[Winters aren't cold here, not really. This January is an exception, with the usual weather dipping into the 40s at night. Very cold for the city indeed, and the house is colder without Trevor's presence at the moment. Some of the Church Ladies needed an extra set of hands for a weekend getaway, and that means Alucard and Sypha have been left at the house alone.
There's plenty of fireplaces in the house, even if his father mastered central heating ages ago. It's about the smell and the sound rather than the warmth, and Alucard has not been surprised to find Sypha dozing there on and off all day.
Which is where she is now as well, the night having creeped in after dinner was made and wolfed down. He's not shocked to find Sypha by the fire again.]
[The house always takes on a different character when one of them is missing from it. Sypha assumes that's true for when she's not present in it, also, though of course she would have no experience with it firsthand. But it's different when it's two and not three; when Alucard is absent, things always feel a little reckless and forbidden — playing in a house while its master is away — and when Trevor is gone, things turn lazy and whimsical without his grounding presence to reel them in.
She is, in fact, partly awake when Alucard comes looking for her. Mostly asleep, but conscious enough that when he comes in, she rouses a little and orients on the sound of his voice, even if she doesn't quite manage to get her eyes open yet. It's warm by the fire, but more importantly she likes the flicker of the flames, the way that they move and shift and make the firewood embers glow. It's always easier to think, somehow, when she's watching the fire. It's soothing, but more importantly it seems to spur on her intuition, unlocking flights of fancy that leap from one topic to the next with little to no foundation in between, crashing together thoughts in new and interesting ways that fosters innovation, amidst all the nonsense.
But now: Alucard. Drowsily, she corrals her thoughts and turns them vaguely toward him, finally opening her eyes halfway to focus on the blur of gold and white that is his approach, probably.]
Mmmyes.
[She is practically purring each word, she's so content.]
[Alucard knows that this weekend trip is really to deal with some problems deep in one of the bayous. How the Church Ladies get their information is a carefully guarded secret, one that he never pries into. Nor has his father attempted to, so far as Alucard can tell. It just means the house is without Trevor and the bed feels a little too big.
Sypha's going to be down for the count at this point, and for a moment, he debates just scooping her up in his arms and carrying her to bed. Her hair's catching the light in all the right places though, she's spread out so beautifully, she looks so happy.
He's going to linger and watch. Just for a few moments.]
[She is comfortable, now that he mentions it. So very comfortable, and warm, and the kind of sleepy where the positioning of her limbs doesn't really seem to matter much because of how pleasantly boneless she feels, such that when she rolls over a little to try and look at him better, one of her arms and one of her legs end up at half-odd angles just because she sort of forgot to move them along with the rest of her, and she's not conscious enough to reposition herself into a configuration that makes sense.]
M'thinking.
[And then she goes silent, though she probably doesn't mean to; she's thinking all of the things she's thinking that she means to tell him, but she's forgotten that for him to appreciate them, they need to actually come out of her mouth.
Well, anyway. Regardless. He's standing, and he's watching her, and she remembers vaguely that she's on the sofa, and she puts two and two together in a logical way, even if factually it doesn't quite hold up.]
Mmmmmmmm. M'in the way.
[Because naturally he wants to sit. And he can't. Because she is here, in the way.]
[Oh, this is too much. She's asleep for all intents and purposes, lured there by the sound and warmth of fire and the sofa's comfort. Alucard's seen Sypha like this plenty of times before, but usually the reasons are much more intimate than just a fire in the fireplace.
It's also too much to watch Sypha try and sit up. Alucard shakes his head, and rather than make Sypha do the work, he puts his arms under her knees and back and scoops her up instead. Just long enough to get her clear. Then he spins himself around, sits down on the sofa properly, and lays Sypha across his lap.]
[It's also curious, because by virtue of that lift-and-spin move, Sypha has ended up rotated a hundred and eighty degrees from the direction she'd previously been, which is new and interesting and just slightly beyond her to properly appreciate at the moment. The fire used to be one way and now it's the other; she can still track it from its glow and its warmth, but it really shouldn't just move around like that when she's trying to watch it, because it makes it difficult to follow.
