
no subject
[That had been the worst laundry day, but it had been worth it because of his mother's face. The shock of seeing the sight, the anger of ignoring a particular rule, and the yes, my son's still half-vampire I should have expected this.
But going through all of this, it doesn't hurt as much as Alucard expected it to. That dream was more than just the castle's fate, it was closure in a way that he never, ever anticipated the luxury of closure would be offered to. Grief had lifted more than just slightly.
His fingers don't touch anything yet. He instead muses on Sypha's words, nodding along.]
Yes, that's likely. And I know there was never any locked storage here in this room, so the only option are drawers or stuck under something.
no subject
[He'll earn himself a nudge for that, even as her teasing comes with the probable intent of trying to help keep his mood light.]
Mm. So the question is, where would your mother have kept such a thing. Someplace where she could get to it easily, surely. She would be the only one who would've needed documents like those, yes? Because your father wrote them down for her to begin with.
no subject
[He nudges back, a thin smile on his face. Sypha's attempts are working wonders at keeping the mood from the past four days lingering.]
Nightstand is my first guess. That's an easy enough thing to check.
no subject
[She tips her head to the side, pressing a kiss against his shoulder, before tugging him over toward the bed so that they can examine the nightstand together.]
Mm, do you want to know a funny secret? I like furniture with little drawers in it, like this. I think it's fun, to have a little place to keep treasures in close at hand.
[Bedroom furniture being, of course, an almost nonexistent commodity in the Speaker lifestyle.]
no subject
[She can make a joke about it too, if she'd like. But for now, he'll take that kiss so happily. Sypha knows she can drag him all over creation too, so there's no hardship in going over to the nightstand - save for the smell.]
Really? [Noted.]
no subject
[You better believe she's absolutely going to go for it. Fortunately, there are more important things to do here than standing around making innuendo — like exploring this little nightstand drawer.]
Mm, it's not as though a society of nomads had much need for fixtures like these. They're designed to stay still, and we are made for moving around.
[Still, she's delighted as she curls her fingers around the drawer knob and slides it open, peering inside with eager curiosity at the assortment of handkerchiefs, candle stubs, matchsticks, and wide, flat box covered in black velvet.]
...Hmm, that doesn't look like something that would hold papers, does it...
no subject
[But someone had to do it. Either way, Alucard is carefully observing from behind Sypha as the drawer opens. It isn't as if he expects something to leap out, but he knows that sometimes memories are triggered by little things. Scent is one of them, and here and now, mixed with all the dust, is something much more familiar. Herbs and refined medicines and just a little too much soap because cleanliness was important for his mother's work. (Just not the dishes.)
What's in there is very normal. The box is probably jewelry. (Her wedding ring is long gone.) For completeness's sake, Alucard picks it up carefully.]
Unless the paper was folded...
no subject
[She's careful in the way that she asks, resting a hand on his arm as she turns her attention to him fully. On one hand, the search is important and they both clearly want to be thorough about it, but on the other...
Everything in this room is a remnant of his mother. And boxes like that aren't meant for mere trifles. There's a memory in there, and possibly a strong one, and she's here as much for moral support as to actually assist in the poking around. If he doesn't want to face it, she'll find a means of ensuring that he doesn't have to.]
I could look first, just to see if there's paper inside. And if not we could leave it alone.
no subject
no subject
It's a necklace fit for a queen. Quite possibly, it was designed specifically to rival any that currently exists in the coffers of any royal currently on the earth.
And predictably, Sypha's just. Gawking.]
That's...definitely not paper.
no subject
[Very, very carefully, Alucard reaches out and puts a single finger to the metal. Silver would be heavier, but this box already weighs a ton.
There's no burning. There's nothing at all, and a very small smile flicks across his face at that. Leave it to his father to just be like that. To have something like this made and then set it all in faux silver.]
Nor is it silver.
[A wedding present, if Alucard had to make a guess. Anniversary if not that. Either way, this is too intimate for him to be looking at, and so the box is simply set down on the nightstand.]
I don't think I ever saw her wear this.
no subject
[It's a good thing he puts it away when he does, or Sypha would have to get in on this jewelry-poking action, wide-eyed and fascinated by the treasure they've discovered.]
...It's beautiful. It must have been special to her, that she kept it so close at hand, and not with her others.
[...Oh.]
Because I assume she must've had...many others...
[Presuming that Dracula was anything like his son when it came to EXTRAVAGANT GIFTS, which is not that far of a leap, considering he had to get it from somewhere.]
no subject
[His father was Like This. And that is the long and short of it all.]
Wedding or engagement. Those would be my guesses.
[He's been thinking about both. As beautiful as that necklace is, it is also hardly practical. His mother kept it on hand, so very close to them both, and the piece was more statement than meant to be worn.]
But no notes in there.
no subject
[But they're not here for darkness, they're here for unbreaking the castle. So that's her cue to riffle quickly through the rest of the contents of the drawer, just to confirm their suspicions.]
Empty. Just odds and ends, in here.
no subject
[Wedding or engagement portrait? It's an absolute possibility. And as Sypha goes through what remains in the drawer, Alucard bends down because there's another logical place to keep things: under the bed.
He's still at a bad angle though, so what this really requires is him getting down on his stomach and looking properly. Dust bunnies, dust bunny village, dust bunny wastelands...two boxes. One on either side of the bed it seems, their ends butted up against each other.]
I think I found a second option. Can you please step back so I'm not under foot?
no subject
[She says, waggling her eyebrows at him before obligingly backing up to give him his space. She's half-tempted to crouch down with him, but one look at the dust bunny apocalypse underneath there quickly dissuades her from the notion; she's sneezy enough already, as it is.]
Tell me if you need help pulling.
no subject
[Just a reminder, Sypha.
The dust bunnies put up no fight as Alucard pulls the box out. It's not terribly fancy, just wood covered in dust. A lot of it, thicker than the rest of the room. No one ever dusted under the bed, so it isn't a terrible shock.
He doesn't blow all the accumulated dust off either - that'd be rude. All he does is sit up on the floor, and lift the lid carefully.]
no subject
[She's in no position to be making that demand, either.
Now she hunkers down, however, crouching at his side to peer in as the lid is lifted. This box is considerably bigger than a slender, elegant jewelry box; that's probably a good sign.]
...Journals?
[The top layer, at least. Three plain journals of the make and design that Lisa favored, along with some looseleaf sheets tucked underneath.]
no subject
[The sheets are where Alucard goes first, the journals gently placed atop the box's lid for the time being. With the box firmly in his lap, the sheets are unfolded very, very carefully.
Not that he need treat any of this like a relic. The paper is sturdy. Hardly ancient. The ink is still wonderfully dark and crisp, making it easier to read.]
Starting here makes more sense, the information was written down and then given.
no subject
The good news is, they seem to be on the right track.
The bad news is, the top sheet is definitely a love letter, with a few paragraphs along the top to serve as introduction for what appear to be a handful of short verses centered on the page below it.]
no subject
And then there's the fact that his father was the most over the top vampire to ever vampire, which means that the top sheet is handed to Sypha almost immediately because Alucard is not about to read that.]
Neither of you get to complain about anything I say or do romantically ever again.
[There's poetry. Real poetry. Too much poetry, really.
He's...going to keep looking.]
no subject
Unfortunately, Sypha being Sypha, she's reading the letter.]
It's not all romantic. There are also some very strong opinions on peasants.
no subject
[Which is a basic fact of being around his father. Moreover and more to the point though are the pages he has now, and he spreads each out on top of the box carefully. Then nudges Sypha with an elbow, real excitement in his voice.]
These are the pages in questions. The gears were things I already understood, but the actual control mechanism has always been beyond me. This was meant for...[He turns one of the pages over.] Emergencies, and specifically for someone not used to doing magic, never mind controlling an entire castle.
no subject
[She recites, just to belabor the point, before carefully setting the love letter aside onto the mattress and moving to look at the diagram pages with him, instead.]
...Could your mother do magic, to begin with? She loved science so much, it's hard to imagine her tolerating something like magic, and a spell will always fail if you don't first believe it can succeed...
no subject
[At least it's said with a groan and a laugh. Because it is funnier rather than anything else, and there's still so much weight of just being in here.]
Not to my knowledge. But she was stubborn and hardheaded, and if intent is the foundation for magic then I doubt that there would have been too great a struggle.
no subject
[She hums a little, lifting a hand and resting it gently on Alucard's back, between his shoulder blades.]
If it were to protect you, I am sure she would have done anything. Even moved a castle with magic she had never used before.
no subject
[He never did, of course. He understood so many of the mechanics that went into the castle, what kept it running. Gresit was testament to that. But moving the castle was something else entirely and....
...and as good and as soft and as lovely as Sypha's hand is (and he leans into it so very much), there's a note that catches his eye in particular.]
I think I found the part that you broke the hardest.
no subject
[So much for that pleasant backrub he was about to get, because now it's a little slap instead. Cheeky!]
And it's the castle's fault, anyway, for fighting me so much!
no subject
[Thank God he's a vampire and feels none of it.]
But that's actually the point. The part of the engines that process intent are both the hardest to break and the hardest to repair. And this page [he taps it gently] talks about the particulars. Not in great depth, but it's more than just looking at the damage will do. The mechanics and magic of it are intertwined to function properly, see?
[He hands her the page properly. Better to read.]
no subject
[He will be forgiven only long enough for her to read this very interesting manuscript, because it is very interesting and thus more worthy of her attention at the moment.]
So...if I am reading this correctly, the person who moves the castle...doesn't move the castle. They instruct, in such a way that the castle knows how to obey, and then it moves itself.
[She frowns slightly, eyes skimming over the page again.]
It's like a trained dog. The dog knows the command for "come", and will come for its master. But I put a leash around it and...well, dragged it.
no subject
[Alucard re-reads the page again, thoughtful. Considering. Then correcting, because there's something else at hand.]
But there is an element of guidance though. I think that the better comparison would be working with horses? They know what to do but you have to nudge them along the appropriate path.
[Either way....]
We'll have to rebuild the mechanism from scratch.
no subject
[It's a little bizarre to be referring to the castle like a living thing while physically inside the castle. Despite herself, she glances at one of the walls, like she's expecting it to be eavesdropping.]
I don't think we've made an extensive study of how it broke, exactly.
no subject
[Alucard catches that glance.]
It's not alive, don't worry. And so I think it will be closer to fixing mechanisms and enabling the magic again.
no subject
[Says Sypha, whose knowledge of childhood playmates comes pretty much exclusively from hearing folktales and legends that include them as a narrative staple.]
Well. We will certainly have to release the locking spell, but that should not be too difficult. And I think you may have to focus on the mechanisms themselves; I'm not sure if I could even lift them, much less repair them.
no subject
[S y p h a.
Back to the matter at hand. Alucard hums thoughtfully, considering the plan.]
Let's observe the damage first, and link each part to what's presented on the page. I'll...need a notebook, first, but that means all the research and results we do shall be recorded in one place.
[They get to do science!! Together!]
Don't even release the locking spell, we need to account for that in our initial observations.
no subject
[Sometimes it seems like every time they open up a closet door there's another half-empty box of blank journals just waiting to be pillaged and used.]
Speaking of which, do you want to look at the ones that were in the box?
no subject
[He looks at the pages, then to the journals.]
I'll want to put these pages back when I'm done with them. They belong here, after all.
no subject
[Either option has its merits. On one hand, restoring the room to the way Lisa must have left it. On the other...reclaiming it, in some capacity, from being a moment frozen in time, a monument to a dead woman.]
no subject
[He eyes the thing on the nightstand with Great Suspicion and concern. There's new lifeforms in that thing, he knows it.
But as for the rest. The journals are put away carefully, and for now, the box goes back to under the bed. They've touched precious little else, really.]
I'll keep it as it was for now. We'll have to come back anyway, that gives me more time to think.
no subject
[She takes a minute when he's finished putting everything away, leaning into his side and letting her head come to rest on his shoulder.]
Your mother was a woman who was careless with her dishes. There are so many sides of her in this castle — the beautiful paintings, her writing in the journals, the things you remember of her — but it's...nice, to know that there are these things, too. She left her mugs out because she didn't feel like taking them down to the wash.
[She hesitates a moment.]
Or your father, full of scorn but still writing your mother poems the way that peasants did for their lovers. To the rest of us, they were like figures of legend. It's...nice, to be able to see them the way you knew them. Like people.
no subject
It is always easier to build up a mythology when the little details are obscured.
[But Sypha knows that. She knows stories better than the other two, how they work, why they work. Because that's about intent too, isn't it? Just like magic.]
It'll be the same in a century for us.
no subject
[How strange, these days, to think that she'd once described Alucard as a cold spot in the room. He is, still, in many ways. But his sadness isn't something bottomless and engulfing, not anymore. Maybe it's more like an ocean now, still vast and deep, but with islands he's made out of moments like this, for the people he loves.]
I'm going to make sure all the legends include the part about you putting your cold feet on me in the winter.
no subject
[But the surnames are what are easier to remember. For Trevor and himself, it is also redemption. Putting new deeds to old names, old names with too much baggage these days. He makes the suggestion anyway, because the person is the important part.]
If you didn't run warm, we wouldn't have this problem.
[It is said with such smug satisfaction that he probably has earned an elbow.]
no subject
[She's quiet a minute, tilting her head to watch his expression before offering up tentatively: ]
...still Alucard? Or...
no subject
no subject
[Now he's getting that elbow he deserves.]
And I'll bet she would say the same thing.
no subject
He's never been happier for defied expectations.]
Thank you.
no subject
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.]
no subject
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.]
no subject
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.]
no subject
The finished dresses are, admittedly, not nearly so instantly eye-catching as the bolt of cloth is, but that's less a criticism of the dresses and more just a reflection of how extra the cloth of gold is, in and of itself. But that doesn't mean she fusses over them any less; each one gets its turn beneath her scrutiny, lifting them up and turning them over to examine the fastenings and the craftsmanship, in part out of wonder and in part from the sheer practicality of, well, she's never actually worn such a thing before, and doesn't precisely know all the ins and outs of how it works.
But she's nothing if not ambitious, and so it happens that the one she ultimately selects is the soft green one, mostly on the principle of "go big or go home". So she re-folds the others and replaces them back in their lump, before tiptoeing over to the door and closing it to ensure against any random passerby seeing what she's doing (there are only two other people in the entire castle but OH WELL) before returning to figure out the trappings of this dress.
There are, unsurprisingly, several false starts, in which she's not entirely sure if she's supposed to step into it or pull it over her head, and where to loosen what cleverly-crafted pieces to get her limbs where they belong before tightening things up again. But eventually she's pretty much worked out the basics, and she wriggles into it carefully to avoid the risk of pulling out any stitching, and she...actually discovers she can't get it properly fastened on her own because she can't reach it but she does the best she can at making it halfway to functional, at least.
And then she looks at herself in the mirror, and the sight nearly bowls her over. She's so used to the Speakers' atmosphere of conformity and androgyny that it's startling to see herself like this — narrow-waisted, long-sleeved, full-skirted, femininity shouted to the world instead of kept under wraps.
She stares at herself awhile, twisting and turning and discovering with pleasure how every movement makes the skirt swish. Then, when she's had her fill of staring, it's off to find Alucard, with her skirts lightly picked up to keep them clear of her feet — and that affords her no small measure of girlish glee in and of itself.]
no subject
The delay, he imagines, is because everything still must be tested for size. He's good, but not perfect, and the requirement of secrecy does have the potential to leave something to be desired.
He can refit and readjust. That's easy work once Sypha's decided what changes ought to be made.
When Sypha finds him, he's at the table they've used for castle research and repairs, head down and trying very, very hard to not look up. This is totally casual. Yup. Not just waiting for anyone to come stumbling in.]
no subject
Ahem.
[The doorway proves an interesting challenge, itself; she's not quite used to skirts this full, and catches herself checking to make sure she's got clearance to sashay through before coming inside. Curious how she's noticing all these little things she never really thought about before, thanks to the comfort of Speaker robes.
On the other hand, Speaker robes aren't precisely conducive to posing, which is what she's surreptitiously attempting to do once she's through the door — just what she'd done in the mirror in the bedroom, a slight angle to the side, shoulders back, chin raised just a touch to elongate her neck, skirt billowed out all around her legs, and arms...
Okay, she didn't really figure out the arms very well, but bent slightly at the elbow is probably better than just straight down at her sides, at least.]
Hello, Alucard.
no subject
There's a very quiet, perfect moment where Alucard just sits there, chin in hand, looking beyond dazzled at Sypha. He does it a lot to them both, because that's just what he does, but in this moment there's far more weight to it. The gravity is known only to himself for the time being, but that's just fine.
Maybe she's started to learn his flare for the dramatic too. Because that's what that pose is, and after looking, he is on his feet to greet her properly.]
I was hoping you'd get to the bedroom earlier rather than later today.
no subject
[It's difficult to play coy, though, when he looks at her like that, which means the lofty act and innocent affect are a little bit spoiled by the blush that heats her cheeks. Still, she holds the pose until he gets nearer to her, and only then does a half-turn to reveal the semi-disarray of the fastenings she wasn't quite able to do herself.]
Fix me, please. I did my best.
no subject
[He grins, a little too cheeky, but crouches down to help with back. He thought that this was simplified enough to be done by oneself, but more fool him. It is complicated, and that's only apparent now with Sypha actually wearing the dress.
Still, it takes no time at all to fix everything properly, and it gives the skirt of the dress just enough clearance so that Sypha doesn't have to hold it any time she needs to move.]
There. I hope the color choices were appropriate?
no subject
[She wriggles around a little, testing the new fit now that he's gotten her settled, and — oh, yes, that's much better. And all the more impressive for it, considering he's pulled it off this well without ever letting on, much less having her actually do a proper fitting.]
I think this is perhaps the most impractical thing I have ever worn. It's only good for looking beautiful.
[Oh, here it comes.]
