[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.
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[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.
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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.
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[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.
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[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.]
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[She's quiet a minute, tilting her head to watch his expression before offering up tentatively: ]
...still Alucard? Or...
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[Now he's getting that elbow he deserves.]
And I'll bet she would say the same thing.
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He's never been happier for defied expectations.]
Thank you.