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.]
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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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[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.]
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[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.
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[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.]
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[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.
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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.
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[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.
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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.]
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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.]
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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.]
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