[Alucard never invites people to his house, she notices. No one, that is, except her.
For months now, there has been a tension in the air — as though the whole lot of vampires that reside here in this city and its surrounding areas are all collectively holding their breath, which is a funny thought given vampires and their lack of a need to breathe in the first place. But it's there, and she can feel it, and she's not even a vampire herself. She's only the ward of one, kept carefully behind closed doors, spirited to the mundane parts of the city whenever she has a need to get out, and always shielded from the supernatural half as thoroughly as can be managed.
At first, she'd thought that was for her own benefit. More and more, she's started to wonder if it isn't just as much for Alucard's, in its own way.
But then some unknown clock had struck, or some thread of tension had snapped, or some decision had been made. Someone had determined that the city needed to stop holding its breath, and breathe again. Alucard had perceived the opportunity for what it was, and saw in it both the potential for danger, and a risky chance that he would never have cause to seize again.
He often tells her what she needs to know, about the vampire politics, but always only what she needs to know. So she knows the ones who will leave her alone, and the ones to stay away from. She knows where she can walk and where she must avoid. She knows everyone is waiting for Dracula. She knows that Alucard has no idea where he is.
But tonight, one way or another, the business of the city will resume. The gears will turn, the politics will set again in motion. And if they do, while a vacuum of power still exists, then sooner or later that vacuum will be exposed, and there will be chaos as all manner of vampires rush to fill it.
So. Alucard has come up with a different solution. A riskier one, but a better one altogether.
And tonight, she is to be a part of it. No more hiding, no more sneaking. Tonight, they will see her for what she is, too, and that prospect would be daunting were it not for the fact that Alucard will be at her side, always, to keep her safe.]
That's in effect, what he is. No one has breathed the word, no one has thought of bestowing any titles upon him just as they never have his father, but the word is known all the same. It has been six months since Lisa Tepes was murdered. It has been six months since Dracula fled the city. The assumption of a swift return is well and truly dashed, and there is a need for the reins to be taken up. As stable as the city is, as well protected it is, there is a need. So the crown passes. Because what is Vlad Dracula Tepes if not the closest thing to vampire royalty?
He had a plan, before all of this. He'd bullshit his way through a PhD and see to it that the world could have the technology that was common in the Tepes home. Share it. Make it so that great advances in the world could come through science applied for good, not through means of war. Alucard had talked about that plan with his parents. They both approved, and never could he had hoped for any greater blessing upon an endeavor.
Instead he is here. Gloved hand in Sypha's, weeds for a corsage. Black suit and suit, black coat, precious color to him save for the dark blood red that marks him out for his new position. He is in mourning. Yet he is here.
This is coronation and not. There is to be no explicit acknowledgement of the change. There is only the quiet permission given for Alucard to walk into the festivities armed. His sword hangs at his side because that is his privilege. All planning has gone into Theodora's hands, because she is the only person with a yard and home big enough for not only the entire vampire community, but the whole supernatural community to fit in. (She bought the land so cheap when the French were here darling.)
To bring Sypha along is selfish. It is to put her at risk to all kinds of machinations, because she is a Speaker and she is a mage in her own right, but her hand is in his. That scares him as much as taking on his father's mantle.]
I don't know when we'll be able to return home tonight.
[They've crossed the threshold of the house, but are yet to enter the backyard and the party itself. Theodora's marked out a sideroom for them both, because this entrance needs to be timed.]
[She is, in some fashion, as much of an accessory to Alucard tonight as his sword is. This may be her presentation to vampire society, but this night is about him, and so it simply must be that all things revolve around him, be perceived in relation to him. It's the reason her shirt is blood red instead of white; it's the reason the same color shapes her lips when normally she would never wear lipstick so bold. It's the reason the buttons down the front of her vest are black pearl, and the ones on her coat are inlaid with the same. It's the reason her pinstripes are silver like the sword that hangs at his side. It's the reason she's in black like he is too, and there are no flowers to be found anywhere on her.
Tonight, she understands, more than ever, she is his. She is always his, but tonight she is His, and she understands why.
She understands, too, that beneath the impeccable exterior still lies a young man grieving for his mother and shattered by the abandonment of his father. Beneath his shirt there still lies the scar that she was invited in to his home to treat.]
