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.]
[It's after her initial whirl with Trevor that the two of them split off, Trevor ostensibly to go win pocketfuls of other people's money from some round of betting or another, and Sypha to draw attention from the usual crowd of scholars and self-styled warlocks eager to impress her with their supposedly vaunted knowledge. She accepts dances every time they're solicited, and in the midst of the fun, she hears things, too. One of the crafters she dances with is just bursting with pride in a secret he's been sworn not to tell, but he's too eager to keep it entirely under wraps, either — and so she learns that he's received an overture for a contract of some form or another, something that will put his name on the map, for having worked it.
Curious.
Another, an older vampire who she's been acquainted with a handful of times and who teases her about seeking a bite to drink every time they cross paths, takes a moment to advise her solemnly that the climate is changing, for humans, though in what way, he refuses to say. He mentions in passing that if she finds herself in need of shelter, that he'll accept her under his wing, and it's a remark with a darker implication to it than the usual attempts at stealing her away from Alucard, and she wonders.
Eventually, though, she reunites with Trevor, and this time when they dance she can feel Alucard watching; after awhile, she inclines her head at him, silently inviting him to come and cut in, if he's got a moment to spare and the interest in being seen joining their fun.]
[He catches that gesture. It's...it's probably a good idea, but there's at least one other required discussion he has to have before the rest of the night can be thrown to abandon, and that's when he prefers to be on the dance floor with the two. Besides, there's precious room to move around right now, and this still about being seen. The three can't be the center of attention at the moment.
So he responds with the come over here gesture instead. Tugging his head back twice, letting the two catch just a hint of exhaustion in his eyes. The glass of champagne he picked up about an hour and a half ago is still in hand, barely touched.
[That's a look she definitely recognizes, yes. There's still the matter of finishing out the song, of course, but once it's through Sypha is quick to go click-clacking over to where Alucard is waiting, her every movement a veritable symphony of rhythm to all of the vampires and their supernatural hearing, between the rattle of beads and the swish of fabric and the clip of her heels on the floor.]
Mm, is this for me?
[She says, playfully taking hold of his drink and bringing it up so that she can steal a sip from it.]
And a kiss too, please.
[She tilts her chin, turning her head to the side to give him easy access to the apple of her cheek.]
[Trevor's right behind her. Thank goodness, because it looks like he's starting to get as Sick of This as Alucard is. The three of them, they need a break it seems, and Alucard takes careful note of it.]
All yours.
[He's so happy to let her take the glass. The kiss on Sypha's cheek is given with the first real show of enthusiasm of the night, and Trevor gets one too for the sake of completeness.]
Mm. It's quieter in the house right now.
[Meaning that they have just enough room for a breather.]
[Trevor, unsurprisingly, grumbles at the smooch he is given like the ungrateful thing he is; Sypha does not, because she knows what she wants and how to get it.]
I have heard a few things.
[She remarks, as she raises the glass to her lips, which serves the double purpose of disguising the fact that she's talking.]
We'll have much to talk about when we are home, I think.
[Trevor gives an affirmative nod after Sypha speaks. Because he's heard plenty of things, and that's why this party has been labeled as work instead of just a more normal social outing. Alucard does his very best not to look weary about those words, and he tugs at Sypha's hip gently.]
I know. But I also imagine your feet need a break, and there's comfier seating inside.
[He wants five minutes with just them. That's all this is.]
Mm, I certainly won't say no to getting off my feet. Or being swept off of them.
[She cocks her hip, bumping it playfully against Alucard's hand, but nods and casts around for a flat surface upon which to deposit his former drink. It's never a bad thing to have one in hand while talking in public, for various reasons, but there are still hours left before this party will start to break up, and she doesn't want to consume any more than is strictly necessary.]
[Hand in hand, rather than arm and arm. He wants that warm weight in his palm, and it's easy to slip into their host's house. Midnight is the height of revels, and while the house itself is not without guests, the change in density is noticeable.
There is a drawing room that has no one else at all in it, full of the overly plush sort of sofas that were fashionable a decade ago. Perfect, and Alucard does not sit until the other two do. Sypha needs room to take off her shoes, Trevor's already stretched out, and so Alcard's in the corner until Sypha settles on where she wants to be.
The doors aren't closed, but there is such a blessed softness to the noise. Gentle conversation drifting in. Music muted. And for a glorious moment, just the three of them.]
[They are, in fact, incredibly stupid shoes. Beautiful to look at, finely made, a perfect match for her dress — and she's so utterly glad to be free of them, bending down to unbuckle the straps before nudging her feet free of them one by one. Though it's tempting to just kick them off and leave them anywhere, this is a stranger's house and not their own, so she puts them together neatly and leaves them in front of an end table where she can find them later.