So. Do I?
no subject
[He smiles, offering Sypha his arm to take. If this is going to be done properly, the he must do everything right.]
You do. [He smiles, all too bright, all too beaming, entirely adoring.] You always do, but in a new way today.
no subject
[Oh. Oh, right, his arm. Not just for hugging, but for — aha. This is absolutely stupid and ridiculous and fantastical and true, she wouldn't want to do this every day, but just this once, and just for fun? Amazing.
So she takes his arm, a little too delicately at first because she's imitating pictures and emulating stories, but quickly discovers she's got to be a little more solid than that and readjusts.]
There. Does this make you my handsome prince?
no subject
Alcuard moves them both over to the sofa, careful as anything, because it is clear that Sypha's adjusting and he'll not rush that forward.]
I think it's more interesting if I'm not. If I'm just myself.
[That smile is still there.]
no subject
[She's also getting better at moving around with every step, having discovered that smaller, quicker steps are more conducive to keeping her skirt from going everywhere than a long stride that would risk kicking it around and tangling it.]
...Still handsome, though.
no subject
[He sits first. It's only because there is a sneaking suspicion that if walking is a learning experience, then sitting? Sitting is about to be an adventure, and he wants the most comfort possible before this conversation continues.]
Come here.
no subject
[Be careful, Alucard. Don't tempt her; every part of her expression suggests that she'll absolutely do it.]
no subject
Let's try getting comfortable first, hm?
no subject
[And thus Sypha learns firsthand through trial and error, the necessary art of "how to get a skirt tucked so you can bend at the knees and sit on a thing", which possibly crumples it in the back once or twice before she susses it out, but at least in short order, she's seated.]
This is so complicated! But I suppose that's what I get for choosing the fancy one...
no subject
You...really did pick the most ornate one, didn't you?
[Well, all the better for it, he supposes.]
no subject
[Since it took the most work, presumably.]
no subject
[God, he's practically glowing. And trying not to rush things along, but oh. Oh he wants to rush headlong into this.
Alucard knows restraint though. So for the time being all he does is wrap an arm around Sypha's shoulder and pulls her closer.]
no subject
[She says, as she leans into him and figures out how to get her legs up onto the sofa, bent at the knees and still blanketed under her skirt so she's curled catlike against him, and almost certainly draws attention to it specifically so that now he'll be trapped thinking about it this whole time.]
This is very nice. I like this.
no subject
[But he would dare to kiss the top of her head several times over, both arms wrapping around her waist gently. A few moments of gentle quiet.
Fuck. She's beautiful like this. Always has been. Always will be. But being curled up like this feels like the first time they found themselves like this in the library, and that second first time feeling never happens.
Now, then.]
I've been thinking.
no subject
[He's got his arms around her, yes, but hers are free, and with the way she's angled into him, it's not at all difficult to shift her arm around and lightly walk her index and middle fingers up his chest.]
And what have you been thinking about?
no subject
[That's unfair, Sypha. But he kisses the top of her head to re-center, and then keeps going.]
There's little point in assuming that the way things are will change between the three of us. [They've been rocky steady as anything since the two came back to the castle for the very first time.] And if we did not live outside of any law of our own, I would worry about the feasibility of anything I am about to say, for no church or court would grant us this one thing.
[He's gentle as he keeps speaking. Confident, but only just so.]
I'd like to solemnize what is already here. If only between us three. If only for our own pleasure and joy of it. I cannot do that without the two of you in agreement.
no subject
[That is a lot of roundabout words to sift through and reorganize in order to more clearly see the meaning in the midst of them, but fortunately she is a Speaker and words are what she Does and so it's sooner rather than later that the recognition sinks in.]
...Alucard.
[That's worthy of lifting her head up to look him in the eyes.]
Did you trick me into a fancy dress just so that I would look nice when you asked me to marry you?
no subject
[He's smiling without being goddamn smug about it, which means he's very serious.]
no subject
[HE IS NOT OFF THE HOOK YET]
no subject
[BITE HIM SYPHA.]
no subject
[Okay, okay, enough is enough.]
I love you. There is nothing in the world that makes me happier than when I am with you, and with Trevor. I don't care, either, if the church or the courts or if anyone else even knows. I just know I want you to smile at me like that, forever.
[She reaches up, brushing her fingers along the line of his jaw, the way she knows he likes.]
Adrian Ţepeş, my answer is yes.
no subject
Yes.
He never doubted. But the words are still lovely to hear.]
no subject
[Wait for it.]
...Adrian Belnades, more like.
no subject
[So you know, duh. Of course.]
no subject
[Okay, now she's just getting silly. An intervention is needed. Desperately.]
Handsome royal prince his highness Adrian Belnades.
no subject
You keep excluding yourself, you know.
no subject
[...]
How am I excluding myself, my handsome royal prince your highness?
[she's not even TRYING]
no subject
no subject
[How dare he be so sweet as to make her blush like that. HOW DARE!!]
You're so romantic!
[why does this sound like a complaint]
no subject
Yes. And you're having too much fun with names. Neither is a bad thing.
no subject
[And she is going to watch his facial expression intently, because if she's right she isn't going to want to miss an instant of this.]
Your wife, the beautiful royal highness Sypha Belnades.
no subject
My wife.
[And okay, maybe he's a little teared up now, but that's going to be solved with another kiss because shut up.]
no subject
Your wife!
[They've done reverence; now this iteration rings with joy and delight and elation.]
Your wife, that's it, you're going to have me as your wife! And when I sleep on you in the summers and make you hot from soaking up all of your coolness, you will just have to accept it as my wife privilege!
no subject
Yes.
[Yes to all of it. Yes to the tone of this and the sheer joy of hearing Sypha say it too. Maybe he'll just start calling her that today, maybe not, but the sheer heights that his heart has just soared to are impossible to articulate.]
Even the last one, furnace.
no subject
[It doesn't matter. She's too happy to care, and feeding off of his happiness, besides.]
That's your beautiful wife Mrs. Furnace, I think!
no subject
My apologies! I have caused such a great offense, and on such an auspicious day. There is only one price to pay for such a wrong done.
[Which is to stroke Sypha's cheek so very gently, before tilting her head up so he can kiss her yet again.]
no subject
[She goes with him obligingly, lifting her chin for a kiss that feels like it's straight out of a fairy tale itself, and when he's done she steals a second and a third before she lets him get away.
If she weren't in her exceedingly fancy dress, and thus worried about taking good care of it, she'd be far more maneuverable at the moment. But as it is, she still manages to twist a little and situate herself so that she can get in close to his ear, which is mostly what she's after because she finds she wants, more than anything, to hear him laugh like that again.
Maybe she really is a furnace, she thinks idly. Something to warm him from the outside when he draws near to it, helping the cold spot in the room lose its chill when it has no way of accomplishing that itself.]
Your wife, your wife, your wife.
[Like a chant, like a spell, three times in all, and she presses each one against his ear, velvet and hot.]
no subject
Never has he felt that thought more keenly than in this moment, between all the kisses, between Sypha so, so carefully rearranging herself (he swore that design was simple in comparison to some of the others!) She's here, and the words said are a spell. Magic is intent, after all, and what else is this entire arrangement going to be? Intention. Intention to just formalize things a little more, intention to have a tiny little sign that the world can see that there is so much more than scholar, hunter, soldier.
(Will they all just wear one ring, or two? That's a discussion to have later.)
Trevor's still absent. Maybe leaving that gift in the Hold was an error in judgement. A thought for later, because Sypha's demanded all of his attention. All the warmth in him right now is because of her, and those words only add fuel to that same warmth.]
Yes. [There's still such joy in his voice. He sighs, so soft and content.]
Words I don't think I shall tire of hearing.
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.]
no subject
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!
no subject
[It's probably the easiest question to ask. Easier because it isn't have you been pouring magic into the gas tank?
no subject
[Tossing her head with pride would work better if she actually had hair long enough to make it suitably dramatic, but she does her best anyway.]
But now you're up! We should go for a drive this morning, once Trevor is awake.
no subject
[His slippers make no noise on the garage floor, and it's an easy enough thing to walk over to the driver's side of the car. He never rolled the window back up after last night (he knows he drove the three of them home), so it's the easiest thing in the world to put his forearm there, and to lean his head in for this discussion.]
I meant did you sleep for more than two or three hours. You do not rise so early most days.
no subject
[Now that's a fair point; it's rare to unheard-of that she be the first one out of bed, after all, but here she is. And here he is, leaning up by the window to see her, which coincidentally also puts him at the perfect height for her to lean over and press a kiss to his cheek.]
I think I'm just too excited to sleep much. I was talking last night to someone about magical theory, and I keep thinking of everything we discussed. It makes it hard to settle down! So after I fell asleep and woke up a few times, I decided to just get up.
no subject
[That kiss gets a soft little hum of contentment. It's a nice thing to have in the morning, since usually it doesn't happen until he has made coffee and the other two have chugged an entire pot of it for themselves. (Alucard uses a peculator for theirs, and a press of his father's invention for his own. He needs strictly less, and it is easier than having to wait for the pot on the stove to go again.)]
...I'll assume that it's theory related to travel, since you're sitting here in the car?
no subject
[Translation: it absolutely is. Still, the fact that she follows up quickly is probably just as telling.]
I didn't do anything to the car. And wasn't going to! I was just thinking.
[SHE'S GOOD, SHE PROMISES.]
no subject
[He grins up at her, and there's that terrible nerdy as fuck tone to it that means he really is. That nothing would make him happier.]
But I don't believe in that kind of discussion on an empty stomach either.
[Alucard is smart enough to realize that he is leaning on the door, so he stops doing that. Opens it for her too, and is gentleman enough to offer his hand to help her out.
There's been a lot of theory lately. It's given him a thought on what to do with the extra space in the garage.]
no subject
[Well-played. She scoots her legs around, taking his hand as she hops down out of the car, and doesn't let it go once her feet are back on the ground.]
Though I should warn you, you aren't going to like the idea.
no subject
[Hand in hand. Out the garage, through the corridor, past the purchased works of art that hang on the walls. (His father was an early adopted of the impressionists.)]
But you should tell me regardless, so that I might poke holes in the theory.
no subject
[She says it matter-of-factly, as she holds on to his hand and bumps her shoulder lightly against him, like this is everyday conversation worthy only of passing remark.]
I've never heard of doing magic the way that they were describing. But they said that instead of using magic just to operate the existing parts in the car, they animate the car itself. Which sounds like the same thing! But it turns out it's a little different, I think.
no subject
[Not the point, Adrian. Not the fucking point.]
But no, it is a different concept. They're talking about using magic to power all the parts of the car that allow for it to function, rather than gasoline. Or steam. Or electricity.
[His father had a prototype or two of the last one...]
no subject
[She waves a dismissive hand, presumably at the very notion of getting blood all over the nice interior of the car.]
It sounded like making a golem, except instead of a golem, it's the car. And, well, instead of animating it with rituals like a golem, you...summon a demon into the the blood you marked it with and somehow it possesses the car. But in theory it was very interesting! And terrible.
no subject
[The kitchen then. It is a bright and airy thing, windows everywhere, curtains fluttering in the breeze. Beautiful marble counters from the Italian mountains, the rest the technology of the age but so much more refined. As always, the coffee pot sits on the counter, and Alucard goes to it first.]
I mean, binding a demon to a car seems like a fast way to get into an accident. Excellent vengeance, but hardly an option for every day driving.
no subject
[Hopefully he doesn't need his entire body in the process of making breakfast, because when he moves to the counter, Sypha does too, coming up behind him and wrapping her arms around his waist as she leans touch-hungry against the length of his back.]
The person I was talking to seemed to be awfully derisive of them.
no subject
[Alucard has long since mastered the art of cooking with Sypha holding onto the back of him. Little steps, and making sure everything is within arm's reach. For coffee, it's the easiest thing in the world because there is a dedicated part of the countertops just for coffee. He takes the filter and puts it in the basket, adds the grinds, and he put the water in the pot last night.
The hard part is this one: inching to the stovetop without disturbing her terribly. Alucard is careful, and soon enough the coffee pot is where it ought to be, gas flame heating it from below.]
no subject
[At least she's not out to actively inhibit him; she shuffles along when he shuffles too, intent only on making his job tricky as opposed to outright impossible.]
But still very nice! And charming. He said if I ever got tired of going with you to please consider him first in line to be my next beau. But I wouldn't be too worried, because I heard him say that to three other guests besides me, too.
no subject
[There's nothing left to do but let the peculator do it's thing. So in the mean time, Alucard backs up just enough so he can turn around in Sypha's arms, and moves them back over to the counter. Slowly.]
You didn't get a name, did you?
[Hm. Sypha's not at a good height right now for kissing properly, and too much time last night was spent focused on Trevor.
(Not too much time at all. There's a luxury in just watching the two, some evenings.)]
no subject
[The look on her face is a clear expression of what precisely she thinks about that. Fire. Really. Pfffft.]
He said I could call him Muffy for short, though!
no subject
[Right. Time to just scoop Sypha up and plant her on the counter without any warning at all.]
no subject
[Only about the lack of follow-through, though. She's not in the least bit disappointed with this turn of events, in part because she's well aware that getting put on the counter is a sign that kisses are going to be forthcoming, and in part because so often Alucard is picky about his kitchen countertops and the things that are put on them.
Fortunately, with her weight now supported by something other than her legs, she's free to hook them loosely around Alucard's waist, mostly to trap him in place.]
You're not going to menace him, are you?
no subject
[This part of the countertop is perfectly safe, and it means that when Alucard grins up at Sypha, he's....actually looking up. Counters in the house did err towards the taller end of the spectrum, given his father's height.]
Of course not, that'd just be a waste of time.
no subject
[She grins right back, delighted.]
Hello.
no subject
[Speaking of perspective. This is a nice one.]
Mm, much better. You have a terrible habit of making me terrified to turn the gas on, in case I elbow you in the face.
no subject
[So boastful, Miss Belnades.]
Mmmm, so what demeanor do I have, then? Is it the kind worthy of time?
no subject
[Alucard, if nothing else, knows how he will react in certain situations.]
Hmmm. [There's a quite consideration as Alucard rests his hands on the top of Sypha's thighs. His bathrobe sleeves cover said hands, and perhaps it looks a little silly. From where he stands, he can press a very soft kiss to Sypha's chest.]
Self assured without being overbearing. Someone who knows her skills, will talk of them happily, and is open to new theories. Just enough arrogance because you know you stand taller than your peers.
no subject
[If the coffee decides to be done now, at this precise moment, she is going to break the entire coffeepot into pieces. Fortunately, it has the good sense to carry on a little longer, which frees her to pull her shoulders back just slightly, arching her spine a touch in an almost-but-not-quite lean into the touch of his mouth.]
What a way to describe someone. It almost sounds as though you are in love with her.
no subject
[The water has to boil first, and then the coffee must simmer for a full seven minutes. There is time enough for indulgence, and Alucard kisses the same spot again.]
And it has never been a secret.
no subject
[She says, as she picks up a hand and strokes it through his hair, raking the strands back and around to where her hand settles at the nape of his neck and holds there.]
And does she love you, too?
no subject
[Which means he nudges Sypha so very gently with his nose, and looks up at her with a grin that's both terribly fond and the tiniest bit cocksure, because he actually is aware of the answer.]
Does she?
no subject
With abandon.
[And she grins right back, reaching with her unoccupied hand to flick the tip of his nose.]
Desperately. Madly. Recklessly. And with every breath.
no subject
Sure, he's absolutely going to taste like last night's entire buffet (so much blood sausage), but that's the risk with morning kisses.]
no subject
[Like it's going to stop her from reaching for another kiss while he's close at hand, though, because the standing on tiptoes is actually very charming a look on Alucard, and she in turn likes the experience of leaning down to reward him with them.]
Hmm. I suppose poor Muffy will have to go on being disappointed. I'm not nearly tired of going with you yet.
no subject
[Terrible protest. But true, there's no point in doing that before coffee. Speaking of, the water has hit a boil, and he nudges Sypha gently to request that she let go for now.]
I intend to make that true for a lifetime. But I suppose that means I must give other things as well.
[There's a very thoughtful hum.]
I've been thinking about the other space in the garage, you know.
no subject
[She SUPPOSES she can be generous, just this once, and at length releases him from her trap. She stays on the counter, though, because it's a fun vantage point for watching him. Sometimes she likes being tall.]
What about it?
no subject
If I got you two a car to experiment with, would you leave mine alone?
no subject
[Was there a second half to that question? Probably. Did Sypha hear it? Verdict is still out. There are, after all, much more pressing things to be concerned with and all of them are their own car.]
That I could drive? Whenever I wanted?
no subject
[Because that's an honest fear. One punctuated, for some reason, by the sizzle of bacon being placed into a pan.]
no subject
[She's actually kicking her feet a little, she's so excited by this.]
Are you sure this is really about preserving your car, and not just that you want to do something wonderful for us, as usual?
no subject
[And about doing something nice, but he's terribly worried about that car. It is less about the expense and more about the sentiment, as it was a precious last thing that he and his father considered before everything went to hell.]
We could take care of the matter after breakfast.
no subject
[Leave it to Alucard to make an entire plan and only then reveal it to the world.]
...You'll still let me sit in it, though, won't you? Even if it's just when you're in it, too?
no subject
[He smiles, quite pleased at all of this, and removes the bacon from the pan it has been frying in. It goes onto a plate, and then all the other components of the hash go right into the pan.]
There's a few sellers that are all on the same road.
[He exchanges the tongs used for the bacon for a wooden spoon, and is careful as he moves everything in the pan.]
And of course. I just know that one day theory will become practical application
no subject
[It's not a non sequitur if you say it real casual and all in the same breath.]
...It's an expensive gift, a whole car. Even if I'm sharing it with Trevor. Have I done anything for you that is equivalent in how special that is? Not equal, perhaps, but at least comparable.
no subject
[He pauses, and one of the three plates he put aside is grabbed. Two rashers of bacon, and he offers the plate with a very smug smile indeed. He knows.]