I slept all morning, into the afternoon. And I had coffee before we came, so I think I will be all right until the sun comes up.
[She turns toward him, reaching up to fuss with his lapels, with his hair. She can't kiss him without marring her lipstick, and that's agony, too.]
I'll sneak into the kitchen and make more if you need it.
[Because tonight they have to stay until first light. (Unlike every vampire here, he can stay beyond first light if he must.) That is hardly the worst of it, but it factors into so much. The worst of it, beyond the fact that this is required in the first place, is that Sypha doesn't get to walk into the room as no one more than herself. This is posturing, this is politics, this is stuff neither of his parents were strictly required to do because of his father's long, long shadow. He need only reside in the city, and everything came to heel.
He makes the comparisons first and tries to live with them because everyone else will do the same thing. If he can beat the to the thought, then he can move around them. Make sure he is nothing more than a seatwarmer until his father returns. This cannot be a lifetime appointment.
He'd rather Sypha in all the blues that look so lovely with her eyes. Red is..it is not terrible, but it also isn't her. He sighs heavily, knowing that no one else is in the room. She can hear how full of dread he is, hear it as he tucks a stray piece of her hair back into place.]
Would it help to sneak off together...? To pretend that you...
[She hesitates, watching him, and absently touches the ribbon tie that keeps her collar clasped closed at her throat. It sits high on her neck, and that's not a coincidence. Obscuring her throat means the collected vampires won't have the pleasure of getting an eyeful, while she mingles. It also means none of them can see what's there beneath the fabric — or what isn't.]
I don't know if that would be...expected. Or if it would help? But I can pretend, if it would help.
This is about as much artifice as I can stand at the moment. If we need coffee, we just go get what we need.
[It is all artifice. What they both wear, how they have to move tonight, what thin polite things Alucard must say when barely felt condolences are offered. (A handful of vampires actually meant them at the wake. Everything else was politic. He and his father both knew it, and he and his father both barely contained their contempt for every lie uttered.)
Only a few more minutes now. They'll kiss when this is done. All he can do is rest his forehead on Sypha's shoulder.]
...I don't know what I am supposed to be tonight, Alucard. What role I play in the story we're telling.
[She's careful, when she reaches to stroke his hair, that she doesn't muss it or let even a single perfectly-arranged lock go out of place. But her bare fingers sink into his mane, rest against the back of his head, and cradle the nape of his neck — what small comfort she can offer him, as they stand on the precipice of terror.]
Am I your pet, your...food? Your healer? Your witch? I don't know...which of these things, what would be of the most use...
[He wants to be at home. At home in bed being held like this, and at least he can wrap both arms around her like he would if they were anywhere else. He can breath in her scent (six months without a nomad's life and she still smells like the road, like the wilds, not like the city at all), he can find some tiny thing to cling to for the rest of the night.]
You are yourself. I won't accept anything else. Nor will I accept anyone seeing you as anything but yourself. Everything else is...it is slight of hand. Enough to disorient, enough to confuse, enough to be armor should anyone's understanding be unclear.
[Sleight of hand. She can do sleight of hand, she can do stage theatrics. She knows how to disorient, and more importantly she knows how to make everyone look where she wants them to look, so that they won't see what she's really doing with her other hand all along.
She scratches her nails lightly along his scalp, seeking to comfort, desperate to offer some small measure of sanctuary to him before this night properly begins.]
...I am, though.
[She corrects him softly, as her hand stills.]
Because you are being used, too, aren't you? We both are. By this — all of this. The spectacle. The hierarchy. We are being fed to it, the both of us.
[He whispers it for the confession it is. Even as the nails in his scalp calm him. Center him. Pull him out of his head, just as he is about to apologize for dragging her in so deep.]
[She angles her head just so, carefully, so that she can nudge her nose against his hair, with her lips curled in against the possibility of the strands sticking unpleasantly to the color painting them.]
Be strong, for as long as you can. And when you can be strong no longer, then trust that I will be there to be strong in your place.
[There's such warm air against his skin. It nearly makes him relax. The fleeting moment of it, his heart getting pushed back to where it ought to be instead of in his throat, it means the world.]