His arms are still supporting her, she observes, and so almost thoughtfully she finds control of one hand and lifts it until she's fairly certain the fingers are resting against his arm somewhere near the elbow, then painstakingly begins to follow it up toward his shoulder like a garden path because she's reasonably confident she'll find Alucard at the end of it.]
[Not now. Not for warmth of the fire, although that is a factor, but for the way that Sypha's hand travels up his arm. The way it finds his shoulder. He watches it all so very carefully, reveling in it.
Today, somehow, has been quiet. The week has been. It is as if the cold snap has settled everyone and encouraged them to take more than five seconds to calm down. It's almost as if his father was back in the city and order was properly returned. If this is a taste of what his life would be like with the three of them and no other responsibilities, then Alucard intends to hold fast and cling as long as he can.]
[Breaking contact with him for only a moment, she lightly flails her arm in the vague direction of where she thinks the fire is and curls her fingers into a grasping motion, sweeping it back in a clumsy and scattered pulling motion. It's the right sort of movement, recognizably so, but with absolutely no focused intent behind it, there's no magic — just a shift of the arm.
Which is probably a very good thing, so that she's not pulling fire around and throwing it places in her sleep.
When her arm comes back again, it lightly thunks against his chest instead of his shoulder, and she frowns a little while she feels around, making sleepy appraisal of the body beneath her fingers until she sort of figures out what it is she's touching.]
[It’s good that Sypha’s intent is waylaid by exhaustion. Alucard can’t imagine that her trying to really do magic while mostly asleep would end well. The only thing that can end well is how they’re piled together right now, Sypha all soft and warm and his own body trying to catch up. (He’s got the slippers on, which helps. Everything else is PJs and the bathrobe.]
You did. Thank you.
[He’s happy like this. Sypha’s hand on his chest (vampire tiddies aren’t Belmont ones, admittedly) is the last piece of perfection for the scene.]
[She is nothing if not helpful and eager to please, even mostly asleep. Her hand slips down a little, more just from being drawn by gravity and a lack of concentration on keeping it aloft, until finally it settles and she's back to drowsing, punctuated only by the occasional jaw-cracking yawn.]
Mmm. I was thinking.
[She's also forgotten she said that already, a minute or two ago. Maybe this time she'll remember to elaborate aloud, instead of in her head.]
You need to bird.
[...Well, she made it halfway. That last bit is just incomprehensible dream gibberish.]
[They should get to bed. Sypha's made that clear. But all her funny half-asleep talk is too endearing to not listen to, so Alucard delays it.
He loves holding onto her like this. She's warm, so warm, so gentle in these moments. It's his favorite thing about her. About both of them. They're harder than diamonds with the world. The hands that hold onto him now have done such feats. Trevor's too, but Trevor's hands are always rougher, they have more callouses. It's harder to forget with him. But here, with him, in these moments, there is only softness.
One day, perhaps, his father will return. Alucard will retreat from the world, have his reputation be nothing more than a fop of a princeling, living off his father's work by rutting with a Speaker and a hunter, engaging with the world so minimally that he ought not to be counted as a presence among Society. A dream. Impossible.
Except for these moments when it feels entirely possible. He smiles down at Sypha in his arms, and he kisses the top of her head. Breathes out a single word.]
Hearthfire.
[Because that's what Sypha and Trevor represent. Home. Home in all the ways that matter. He isn't the kind of man to revel in petnames. There are a million darlings and sweethearts, and it's patronizing besides. The world does enough of that to them. But he can murmur a few honest associations now and again.]
[That rouses her, a little. It's not enough to pull her back from the sticky strands of dreaming that have been wrapping around her like a web, but the word catches at her like a hook, less because of what it is in and of itself and more because of how he says it. Even half-asleep, even halfway to senseless, there's a part of Sypha that is resonant with Alucard, that knows to pay attention when it hears that rare tone of voice.]
...Where?
[She thinks that's the right answer, maybe. There's a fire somewhere. She lost track of it a while ago, or maybe it was only a minute ago, but it's there somewhere.
She blinks once, twice, with heavy lashes and eyelids that can barely stay open, and tilts her chin up just a little to try to find his face. Her gaze is unfocused and soft with sleep, but after a moment she seems to find him, and it registers that he's smiling.]