Are you saying neither of you are worth expensive gifts? It's far more practical than some others I might think of. And it will keep you thinking and experimenting for years to come.
no subject
[Not that she's complaining, because she's about to be busy chewing on her prize of bacon.]
It's not about worth it! Just about being fair. It's harder to gauge when the things I do to make you happy are also things I don't go out and buy.
no subject
[Sypha, trust the dhampir with food.]
I don't know how many times I will have to repeat that having you here at all is beyond anything else I could ever ask of you. Either of you. That I can give you additional comforts makes me happy, there's no requirement to mutter about what is and isn't fair.
no subject
[She loudly crunches her bacon as if for emphasis, or at least for punctuation.]
I want to love you actively, Alucard. I want to throw myself into it and love you so hard that I could go faster than a ninety-mile-an-hour death machine. That's all it is. I want to do, from love, and see the results in you. I love you too much to let my love sit still.
no subject
[He's just adding things to the pan at the exact right moment and letting the bacon fat sizzle and interact with all the water in the leftover potatoes first! So he has time for a better and less childish response!]
Maybe I should not have called the car that. [He says in very honest apprasial of his own words.]
But I follow your point. But I also can't tell you how to repay anything I do, because it's on you to figure out. I...actually don't know how to even make a suggestion on where to begin, if I'm being entirely honest.
no subject
[Maybe the needling has an ulterior motive. Alucard always cooks better when he's inspired, and the easiest way to inspire him is to get him grumping...]
But actually, I've been thinking I could start enchanting things for you. I'm better at making magic stick to objects than you are. I don't mean the car! But other things.
no subject
Hm. What did you have in mind to start with?
no subject
[Firsthand experience.]
no subject
[Don't bully him too Sypha, Trevor does enough of it.]
But that does sound quite nice.
no subject
[She waggles her fingers at him, playfully.]
You won't believe my tricks, though, the way that most people do.
no subject
[Right, time to crumble up at least one of those bacon rashers right over everything in the pan.]
It lets me be very surprised by the two of you.
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.]
no subject
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.]
no subject
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?
no subject
And no word other than soon.
He can't put the letter down. It's still in his hand when Sypha walks in, and the only greeting she is given is the worst, most weary sigh Alucard has ever managed to sigh in front of either of them.]
no subject
[Stating the obvious, certainly, but also a way of trying to draw him up and out of the funk he's clearly in, contextualizing it in the hopes of getting him to focus on her instead of...whatever it is that's in his hand.]
Someone sent you a letter?
[A party invitation, perhaps? That would be the logical conclusion, even though Alucard never looks so morose about party invitations, even ones he isn't the slightest bit interested in.]
no subject
[He says it and all the air's just gone out of him. Too much weight for two simple words, and it is all Alucard can manage. He holds the letter out for Sypha to take, because he doesn't want to look at it anymore.
I expect all is well.
It fucking well isn't, and it would be fine if he was here. Even in grief, boldness would be stopped.]
no subject
[She takes it without hesitation, the expression on her face crumpling into one of equal parts sympathy and heartache, but she doesn't even bother to read it; she simply finds a place to set it aside and abandons it like Alucard's father abandoned him, moving to the sofa and sliding in next to Alucard to wrap her arms around him.]
Shh. Lean on me, I'm here now.
no subject
He couldn't have timed it worse.
[Anger is easier than anything else.]
no subject
[Well. Because of — he knows why. Saying it aloud would make it more real, somehow, and she just doesn't want to. What she wants is to hold him instead, and rest her head on his arm, and give him something tactile to focus on instead of the dark thoughts that are sure to be circulating with the memories of his father.]
no subject
[Maybe? Is it better or worse if it is? Alucard doesn't know. All he knows is that he would very, very much like to have gotten this on a Monday instead. He's drained already, and the weekend is long and exhausting.
He does not swear often. Or ever. So when he does, it is with meaning.]
Fuck.
no subject
Alucard, look at me.
[She hates this, hates what even just handwritten words from his father can do to him, hates how she knows how beautiful his smiles are when he saves them for her and yet a single happenstance like this can take them all away in an instant.]
Stay with me. Please. Don't go off in your head where I can't follow...
no subject
When he does turn and look, there's just devastation on his face. Just an idiot twenty something forced into a position he never expected to have at so tender an age, ill prepared and aware that he's starting to struggle with all of it.
He tamps all of it down for now, so that the only thing there is a thin smile he doesn't feel.]
I'm here.
no subject
Don't run off.
[And she leans in toward him, touching her lips first to the high curve of one cheek, then the other, and then finally up to his forehead.]
But you don't have to be strong right now, either. Not for me.
no subject
This is not that bad. And Sypha's always been able to pull Alucard closer to softness. His forehead comes to rest against hers, and his eyes remain closed. The rest is quiet, contemplative silence.]
no subject
[What never fails to startle her, somehow, is how easy it is to just...forget everything else, when it comes to soothing Alucard. The car is abandoned outside; whatever it was she'd thought of showing him or bringing back from her errands is irrelevant. It can all wait, all of it, because in moments like this it's not that he's her highest priority; it's that he's her only priority, and everything else can go by the wayside.
From what she understands of his relationship with his father, that's essentially the exact opposite of how things are between the two of them. She still doesn't even know what the letter said, but it doesn't matter. She's certain it was selfish, because his father is always selfish. How could he not be, to ignore his son's grief in favor of merely nursing his own?
And yet, she thinks fiercely, it's not because of Dracula that she puts Alucard first. She does that all on her own, of her own volition, because her choices are defined by no one but herself, however they might be used as a lens to illuminate the flaws in others.]
We will work it out. You, and me, and Trevor. You were alone before, when having to deal with him, but you are not anymore.
no subject
Anything else, anything more personal, that stayed within him even from the other two. It hurt to talk about, that was a part of it, but the rest just didn't seem that useful to dwell on. There was more cheerfulness in the house these days, and to ruin it would be a sin of sorts.
It just means that there are days like this, where memory or for the first time in a very long one, a letter might prompt ice.
Alucard tips his head upwards just long enough to kiss Sypha's forehead, then rises to his feet. Grabs the envelope while he's at it, because even this much information about where his father is must be kept from the world at large. Alucard is nothing if not a good son.]
Ideally, we won't need to deal with him.
[Anger is still easier though.]
no subject
You don't think he's coming here, then.
[That's treading a little close to what he'd already told her before, about not having the capacity to predict his father's decisions right now, but it's a question that's worth asking anyway.]
no subject
[There's bitterness there, and Alucard doesn't find himself caring about that fact either. He begins to walk to the kitchen, as it's too hot to start a fire to burn all of this. The stove burners are more than enough, and he has a pair of spring loaded metal tongs. That's all he needs.]
Doesn't matter regardless. We have lives to get on with, especially this weekend.
[He doesn't bother grabbing the letter. Let it be buried, the postal codes are the issue at hand.]
no subject
["We" is sort of a smokescreen; it's Alucard who has to be at these things, but frankly she and Trevor have attended enough affairs on his arms by now that someone would say something about it if they didn't show, either.
They're the stuff of novelty, by now — Alucard's pets, almost. She hears the way the partygoers talk sometimes, when they get drunk enough to turn out loose-lipped. She and Trevor are genuinely well-liked, but it's an affection predicated on Alucard's status and control of the city, no different than a king affording status to a favored courtesan. Certainly no one would take well to Trevor's presence if it wasn't for the blanket of Alucard's protection and approval; no supernatural community would be eager to harbor a Belmont. And even the intellectuals who sit and talk to her at such length about scholarly things wouldn't stay academic for long, if there were no threat of Alucard's reprisal between their teeth and her neck.
And he never asked for this. It was left for him, whether he likes it or not — a high and lofty throne with manacles on the arms.]
I thought I heard someone say in town that there are a few of them being planned to compete with each other.
[She hops up to follow him, mostly so that they don't have to yell to prolong their conversation, and absently grabs the letter as she goes.]
no subject
He turns the burner on and takes the tongs out of the utensil crock. Burning paper is not a smell Alucard likes, but this one he is happy to embrace.]
Saturday, it'll be just the one, even though there are five for the evening. It's the more prudent choice, and eventually everyone at all the other events with gravitate there. I don't expect to leave much before two in the morning.
[It's tiring. He hates it, because if there's something that Alucard has never hesitated to show the other two it's that he much prefers the quieter life. Sitting around in the library reading, or else using whatever's in the lab to improve on what work his parents left behind. (He likes it best, of course, when Sypha joins him.) It suits him much more, even if there are moments at the whirlwind of functions where he actually seems happy for once in his fucking life. (Hanging back with Trevor and watching Sypha butt heads and be right about magical theory. Her dragging one or both of them out to dance. Watching the two do just that, and smiling all the while because they're here and there's such a reserved offense at the idea that it makes him feel just a little better for having to take on too many expectations so soon.
(He hears the word pets every so often and ignores it. He has to, because if it was clear how much he loathes it, it would be all anyone would call the other two. He remembers the gossip about his mother after her death. The same word was used.)]
Everyone loves one upmanship. And putting on greater airs than they already have.
no subject
[She wanders in after him, tempted to move up behind him and hug him like she usually does when they're in the kitchen together, but given the envelope burning and the mood, she decides against it. Luckily, there's a countertop for her instead, and she hops up to occupy it, letting her legs dangle as she watches him.]
I can drive on Friday. Then I'll have good excuse not to drink, and you won't have to babysit me by the end of the night.
no subject
[Which means just wandering around for multiple hours with a single glass of something bubbly, keeping an eye on everything and doing all the work that no one in the community seems to enjoy doing during the week. When Alucard has an office with open hours. Even at night because he's respectful like that.
The envelope is gone. The ashes fall onto the stovetop, and he turns the burner off. Pitches the tongs into the sink, he'll wash them later.]
I'd like to at least walk in on your arm on Friday though.
no subject
[She extends her arms, making little grabby hands at him now that he's finished. Up on the counter like this, she's at a good height for draping her arms over his shoulders and playing with his hair even while he's standing up.]
I think that can be arranged. I think I can arrange for you to help me out of my suit on Friday night, as well. If that would help you get through the evening.
no subject
I'm intrigued, but perhaps you should elaborate.
[Mostly because he has no idea which suit might be in question, and that is a very, very important detail indeed.]
no subject
[A distraction? A distraction. Wrapping her arms around him and digging her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck is a good start; plying him with some of his favorite mental images is just the next step.]
But on Friday, if I am going to have you on my arm, then I'll have to look very dashing. I think perhaps I'll wear the black one with the cummerbund and the shirt with the black pearl buttons.
[She shifts her dangling leg a little, nudging her toes against his outer thigh.]
You like that one, don't you?
no subject
[He's a little twitchy about the clothes. But the rest of it, the rest is so lovely. There's a little sigh at the fingers finding all the right spots, and when Alucard rests his chin on Sypha's chest, he angles up so he can look at her properly.]
Mmm, it's one of my favorites.
[This is a lie. All of them are his favorites. But that one is special, it was given on his mother's birthday. Something to make that day easier to take.]
Sharp as anything. Compliments your mind.
[He presses against the foot there. Just a little. Just to let her know he feels it.]
no subject
[She's practically petting him, but then, what's so wrong with that? Nothing. Especially not when it means he's unwinding beneath her affection; with the prospect of this weekend looming, he needs every bit of relief he can get.]
Only you would know to ply me with sweet words about my sharp mind. Because you know me so well.
no subject
[In fairness, petting Alucard isn't always a weird thing. He's a wolf some days, and so petting just carries over. The sighs and other noises are not as charming as they are when he's in that other form though, that much he is always aware of.]
Because you've let me.
[It's an important reminder for himself. All of this is just because the other two trusted him enough to allow him in. Invited him, and Trevor would make a shitty vampire joke about that if he wasn't...wherever. Which is something to worry about.]
no subject
[He's perfectly positioned for her to tilt her chin down and kiss his forehead, too, which she does without hesitation and only belatedly realizes that doing so inadvertently pushes his face a little too close to her throat. But, well, that was a genuine accident, so.]
For example: you are terribly handsome, and loving, and considerate, and I like to sneak peeks at your backside while you are cooking and don't know I'm looking.
[She grins at him.]
All of these things are true, but still flattery.
no subject
Sypha, I've caught you looking about five times.
[He's a vampire, after all. Keen eyes.]
But I take your point. And I'll say thank you for it.
no subject
[Hell if she's going to let superhuman vampire senses spoil her fun.]
...It really will be all right, you know. It's only a weekend. We will get through it.
no subject
I know.
[Friday is easy. They leave the estate at eight, because Fashionably Late is the directive for the night. It's a warm night but with precious little humidity, and Alucard is all linen and softer colors because what else can one wear in the summer? (Autumnal is better suited for his own color tastes, he thinks privately.) But more than that is walking in on Sypha's left side, and the thrill of disapproving glares for it. He's not a teenager with the ability to rebel, so this is (plus being entwined with a Belmont) shall be as close as he can ever get to acting out.
They linger for an hour and a half. Next party. Same routine. Last party, same, and then home and there is a bed not meant for sleeping in at all. There has never been a question of how very fine Sypha looks in a suit, only a question of how long until hands wander from either one of them to try and find the right way to undo her clothes and not. (There is also Alucard muttering about dry cleaning in the morning, because the cleaners are absolutely starting to notice things.)
Saturday sees a little more of a somber color scheme, if vest and tie that's closer to Speaker blues can be called somber. (There are cufflinks, they're set with a ruby as red as what is on the Belmont crest.) Then there is the car flying through the city streets and then out beyond, because there's a general rule for any large parties: outside, because New Orleans can accept a certain amount of weird, but you can't push it.
They're there at ten in the evening, because that's the right time to arrive. (It is a science, these things.) And once inside (Trevor's on his left tonight when they walk in, Sypha on the right), there is nothing but wild abandon. The venue is one of those old, venerable houses that has stood since the 1700s, white columns and beautiful deep green shutters, the inside meant for food and the backyard expanded for everything else. Dance floors are there made from a mage's will, the bar serves real alcohol imported from Europe rather than the fucking poison America's bootleggers have tried to pass off, and there's just enough of a slow in the festivities when the three walk in that it doesn't feel like overkill.
Immediately there's about five people Alucard's pulled into Required Conversation with. He can't run off either, because these are some of the people who've heard more tell about what darkness is threatening to creep into the city, and thus it's actually important. There's only a chance for a quick farewell to them both, and the promise he'll find them the minute he's freed.]
no subject
She pulls him away to dance a few times, on Friday, but Friday is more like a marathon with natural stops in-between, and so most of the comfort she extends comes in the moments when they're in transit, when she urges him into the car next to Trevor to rest his head on Trevor's shoulder while she drives, or when she steals a kiss and a touch of the hand before they emerge once again into the glittering lights of the nightlife.
Saturday, however, is a revel, and that takes a different type of preparation. Saturday is about seeing and being seen, and because this one is particularly important, she's turned out in a proper dress — feathered headband, beaded fringe, and even heels that will assuredly leave her feet bruised and sore in the morning. But it's a look that's carefully orchestrated, aiming to strike a balance with Trevor; her dress comes in complementary hues to the suit they'd only just barely managed to wrangle Trevor into, and that's wholly intentional, to make for a single pleasing glance when they walk in together on each of Alucard's arms.
It also means that they look like bookends together, which suits just as well. And when Alucard bids them goodbye for the moment, Sypha is quick to tug Trevor straight for the dance floor at first, determined to get in one before the drinking starts to unfold — and not least of which because there's no better or subtler calling card for Alucard's arrival than people catching sight of his two humans tripping the light fantastic across the floor.]
no subject
He is only twenty and change, and there is no history. There is only the hustle, and tonight, smiling very thinly at every offer of birthday greetings that are even remembered. (Better when they aren't, sometimes it's nice when his age is forgotten.) He's so very ready to be done, and yet here he stands, weighed down by the seventh story of the night of werewolf packs being picked off in the countryside, or new and unfamiliar ghosts fleeing inward for some greater threat has come down the road. Spells not working right because of some kind of interference. They are all things on the edges, but they give no comfort.
On Monday, they will investigate. Three of them, Trevor in the lead because he understands and processes this kind of stuff best. He's born for it, far better than Alucard or Sypha could ever hope to be in a lifetime. There will be results that are half-helpful if they're lucky, and Alucard will then begin the tiresome work of figuring out how to anticipate what is blowing into the city.
The few times he has the chance to look up, the two are easy to find. If not by sight than by Sypha's laugh, because it's so bright and crystal clear. Easiest thing for him to hear in a room, just like Trevor's low grumbles that someone's said something just shitty enough that he can't act out. (And thus neither can Alucard.)
Now is one of those times, two hours into the night and a toast to the full moon that's hanging high above the trees. It mixes with all the floating fae lights that illuminate the festivities, and he'll admit, it's a damn magical sight. Better for the two in the picture, and he focuses on them to the exclusion of everyone else in the moment.]
no subject
Curious.
Another, an older vampire who she's been acquainted with a handful of times and who teases her about seeking a bite to drink every time they cross paths, takes a moment to advise her solemnly that the climate is changing, for humans, though in what way, he refuses to say. He mentions in passing that if she finds herself in need of shelter, that he'll accept her under his wing, and it's a remark with a darker implication to it than the usual attempts at stealing her away from Alucard, and she wonders.
Eventually, though, she reunites with Trevor, and this time when they dance she can feel Alucard watching; after awhile, she inclines her head at him, silently inviting him to come and cut in, if he's got a moment to spare and the interest in being seen joining their fun.]
no subject
So he responds with the come over here gesture instead. Tugging his head back twice, letting the two catch just a hint of exhaustion in his eyes. The glass of champagne he picked up about an hour and a half ago is still in hand, barely touched.
It has been a Very Long Night.]
no subject
Mm, is this for me?
