[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.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
MORE 20s AU
And speaking of staying out all night, they're set to be sooner rather than later; there's an event coming up this weekend that Alucard has hinted is one they Should Not Miss, which means it's important that he be seen there for one reason or another, which means they'll absolutely be spending the whole night there for the sake of those appearances. Not that she minds, really; she and Trevor get to reap the benefits of the fun, while Alucard has to balance entertainment and business, but so it goes.
Right now, though, she's on her way back from a drive, which superficially had been for the purposes of picking up some supplies from the market but really had just been an excuse to play with her car, and as she pulls up to the front of the house she holds off on putting the car away properly in the garage, mostly so that she can idle underneath one of the windows and honk the horn, hoping to draw out one of her two charming beaus.]
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It means that the Important Parties happen all at once. Being forced into his father's position requires attendence at certain key ones, and this weekend is not going to be different. There has been some murmurs lately about unsettling elements at the edge of the city, stranger happenings that ought not to be happening in the bayous beyond. None of the information in full has made it's way to Alucard's ears, and so his presence is Required.
Sypha and Trevor coming is what makes it Not Work though. Plus the presence of a Belmont has a wonderful way of throwing everyone off, and Alucard's never going to get sick of that.
It all goes to shit when he gets the mail for the day though. Only 1 envelope, the style of it far too old fashioned for it to be anyone else. He recognizes the script. (There is a sheer hilarity of his father using stamps and the actual mail service, but that will be something noted much later on.)
Alucard's sitting on the sofa in the front room when Sypha honks. He doesn't register it. His eyes are glued to the page.]
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The next line of calligraphy is brief: You have been in my thoughts, of late. Word of your affairs in the city has reached me. I expect all is well.
And the next: I shall travel soon.
And the closing: Your father.
Meanwhile, the lack of reaction to the honking has Sypha sounding the horn again, and when that doesn't pan out, she shrugs and hops out of the car, leaving it out for the time being while she goes to investigate.]
...Alucard?
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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.]
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[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.]
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[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.]
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[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.
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He couldn't have timed it worse.
[Anger is easier than anything else.]
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[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.]
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[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.
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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...
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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.
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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.
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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.]
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[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.
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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.]
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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.]
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[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.]
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["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.]
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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.
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[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.
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[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.
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[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.
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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.]
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[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?
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