[He said that out loud didn't he? The embarrassment doesn't really show on his face for once, and he shifts just enough so he can stand with Sypha in his arms. He'll come back and put the fire out once she's in bed.]
Let's get you under the blankets.
[There's endless adoration on his face. No attempt to hide it. It radiates off him, ripping outwards.]
[She curls inward when he lifts her, snuggling up close against his chest as her fingers curl into the soft material of his robe. Presumably the way she compacts makes it easier to carry her, but it's also about as close to midair cuddling as it's possible to get.
About fifteen seconds pass before it occurs to her that she's forgotten a vital addendum, and she sleepily adds: ]
And Trevor.
[...Wait. That seems wrong. There's only two and that's not right, and she needs to fix it.]
[Very perfect. Alucard's laugh is more like a whisper on the breeze at those declarations, but the sound is there and he can do nothing more than whisk her off to their bed to ensure she's comfy and snug and can rest far more comfortably than she ever would on the couch.
(He leaves her there alone for a few minutes. Just enough time to see to the fire. Then he is in bed, both arms around her, pulling her nearly atop him, and resting.)
An early night. A late morning, because the world is cold and quiet still, and while snow does not happen so far south, the feeling of it can take hold from time to time. The sense that there is a warm blanket muting the world.
He isn't up until ten in the morning. Alucard stirs only slightly, eyes going to the clock that rests on one of the nightstands that flank the bed. There's a soft sigh, then he looks to see if Sypha's awakened before him.]
[Very rarely is Sypha ever up before Alucard is, and today is no exception. Granted, she'd woken up before he had, probably owing to the fact that she'd been dozing already before he'd put her to bed, and thus ran the necessary length of her sleep cycle before him. But in the course of the night they've shifted around, just from natural moving and rearranging, such that she's on her side facing him, trapped snugly between the wall and his body, like a barrier between her and the rest of the room.
She's still half-dozing herself, or at least lounging around in bed, but she's managed to find herself a loose section of his hair and has been methodically working tiny braids into it while he slept, each a slightly different weave — some three strands, some four, this one a herringbone, that one a rope, and all left unfinished at the ends, at risk of unraveling with the slightest jostling.]
[Alucard's voice is thick and very much struggling to the concept of being awake. It takes a few moments for him to even register how they've shifted over the night (the patterns are very different from when Trevor is home).
His hair's heavier than normal. Strange.]
Comfy?
[Because he can feel fingers in his hair, and that means Sypha is at a truly weird angle or she's found a nice way to do this and lounge at the same time.]
[Rather than bat the braid away, Alucard does nothing more than wiggle his nose. The braid slips out of place, falling to hang where it ought to. There's no move to undo it, but there is a move for Alucard to turn over onto his side.]
I did. You were barely awake on the sofa, and there was no point in letting you rest there. Your back would be very unhappy now.
[He is much comfier now. Lounging is best done like this: too many pillows to support his head. Side lounge. One arm under all of the pillows, and his free hand creeping to Sypha's side.]
[She laughs at the face he makes, reaching just enough to tug lightly on the strand of braid he's just repositioned. Then that in itself gives her an idea, and she picks up three of the braids she's already done and absently starts to weave them together in their turn.]
Let's see...I remember I was watching the fire, and thinking.
[That's a good start. She hums, as she continues to sift through her drowsy recollection of the previous night.]
You came in. I remember you seemed...so happy.
[Hmm. Her brow furrows, as she ponders a little more.]
[Too many, clearly. Alucard can't believe he slept through that much hairbraiding. He's impressed in a way, Sypha's touches have become defter over time. That or he needed more sleep than he thought, which is possible.
He listens though. Is quiet and then....very blushed, for his definition of it.]
Nearly this whole side. If I'd had some beads, I would have strung them on as well. Did you know in some cultures, important life events are commemorated by carved beads threaded onto braided strands of hair?
[She finishes off her plait, then gives that a tug for good measure.]
...I wonder if I dreamed it, then. Heartfire...
[Denying it may prove even worse than admitting to it, because now she's going to SOLVE THIS MYSTERY.]
...Hearth fire? Hmm. It sounds like a spell, or —
[Wait a minute.]