[She says, playfully taking hold of his drink and bringing it up so that she can steal a sip from it.]
And a kiss too, please.
[She tilts her chin, turning her head to the side to give him easy access to the apple of her cheek.]
no subject
All yours.
[He's so happy to let her take the glass. The kiss on Sypha's cheek is given with the first real show of enthusiasm of the night, and Trevor gets one too for the sake of completeness.]
Mm. It's quieter in the house right now.
[Meaning that they have just enough room for a breather.]
no subject
I have heard a few things.
[She remarks, as she raises the glass to her lips, which serves the double purpose of disguising the fact that she's talking.]
We'll have much to talk about when we are home, I think.
no subject
I know. But I also imagine your feet need a break, and there's comfier seating inside.
[He wants five minutes with just them. That's all this is.]
no subject
[She cocks her hip, bumping it playfully against Alucard's hand, but nods and casts around for a flat surface upon which to deposit his former drink. It's never a bad thing to have one in hand while talking in public, for various reasons, but there are still hours left before this party will start to break up, and she doesn't want to consume any more than is strictly necessary.]
Lead the way?
no subject
There is a drawing room that has no one else at all in it, full of the overly plush sort of sofas that were fashionable a decade ago. Perfect, and Alucard does not sit until the other two do. Sypha needs room to take off her shoes, Trevor's already stretched out, and so Alcard's in the corner until Sypha settles on where she wants to be.
The doors aren't closed, but there is such a blessed softness to the noise. Gentle conversation drifting in. Music muted. And for a glorious moment, just the three of them.]
no subject
Decisions, decisions. She flexes her feet from the ankles and picks her seat opposite Trevor, so that the natural space for Alucard to join them is in the middle, where she suspects he'll most want to be.]
no subject
In public, he can't, not really. Between them both is the pertinent way to sit, it encourages the fewest rumors, but it doesn't let Alucard melt in their arms. The most he can do is just have them close, arms around both their waists, his head resting on Trevor's shoulder and the certainty Sypha is going to snug up close to them in a way where she might as well just be seated on Alucard's lap.
Better than nothing at all.
He sighs, the noise ambigious. It could be content. It could be weary.
Then he nudges Sypha.]
I believe you could just go without the shoes for the rest of the night. I doubt anyone would care.
no subject
[He's not wrong in the slightest, either, about Sypha's plans; she leans into him almost as soon as he's seated, reaching a hand behind his back to try to get even just a slight fold of Trevor's shirt caught in the curl of her fingertips.
Their poor Alucard. He's being worn so thin by this, and yet as close as they are to being through with the evening, it's still not close enough yet. There are still at least two more hours of mingling and posturing to be done, on top of all the efforts he's put in already, and even after that they still need to get home.
Yet again, as she has so many times before in the past few days, she thinks of his father and feels a flare of anger simmering in the pit of her stomach. Abandoning him to this —]
I'll have to stand on the tops of your shoes, if we dance. So my feet won't get bumped or stepped on.
[She rests her cheek against his shoulder, closing her eyes and melting against him.
It lasts all of about five minutes, before a shout goes up from outside.]
no subject
[They're both such warm comforts. Trevor far rougher and only barely tolerating any of this, and Alucard always wishes he could display the same contempt. With Sypha, he can let out the rest of his feelings, and the three of them can pile here for stolen minutes. Grabbing onto whatever comfort they can find.
Alucard's practically a puddle when Sypha leans against him as she does. Trevor lets out a low laugh because he can't have two puddles of goo on the sofa and then....
...then they're all on their feet. Trevor declaring that the go bag is in the car and leaping over the sofa to go get it. Alucard grabbing Sypha's hand and hanging on tightly, barely restraining himself from tapping into his vampiric heritage to speed outside.
What he finds is mist. Mist creeping in from the north, mist staying too high afloat. Head leave. There's a moment's sniff, and before Alucard can say anything else, someone at the back of the venue lets out a pained screech of holy water!
Alucard hisses, low and vampiric, and looks around. Improvised weapon time.]
Sypha, can you turn all of that away!?
no subject
It's only afterward that things start making less sense from there. If it is a plot, who gains from it? Why this, why now? And furthermore, how did they get their hands on this much holy water, to even have wrought this at all?
Later. That's a question for later; for now, there's a problem in the air — quite literally — and Trevor is off and running, and Alucard needs her.]
I — yes. At least I can try — I can get most of it, if not all.
[She's not usually so unconfident about her own skills; it's not a facet of a lack of belief in herself, but rather just a sign of how distracted she is, trying to track the mist and how it's flowing.
She's just lifting her hands and starting to focus when something occurs to her.]
I can't freeze it — with the way it's passing over us, it'll get too heavy and fall down right on top of us.
[Which is worse: holy water mist, or holy water ICICLE KNIVES FALLING FROM THE SKY.]
It'll have to be wind. Alucard, I can blow it away, but it will have to go somewhere...
no subject
[It's a snap decision. One made with all barely constrained rage because this is a boldness never attempted before. (It would not be tempted if his father was here.)]
I'm going beyond the property line. Do whatever you need, and anyone stupid enough to question you answers to me.
[The only thing Alucard does before launching off into the night is to take a pole that holds up a string of lights and snap it in two over his knee. Improvised weapon. It'll have to do, and even as the mist hovers over the festivities, Alucard cuts his way through it. His is a wolf, low enough to be clear of the mist, the pole in his mouth because that's the only way to carry anything as a wolf.
He is swift. He is certain. And by the time he is at the farthest edge of the party, Trevor is there too. Vampire Killer is in his hand. Trevor is yelling something, using his last name as currency, and they are both off into the treeline.]
no subject
[He's already long gone by the time she says it, perhaps even past the range of a wolf's hearing. But still, there's no time for sentimentality, not when she has a party to defend, and lives to preserve.
Step one does prove to be ice, after all, but not of the fog itself. Instead, to the north, she raises a high wall of ice, hoping to barricade off the fog from wherever it's coming from, forcing it to run into the frozen expanse and hopefully condense into liquid again before it has a chance to blow past it.
The rest of it is more difficult, and requires her full and deliberate focus. She spreads her hands wide, eyes focused on the fog, then brings them together with flat hands angled vertically. In the air around them, the fog collapses inward, growing denser and denser albeit in a much smaller area as she compacts it together, trying to shape as much of it as she can into a cube.
It's somewhere around here, as the skies begin to clear, that the denizens of the party start returning, chattering in wonder at their salvation overhead. A few are foolish enough to approach her, babbling some nonsense she can't afford to focus on right now; even so, her control slips slightly from the distraction, and some of the mist escapes, leaving her to curse under her breath and refocus to corral it again.
(She kicks that one in the shins. It's a shame she's not wearing her shoes, she thinks; it would've hurt more.)
But soon enough, she's got as much of it together as she can, and slowly she starts to push it to the east, a swirling cloudy mass of a thing in cube form that leaves her gritting her teeth from the concentration of holding it together, trying to get it far enough away that she can release it without risking it scattering and coming back.]
no subject
(There is a mage in their number. He is further back, swearing a storm up as he encounters Sypha's icewall and cannot find a way around it. Alucard drags him over to the other four, so that they can be addressed as a group. There's a tremble in the man's step (not a man, he's maybe sixteen.)
No need for the improvised weapon then. Alucard throws it aside.]
By rights, and by expectation, I ought to destroy all five of you. My father would not give you even this much of his time.
[Alucard knows that Trevor does not like talk of Dracula. It's a different kind of family pain fron Alucard's, and it comes out when Dracula is mentioned not as Alucard's father, but as a vampire power that has survived the centuries in spite of the Belmonts' best effort. He will apologize for it later. For now, he has to use the word as a weapon, because these five, they are here not because of their own skill. They're not local either, because they didn't know that there's a Belmont in the city.
Curious.
But he lets Trevor do the questions for the first few minutes. Listens. Then takes over himself, because the threat of Belmont does nothing to get the information they really need. Son of Dracula though? That tends to loosen lips.
"A...we got a letter, a copy of the invitation, left on our door..."
Interference.
Alucard hisses at that.]
no subject
Even now, there are rumblings. Shouted questions of who could be behind such a thing, murmurs of holy water and blessed things that eventually coalesce into the natural conclusion: hunters. Humans.
It doesn't escape Sypha's notice, either, that she is a human among the vampires, herself.
And yet oddly, she's not afraid. If anything, she's affronted — not just the thought of them behaving like this, but at the trouble it would make for Alucard if they were to get out of hand, and how tired he would be if he had to bring them all to heel and remind them to stay in line and behave —
Oh, no. Not on her watch.]
No one leaves!
[Each word comes sharp and biting.]
No one is leaving. You will stay, all of you, until this has been sorted out.
[Oy, and what if we don't care to stay? one of the younger, upstart vampires sneers. You can't keep us here! Just what do you think you can do about it, anyway?]
If it is trouble you want, then try it, and find out.
no subject
Anyone who steps foot off property when we're ignorant of particulars is well and dead to this house and my kin. She has brood, they live not only in the city but further on west. Hospitality is their greatest trait, and for those who need to travel, such blessings can be life or death. The Speaker's words are that of sense. Wait.
The last word is nearly a dip into vampiric compulsion. Enough to make it clear how serious she is. And with that she walks past Sypha with head held high, and a softer I'll see what's about because unless the hunters are actually Belmont level, they have been caught now.
(It is not unremarked upon by most that Alucard's ethics are very different from that of his father. In so much that he has them at all. It is not beyond the realm of possibility to think that some delay is happening because of those very ethics.)
But no. The delay is based in questions, and Alucard's shoulders are heavy by the time his host actually makes her way out to the new party in the woods. The hunters are well and truly unnerved because of Alucard's calmness, his ability to coax answers from them, and with Theodora now there, he says the worst words of all.]
They interrupted your party. I won't have death, but warn the world as you see fit.
no subject
It's the mage, the boy not yet even a man. He's nowhere close to prepared to look danger in the eye, not at this age (not when his last name isn't Belmont). Like a fool, he's already trying to run before he's even managed to push himself to his feet, stumbling and scrabbling as he heaves himself up and tries to make a break for the deeper cover of the trees.]
no subject
Of course, darling.
Because that's what she calls everyone. And because she is a witch, she is much more creative than any vampire might be with the right kind of response for this is. Any vampire might just shred and claw and mark. Witches can curse and doom and make life far more difficult than a vampire can.
(Trevor is still fucking uncomfortable with it. He doesn't say it until they're out of hearing range, and Alucard nods in exhausted agreement. It's a too complicated web they weave of alliances. Makes it look like Belmonts turning on other hunters. Big problem.)
And when they meet the ice wall, Alucard knocks on it twice. Polite as can be.]
The matter's seen to. Sypha, if you could?
no subject
It's actually rather beautiful how the wall falls away; she's been practicing, clearly, and it goes from a solid figure at first to one fractured and etched like cut glass, before eventually shattering softly in key structural places that make it tumble to the ground like a chandelier falling, contained shards of crystal that make a beautiful noise when they crash down in cascade yet never once stray from the boundary lines she's set for them.]
Yes, of course.
[And there in the yard, she stands, a tiny barefoot thing amidst a crowd of cowed vampires, regent of her small and ephemeral kingdom.]
no subject
They're a strange sight on the other side of the ice. Alucard in the middle, his hair windswept but suit otherwise fine. Trevor (The Belmont) still looking just barely presentable, Vampire Killer in hand. Theodora with no blood on her or her all too beautiful dark purple dress, satisfaction on her face. They pass into the party proper, and Alucard doesn't stop until he's at Sypha's side.
It is so magnificent just seeing here there, barefooted and having just prevented a riot of sorts, and when they're home he'll confide all these things. For now, there is business.]
As it stands, we have dealt with the problem. Five hunters from well beyond the city limits who had one of the invitations here slipped under their door. They were unaware of the city's current balance, and thought their attack wise.
[He's calm and cool, speaking with authority.]
They've been seen to. But this combined with what I have heard from many of you confirms that there are those beyond our norms who seek us harm. It is being looked into, and that threat shall be stamped out with no mercy given.
You all know how to get in touch with me, and my doors are open.
[And with that, Theodora decides that tonight is perhaps best concluded. There's no relief on Alucard's face, but inside he nearly collapses with it.]
no subject
That the hunters encroached on the city isn't the bizarre part. It's not even the part about how they somehow missed that there was a Belmont already here. It's the fact that they were invited to come and raid by someone taking a covert hand in this attack, and while they may have caught the instrument of chaos in the form of the hunters, they've missed the influence that spurred them on to do it in the first place.
Still, things wrap up quickly. The festivities are over, and Sypha is half tempted to just abandon her shoes to the parlor and retrieve them later, except that it occurs to her that she'll need them to drive, so she has to go back and get them. When she returns, she's tugging them on one by one, making a little face as they start to press uncomfortably on her sore feet again.]
I will drive us home, unless you think that driving would settle your nerves.
[So she says, quietly enough that even in a room full of vampires, it's for Alucard's ears only.]
no subject
He can sit with those thoughts later. There are farewells to take care of first, and apologies to their host to deliver who takes it all with grace. (Darling, Godbrand showed up with a land boat back in 1809 in Quebec, please don't worry about bad party endings.) Alucard's glad that she takes it so easily, but no one else has such a mood.
There are only a few others left by the time Sypha finds them again. Alucard's surveying the damage.]
I'll see us home.
[The drive will help.]
no subject
[She says, as she links her arm through his, which is and always will be her right even if right now it's as much about comfort as it is about status. The only time she'll let go, and even then only for a moment, is to pay her own respects to their host on the way out — no sense in not being polite, after all.]
Come, then. Let's go home.
[And when they get to the car, she'll curl up with Trevor, letting Alucard have his space to drive and get himself sorted as he needs, so that he'll be ready to talk by the time they get home, if not sooner.]
no subject
There is silence from Alucard as they go over country roads, going ever closer to the estate. His father's home is safer after tonight. Better defended. Only a Belmont would dare to approach, and right now, there's one living there. All the wards, all the protections, they respond only to Tepes blood. A fortress.
Quiet continues as the garage door opens. Trevor's out the passenger door first, and he's there to help Sypha down while Alucard goes over and unlocks the door that leads from garage to the house itself.]
Does anyone need food or water before we head upstairs?
[Sypha needs to get out of that terribly heavy dress. Trevor's probably going to claw out of that suit soon. Alucard would really, really like to be in a pair of PJ pants.]
no subject
[Ever helpful, she's already got Trevor pulled down by the lapels so that she can start un-knotting his tie for him. She knows how this goes. Her shoes have already, yet again, been abandoned somewhere — probably kicked into a corner, where they stand a chance of being overlooked by Alucard until the morning.]
no subject
[Trevor's also shed his suitjacket. And the vest. And is working on the shirt because he needs to be freed. Alucard doesn't even comment that he's just thrown everything on the hallway floor. No point, they're all exhausted. He just goes for the kitchen and assembles everything: three glasses, a tray, the carafe filled with ice cold water because they really need it.]
no subject
She manages to make it last just long enough for Alucard to return, permitting him an eyeful of an absolutely disheveled Trevor with Sypha blatantly feeling him up, and once he's had his look she crosses over immediately to give him the same treatment — albeit more respectfully of his clothes, opening the fastenings while still leaving them technically on his body so that he can sort it out when they get upstairs.]
no subject
That is in fact a very nice thing to walk in on. By a lot. Because Trevor's chest is a total damn weak point that is now pretty much the height of hilarity (Trevor's literally just shoved Alucard's face into his own chest several times when the vampire's looked out of sorts, it's worked.) And Sypha in that dress doing just about anything is bound to hit both of them a little too hard.
Yet for all of that Alucard still blushes like well. Like only he can, because god sometimes they all just need one on one time.
There's just enough time for Alucard to set the tray down. No one's having any fun if he drops it, getting water and glass all over the floor.
Sypha's hands feel wonderful. Warm. And he's still plenty red.]
no subject
[She delicately works his tie free, leaving the ends hanging around his neck as she starts undoing the buttons of his shirt one by one, working from the one at the throat down.]
You'll hold still and let me do this properly, won't you, my Alucard? Because you know how to behave.
[Is she laying it on a little thick? Perhaps. But Alucard has been forced into day after day of being in control, being dominant, being authoritative. All she's doing is taking up the reins, and making it clear that if she's got them, then he doesn't have to keep them himself.]
Mmm. And there.
[She finishes with his shirt, unfastens the button of his trousers for good measure, and steps back to admire her handiwork with a satisfied grin.]
no subject
But the rest of Alucard would very much just like to melt under Sypha's hands, and he nearly does. There's enough suit undone that he's just standing there a little embarrassed by how quickly he's fallen into all those wonderful touches, and there's the rest of him that's pretty sure that just a single carafe of water is not going to be enough.
(Duh. Ice mage. It's a non-issue.)
Then Trevor laughs again and nudges Sypha pointedly. We should go upstairs before he swoons.]
no subject
[She looks the two of them over with a critical eye, appraising their relative level of disheveled undress, and then with a satisfied nod makes sure they're both watching as she reaches up and behind her neck to find the fastening that's holding the halter closed.
She holds there a minute, smiling slightly, and then pushes the pearl button through its loop and lets it free, leaving the top half of her dress held up by gravity and prayer alone.]
There. Now we can go upstairs.
[And she will lead the way, not least of which because it means the boys will only be able to see her back the whole way up, because sometimes a tease is in order and after the night they've all had, they deserve it.]
no subject
He seems to be. Enough in his mind that he still grabs the tray with the carafe and water glasses because he's still Alucard even if he's about to forget even that for the night, and Trevor's just shaking his head with endless fondness for this entire damn situation.
It has been a very long and tiring night for all the wrong reasons. At least that much can now be put to rights.]
no subject
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.]
no subject
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.
no subject
[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.
no subject
I'm going to presume it has been burnt as evidence. The five were from halfway up the state, so we'd be best off tracking the way they came through the woods last night and seeing if there was a point of safety they were using before mounting their idiocy.
