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You broke it, you've been outvoted on that fact.
[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.]
[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.]
Hmmm...
[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.
[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.
I think that metaphor holds.
[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.
[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.
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 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.
We should probably do that before diving too fast into repairs. But we know how it ought to function, so we're miles ahead of where we once were.
[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.
[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.
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.
[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.
...It really didn't work like that.
[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.
[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.
It's not as though there is any shortage of notebooks in this castle.
[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?
[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?
Later, I think.
[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.
[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.
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.]
[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.
[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.
...I like it, you know. The imperfection of it.
[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.
[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.]
It'll be the same in a century for us.
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.
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.
[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.
Or just use our first names.
[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.]
[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.]
The legend of Sypha, and Treffy, and...
[She's quiet a minute, tilting her head to watch his expression before offering up tentatively: ]
...still Alucard? Or...
[She's quiet a minute, tilting her head to watch his expression before offering up tentatively: ]
...still Alucard? Or...
I think the important part is that you like it more.
[Now he's getting that elbow he deserves.]
And I'll bet she would say the same thing.
[Now he's getting that elbow he deserves.]
And I'll bet she would say the same thing.
[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.
He's never been happier for defied expectations.]
Thank you.
He's never been happier for defied expectations.]
Thank you.
[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.
Alucard's working in the library for the day.]
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.]
[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.]
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.
There's no note. No explanation. Nothing at all.]
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.]
[Well. Well, well, well. Isn't that something?
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.]
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 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.]
[...Subtle.]
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.
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.
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