What do you mean, it's nothing? Then you do know what it is!
[The question is gentle, and if anything, Alucard's impressed. Sypha's fingers work fast, which he knows from other experiences anyway, but it's always worth marveling at talent, as well as enjoying it. There's a shift, a slight one, as Alucard gets comfortable.]
How big are the beads then? I can see people working at a small scale, but only just so.
[He'll have to undo the braids later. For now, they stay. Stay and watch Sypha solve a pointless mystery.]
Long enough. I tried to go very carefully, so that I would not disturb you.
[And she's clearly proud to have succeeded, even if god forbid he see himself in a mirror right now, with half his hair loose and the other half this braided monstrosity.
She raises a hand, though, making a circle with her thumb and forefinger about the size of a cherry or small grape.]
About this big. The carving is very delicate, and the material has to be lightweight so as not to weigh the hair down too much.
[...But.]
You realize I will sit on you and extract a confession, don't you?
[Maybe he'll shower first this morning. And make up for getting rid of all the braids by asking Sypha to brush his hair.]
I see. And it's all done with delicate tools as well, I imagine, otherwise the material would break. I'm sure the practice is ancient and...
[On one hand: oh no, don't throw him into the briar patch. On the other: this is a pretty dumb thing to be getting into briar patches about in the first place. So confession it is, soft and embarrassed.]
There's precious little I dislike more than patronizing names for you both. But that is, I suppose, how I see you at times like last night. It simply is not something I voice.
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There's plenty of fireplaces in the house, even if his father mastered central heating ages ago. It's about the smell and the sound rather than the warmth, and Alucard has not been surprised to find Sypha dozing there on and off all day.
Which is where she is now as well, the night having creeped in after dinner was made and wolfed down. He's not shocked to find Sypha by the fire again.]
...Are you awake?
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She is, in fact, partly awake when Alucard comes looking for her. Mostly asleep, but conscious enough that when he comes in, she rouses a little and orients on the sound of his voice, even if she doesn't quite manage to get her eyes open yet. It's warm by the fire, but more importantly she likes the flicker of the flames, the way that they move and shift and make the firewood embers glow. It's always easier to think, somehow, when she's watching the fire. It's soothing, but more importantly it seems to spur on her intuition, unlocking flights of fancy that leap from one topic to the next with little to no foundation in between, crashing together thoughts in new and interesting ways that fosters innovation, amidst all the nonsense.
But now: Alucard. Drowsily, she corrals her thoughts and turns them vaguely toward him, finally opening her eyes halfway to focus on the blur of gold and white that is his approach, probably.]
Mmmyes.
[She is practically purring each word, she's so content.]
Hello.
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Sypha's going to be down for the count at this point, and for a moment, he debates just scooping her up in his arms and carrying her to bed. Her hair's catching the light in all the right places though, she's spread out so beautifully, she looks so happy.
He's going to linger and watch. Just for a few moments.]
I've never seen you more comfortable.
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M'thinking.
[And then she goes silent, though she probably doesn't mean to; she's thinking all of the things she's thinking that she means to tell him, but she's forgotten that for him to appreciate them, they need to actually come out of her mouth.
Well, anyway. Regardless. He's standing, and he's watching her, and she remembers vaguely that she's on the sofa, and she puts two and two together in a logical way, even if factually it doesn't quite hold up.]
Mmmmmmmm. M'in the way.
[Because naturally he wants to sit. And he can't. Because she is here, in the way.]
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It's also too much to watch Sypha try and sit up. Alucard shakes his head, and rather than make Sypha do the work, he puts his arms under her knees and back and scoops her up instead. Just long enough to get her clear. Then he spins himself around, sits down on the sofa properly, and lays Sypha across his lap.]
Perish the thought.
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[It's also curious, because by virtue of that lift-and-spin move, Sypha has ended up rotated a hundred and eighty degrees from the direction she'd previously been, which is new and interesting and just slightly beyond her to properly appreciate at the moment. The fire used to be one way and now it's the other; she can still track it from its glow and its warmth, but it really shouldn't just move around like that when she's trying to watch it, because it makes it difficult to follow.