[There's more pancakes to make, so Alucard returns to his station at the cast iron pan.]
no subject
[It would be an absolute crime not to eat these pancakes before they go cold, so she's going to waste no time in doing precisely that, letting them melt on her tongue with an expression of sheer contentment on her face.]
You are going to make me fat, if you keep cooking like this.
no subject
[Alucard's not looking at Sypha. Because there are pancakes to focus on. But he can smile all the same, soft and content and maybe a little lovesick from yesterday.]
If we're going to spend our Sundays like that, I am not going to worry.
no subject
[It absolutely does, but that's not the point. The point is to try to make him blush, because these are the fun games we play on Monday mornings after an entire Sunday spent like that.]
Mmmm. There is something bothering me about that, the business of their patron. To have received the invitation at all, it would have had to be a member of the society themselves, isn't that right? Or even just to have known that there would be a party that night at all. But how would someone supernatural contract with five hunters without having those hunters turn on them, themselves?
no subject
[The next plate of pancakes is done. Trevor's, if Trevor ever comes back downstairs from the shower. Alucard puts a metal cover over those, then moves on so he can have his already.]
Parties tend to be common knowledge, but that's within the larger community. You know the ecosystem here, after all, it isn't just vampires.
But as for contacting the hunters, there could always be additional proxies. Or else the thing was picked up at some point and just sent through the actual postal service with no additional contact or instructions. Based on conversations, I'm inclined to think that may be what happened.
no subject
[Regardless, she's back to eating, which means her thoughts are interspersed by the light click of fork against plate, and the occasional garbled word because she's chewing around it.]
In short, secrecy and anonymity are, in this case, mutually exclusive. To be truly secret, our patron would have to do everything themselves, but to be truly anonymous, they would have to use middlemen, which creates a trail.
no subject
[There's the sizzle of batter hitting lightly greased pan, and Alucard's careful not to let the pancakes burn as he uses Vampire Senses to smell for just the right moment.]
Precisely so. That trail is our lifeline. If we can find it. Supposing that whoever responsible is up there in years, they are probably very good at covering their tracks.
no subject
[She pokes at her pancakes, sighing happily. There is very little on this earth better than Alucard's cooking, and particularly so when he's feeling inspired, which he seems to be this morning.]
What makes you think it is someone old, and not a young and foolish upstart?
no subject
[There. Time to flip, and the spatula moves quickly to make sure that everything's turned over in time. Alucard always serves himself last, it's basic politeness, but he really is getting hungry now.]
I don't, not really. Both are options, but I'm banking on the former because it feels...more right. He's not the only vampire from Europe to come to America late and struggle in finding a good swath of territory. There's a few in Canada that would probably be interested.
[Excluding Godbrand because So Many Viking Sites there.]
no subject
[It makes her laugh, though, more out of fondness for Trevor than any particular approval of the subject material in question.
Still, she sobers quickly, when something he says stands out to her, and she glances down at her pancakes for the sake of not looking at Alucard directly.]
This...isn't really his territory anymore, though. Is it? It's...yours now. So is someone moving against him, or against you...? I think that question needs an answer, also.
no subject
[The pancakes are off the cast iron pan and onto Alucard's plate. That also means that he's just seated himself as Sypha paws and parses through things said and...
...well. Fuck.
He reaches for the maple syrup first.]
Still his, as he isn't deceased nor has he specified that the claim is given up. Just missing in action. [The pancakes may be drowned in syrup today.]
Which is the other reason I assume it to be someone older. No one young is actually that stupid.
no subject
[CSI: New Orleans. Here they sit, profiling their mysterious foe over breakfast.]
And also, despite being old, familiar enough with modern developments to use them to advantage. Some of the old ones do not bother to adapt to the times, do they.
no subject
[Okay, enough drowning the pancakes. Time to eat them.]
Most of the ones here stay abreast, if only because it's easier to expose one's identity these days if you don't.
no subject
[Besides, people have to bundle up in the north, to keep warm. More bundling means less exposed skin, means less advantage when it comes to picking a meal. Warm climates come with the benefit of encouraging that sort of revelry.]
...You know that —
[She stops short, hesitating a minute as she mulls over a thought, and then carefully advances.]
Our investigation today has to find something. Whether we really do or not. Because people will be watching to see if we are able to address this or not, so today must be a success. Or at the very least everyone must think it is.
no subject
[Dragging Godbrand is a global sport.]
I'm aware. [Alucard's a little too aware. He stuffs some pancakes into his mouth so that he has the excuse of food to be quiet for a few seconds.]
And everyone else will be searching for holes, so whatever we present must be absolute and complete.
no subject
[She sighs a little.]
Whoever is behind this, they will strike again, won't they. This will not be just an isolated incident.
no subject
[There's a sigh from Alucard, already weary.]
This was testing the waters to see how we respond. So we must be wise in that. Otherwise the next thing, that will have a real death toll.
no subject
[She reaches across the table, palm-up, looking for his hand.]
Neither defensive nor aggressive, but assertive.
no subject
[That hand doesn't find Sypha's. He's focused on getting the rest of his pancakes in him before the idea of eating churns Alucard's stomach too much. They are very good pancakes, although he'd prefer if there were blackberries at the market right now. Much tastier to have them in the batter.
The eternal thought is also there, weighing in Alucard's mind. No one would be stupid enough to attempt this if Dracula was still present in the city.]
Doubtlessly Belmont records can be crosschecked for age in order to produce an actual list. Although I expect certain friends of his would be better up to date.
[He loves the Church Ladies.]
no subject
What a shame we sinned all through Sunday, instead of allowing him to go to church.
[Because she sounds so penitent about that, oh, yes.]
Well, perhaps they will forgive him a belated visit. Should we all go, or just drop him off while you and I go back to the forest?
no subject
Oh, I imagine that they'll forgive him. If he misses things, then it's a whole heavenly host of speculation for them, and I imagine that counts as a blessing.
[They're a little too on the nose, those Church Ladies.]
We need him for the work. Also, I think knitting is at 3 today, and I expect to be done by then.
no subject
[She doesn't take her hand back, still, but the nudge is at least reassuring. She'll move the next opportunity she can get to do it casually; for the time being, the pancakes are soft enough and sufficiently saturated in syrup to break them apart one-handed with the edge of the fork.]
Then it seems as though we have a plan. And all that remains is to get some breakfast into Trevor, so that we are all ready to go at once.
no subject
[There's the tell-tale sign of a thudding noise coming from the general direction of the stairs. Alucard hums in approval, and by the time Trevor's actually down and in the kitchen, Alucard has made sure that the cover on Trevor's plate is removed, there's two very, very strong cups of coffee at Trevor's place, and they're all about as content as they're going to be today.]
no subject
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?
no subject
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.
no subject
Sypha's going to be down for the count at this point, and for a moment, he debates just scooping her up in his arms and carrying her to bed. Her hair's catching the light in all the right places though, she's spread out so beautifully, she looks so happy.
He's going to linger and watch. Just for a few moments.]
I've never seen you more comfortable.
no subject
M'thinking.
[And then she goes silent, though she probably doesn't mean to; she's thinking all of the things she's thinking that she means to tell him, but she's forgotten that for him to appreciate them, they need to actually come out of her mouth.
Well, anyway. Regardless. He's standing, and he's watching her, and she remembers vaguely that she's on the sofa, and she puts two and two together in a logical way, even if factually it doesn't quite hold up.]
Mmmmmmmm. M'in the way.
[Because naturally he wants to sit. And he can't. Because she is here, in the way.]
no subject
It's also too much to watch Sypha try and sit up. Alucard shakes his head, and rather than make Sypha do the work, he puts his arms under her knees and back and scoops her up instead. Just long enough to get her clear. Then he spins himself around, sits down on the sofa properly, and lays Sypha across his lap.]
Perish the thought.
no subject
[It's also curious, because by virtue of that lift-and-spin move, Sypha has ended up rotated a hundred and eighty degrees from the direction she'd previously been, which is new and interesting and just slightly beyond her to properly appreciate at the moment. The fire used to be one way and now it's the other; she can still track it from its glow and its warmth, but it really shouldn't just move around like that when she's trying to watch it, because it makes it difficult to follow.
His arms are still supporting her, she observes, and so almost thoughtfully she finds control of one hand and lifts it until she's fairly certain the fingers are resting against his arm somewhere near the elbow, then painstakingly begins to follow it up toward his shoulder like a garden path because she's reasonably confident she'll find Alucard at the end of it.]
Are you cold?
no subject
[Not now. Not for warmth of the fire, although that is a factor, but for the way that Sypha's hand travels up his arm. The way it finds his shoulder. He watches it all so very carefully, reveling in it.
Today, somehow, has been quiet. The week has been. It is as if the cold snap has settled everyone and encouraged them to take more than five seconds to calm down. It's almost as if his father was back in the city and order was properly returned. If this is a taste of what his life would be like with the three of them and no other responsibilities, then Alucard intends to hold fast and cling as long as he can.]
no subject
[Breaking contact with him for only a moment, she lightly flails her arm in the vague direction of where she thinks the fire is and curls her fingers into a grasping motion, sweeping it back in a clumsy and scattered pulling motion. It's the right sort of movement, recognizably so, but with absolutely no focused intent behind it, there's no magic — just a shift of the arm.
Which is probably a very good thing, so that she's not pulling fire around and throwing it places in her sleep.
When her arm comes back again, it lightly thunks against his chest instead of his shoulder, and she frowns a little while she feels around, making sleepy appraisal of the body beneath her fingers until she sort of figures out what it is she's touching.]
I helped.
[She pronounces, tentative but satisfied.]
no subject
You did. Thank you.
[He’s happy like this. Sypha’s hand on his chest (vampire tiddies aren’t Belmont ones, admittedly) is the last piece of perfection for the scene.]
Go to sleep. You’re nearly there already.
[Not that he’s moving either of them yet.]
no subject
[She is nothing if not helpful and eager to please, even mostly asleep. Her hand slips down a little, more just from being drawn by gravity and a lack of concentration on keeping it aloft, until finally it settles and she's back to drowsing, punctuated only by the occasional jaw-cracking yawn.]
Mmm. I was thinking.
[She's also forgotten she said that already, a minute or two ago. Maybe this time she'll remember to elaborate aloud, instead of in her head.]
You need to bird.
[...Well, she made it halfway. That last bit is just incomprehensible dream gibberish.]
no subject
He loves holding onto her like this. She's warm, so warm, so gentle in these moments. It's his favorite thing about her. About both of them. They're harder than diamonds with the world. The hands that hold onto him now have done such feats. Trevor's too, but Trevor's hands are always rougher, they have more callouses. It's harder to forget with him. But here, with him, in these moments, there is only softness.
One day, perhaps, his father will return. Alucard will retreat from the world, have his reputation be nothing more than a fop of a princeling, living off his father's work by rutting with a Speaker and a hunter, engaging with the world so minimally that he ought not to be counted as a presence among Society. A dream. Impossible.
Except for these moments when it feels entirely possible. He smiles down at Sypha in his arms, and he kisses the top of her head. Breathes out a single word.]
Hearthfire.
[Because that's what Sypha and Trevor represent. Home. Home in all the ways that matter. He isn't the kind of man to revel in petnames. There are a million darlings and sweethearts, and it's patronizing besides. The world does enough of that to them. But he can murmur a few honest associations now and again.]
no subject
...Where?
[She thinks that's the right answer, maybe. There's a fire somewhere. She lost track of it a while ago, or maybe it was only a minute ago, but it's there somewhere.
She blinks once, twice, with heavy lashes and eyelids that can barely stay open, and tilts her chin up just a little to try to find his face. Her gaze is unfocused and soft with sleep, but after a moment she seems to find him, and it registers that he's smiling.]
no subject
[He said that out loud didn't he? The embarrassment doesn't really show on his face for once, and he shifts just enough so he can stand with Sypha in his arms. He'll come back and put the fire out once she's in bed.]
Let's get you under the blankets.
[There's endless adoration on his face. No attempt to hide it. It radiates off him, ripping outwards.]
no subject
[She curls inward when he lifts her, snuggling up close against his chest as her fingers curl into the soft material of his robe. Presumably the way she compacts makes it easier to carry her, but it's also about as close to midair cuddling as it's possible to get.
About fifteen seconds pass before it occurs to her that she's forgotten a vital addendum, and she sleepily adds: ]
And Trevor.
[...Wait. That seems wrong. There's only two and that's not right, and she needs to fix it.]
And me.
[Perfect.]
no subject
(He leaves her there alone for a few minutes. Just enough time to see to the fire. Then he is in bed, both arms around her, pulling her nearly atop him, and resting.)
An early night. A late morning, because the world is cold and quiet still, and while snow does not happen so far south, the feeling of it can take hold from time to time. The sense that there is a warm blanket muting the world.
He isn't up until ten in the morning. Alucard stirs only slightly, eyes going to the clock that rests on one of the nightstands that flank the bed. There's a soft sigh, then he looks to see if Sypha's awakened before him.]
no subject
She's still half-dozing herself, or at least lounging around in bed, but she's managed to find herself a loose section of his hair and has been methodically working tiny braids into it while he slept, each a slightly different weave — some three strands, some four, this one a herringbone, that one a rope, and all left unfinished at the ends, at risk of unraveling with the slightest jostling.]
Good morning, sleepyhead.
no subject
[Alucard's voice is thick and very much struggling to the concept of being awake. It takes a few moments for him to even register how they've shifted over the night (the patterns are very different from when Trevor is home).
His hair's heavier than normal. Strange.]
Comfy?
[Because he can feel fingers in his hair, and that means Sypha is at a truly weird angle or she's found a nice way to do this and lounge at the same time.]
no subject
[She finishes off another braid, this one another herringbone, and lightly tosses it so that it falls across his face up near the bridge of his nose.]
It's funny. I do not remember falling asleep in bed, and yet here I am. Did you perhaps have something to do with that?
no subject
I did. You were barely awake on the sofa, and there was no point in letting you rest there. Your back would be very unhappy now.
[He is much comfier now. Lounging is best done like this: too many pillows to support his head. Side lounge. One arm under all of the pillows, and his free hand creeping to Sypha's side.]
What is the last thing you remember?
no subject
Let's see...I remember I was watching the fire, and thinking.
[That's a good start. She hums, as she continues to sift through her drowsy recollection of the previous night.]
You came in. I remember you seemed...so happy.
[Hmm. Her brow furrows, as she ponders a little more.]
...What is 'heartfire'?
no subject
[Too many, clearly. Alucard can't believe he slept through that much hairbraiding. He's impressed in a way, Sypha's touches have become defter over time. That or he needed more sleep than he thought, which is possible.
He listens though. Is quiet and then....very blushed, for his definition of it.]
It's nothing.
[HE'S A LIAR.]
no subject
[She finishes off her plait, then gives that a tug for good measure.]
...I wonder if I dreamed it, then. Heartfire...
[Denying it may prove even worse than admitting to it, because now she's going to SOLVE THIS MYSTERY.]
...Hearth fire? Hmm. It sounds like a spell, or —
[Wait a minute.]
What do you mean, it's nothing? Then you do know what it is!
no subject
[The question is gentle, and if anything, Alucard's impressed. Sypha's fingers work fast, which he knows from other experiences anyway, but it's always worth marveling at talent, as well as enjoying it. There's a shift, a slight one, as Alucard gets comfortable.]
How big are the beads then? I can see people working at a small scale, but only just so.
[He'll have to undo the braids later. For now, they stay. Stay and watch Sypha solve a pointless mystery.]
I've no idea what you're talking about.
no subject
[And she's clearly proud to have succeeded, even if god forbid he see himself in a mirror right now, with half his hair loose and the other half this braided monstrosity.
She raises a hand, though, making a circle with her thumb and forefinger about the size of a cherry or small grape.]
About this big. The carving is very delicate, and the material has to be lightweight so as not to weigh the hair down too much.
[...But.]
You realize I will sit on you and extract a confession, don't you?
no subject
[Maybe he'll shower first this morning. And make up for getting rid of all the braids by asking Sypha to brush his hair.]
I see. And it's all done with delicate tools as well, I imagine, otherwise the material would break. I'm sure the practice is ancient and...
[On one hand: oh no, don't throw him into the briar patch. On the other: this is a pretty dumb thing to be getting into briar patches about in the first place. So confession it is, soft and embarrassed.]
There's precious little I dislike more than patronizing names for you both. But that is, I suppose, how I see you at times like last night. It simply is not something I voice.
no subject
[For her. So that's what it was, then — her explanation, colored by his bashfulness, offered up in mitigation once she'd coaxed it out of him. A patronizing name, or so he calls it. A bit of affection, spoken, to go with the expression that she remembers him wearing while he looked at her.
Hearthfire. That's how he sees her, he says; that's the word that comes to mind when a moment passes between them like the one last night. As though she is the fire that warms his home, a light to make his shadows withdraw, burning red-orange in tandem with his own gold and moonlight white.
He always compares her to fire, doesn't he? And not just to flames in particular but to heat, to the sensation of being warm. Sometimes he teases her about it, with more unflattering nicknames than this one, but always he acknowledges her as the warm spot in the room, his foil when he himself is so often cold.
(It surprises her, a little, to consider that. In his worse moments, she sometimes perceives him as a deep well of sadness, withdrawn in a way that gives off a chill. It's never really occurred to her that he might harbor similar thoughts of her in return, perceiving her as the warmest place in a room, a burning flame that night moths couldn't help but be drawn to.)
His fire, but not just any fire. The one that burns in his hearth. The one that burns in his heart.
And he thinks such a thing is patronizing.]
Why don't you voice it?
[She's barely even noticed that her cheeks have flushed; now even her face is hot, further proving his point.]
Am I not always that to you?
no subject
Your names are yours and yours alone. Why would I use something else that is not fully you?