Decisions, decisions. She flexes her feet from the ankles and picks her seat opposite Trevor, so that the natural space for Alucard to join them is in the middle, where she suspects he'll most want to be.]
[There are many other ways to sit with the other two that Alucard prefers. Both of them on either side of Trevor, using his chest as a pillow. Sypha stretched across both their laps, tired and content, himself and Trevor trapped until either Sypha has the sense to get up and move to bed or one of them picks her up and does the job for her. Alucard in wolf form fitting the whole of himself on Trevor, because sometimes Trevor would rather be around a big dog than a person. Being at home between them both is lovely, and he usually melts into it.
In public, he can't, not really. Between them both is the pertinent way to sit, it encourages the fewest rumors, but it doesn't let Alucard melt in their arms. The most he can do is just have them close, arms around both their waists, his head resting on Trevor's shoulder and the certainty Sypha is going to snug up close to them in a way where she might as well just be seated on Alucard's lap.
Better than nothing at all.
He sighs, the noise ambigious. It could be content. It could be weary.
Then he nudges Sypha.]
I believe you could just go without the shoes for the rest of the night. I doubt anyone would care.
You don't think anyone would notice when I am two inches shorter all of a sudden?
[He's not wrong in the slightest, either, about Sypha's plans; she leans into him almost as soon as he's seated, reaching a hand behind his back to try to get even just a slight fold of Trevor's shirt caught in the curl of her fingertips.
Their poor Alucard. He's being worn so thin by this, and yet as close as they are to being through with the evening, it's still not close enough yet. There are still at least two more hours of mingling and posturing to be done, on top of all the efforts he's put in already, and even after that they still need to get home.
Yet again, as she has so many times before in the past few days, she thinks of his father and feels a flare of anger simmering in the pit of her stomach. Abandoning him to this —]
I'll have to stand on the tops of your shoes, if we dance. So my feet won't get bumped or stepped on.
[She rests her cheek against his shoulder, closing her eyes and melting against him.
It lasts all of about five minutes, before a shout goes up from outside.]
This crowd? No. It'll be magic or they'll be to drunk to notice.
[They're both such warm comforts. Trevor far rougher and only barely tolerating any of this, and Alucard always wishes he could display the same contempt. With Sypha, he can let out the rest of his feelings, and the three of them can pile here for stolen minutes. Grabbing onto whatever comfort they can find.
Alucard's practically a puddle when Sypha leans against him as she does. Trevor lets out a low laugh because he can't have two puddles of goo on the sofa and then....
...then they're all on their feet. Trevor declaring that the go bag is in the car and leaping over the sofa to go get it. Alucard grabbing Sypha's hand and hanging on tightly, barely restraining himself from tapping into his vampiric heritage to speed outside.
What he finds is mist. Mist creeping in from the north, mist staying too high afloat. Head leave. There's a moment's sniff, and before Alucard can say anything else, someone at the back of the venue lets out a pained screech of holy water!
Alucard hisses, low and vampiric, and looks around. Improvised weapon time.]
[At first glance, the plot — if it can really be called a plot, she isn't sure — makes an evil sort of sense. A mist of holy water in the air, cast over a gathering of supernatural creatures where anyone who's anyone would be reveling. Of course they made for an easy target, they'd all gotten together into the same place to do it.
It's only afterward that things start making less sense from there. If it is a plot, who gains from it? Why this, why now? And furthermore, how did they get their hands on this much holy water, to even have wrought this at all?
Later. That's a question for later; for now, there's a problem in the air — quite literally — and Trevor is off and running, and Alucard needs her.]
I — yes. At least I can try — I can get most of it, if not all.
[She's not usually so unconfident about her own skills; it's not a facet of a lack of belief in herself, but rather just a sign of how distracted she is, trying to track the mist and how it's flowing.
She's just lifting her hands and starting to focus when something occurs to her.]
I can't freeze it — with the way it's passing over us, it'll get too heavy and fall down right on top of us.
[Which is worse: holy water mist, or holy water ICICLE KNIVES FALLING FROM THE SKY.]
It'll have to be wind. Alucard, I can blow it away, but it will have to go somewhere...
Wind. Blow it to the east, there's nothing on the next lot, no one will be exiting that way, all the cars are parked to the west.
[It's a snap decision. One made with all barely constrained rage because this is a boldness never attempted before. (It would not be tempted if his father was here.)]
I'm going beyond the property line. Do whatever you need, and anyone stupid enough to question you answers to me.
[The only thing Alucard does before launching off into the night is to take a pole that holds up a string of lights and snap it in two over his knee. Improvised weapon. It'll have to do, and even as the mist hovers over the festivities, Alucard cuts his way through it. His is a wolf, low enough to be clear of the mist, the pole in his mouth because that's the only way to carry anything as a wolf.