I am in your hands.
[What more of a leap of faith can he take? It is at that moment there's a polite knock on the door, Theodora calling Adrian, Miss Sypha, now would be the time.
He straightens up slowly. Reaches over to kiss Sypha's forehead, because that won't show on either of them, then nods. When he steps out of the door, he must be that same ice cold well she met and remarked upon so many months ago.
Speaking of hands. He takes her left hand in his right, and squeezes it gently.]
[It's such a silly thing to remark on — a last fleeting moment of panicked stage fright before her first steps into the footlights.]
Do I — need...gloves?
[It would be too late now to acquire them anyway, even if she did, but this is a last cleansing of nervousness and apprehension, setting it free from her body in the last moments she has of solitude so that it can't weigh her down when the performance begins.]
[Over the cliff they walk. Out the side room, through the open doors that lead onto a grand balcony, and overlooking the whole of the yard that seems to stretch on forever. It is a more formal affair, long banqueting tables with white linen cloths, tablesettings with too many forks and a namecard for each. Fae lights and electric ones combined illuminating the whole of the place, the fae lights closer to fireflights with a greater power. Their colors change as they flicker.
Alucard does not flinch as he feels eyes find him. There is no record scratch moment where the festivities stop, but he can see turned heads. The whole city is watching, and that's no exaggeration. Vampires are always drawn to these things, but he can see some of the covens that live in the area. Independent practitioners. The fainter images of some of the ghosts that are not tied down. The demons who live with human hosts and find pleasure in these affairs. All others who are impacted by Dracula's departure and now are his wards.
He takes the responsibility seriously. Stability until his father returns. Then he can get on with his life as it ought to be.
Alucard's eyes go to Sypha. To check in, if only for a moment.]
[Be yourself, he'd told her. They should see you as yourself. And with each step they take as they leave their side room and walk forward toward destiny, she feels a little more of her apprehensions melting away — not because she's any less anxious about what waits for them when they step into the moonlight, but because this is how it always is when one walks onto a stage. Fears and doubts melt away to be left behind the curtains, and ahead there is only the performance, only the actor and her wits and the moment.
They step onto the balcony, her left hand in his right. Alucard is tall next to her, and stable, and solemn, and cold.
But she is herself, and in that first moment, taken as she is with the sight of the fae lights and the whole of the city sprawled out below her, an impulse possesses her that she can't hope to restrain —
And won't, because they should see her as herself.
So she raises her free hand, rising up and bending at the elbow to bring the fingertips to touch against her lips for a kiss, and as she sweeps it out again in an arc, it's not an invisible kiss that's blown but a thousand tiny embers of flame, shed across the expanse of the party below like a meteor shower, each one lighting up the darkness for the barest hint of a moment before burning out and settling back again into night.
She doesn't do it for the attention, but it certainly garners it. So, let them see her: the whimsy of the witch, and the solemnity of the vampire, regent and consort looking out over their kingdom and its subjects.]
[Any day Alucard gets accused of being overdramatic shall be responded to with a reminder of this moment. It is so very dramatic and it feels so very right for the moment. It is fire, and everyone assembled knows Alucard's feelings about fire. He's addressed the problem, it seems.
His hand remains latched to hers, fingers laced together. He squeezes for just a moment, cool leather against her warmth. That was wonderful.
That was beginning the party in full. There is a change in the band's tempo, brighter than the soft evening music of before. Invitation to begin dancing. Invitation to begin indulgence. Invitation to all those night things who must obey such sacred concepts.
And for many, it also is an invitation to begin to speak with Alucard. Coldness, in these moments, serve him well. He is able to speak of stability with such certainty, of his father's return with such confidence, that any who seem to have doubt go away with fewer concerns than before. (It shall not last.) He is able to listen to more personal plights (slight things most of the days, and a few concerns with the Church Ladies which he can easily talk out) without betraying too much sympathy that he'd have otherwise.
It's boring. It's tedious. And at a certain break he nudges Sypha softly.]
You're not compelled to linger here if you want to explore. Look for myself or our host when you must.
[It's easier to breathe once things get properly under way. She still stays by his side, still keeps hold of his hand for as long as he can afford to grant it to her, but it's apparent that the people who approach them are coming to pay respects to Alucard specifically, with herself being spared only a passing glance, if she even warrants acknowledgement to begin with at all.