[At the end of the day, he cares about them being them. They mean the world to Alucard, he's shown that in all ways great and small. But they are unto themselves, people in their own right, and that is something too much of the world around them seems keen to forget or ignore. (Pets. He hates it.)]
no subject
...Yes. But for me, there is only one Alucard to call me such sweet things.
[And she really does shift now, nudging the blankets aside just enough that she's able to climb on top of him, forearms braced on either side of his head so that she can look down into his face. If her hair were long enough, it would make a curtain around the two of them; as it is, it's too short to do her that courtesy, but given the way she holds his gaze, in Sypha's mind there's nothing else in the rest of the world but the two of them right now, anyway.
(And Trevor, of course. Always Trevor. He's always there as a part of them, even when he's not there in reality.) ]
And Sypha is my name that everyone has the right to use and to call me. But only you have the right to call me that endearment.
no subject
He likes doing that last thing whenever he can, after all.]
All the same.
[He sighs, but then Sypha's climbed atop him. He's still on his side, so he shifts to change that. Make it easier for her to look at his stupid, embarrassed face. It's about as red as his face can ever get, although maybe sillier for all of those tiny braids.]
You'd get sick of it if I used it constantly anyway.
no subject
[She ducks down a little, stealing a kiss from the corner of his mouth, very lightly and very fleeting. What a pair they make, both red in the face for related yet differing reasons.]
But could you, just once? While I'm awake, so I can appreciate it.
no subject
[Is he bargaining? About this??? Really????
He is. Even if there's a faint glow from that kiss.]
no subject
[And yet, here she is, cuddled up with him beneath the covers, her half-braided overly sentimental blushing beau of a vampire, letting him haggle with her about the whens and the hows of calling her a pet name.]
I don't want to get up yet. We can stay a little longer, can't we?
no subject
[They are so very warm like this, Sypha being where she is. Snug for the blankets piled atop them both to keep out the chill. Alucard looking ridiculous for Sypha's efforts and his own...everything, because he's a disaster.]
You're the one atop me, Sypha. I don't see how I can get up unless you allow it.
no subject
[She is nothing if not honest. Also warm. Also settling down over him because holding herself up isn't as comfortable as just draping herself over him, and she's probably light enough that it's not a massive burden on him, anyway.]
And also because you watched me sleep last night, I think. Or at least saw me when I was close to it. Fair is fair.
no subject
[The question is asked in only mock horror. He knows the answer will be better than his smartassed remark deserves.
Besides, he gets Sypha right in the best space she can ever be. All over him, exactly where she feels like it, and nothing more.]
I can't argue the law of equivalent exchange. And you were very charming in those moments.
no subject
[There's no way he'll resist that bait, but that's sort of the point. Baiting clarification through deliberate ambiguity is always an enjoyable game to play, especially on a lazy morning in bed.]
Are you warm enough? Comfortable? I am not crushing anything?
no subject
[He shifts a little, just to make it clear to Sypha that he is, in fact, very comfortable indeed. She's the warmest weight. The best weight.]
You'd know if you were. But this does beg the question of how long do you wish to laze here versus how much do you want me to go and make coffee? [Some routines are important. And moreover, he really, really needs it.]
I have no intention of leaving this house today.
no subject
[She bends, kissing the tip of his nose, because she's in reach for it and he hasn't tried to gracefully rearrange her, so why not.]
When you sleep, you are soft and content, like a picture from out of a storybook, very handsome. But awake, you become like a diamond. Your wit, your resolve, your sadness and joy both. Your different facets shine depending on how the light hits you. Beauty is a more nuanced thing, than simply being handsome. And you are much more than the pretty face you show when you are asleep.
[She settles back down again, resting her head on his shoulder.]
Just ten more minutes, now that we're both awake. I just want to enjoy being with you.
no subject
The most she gets is a little strangled noise of surprise and delight, which is to say she's bested the vampire, and neither of them have gotten out of bed yet.
What else can he do in this moment but tuck a few stray strands of Sypha's hair back where they ought to be when she settles again? Kiss her gently on her forehead, because that's what's in reach? Hold her fast where she is, because what other place ought she be but there?
Alucard sighs, content. Murmurs some noise that's agreement, because really, how does one follow up words like those?
But ten minutes do pass. Become fifteen, and there's a cry from Alucard's stomach that interrupts the peace and quiet. Rather than nudge Sypha, he kisses the top of her head to reclaim attention.]
I'll make something we can both have up here. All I intend to do for the rest of the day is to stay in bed, tending to the fire.
no subject
[Evidently, one follows up endearments like hers with, well, a remark like that, because it's visible in her expression how the pieces fall into place, and confusion shifts into recognition. One for one, it seems, they're even; her eyes widen just a fraction, and her lips part just enough to allow for a silent intake of breath to pass through, and her cheeks flush pink for a hint of a moment, as much with unexpected pleasure as with fluster.
Tending to the fire, indeed. It's such a little thing, to leave her so overwhelmed.]
...Oh.
[Oh.]
You'll have to be quick. It's not sensible to leave such things unattended for long.
no subject
[Because coffee takes time. So does the rest of breakfast, even with vampire speed. Stoves, stoves work in real time, no matter how hard his father tried to change that. Laws of heat abide by no rule but their own.
He can't help but relish that reaction. It's a fair turn for leaving him breathless earlier, but more than that, it's just a sight to see. Rendering Speakers speechless that's an accomplishment.]
no subject
[She is a DISTRACTION and she knows it.]
Or I could stay, and await you, and motivate you to return in a hurry.
no subject
[What were they saying just a few moments ago about fire?
He nudges Sypha gently. Can't go do this if she's still holding on.]
As Trevor would say, light a fire under one's ass?
no subject
[Reluctantly, and at length, she finally lets go and lightly rolls off of him, landing with a pleasant flump on the mattress on her side, facing him with a smile on her face.]
Such as: are you carrying a torch for me, my old flame? I can think of no one who could hold a candle to you.
no subject
[Besides, there's something more important than puns. Alucard lingers where he is just a few moments longer. Long enough to place a kiss on her lips, one to her neck, and one to whatever bit of exposed shoulder he can reach. Soft as anything. Not teasing, not in truth.
And then he is out of bed. Out with his slippers on his feet, bathrobe forgotten. To the kitchen, because coffee is needed. Coffee and real food, because to feed a fire you have to...actually feed a fire, which this morning translates into poached eggs over English muffins, sausages, bacon, plus extra toast with butter and jam on the side. It's all brought up on a tray holding two plates, the coffee pot, and two mugs. (The fine china is the only china the house has, so it's used on the regular.)
Alucard had the foresight to leave the door open, so there's no struggling with the knob. There is only walking over to present the entire tray in front of Sypha, trying not to look too terribly proud of the work.]
no subject
She falls back asleep before long, dozing in her nest of warmth and blankets, and eventually rouses when she hears his footsteps on the stairs. By the time he reaches the door, she's rolling over onto her back and sitting up, scowling only moderately at the chill in the air outside of the blankets.]
...Oh, you're spoiling me.
[And suddenly she realizes just how hungry she is, with the aroma of breakfast in the air, and all of it made better by Alucard's return.]
Here, let me have it while you get back in bed. It's better under the covers.
no subject
[It should be noted that, among so many other things, all of the braids are still in place. Cooking? Far more important than fussing with his hair. There was no time to focus on that.
All the same, the tray gets handed over to Sypha first so that nothing will spill over the bed. (Coffee is the probable worst stain of them all, but bacon grease is a close second. Alucard is careful as he sits on the edge of the bed (slippers off first!) and then settles in. Makes sure the blankets are up enough to be warm, but down low enough that they won't catch crumbs.]
It's nearly eleven. At this point, we may as well be having lunch.
no subject
[She balances the tray admirably, letting him get situated before passing it back to him (she'd sooner trust his reflexes to catch impending spills than her own) and snuggling in close to his side so that she's within reach of the plates, herself.]
...Alucard.
[She lightly walks her fingers up his arm, gently coaxing as she thinks out loud.]
I know that for...many reasons, you tend not to show Trevor and I when you have a meal in blood instead of in eggs and muffins. But I don't remember seeing you even sneak off for one in some time. You...have been, haven't you? And I simply haven't noticed?
no subject
His leg moves to brush against Sypha's. Rest there, for he is terrible and a prelude is always nice. As nice as the fingers on his arm, even if the question is not his favorite.]
I have. Just at meetings, rather than independent.
[It's been stressful lately. He hates taking human blood, but when it's offered at long talks, he is in no place to refuse.]
no subject
[And perhaps not just available but encouraged. Or strongly encouraged. Frowned upon, if refused. She can imagine all sorts of things.
She rests her head on his shoulder, instead, and laughs softly.]
We met because you needed me to take care of you. I suppose I've never fallen out of the habit, worrying about you.
no subject
[Nothing from a vein. Glasses only, because what prince must work for his meals? It is the only way to cast the dislike of it, and those nights are the ones he did not kiss either of them. Trevor would know immediately anyway, and things with Trevor are so very tenuous.
The head on his shoulder gets a kiss. (Maybe a little coffee in the hair too.]
I never want you to. I...worry, you know. That it forces the burden of my emotional well being on you too much.
no subject
[A little sigh escapes her when his kiss brushes against her head, and she holds there a minute before reaching for a piece of the bacon and testing it with her fingertips to see if it's too hot to pick up. When she finds it's sufficiently cooled, she murmurs her nonverbal approval and picks up a piece to chew on, crunching happily.]
I couldn't love you without accepting that burden, however much of a burden it might be. Love is not for only when it is easy. I want to support you, whether you are at your best or your worst.
no subject
[The coffee is done. He reaches for toast first, because he doesn't have to do much to it. Eggs, sausage, that requires utensils. A few more moments like this.
He sighs. It is happy, for the most part. That well of sadness, it bubbles up. But it does not overflow. There's something murmured. Hearthfire again, sincere and whispered and too quiet for anyone else to ever overhear.
There are days Alucard thinks of what is deserved and not. It cannot be helped, it is a natural thought to anyone.
He breathes out.]
I love you for that. More than I can find words for.
no subject
[What would a Speaker be without words, after all. It's in the very definition.]
You've never needed them to show your love. It helps, of course, but it's like I have said before: you love by doing, through action. And sometimes through inaction.
[She smiles faintly.]
I'm lying on your arm, and you can't eat a sausage one-handed. So you're putting it off, so that we can go a little longer before I have to move my head. Otherwise you would've already had them by now, because your coffee is finished.
[Idly, she licks her fingers once she's finished with her piece of bacon, sucking off the remainder of the grease and delicious fried bits.]
You write notes and hide them for me because you know I love written things, because Speakers don't use them. You leave strawberries out on the counter because you're going to bake with them later and pretend that you always meant to make a half-batch instead of a full one, because half of the berries have gone missing in the interim. You gave me my own whole room in this great big house, even though I never sleep in it and you knew that too, but because I have never had a bedroom or a closet or a desk with little drawers and knobs and that room, it isn't ours, it's mine.
[And she laughs a little, softly.]
Sometimes I don't think you even realize how often you tell me you love me. But I know. You do it without words.
no subject
Which is what Alucard is doing in this very moment, heat in his cheeks, free hand caught up in Sypha's hair, eyes glistening from the sweetness and understanding of it all. That last part though, that last part is the key to it all.
He grew up watching displays of endless affection. It's the easier part for him to follow, because actions come easier than words. Intent, the magic of intent, it translates better for him when he can do something so simple as make sure Sypha has her own room in the house or to always prepare only half a batch of strawberry muffins.
So he can be forgiven at being stunned into silence. And just stuffing his face full of toast rather than trying to reply.]
no subject
[Her voice is very soft now, and she closes her eyes as she leans on him more heavily, unguarded and vulnerable in her admission.]
I think sometimes you hear me tell you I love you by the way I understand you, and show it like this.
no subject
[The toast is devoured. So he can find a few words at least.]
And I think you are right.
no subject
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.]
no subject
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.]
no subject
Tonight, she understands, more than ever, she is his. She is always his, but tonight she is His, and she understands why.
She understands, too, that beneath the impeccable exterior still lies a young man grieving for his mother and shattered by the abandonment of his father. Beneath his shirt there still lies the scar that she was invited in to his home to treat.]
I slept all morning, into the afternoon. And I had coffee before we came, so I think I will be all right until the sun comes up.
[She turns toward him, reaching up to fuss with his lapels, with his hair. She can't kiss him without marring her lipstick, and that's agony, too.]
no subject
[Because tonight they have to stay until first light. (Unlike every vampire here, he can stay beyond first light if he must.) That is hardly the worst of it, but it factors into so much. The worst of it, beyond the fact that this is required in the first place, is that Sypha doesn't get to walk into the room as no one more than herself. This is posturing, this is politics, this is stuff neither of his parents were strictly required to do because of his father's long, long shadow. He need only reside in the city, and everything came to heel.
He makes the comparisons first and tries to live with them because everyone else will do the same thing. If he can beat the to the thought, then he can move around them. Make sure he is nothing more than a seatwarmer until his father returns. This cannot be a lifetime appointment.
He'd rather Sypha in all the blues that look so lovely with her eyes. Red is..it is not terrible, but it also isn't her. He sighs heavily, knowing that no one else is in the room. She can hear how full of dread he is, hear it as he tucks a stray piece of her hair back into place.]
no subject
[She hesitates, watching him, and absently touches the ribbon tie that keeps her collar clasped closed at her throat. It sits high on her neck, and that's not a coincidence. Obscuring her throat means the collected vampires won't have the pleasure of getting an eyeful, while she mingles. It also means none of them can see what's there beneath the fabric — or what isn't.]
I don't know if that would be...expected. Or if it would help? But I can pretend, if it would help.
no subject
[It is all artifice. What they both wear, how they have to move tonight, what thin polite things Alucard must say when barely felt condolences are offered. (A handful of vampires actually meant them at the wake. Everything else was politic. He and his father both knew it, and he and his father both barely contained their contempt for every lie uttered.)
Only a few more minutes now. They'll kiss when this is done. All he can do is rest his forehead on Sypha's shoulder.]
no subject
[She's careful, when she reaches to stroke his hair, that she doesn't muss it or let even a single perfectly-arranged lock go out of place. But her bare fingers sink into his mane, rest against the back of his head, and cradle the nape of his neck — what small comfort she can offer him, as they stand on the precipice of terror.]
Am I your pet, your...food? Your healer? Your witch? I don't know...which of these things, what would be of the most use...
no subject
You are yourself. I won't accept anything else. Nor will I accept anyone seeing you as anything but yourself. Everything else is...it is slight of hand. Enough to disorient, enough to confuse, enough to be armor should anyone's understanding be unclear.
[But most importantly:]
You're nothing to be used.
no subject
She scratches her nails lightly along his scalp, seeking to comfort, desperate to offer some small measure of sanctuary to him before this night properly begins.]
...I am, though.
[She corrects him softly, as her hand stills.]
Because you are being used, too, aren't you? We both are. By this — all of this. The spectacle. The hierarchy. We are being fed to it, the both of us.
no subject
[He whispers it for the confession it is. Even as the nails in his scalp calm him. Center him. Pull him out of his head, just as he is about to apologize for dragging her in so deep.]
no subject
[She angles her head just so, carefully, so that she can nudge her nose against his hair, with her lips curled in against the possibility of the strands sticking unpleasantly to the color painting them.]
Be strong, for as long as you can. And when you can be strong no longer, then trust that I will be there to be strong in your place.
no subject
I am in your hands.
[What more of a leap of faith can he take? It is at that moment there's a polite knock on the door, Theodora calling Adrian, Miss Sypha, now would be the time.
He straightens up slowly. Reaches over to kiss Sypha's forehead, because that won't show on either of them, then nods. When he steps out of the door, he must be that same ice cold well she met and remarked upon so many months ago.
Speaking of hands. He takes her left hand in his right, and squeezes it gently.]
Like this. Not arm-in-arm.
[Because he wants that weight.]
no subject
[It's such a silly thing to remark on — a last fleeting moment of panicked stage fright before her first steps into the footlights.]
Do I — need...gloves?
[It would be too late now to acquire them anyway, even if she did, but this is a last cleansing of nervousness and apprehension, setting it free from her body in the last moments she has of solitude so that it can't weigh her down when the performance begins.]
no subject
[Over the cliff they walk. Out the side room, through the open doors that lead onto a grand balcony, and overlooking the whole of the yard that seems to stretch on forever. It is a more formal affair, long banqueting tables with white linen cloths, tablesettings with too many forks and a namecard for each. Fae lights and electric ones combined illuminating the whole of the place, the fae lights closer to fireflights with a greater power. Their colors change as they flicker.
Alucard does not flinch as he feels eyes find him. There is no record scratch moment where the festivities stop, but he can see turned heads. The whole city is watching, and that's no exaggeration. Vampires are always drawn to these things, but he can see some of the covens that live in the area. Independent practitioners. The fainter images of some of the ghosts that are not tied down. The demons who live with human hosts and find pleasure in these affairs. All others who are impacted by Dracula's departure and now are his wards.
He takes the responsibility seriously. Stability until his father returns. Then he can get on with his life as it ought to be.
Alucard's eyes go to Sypha. To check in, if only for a moment.]
no subject
They step onto the balcony, her left hand in his right. Alucard is tall next to her, and stable, and solemn, and cold.
But she is herself, and in that first moment, taken as she is with the sight of the fae lights and the whole of the city sprawled out below her, an impulse possesses her that she can't hope to restrain —
And won't, because they should see her as herself.
So she raises her free hand, rising up and bending at the elbow to bring the fingertips to touch against her lips for a kiss, and as she sweeps it out again in an arc, it's not an invisible kiss that's blown but a thousand tiny embers of flame, shed across the expanse of the party below like a meteor shower, each one lighting up the darkness for the barest hint of a moment before burning out and settling back again into night.
She doesn't do it for the attention, but it certainly garners it. So, let them see her: the whimsy of the witch, and the solemnity of the vampire, regent and consort looking out over their kingdom and its subjects.]
no subject
His hand remains latched to hers, fingers laced together. He squeezes for just a moment, cool leather against her warmth. That was wonderful.