He is swift. He is certain. And by the time he is at the farthest edge of the party, Trevor is there too. Vampire Killer is in his hand. Trevor is yelling something, using his last name as currency, and they are both off into the treeline.]
[He's already long gone by the time she says it, perhaps even past the range of a wolf's hearing. But still, there's no time for sentimentality, not when she has a party to defend, and lives to preserve.
Step one does prove to be ice, after all, but not of the fog itself. Instead, to the north, she raises a high wall of ice, hoping to barricade off the fog from wherever it's coming from, forcing it to run into the frozen expanse and hopefully condense into liquid again before it has a chance to blow past it.
The rest of it is more difficult, and requires her full and deliberate focus. She spreads her hands wide, eyes focused on the fog, then brings them together with flat hands angled vertically. In the air around them, the fog collapses inward, growing denser and denser albeit in a much smaller area as she compacts it together, trying to shape as much of it as she can into a cube.
It's somewhere around here, as the skies begin to clear, that the denizens of the party start returning, chattering in wonder at their salvation overhead. A few are foolish enough to approach her, babbling some nonsense she can't afford to focus on right now; even so, her control slips slightly from the distraction, and some of the mist escapes, leaving her to curse under her breath and refocus to corral it again.
(She kicks that one in the shins. It's a shame she's not wearing her shoes, she thinks; it would've hurt more.)
But soon enough, she's got as much of it together as she can, and slowly she starts to push it to the east, a swirling cloudy mass of a thing in cube form that leaves her gritting her teeth from the concentration of holding it together, trying to get it far enough away that she can release it without risking it scattering and coming back.]
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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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Curious.
Another, an older vampire who she's been acquainted with a handful of times and who teases her about seeking a bite to drink every time they cross paths, takes a moment to advise her solemnly that the climate is changing, for humans, though in what way, he refuses to say. He mentions in passing that if she finds herself in need of shelter, that he'll accept her under his wing, and it's a remark with a darker implication to it than the usual attempts at stealing her away from Alucard, and she wonders.
Eventually, though, she reunites with Trevor, and this time when they dance she can feel Alucard watching; after awhile, she inclines her head at him, silently inviting him to come and cut in, if he's got a moment to spare and the interest in being seen joining their fun.]
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So he responds with the come over here gesture instead. Tugging his head back twice, letting the two catch just a hint of exhaustion in his eyes. The glass of champagne he picked up about an hour and a half ago is still in hand, barely touched.
It has been a Very Long Night.]
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Mm, is this for me?
[She says, playfully taking hold of his drink and bringing it up so that she can steal a sip from it.]
And a kiss too, please.
[She tilts her chin, turning her head to the side to give him easy access to the apple of her cheek.]
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All yours.
[He's so happy to let her take the glass. The kiss on Sypha's cheek is given with the first real show of enthusiasm of the night, and Trevor gets one too for the sake of completeness.]
Mm. It's quieter in the house right now.
[Meaning that they have just enough room for a breather.]
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I have heard a few things.
[She remarks, as she raises the glass to her lips, which serves the double purpose of disguising the fact that she's talking.]
We'll have much to talk about when we are home, I think.
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I know. But I also imagine your feet need a break, and there's comfier seating inside.
[He wants five minutes with just them. That's all this is.]
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[She cocks her hip, bumping it playfully against Alucard's hand, but nods and casts around for a flat surface upon which to deposit his former drink. It's never a bad thing to have one in hand while talking in public, for various reasons, but there are still hours left before this party will start to break up, and she doesn't want to consume any more than is strictly necessary.]
Lead the way?
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There is a drawing room that has no one else at all in it, full of the overly plush sort of sofas that were fashionable a decade ago. Perfect, and Alucard does not sit until the other two do. Sypha needs room to take off her shoes, Trevor's already stretched out, and so Alcard's in the corner until Sypha settles on where she wants to be.
The doors aren't closed, but there is such a blessed softness to the noise. Gentle conversation drifting in. Music muted. And for a glorious moment, just the three of them.]
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Decisions, decisions. She flexes her feet from the ankles and picks her seat opposite Trevor, so that the natural space for Alucard to join them is in the middle, where she suspects he'll most want to be.]
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In public, he can't, not really. Between them both is the pertinent way to sit, it encourages the fewest rumors, but it doesn't let Alucard melt in their arms. The most he can do is just have them close, arms around both their waists, his head resting on Trevor's shoulder and the certainty Sypha is going to snug up close to them in a way where she might as well just be seated on Alucard's lap.
Better than nothing at all.
He sighs, the noise ambigious. It could be content. It could be weary.
Then he nudges Sypha.]
I believe you could just go without the shoes for the rest of the night. I doubt anyone would care.
