cryptsleeper | with willpowerful

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.]

I have no intention of leaving this house today.

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.

There's no fireplace in —

[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.]

I could come with you, but then I feel certain it would be twenty or twenty-five.

[She is a DISTRACTION and she knows it.]

Or I could stay, and await you, and motivate you to return in a hurry.

There would also be a few burnt things.

[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?

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.

Of course.

[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.

A brunch, then.

[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.]

I thought so. It would...follow, with all the parties we attend and the meetings that are called, that refreshment of that kind would be available.

[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.

My sensibilities are usually respected.

[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.

I'm still within my right to worry.

[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.

I am the one who relies on words, not you.

[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.]

And as I said. I rely on words.

[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.

Your words leave me without any, most days.

[The toast is devoured. So he can find a few words at least.]

And I think you are right.

[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.]

[Regent.

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.]

with willpowerful

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