That was beginning the party in full. There is a change in the band's tempo, brighter than the soft evening music of before. Invitation to begin dancing. Invitation to begin indulgence. Invitation to all those night things who must obey such sacred concepts.
And for many, it also is an invitation to begin to speak with Alucard. Coldness, in these moments, serve him well. He is able to speak of stability with such certainty, of his father's return with such confidence, that any who seem to have doubt go away with fewer concerns than before. (It shall not last.) He is able to listen to more personal plights (slight things most of the days, and a few concerns with the Church Ladies which he can easily talk out) without betraying too much sympathy that he'd have otherwise.
It's boring. It's tedious. And at a certain break he nudges Sypha softly.]
You're not compelled to linger here if you want to explore. Look for myself or our host when you must.
no subject
It drags on, and she eavesdrops, and much of it doesn't make sense. She watches their faces instead, trying to make a game of which ones are lying and which ones are telling the truth, based on the slight tells in their features. Perhaps she'll ask Alucard about them later. She attends to the refreshments, the drinks, the little details. She'll need to master all of them as quickly as possible, for her to fit in here. Alucard can shelter her tonight, but he won't be able to forever.
But then, eventually, a lull comes, and he nudges her.]
Are you sure you can do without me?
[It sounds like a tease, which is good, because it hides the genuine concern inherent in the question. She does want to look around more than she's been able to at his side, but it's not for the sake of appearances that she's been staying close. Leaving him isn't even a consideration, unless he's going to be all right.]
When will you find me again?
no subject
He hates that Sypha's relegated to detail work. It isn't fair. It's hardly right. How many Speakers stay in a city? What more could she tell them? But no. Not a single question her way.
There's something happening inside. Alucard catches a scent of it, and Sypha's question is well timed.]
I shall survive fifteen minutes and not a moment more.
[There's more vampire specific refreshments about to come, and there's a point he's been proud of around her. She's never witnessed him take this nutrition.]
no subject
[But she steps just slightly away from his side, a little forward and a half-pivot, so that she's more facing him than she is standing next to him. It's partly so that she can see his face but mostly so that no one else can come and take this place as the focal point of his attention from her until she's done. Not that she thinks he would let them, but still. Social grace.]
I'm going to go look at the spells they're using to light the perimeter of the garden. They seem very cleverly done! Certainly I could spend fifteen minutes alone just looking at that, so I expect that is where you will find me.
[She glances once up into his eyes, with a question in her own — that's what you need, isn't it? — and looks for the confirmation that she's right.]
no subject
He nods once to show that he'll bear it as best he can. At any other moment he'd put a kiss to her forehead or stroke her cheek before departing, but that can't be done here either. Mourning is mourning after all.
(After tonight, he will have to transition to colors. Hers, perhaps, blue is not so bad a match with golds and blacks and moonlight whites.)]
I'll see you presently.
no subject
Her Alucard is there, somewhere, buried beneath all the formality and pretense. He's the one she smiles for, surreptitiously, even as she maintains her own show of deliberate whimsy.
(It makes her a foil to him, and that's important. The eye, she knows, likes to see things in contrasts, in dualities. He looks more solemn simply by virtue of standing next to her when she doesn't. He gains more gravitas when held up next to her, when she's merry.)
She makes sure her smile lights up her whole face, watching him.]
Don't do anything fun without me! Or dance with anyone prettier than me. I might get jealous.
[And off she goes, hiding her reluctance to leave his side behind a light bounce in her step.
The nice thing is, she wasn't lying about being interested in the fae lights, so she really does make a beeline for them once she's on her own. The spells are fascinating, not for their complexity but simply because they're worked in a way she's never seen before. It's more than enough to hold her attention for a little while, at least.
Coincidentally, she's more than enough to hold the attention of a handful of young vampires for a little while, herself, but it'll be a minute or two before they properly make their move.]
no subject
It's the plan of a trickster, and what a role to play. What a way to skirt the already liminal space. Who else but her would think of it? Who else but Sypha could pull it off?
He watches her depart, and the smile fades. The warmth is gone, and even as there is blood served, he is cold and stiff and gains no color from it as he drinks. (Usual mutters about quality are said, and no questions asked about how. Ethical consumption is the watchword of any who live in the city.)
Alucard's eyes are never far from her though, even as deeper conversation progresses. Something about the Church Ladies having a harder time of it, too many funerals, some younger ones might be joining their ranks so that means some re-learning of the laws of the land. Another thing about something happening in Texas with the Morris family. Distant kin expected to join them, which does no one any harm because Texas is large.
Fifteen minutes are over. Morrises can wait.
The blood glass is put aside, drained, and he begins to make his way over to where Sypha is.]
no subject
They're presumably harmless, though all of them carry a drink in their hands, and she notices with some curiosity that one's glass is filled with liquid the color of champagne, while another has something similarly bubbly but with more of a pink-rose tint to it.
You're her, aren't you? The human Speaker, the one with the rosé remarks pleasantly.]
Why, yes. Mm, but I think you are a step ahead of me, may I have the courtesy of your names?
[They introduce themselves, one by one — Richard and Walter and Charles — and they engage her in idle chatter for a few minutes before eventually, Walter remarks, gosh, what lugs we are, taking up the time of a pretty belle without even handing her a drink —
And she can't actually tell if it's coordinated or not, but she suspects that it is, or at least something they've done in practice before, because a little too quickly Charles has a glass of that rosé in his hand and is pressing it toward her, and all of a sudden she wants to look for Alucard, but she knows better than to take her eyes off of a cluster of sharks.]
no subject
He doesn't speed up. What he does instead is make sure the three have their backs towards him as he approaches, his eyes making contact with Sypha to ask how far gone any situation is or is not.]
Did you satisfiy your curiosity with the spellwork, Sypha?
no subject
Mm! Almost, but I wound up a little distracted.
[Detained, more like, but it's almost funny to watch two significant things occur in a matter of an instant: first, the three young vampires whirling around to glimpse Alucard making his approach, and second, Charles very hastily hiding the glass in his hand behind his back.
— Lord, Richard sort of blurts out, when it occurs to them in a split-second that they actually have no idea what sort of address Alucard might be demanding right now, and opting to err on the side of not getting their heads ripped off. Uh. Good — good evening, lord.]
no subject
Far be it from me to distract you as well then.
[He sees that glass. Alucard's eyes narrow at it, because he can smell what it really is. There's about twenty lectures to launch into including "you wouldn't do this to a new member of the local coven, hm?" and "so we should talk about human medical needs" but he settles on the disapproving face of "you know better" because it's going to get to the heart of the matter. You wouldn't do this if my father was here. Behave.
That ice wall can be pushed outward against those who earn it. Their confusion about the nonsense of titles helps as well.]
Unless you're interested in discussing theory for the next half hour, I don't think this is the kind of conversation any of you three would enjoy.
no subject
Carefully, ever so carefully, Sypha watches them go. And gauges the distance between herself and the closest vampires to them. And compares that to what she knows of a vampire's typical range of earshot.
And then smiles, brilliantly, at Alucard.]
Your timing is perfect, as always. Just when I was growing tired of boys.
[Contrasts. And what will those eavesdroppers hear? Three youths have left; an adult remains.]
Have you come to ask me to dance, I hope?
no subject
I did say fifteen minutes and not a moment more, didn't I?
[These breaks can only be that long then, it seems.]
The music is slower than the modern pieces for now. Do you know the steps?
no subject
[She gravitates toward him, just a little, but doesn't return to his side or reach for his hand just yet. If they were at home, she'd already be draped down his arm with her head resting on his shoulder — but this isn't home, and here they are.]
Is it a waltz, this one?
no subject
[They'll cheat because they can and who will say a word? Alucard's quiet for a moment more, and here he does need to offer his arm instead of his hand because that's more proper for dancing.
Dinner will be in half an hour yet, which means that if they go for ten minutes in dancing, then while away the remaining twenty, they will be a third of the way through the night. It is silly, counting down, but it helps Alucard remain so very sane and so very, very grounded in what he must do.
This though, as much as this is politics it is also pleasure. Because it is an excuse to be close to her, to have her body pressed against his, to ignore the world for just a few precious minutes while the noise and the music and the heady smells drift over them both. They can ignore all of those things and focus on each other.]
no subject
It's a risk, because everything is a risk. But there's a stubborn, selfish recklessness in her over it, too. Let them see that she belongs here, she thinks fiercely. Let them see how loved she is.
She realizes too late how much it must make him resemble his father, in the eyes of the old ones who remember.]
This is nice.
[She says it softly, pressed up against him, for no one's ears but his own.]
I like dancing, if it lets us be like this.
no subject
His thoughts are on her, not what they resemble. That's for the drive home.]
The dances will be faster after dinner. Modern.
[He sighs, and it's one of those sighs he makes when they're alone and in each other's company. Not talking, usually just reading in the vicinity of each other, some drama on the radio.]
I'll find every excuse to be here with you then.
no subject
[She wants so desperately to kiss him. It would be so easy to bring them to a standstill, reach up and draw him down and do it, and if they were at home, she would.
They're not, and she can't.]
You're perfect, you know.
no subject
[On less formal nights, he'd indulge every urge that says his mouth needs to be on Sypha's. Now. And for the next several minutes. Tonight is too formal, too high in expectation, and he makes a note to cover her in kisses when they stir tomorrow.]
As are you. Beyond it.
no subject
[She can feel the tension between them, the ache and the want pulled taut like an overtuned E string, trembling with every breath and held back only through sheer force of self-control, mostly Alucard's. He doesn't look like himself tonight, she muses idly, even as the rest of her unfinished thought slips away into nothingness, replaced solely by the glitter-glow of the magical lights and the glint of the gold of his eyes. He looks like a vampire prince, more statue than alive, straight out of a story breathed into being with the rise of the moon. But looking at him makes her long for her Alucard, with a softness in his features that isn't there tonight, and a boyishness to the upturn of his lips that runs warm instead of ice-cold.
She wants to kiss this prince until the spell breaks and he becomes hers again. This is perfect, it's all too perfect, and she wants to rip it all apart until he's her Alucard once more.
They're perfect. Together, they're perfect. And perfect is what the eyes on them will see, for the rest of the night, but for just this one moment she falters, fractures just enough to remember the rest of her earlier thought, and finish it.]
I'm glad I came back. From the train. Back to you.
no subject
He'd rather be curled up talking theory right now. Those lights, how to make the microwave heat more evenly because there's cold spots even if the plate's burning, anything. Their life is perfect when there's no one else around to observe it. Observe them. Alucard's presence at these things in the past has always been limited. When he has popped up in circles they have always been the intellectual or the magic ones, because that's what fascinates him most. Never politics. Never this.
Yet this is how it must be. Slight of hand, even as that slight of hand is perfection.
He can't sigh with the terrible longing he feels right now.]
And here I thought you might've heard a story or two about what happens when you go to a vampire's castle for business and not bothered.
[He likes laughing about the book. His father, less so.
The song does end. Dinner is called exactly when Alucard expects it to be, and there is no luxury spared for the meal. Blood at the start for those who require it (he takes his in full view because he must.) Courses tailored for everyone's needs - vampires with blood sausages and blood soups, those more mortal have finer cuisines that include a bevy of seafood served off bone white china - wines that match each selection. There is small talk, but Alucard is quiet for most of it. When he can, he touches his foot to Sypha's. A promise that he isn't in his own head.
It is all such fine food. The music that comes after is just as fine and cheerfully, proudly modern, allowing those who are older to depart with grace and dignity while those younger can enjoy the rest of festivities until dawn. (He catches a few mutters. That dancing, if it wasn't for the hair you'd swear they were his parents. His heart stops.) Alucard still must circulate and take all remaining conversations, but those fall off as dawn approaches. He is apart from Sypha, but never for long. She needs that time apart to plant her feet in this society as her own person, not just as the Speaker who is with Dracula's son. There's one or two vampires that approach that he can trust to engage with her levelly (thank God for James and his shit science), and that is a place to grow.
Dawn threatens. They are the last two to leave, save Theodora and her kin who must, must retire. The goodbyes are scant but warm, and the two are shuffled out into the dawn.
Home then. Home with no incidents. Home where all this artifice can be shed.]
no subject
James is, if not explicitly kind to her, at the very least courteous. Once or twice he makes a thoughtless passing comment about humans that makes her cringe a little inside, but they quickly hit it off when he starts to ruminate on the war, and she doesn't actually realize which one he means until he brings up an old Speaker acquaintance of his — Paul Revere.
Time goes by quickly after that. She warms to James a little more when he catches her hand in his and pats it with the other, making her promise to attend the next event so that they can continue their conversation. The night grows darker and darker, until at last it gets close to dawn, and the various denizens of the night take that as their cue to leave.
At last, when she returns to Alucard's side and goodbyes are being exchanged, she can take the liberty of leaning on him a little by feigning sleepiness, now that it's only Theodora and her relations there to see. And it's sleepiness that stops being so feigned once they're back in Alucard's car, and she goes boneless with weariness in her seat while he spirits them back toward home at last.]
...Alucard. There won't be any vampires in the daylight, will there?
[Dawn is breaking, as they drive. She lifts her head and looks at him, slow and drowsy and reminiscent of slow-burning embers and fireglow.]
Pull the car over? Just for a minute.
no subject
[They're so close to home. Just five more minutes. He doesn't want to stop at all, he just wants to finish this. Exhaustion is creeping on him too, this night has been nothing but. He nods to confirm that there's no more threat of vampires being awake now. Dawn has come.
So he pulls over. Unsure of where this is about to go.]
What is it?
no subject
They're exhausted and burnt out and run ragged with perfection, and somehow still perfect is her awful red lipstick that matches his accents and it won't be for long, as she slides across the seat to him and takes his face in her hands and kisses him like she's starving.]
no subject
He kisses back. Terribly and desperately and both his arms wrapping around her, clinging for dear life because that's all he wanted to do since before they even left. He is tired and exhausted and still so scared of the thing he's taken on, and Sypha is here and there's no complication and she deserves all the affection and adoration in the world.]
no subject
She could, but none of that has anything to do with why she's kissing him now.
The sentiment is so raw, so aching, that she (she! she, of all people) can't even fit words to it. She needs him, and he needs her, and they've needed each other all night but they couldn't, it couldn't be allowed. But now the rules are lifted, because they're safe here, and there's no one to give a damn if her fingers are slipping down the line of his jaw to his throat, to the buttons of his shirt, loosening them not because she wants to reach under it but simply because she can't stand how perfect he is right now, and wants to be the one to dishevel him.]
Adrian.
[She smothers the word against his lips, smudging her lipstick on his mouth as one kiss turns to two and to three in an ever-lengthening chain. There's the faintest hint of a copper taste in his mouth and she doesn't let herself think about it. She comes close to cutting her tongue on the tip of one of his fangs, and she doesn't let herself think about that either.]
I will kill you. If you take your hands off me.
[Not that she thinks there's any real chance of that, but it bears remarking, just the same.]
no subject
He can't even bring himself to try and touch her clothes, tug at that high collar because it's ridiculous, he can only drag her closer towards him until he can't put her on his lap. Steering wheel is in the way.
So they'll just have to continue at this terrible angle, chasing the night away with every kiss. There's detailed ignored because they're not as important as this, as being here as the sun rises high, as morning unfolds in full.
Alucard doesn't know how long they sit there like this. He knows that to break all of this is a sin, but they're out of places to go.]
We'll be more comfortable for this when we're in our own bed, Sypha.
no subject
She just wants to look at him. For a little while, that's all she does, is just look at him, beautiful and flawed and weary prince that he is, shedding his perfection with the light of the dawn, as though the sunbeams crawling up from the edge of the sky are burning away all the marble rigidity in his frame.]
Yes, I know.
[She breathes in deep, filling her chest with it, and lets it out again in a sigh that makes her shoulders sag and her expression soften. It was good to kiss him, and she's sleepy-sated now — for a little while, at least. Until they can make it home, perhaps.]
You look better like this.
no subject
He's breathless when she pulls away. Just looks at him, and there's not an ounce of shame in letting her witness everything that's truly happening in his head. He is tired, he is scared, he is so glad for her, for this moment, and he wants to hold onto that moment for as long as he can now.
At her judgement, there's a breathless laugh.]
You're the expert on when I look my best.
no subject
[There is a benign way to parse that sentence and a scandalous one, and either one could apply here. Perhaps they both could. Perhaps that's exactly the point.
She rakes her hand through his hair, rumpling the strands, petting him loose.]
Which is where we should hurry to be. Home, and to bed, and not to get up again for at least half the day.
no subject
He starts the car again. There's never been any kind of magic modification done to it, but it roars to life in an instant. It allows for just enough time to steal another kiss. To make sure Sypha's aware how much everything has meant tonight. He worries about so much, panics about making her the guardian of his emotional well being in many ways. That the need is sometimes too much of a demand.]
I'll be there until moonrise, I expect.
[At least. To be in the arms of sleep is a thing to be wishes. So he drives them both home. Just five minutes. Five minutes to get home, pass through the gates, put the car in the garage. To slide out and then refuse Sypha even a moment to get out under her own steam.
She's in his arms. Where she ought to have been all night.]
no subject
You look a mess.
[Something she'd remarked on before, in the car, but now that they're back in the house, it's a comment that brings their night full-circle. He'd left perfect, and now he's returned a mess, and it's because he would've been perfect getting through the door but for her, almost gleefully terrorizing him in her relentless attempt to ruin the image he's been wearing all night.]
But everyone seemed impressed with you. It was a good night, from what I overheard. You've certainly secured respect.
no subject
The exterior matches the interior then.
[There's no hiding that, there's only naming it for what it is as they go up the stairs. (The house has a lot of those, and hidden compartments, and it's far too easy to get lost if you don't live there.)]
So long as it endures until a return.