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[He's not wrong in the slightest, either, about Sypha's plans; she leans into him almost as soon as he's seated, reaching a hand behind his back to try to get even just a slight fold of Trevor's shirt caught in the curl of her fingertips.
Their poor Alucard. He's being worn so thin by this, and yet as close as they are to being through with the evening, it's still not close enough yet. There are still at least two more hours of mingling and posturing to be done, on top of all the efforts he's put in already, and even after that they still need to get home.
Yet again, as she has so many times before in the past few days, she thinks of his father and feels a flare of anger simmering in the pit of her stomach. Abandoning him to this —]
I'll have to stand on the tops of your shoes, if we dance. So my feet won't get bumped or stepped on.
[She rests her cheek against his shoulder, closing her eyes and melting against him.
It lasts all of about five minutes, before a shout goes up from outside.]
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[They're both such warm comforts. Trevor far rougher and only barely tolerating any of this, and Alucard always wishes he could display the same contempt. With Sypha, he can let out the rest of his feelings, and the three of them can pile here for stolen minutes. Grabbing onto whatever comfort they can find.
Alucard's practically a puddle when Sypha leans against him as she does. Trevor lets out a low laugh because he can't have two puddles of goo on the sofa and then....
...then they're all on their feet. Trevor declaring that the go bag is in the car and leaping over the sofa to go get it. Alucard grabbing Sypha's hand and hanging on tightly, barely restraining himself from tapping into his vampiric heritage to speed outside.
What he finds is mist. Mist creeping in from the north, mist staying too high afloat. Head leave. There's a moment's sniff, and before Alucard can say anything else, someone at the back of the venue lets out a pained screech of holy water!
Alucard hisses, low and vampiric, and looks around. Improvised weapon time.]
Sypha, can you turn all of that away!?
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It's only afterward that things start making less sense from there. If it is a plot, who gains from it? Why this, why now? And furthermore, how did they get their hands on this much holy water, to even have wrought this at all?
Later. That's a question for later; for now, there's a problem in the air — quite literally — and Trevor is off and running, and Alucard needs her.]
I — yes. At least I can try — I can get most of it, if not all.
[She's not usually so unconfident about her own skills; it's not a facet of a lack of belief in herself, but rather just a sign of how distracted she is, trying to track the mist and how it's flowing.
She's just lifting her hands and starting to focus when something occurs to her.]
I can't freeze it — with the way it's passing over us, it'll get too heavy and fall down right on top of us.
[Which is worse: holy water mist, or holy water ICICLE KNIVES FALLING FROM THE SKY.]
It'll have to be wind. Alucard, I can blow it away, but it will have to go somewhere...
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[It's a snap decision. One made with all barely constrained rage because this is a boldness never attempted before. (It would not be tempted if his father was here.)]
I'm going beyond the property line. Do whatever you need, and anyone stupid enough to question you answers to me.
[The only thing Alucard does before launching off into the night is to take a pole that holds up a string of lights and snap it in two over his knee. Improvised weapon. It'll have to do, and even as the mist hovers over the festivities, Alucard cuts his way through it. His is a wolf, low enough to be clear of the mist, the pole in his mouth because that's the only way to carry anything as a wolf.
He is swift. He is certain. And by the time he is at the farthest edge of the party, Trevor is there too. Vampire Killer is in his hand. Trevor is yelling something, using his last name as currency, and they are both off into the treeline.]
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[He's already long gone by the time she says it, perhaps even past the range of a wolf's hearing. But still, there's no time for sentimentality, not when she has a party to defend, and lives to preserve.
Step one does prove to be ice, after all, but not of the fog itself. Instead, to the north, she raises a high wall of ice, hoping to barricade off the fog from wherever it's coming from, forcing it to run into the frozen expanse and hopefully condense into liquid again before it has a chance to blow past it.
The rest of it is more difficult, and requires her full and deliberate focus. She spreads her hands wide, eyes focused on the fog, then brings them together with flat hands angled vertically. In the air around them, the fog collapses inward, growing denser and denser albeit in a much smaller area as she compacts it together, trying to shape as much of it as she can into a cube.
It's somewhere around here, as the skies begin to clear, that the denizens of the party start returning, chattering in wonder at their salvation overhead. A few are foolish enough to approach her, babbling some nonsense she can't afford to focus on right now; even so, her control slips slightly from the distraction, and some of the mist escapes, leaving her to curse under her breath and refocus to corral it again.
(She kicks that one in the shins. It's a shame she's not wearing her shoes, she thinks; it would've hurt more.)
But soon enough, she's got as much of it together as she can, and slowly she starts to push it to the east, a swirling cloudy mass of a thing in cube form that leaves her gritting her teeth from the concentration of holding it together, trying to get it far enough away that she can release it without risking it scattering and coming back.]
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