His arms are still supporting her, she observes, and so almost thoughtfully she finds control of one hand and lifts it until she's fairly certain the fingers are resting against his arm somewhere near the elbow, then painstakingly begins to follow it up toward his shoulder like a garden path because she's reasonably confident she'll find Alucard at the end of it.]
Are you cold?
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[Not now. Not for warmth of the fire, although that is a factor, but for the way that Sypha's hand travels up his arm. The way it finds his shoulder. He watches it all so very carefully, reveling in it.
Today, somehow, has been quiet. The week has been. It is as if the cold snap has settled everyone and encouraged them to take more than five seconds to calm down. It's almost as if his father was back in the city and order was properly returned. If this is a taste of what his life would be like with the three of them and no other responsibilities, then Alucard intends to hold fast and cling as long as he can.]
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[Breaking contact with him for only a moment, she lightly flails her arm in the vague direction of where she thinks the fire is and curls her fingers into a grasping motion, sweeping it back in a clumsy and scattered pulling motion. It's the right sort of movement, recognizably so, but with absolutely no focused intent behind it, there's no magic — just a shift of the arm.
Which is probably a very good thing, so that she's not pulling fire around and throwing it places in her sleep.
When her arm comes back again, it lightly thunks against his chest instead of his shoulder, and she frowns a little while she feels around, making sleepy appraisal of the body beneath her fingers until she sort of figures out what it is she's touching.]
I helped.
[She pronounces, tentative but satisfied.]
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You did. Thank you.
[He’s happy like this. Sypha’s hand on his chest (vampire tiddies aren’t Belmont ones, admittedly) is the last piece of perfection for the scene.]
Go to sleep. You’re nearly there already.
[Not that he’s moving either of them yet.]
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[She is nothing if not helpful and eager to please, even mostly asleep. Her hand slips down a little, more just from being drawn by gravity and a lack of concentration on keeping it aloft, until finally it settles and she's back to drowsing, punctuated only by the occasional jaw-cracking yawn.]
Mmm. I was thinking.
[She's also forgotten she said that already, a minute or two ago. Maybe this time she'll remember to elaborate aloud, instead of in her head.]
You need to bird.
[...Well, she made it halfway. That last bit is just incomprehensible dream gibberish.]
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He loves holding onto her like this. She's warm, so warm, so gentle in these moments. It's his favorite thing about her. About both of them. They're harder than diamonds with the world. The hands that hold onto him now have done such feats. Trevor's too, but Trevor's hands are always rougher, they have more callouses. It's harder to forget with him. But here, with him, in these moments, there is only softness.
One day, perhaps, his father will return. Alucard will retreat from the world, have his reputation be nothing more than a fop of a princeling, living off his father's work by rutting with a Speaker and a hunter, engaging with the world so minimally that he ought not to be counted as a presence among Society. A dream. Impossible.
Except for these moments when it feels entirely possible. He smiles down at Sypha in his arms, and he kisses the top of her head. Breathes out a single word.]
Hearthfire.
[Because that's what Sypha and Trevor represent. Home. Home in all the ways that matter. He isn't the kind of man to revel in petnames. There are a million darlings and sweethearts, and it's patronizing besides. The world does enough of that to them. But he can murmur a few honest associations now and again.]
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...Where?
[She thinks that's the right answer, maybe. There's a fire somewhere. She lost track of it a while ago, or maybe it was only a minute ago, but it's there somewhere.
She blinks once, twice, with heavy lashes and eyelids that can barely stay open, and tilts her chin up just a little to try to find his face. Her gaze is unfocused and soft with sleep, but after a moment she seems to find him, and it registers that he's smiling.]
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[He said that out loud didn't he? The embarrassment doesn't really show on his face for once, and he shifts just enough so he can stand with Sypha in his arms. He'll come back and put the fire out once she's in bed.]
Let's get you under the blankets.
[There's endless adoration on his face. No attempt to hide it. It radiates off him, ripping outwards.]
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[She curls inward when he lifts her, snuggling up close against his chest as her fingers curl into the soft material of his robe. Presumably the way she compacts makes it easier to carry her, but it's also about as close to midair cuddling as it's possible to get.
About fifteen seconds pass before it occurs to her that she's forgotten a vital addendum, and she sleepily adds: ]
And Trevor.