[Which is what this is, in the end. An endurance run.
His room. Their room. The one with more windows than any other bedroom in the house, bookshelf featuring his personal collections, too small dresser that he ought to just get rid of, bed that was never quite meant for two that has become one now. Sypha's placed down on it gently.]
no subject
[He sets her down, and she reaches forward to catch hold of his arms, wrapping her fingers around his wrists to keep him from retreating further than arm's length away, or from really doing anything except paying attention to her.]
And speaking of time, it's time for you to let me take care of you now. But what that means — I need you to tell me. What do you need from me? Tell me, so I can give it to you.
no subject
How he manages both aggression and tenderness in the same moment is a question to be pondered later. All that's clear as lips meet lips, move beyond those down Sypha's neck and then back again, is that what's needed is affection. There's apology threaded in there somewhere too, the horrible weight of knowing that this thing will not leave them unchanged, and coupled with it is gratitude. That she's willing to do this in spite of everything.
His arms leave her wrists. One hand is desperate to get rid of all that red, because it's not her color. Shouldn't become her color either.]
no subject
[He speaks through actions, and she answers in words, but even her words are a fitting complement to the way he expresses his needs, because all of her answers are really given in the implications, not in what she says outright. It's rare that she uses his given name, but not unheard-of; tonight, it's a deliberate choice she's made twice now, in part because it will startle him to hear it — and thus, keep him from sinking into his own head — and part because it's not Alucard, heir and regent to Dracula, son of the king of vampires, noble lord now in his own right. It makes him someone else, someone hidden-away. It makes him only hers, for a little while now, and that's what she wants him to hear when she says it.]
Just rip the shirt. It's horrible anyway.
[And because a shirt can be mended, in theory, or replaced if not. She'd tasted the aggression in the movement of his mouth on hers and instantly, effortlessly, offers him up an outlet for it.
Even as she says it, she's helping him, working her arms free of her jacket and unfastening the buttons of the vest, because that much she actually likes and wants to save, so she needs to get it out of the firing line.]
no subject
Which means that even as her neck is covered in kisses, long and slow, quick and red hot, he's unbuttoning it. Making sure it's off her shoulders making sure it's gone to a part of the room where they're not going to see it when they're lying in bed after all of this. He's cling to her then, he already knows it.
This angle, however, is getting uncomfortable, and for that he nudges her gently.]
Further in, I want to be beside you properly.
no subject
Do it yourself.
[She's baiting him again, and carefully this time. But he's spent the entire night acting according to a script, and not his own wishes; it's not stubbornness or reluctance that makes her do it, but encouragement to act, in whatever way he sees fit.
This is how he speaks to her, all of the things he can't bear to say. So she makes this liaison between them the canvas, and puts the pen in his hand; he'll show her what he needs, what he's thinking, where his fears lie. She only has to give him the opportunities he needs to do it.]
You carried me all the way upstairs from the car. You can move me two feet more.
no subject
They're on their sides together. Far more comfortable a place to be, far warmer for the bed coverings underneath. It lets him press against Sypha immediately, the attention to her neck moving to her chest instead because that's where there is more bare skin and that is where he wants to be. One arm is just above him, reaching up towards nothing, the other is low around Sypha's waist, teasing at grabbing her behind but not quite there.
Never mind that he's still dressed. There's a sigh on his lips that chases away exhaustion, the vibration of it pressed to a breast, coupled with a single utterance of her name. It's drenched with adoration.]
no subject
[It's a good position, in a number of ways. One is that there's no need to fuss with a great lot of bending and leaning; they're easily within reach of each other, and can slide around as they please with the mattress to support them, freeing up limbs for exploring that otherwise would've been necessary for simple support. It means she can get her hands in his hair more easily, and encourage him with all the attention to his hair and the back of his head that he likes best.
There's something almost picturesque about it, the way they're positioned, the manner in which he's clasped to her breast. He's shown her Renaissance paintings before, and she half thinks that they must look like one, or would at least give a reimagining of one a run for its money.]
You make my name sound wonderful when you say it like that.
[A sighed Sypha. Poetic, almost.]
no subject
[He tilts his head up to ask the question. Her face is beautiful right now. Radiant, but then, when isn't it? The hands in his hair are warm and comforting and wonderful, they're hands he's trusted in so many times over in the past few months.
He breathes out. Tries to put a fraction of his head in order, enough of him registering that it's unfair for her top to be bear when his isn't. But that requires stirring from how they are, and he'll have none of that.]
no subject
[She has to stifle a giggle when the caress of his breath washes over her skin and tickles, but for the most part she manages to keep a lid on her mirth and maintains a sense of cool composure.]
Do you know how I feel right now? Very seductive. Like some sort of exotic courtesan, entertaining a patron of my cabaret.
[It's silly, intentionally so. It's also just a little bit scandalous, and she likes that too.]
Look at you. Too taken with me to even bother to take off much more than your shoes.
no subject
[It grates. And there's a softer and more worried look about those word choices than there should be. (She's still right about the clothes though.)]
I never want you to be anything less than equal. Or cast yourself as other or exotic or...that nonsense.
[The world will do it for her, after all. He'll hiss and threaten and disapprove, but this is the only thing he has a power to comment on.]
no subject
[She moves one hand from his hair, though, sliding it down to catch his chin instead, and tilt his face up.]
Now come here. If you want us to be equals, then you have some clothing to lose.
no subject
[But the way he melts into the hand that has his chin, presses into it, that means he understands and won't argue the point any further. It will rankle, of course it will, but Sypha's views of herself are more important than his stupid fears.
He leans just enough to brush his lips against Sypha's wrist.]
Do you wish to take care of that problem?
no subject
[She hums pleasantly as his lips touch her wrist, pausing in her deliberation of where to begin with him to close her eyes and simply enjoy the feeling.]
You are wrinkling your pants, and this evening when we wake up you are going to be absolutely crabby about it.
[A finger comes up to lightly touch his mouth, a movement similar to hushing him but not quite, and when her fingertip touches against his lip it's cooler than it ought to be — the barest suggestion of ice.]
But for now I will try to make you forget all about such things entirely.
no subject
He stills at that gesture. Just leans against that finger long enough to make it clear that he's listening. Whatever she wants.]
no subject
[It's a little gawky, to try to scoot down the mattress a few inches on her side to better take hold of his shirt, but soon her slender fingers are working the buttons free one by one, and when she gets them open she pushes her hands inside the loose folds to stroke over his chest, pushing the fabric back almost carelessly.
His scar is still there, of course. It always will be. And though she avoids touching it with the sweep of her fingertips, she carefully leans into him and brings her lips to touch against it, up near where it approaches his collarbones.]
You are beautiful.
[She moves down a little further, this time laying her kiss over the scar where it cuts across his pecs, in the narrow valley between them.]
no subject
Sypha's touches sometimes rekindle the feelings he's drained from it. When she does, it's closer to a reminder of why this house is not as lonely as it could be instead of a cold reminder of fury and abandonment. It's for that first reason he sighs as if all breath has left him when her lips brush against it for the first time.
Where to hold onto her is a question that shifts with so much. For now, one hand rests in her hair, the other on her shoulders, soft as anything. He's there, he has her and she has him. There is no happier place than this, not as she trails kisses over his chest just as he did to hers minutes ago.]
no subject
[Not that she's making it easy for him to want to, with the way she's following the ridge of his scar with her kisses, letting it take her back up toward the juncture of his neck and shoulder. It's only after she's moved away from it that she stops being so careful, letting her teeth come out to nip and indent his skin here and there while she bites him.]
Only then will we work on the trousers.
no subject
He'll hate himself for not folding everything come evening, but that's for Future Alucard. Present Alucard is taking the temporary permission to sit up to plant a series of kisses to the top of Sypha's head.]
Yours as well?
no subject
[She lets her laugh rumble against his skin before allowing him to readjust; she keeps contact with him even while his top half is occupied by sliding her foot over to nudge his calf with her toes, rubbing them lightly against it just for the sake of touching him in some way.]
You know you would.
no subject
[He is terribly predictable, isn't he? Just as Sypha's laugh and where he feels it is.]
Where would you have me?
no subject
[She slides her foot down the length of his calf, over his ankle; her toes come to rest lightly atop his own foot, an echo of how they'd danced at the party when her feet were atop his.]
And under the covers. You need to relax.
no subject
Entwining his legs around Sypha is all he can think of as her foot slides down him. That echo, he knows it, and he's beside himself for it.]
Stand up then. Only for a moment.
no subject
[She steals a kiss, however, before shuffling up and hopping over his legs until she's standing at the bedside rather than lying on the mattress, watching him with more than a little amusement considering their relative state of undress and the fact that all of the windows are open enough to be streaming in sunlight.]
But I suppose, just for a moment.
no subject
Likewise, thank God that it takes no time at all to pull the comforter and sheets back so that they can be comfortable. Or perhaps better said, preventing any mess from getting onto the comforter.
Alucard's sitting up though. He has both of his arms open for Sypha.]
Your work is done, and I apologize for all of it.
no subject
[Her face lights up with a smile of genuine exhausted pleasure, however, at the sight of his outstretched arms, and within moments she's put herself snugly inside them, curling in on him and breathing a contented little sigh of her own.]
Or hold me like this, forever. That will also do.
no subject
The kisses he showers on her lips are more than twelve. They're long and lingering and loving and they're so damned happy to just have this moment.]
no subject
[Beneath the covers, she runs her hand lightly down his side, following the lean lines of his torso to the curve of his hip and lingering there while she gauges his demeanor with quiet thoughtfulness. When they'd met, it was because he'd needed someone to take care of him; now, long afterward, some of that initial dynamic still remains. It's not a question of whether he's exhausted; she already knows he is. The question is how desperate is he to get to sleep, or is he more hungry for passion, and willing to push sleepiness aside awhile to satisfy that craving.
One good test, she's found, is to touch him a little, and see whether he pushes back into it, or accepts it more passively. So, as she lifts her face for more kisses, she traces idle circles against his hip, occasionally allowing her hand to slide a little lower to rest atop his thigh.]
That's better for you, too, isn't it?
no subject
Those thoughts are why his emotions try to hide any additional need for attention. Much simpler to shower Sypha with a torrent of affection, every touch a way to make it clear how dear she is for all aspects of this relationship. Much easier to kiss her endlessly and let any additional leans into her touch be natural reactions.
The hand that is atop his thigh is soon met with his own. Holding on gently, not daring it to move down, not yet. His other hand slides down Sypha's back slowly, tracing over her spine wit the lightest touch.]
We fit best like this, I think.
no subject
[She catches his mouth in a kiss, more fleeting than the others, but no less satisfying for it.]
And right where you want me.
[She rolls her shoulders back a little, arching beneath the touch of his fingertips on her spine.]
no subject
[Being tall is a curse with her around.
That same hand travels up Sypha's spine one final time. When it descends, it lingers at the waistline of her trousers. Fingers sliding under the fabric just enough to make the suggestion, but not dare ask out loud. Not yet, at any rate.]
Mmm. There is also that.
no subject
[Her eyelids flutter, lashes long where they frame the blue of her eyes, and she's quiet a minute as she simply soaks in the sensation of the way he touches her.
There's something left to do, though, before she can let them fall into the pleasure of losing themselves in each other, and she tilts her gaze up to watch him softly.]
I need your words this time, my heart. I want to share with you the catharsis we both need, after tonight, but you need to let go of all the things you kept behind your mask all night, first.
no subject
[Which is Overly Sappy he knows, but no less a truth for it. Watching those eyes, seeing her so content in his arms, it's enough to chase every other thought away.
Until Sypha reverses that.]
You don't need more reasons to worry about me.
no subject
[She moves her hand back up the length of his side, tracking aimlessly on its way toward his shoulder, just touching for the sake of the contact.]
We're in this together, my love. So let me do this with you, instead of just being at your side while you do.
no subject
[But he's already so undone from all of this that there's nothing gained from burying what's not been articulated yet. It's known that he doesn't want this. Hates this, because it's another horrible reminder of how this has all come to pass.
Her hands are so warm against him. It feels like pressing against soft earth warmed by the sun.]
Where shall I begin then? That this creates all new fears of someone fool enough to try and use us against each other? That this will be a lifetime appointment which carries all the attendant threats on my life and anyone who may so much as speak with me once? How this is a millstone, and that I fear dragging you along with me even if you are willing?
no subject
[It's not severe, but it is emphatic, as though now that he's shown her the first glimpse of the thoughts that are plaguing his mind, she's in a rush to hook them and reel them to her before he can think twice about it and draw them back inside him.]
Be afraid, while you know you are safe here with me. Despair, while I am here to guide you back to the path of hope. Be crushed by the weight of this, here, where the only weight is me, and you already know full well that I am not so very heavy.
[She surges up, kissing him adamantly.]
Talk to me. Even if I have to find your words myself and draw them out from you one by one.
no subject
[He's cut off before he can say more. It's stupid to break a kiss like that to make a point, but here they sit.]
...You never return that. Not truly, not beyond matters with myself.
no subject
...I what...?
no subject
I can't be your world all the time.
no subject
But...
[...Shit.]
I chose your world.
[It's not a protest; it's too fragile and fracturing for that. It's a wall she didn't even realize existed, starting to dissolve at the foundations.]
I don't have anything else but this.
no subject
I live in two places. You should not pick one or the other if it feels wrong to you. I asked so much, you gave so freely, but...it shouldn't be the only thing to define you. Because if you choose that path, then how shall all the world see you?
no subject
[It's been a long time since she's even mentioned the Speakers. Maybe he's right; in retrospect, she'd buried that part of her life as much as she's been able to, hasn't she, since abandoning them on the train. Maybe it was so that she wouldn't miss them so much. Maybe it was so that she would never have to confront doubts about whether she'd made that decision in haste.
She doesn't regret being here, being with him, loving him. That part, she knows she was right about. But maybe she's avoided finding her own catharsis, herself, by keeping it pushed away rather than confronting it like she's insisting that he do, himself.]
Or to be individuals. We act for the needs of the community, the group. So long as the community continues, the stories continue...to lose one, it does not matter so very much.
[She smiles, softly, and it wobbles.]
That's why I knew they would not see it as a betrayal, that I left. Because the work can still continue without me. It is no more of a loss than...cutting your fingernails.
no subject
[He strokes her back as he listens. It's just for the sake of touch, of movement, of something to encourage thoughts just as she does to him so many times before. A fair exchange of how to abide all of the things that live inside them that they coax out of each other.
She gave up so much on the whim of a vampire didn't she? Alucard has always reminded himself of that. It's why he is how he is to her. Reassurances that she did not forsake her people for no good reason at all. But that means demanding a world built around this castle, and that is not right either.
That wobble in her smile breaks him.]
It may not matter in the longest run, but you are still loved and missed. You are family to more than myself. [SHIT. DID HE JUST SAY THAT?] There are months that you should go beyond this city. To that world again, because they need you too.
no subject
She laughs a little, and it's nervous, vulnerable.]
That feels like you're sending me away.
[He's not, but they're no less her feelings whether they're irrational or not.]
I would be gone for more than just fifteen minutes, and not a moment more, if I were to go find them.
no subject
[They're still perfectly fitted together like this, aren't they? Close and nearly clinging to each other to navigate everything that has been forced to the surface.]
I love you too much.
no subject
[She knows how it works. It's not like she holds it against him. Sometimes she even approves of it on the merits, but —]
You wouldn't do that, would you? Send me away because you needed me to be gone?
no subject
[The little things, the stupid shit, that's one thing.]
There's no equality if I'm forced to do something so foolish. No respect for the choices you've made if I try to trick you down that road.
no subject
[She chews her lip, worrying the corner of it in her teeth.]
I would need help.
no subject
[It's a promise. It's a vow. He knows the roads his city uses to move through America.]
Everything you need is yours. You know that.
no subject
[She ducks her head, pushing it beneath his chin as she buries her face in his chest — a silent demand to be held tighter than she's been, looking for grounding as much as for comfort.]
I want to stay here, with you, in the first house I've ever lived in, and the first room that was ever mine, and my little drawers and your heated floors and —
[Again, one of those shuddering breaths; it's muffled this time, but he might well feel it as much as he hears it.]
It's so much easier to be brave for you than for myself, is all.
no subject
This was never the intention. To have Sypha like this is terrifying, but it is a reminder they both need. Their relationship cannot be built of a single lane road.]
You will always have me. I am yours, utterly. Which means that I am to be as brave and as kind and as much a comfort as you have been for me. I want that.
no subject
[She falls silent a minute, bumping her nose against his collarbone, close to where the scar juts across his chest but not quite, and draws in a slow breath of just the scent of him, leftover perspiration from the party and a hint of the weeds he'd worn in his lapel, a touch of incense and smoke and leather.
He smells like both homes she's known. Her people's campgrounds always smelled of heat and oil and firesmoke, too.]
It's foolish, I know. I just need to hear you say it, plainly. That if I go...I can come back. That this house is mine to come back to, too.
no subject
[Yours. And he kisses the top of her head to emphasize the point.]
no subject
[Not house. Home. A significant difference, and heartwarming (hearthwarming) one.]
You're more yourself already. My Alucard, again.
no subject
[He sighs the word so happily. Utterly hers.]
We were doing something else, weren't we?
no subject
[She nips at his shoulder, very lightly.]
Or if not now, when we wake up tonight?
no subject
[It's been an emotional ride.]
no subject
[She nudges at him, though, intent on pushing him onto his back so that she can at least make good on her threat to be on top of him, even if it's only falling asleep half-draped over his chest.]
no subject
[Which he'll get over. Better to let Sypha push him down, use his feet to kick up the covers so that he can reach down juuuuust enough to grab them, then bundle himself and Sypha up as gently as he can. It is still warm out, and Sypha has a terrible way of making things warmer.
He's happy though, like this. Sypha here in his arms, the world kept at arm's length just for a little while. There's another kiss to the top of Sypha's head.]
Sleep well.