[...Wait. That seems wrong. There's only two and that's not right, and she needs to fix it.]
And me.
[Perfect.]
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(He leaves her there alone for a few minutes. Just enough time to see to the fire. Then he is in bed, both arms around her, pulling her nearly atop him, and resting.)
An early night. A late morning, because the world is cold and quiet still, and while snow does not happen so far south, the feeling of it can take hold from time to time. The sense that there is a warm blanket muting the world.
He isn't up until ten in the morning. Alucard stirs only slightly, eyes going to the clock that rests on one of the nightstands that flank the bed. There's a soft sigh, then he looks to see if Sypha's awakened before him.]
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She's still half-dozing herself, or at least lounging around in bed, but she's managed to find herself a loose section of his hair and has been methodically working tiny braids into it while he slept, each a slightly different weave — some three strands, some four, this one a herringbone, that one a rope, and all left unfinished at the ends, at risk of unraveling with the slightest jostling.]
Good morning, sleepyhead.
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[Alucard's voice is thick and very much struggling to the concept of being awake. It takes a few moments for him to even register how they've shifted over the night (the patterns are very different from when Trevor is home).
His hair's heavier than normal. Strange.]
Comfy?
[Because he can feel fingers in his hair, and that means Sypha is at a truly weird angle or she's found a nice way to do this and lounge at the same time.]
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[She finishes off another braid, this one another herringbone, and lightly tosses it so that it falls across his face up near the bridge of his nose.]
It's funny. I do not remember falling asleep in bed, and yet here I am. Did you perhaps have something to do with that?
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I did. You were barely awake on the sofa, and there was no point in letting you rest there. Your back would be very unhappy now.
[He is much comfier now. Lounging is best done like this: too many pillows to support his head. Side lounge. One arm under all of the pillows, and his free hand creeping to Sypha's side.]
What is the last thing you remember?
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Let's see...I remember I was watching the fire, and thinking.
[That's a good start. She hums, as she continues to sift through her drowsy recollection of the previous night.]
You came in. I remember you seemed...so happy.
[Hmm. Her brow furrows, as she ponders a little more.]
...What is 'heartfire'?
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[Too many, clearly. Alucard can't believe he slept through that much hairbraiding. He's impressed in a way, Sypha's touches have become defter over time. That or he needed more sleep than he thought, which is possible.
He listens though. Is quiet and then....very blushed, for his definition of it.]
It's nothing.
[HE'S A LIAR.]
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[She finishes off her plait, then gives that a tug for good measure.]
...I wonder if I dreamed it, then. Heartfire...
[Denying it may prove even worse than admitting to it, because now she's going to SOLVE THIS MYSTERY.]
...Hearth fire? Hmm. It sounds like a spell, or —
[Wait a minute.]
What do you mean, it's nothing? Then you do know what it is!
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[The question is gentle, and if anything, Alucard's impressed. Sypha's fingers work fast, which he knows from other experiences anyway, but it's always worth marveling at talent, as well as enjoying it. There's a shift, a slight one, as Alucard gets comfortable.]
How big are the beads then? I can see people working at a small scale, but only just so.
[He'll have to undo the braids later. For now, they stay. Stay and watch Sypha solve a pointless mystery.]
I've no idea what you're talking about.
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[And she's clearly proud to have succeeded, even if god forbid he see himself in a mirror right now, with half his hair loose and the other half this braided monstrosity.
She raises a hand, though, making a circle with her thumb and forefinger about the size of a cherry or small grape.]
About this big. The carving is very delicate, and the material has to be lightweight so as not to weigh the hair down too much.
[...But.]
You realize I will sit on you and extract a confession, don't you?
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[Maybe he'll shower first this morning. And make up for getting rid of all the braids by asking Sypha to brush his hair.]
I see. And it's all done with delicate tools as well, I imagine, otherwise the material would break. I'm sure the practice is ancient and...
[On one hand: oh no, don't throw him into the briar patch. On the other: this is a pretty dumb thing to be getting into briar patches about in the first place. So confession it is, soft and embarrassed.]
There's precious little I dislike more than patronizing names for you both. But that is, I suppose, how I see you at times like last night. It simply is not something I voice.
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