It drags on, and she eavesdrops, and much of it doesn't make sense. She watches their faces instead, trying to make a game of which ones are lying and which ones are telling the truth, based on the slight tells in their features. Perhaps she'll ask Alucard about them later. She attends to the refreshments, the drinks, the little details. She'll need to master all of them as quickly as possible, for her to fit in here. Alucard can shelter her tonight, but he won't be able to forever.
But then, eventually, a lull comes, and he nudges her.]
Are you sure you can do without me?
[It sounds like a tease, which is good, because it hides the genuine concern inherent in the question. She does want to look around more than she's been able to at his side, but it's not for the sake of appearances that she's been staying close. Leaving him isn't even a consideration, unless he's going to be all right.]
[Every single one who ignores Sypha gets an annoyed glance. This is one of the many reasons Alucard didn't want to drag Sypha into this world, and the rudeness towards mortals was one of them. A few have the grace to look cowed by his disapproval. The rest don't care, and he bites down that ire like he's not a twenty something about to explode from the evening's pressure.
He hates that Sypha's relegated to detail work. It isn't fair. It's hardly right. How many Speakers stay in a city? What more could she tell them? But no. Not a single question her way.
There's something happening inside. Alucard catches a scent of it, and Sypha's question is well timed.]
I shall survive fifteen minutes and not a moment more.
[There's more vampire specific refreshments about to come, and there's a point he's been proud of around her. She's never witnessed him take this nutrition.]
So much trouble I could get up to in fifteen minutes...
[But she steps just slightly away from his side, a little forward and a half-pivot, so that she's more facing him than she is standing next to him. It's partly so that she can see his face but mostly so that no one else can come and take this place as the focal point of his attention from her until she's done. Not that she thinks he would let them, but still. Social grace.]
I'm going to go look at the spells they're using to light the perimeter of the garden. They seem very cleverly done! Certainly I could spend fifteen minutes alone just looking at that, so I expect that is where you will find me.
[She glances once up into his eyes, with a question in her own — that's what you need, isn't it? — and looks for the confirmation that she's right.]
[Need. Not want. Because what he needs to take blood without a moment's hesitation here, and Alucard knows himself. He won't touch it at all if Sypha is present. Such things are best served warm, so...so this must be done.
He nods once to show that he'll bear it as best he can. At any other moment he'd put a kiss to her forehead or stroke her cheek before departing, but that can't be done here either. Mourning is mourning after all.
(After tonight, he will have to transition to colors. Hers, perhaps, blue is not so bad a match with golds and blacks and moonlight whites.)]
[Her heart aches for him, watching the reservation he's required to maintain just for the sake of appearances. The solemn, almost stiff nod looks nothing like her Alucard, the one she has the privilege of seeing behind the safety of closed doors. She aches for the Alucard she knows, the secret one between just the two of them, who smiles and cooks and holds still for what seems like hours while she brushes his hair, who lifts her like she's weightless when she falls asleep in some inconvenient place, whose face lights up with unparalleled delight when he thinks she's being brilliant in some fashion or another.
Her Alucard is there, somewhere, buried beneath all the formality and pretense. He's the one she smiles for, surreptitiously, even as she maintains her own show of deliberate whimsy.
(It makes her a foil to him, and that's important. The eye, she knows, likes to see things in contrasts, in dualities. He looks more solemn simply by virtue of standing next to her when she doesn't. He gains more gravitas when held up next to her, when she's merry.)
She makes sure her smile lights up her whole face, watching him.]
Don't do anything fun without me! Or dance with anyone prettier than me. I might get jealous.
[And off she goes, hiding her reluctance to leave his side behind a light bounce in her step.
The nice thing is, she wasn't lying about being interested in the fae lights, so she really does make a beeline for them once she's on her own. The spells are fascinating, not for their complexity but simply because they're worked in a way she's never seen before. It's more than enough to hold her attention for a little while, at least.
Coincidentally, she's more than enough to hold the attention of a handful of young vampires for a little while, herself, but it'll be a minute or two before they properly make their move.]
[There's a flicker of real warmth just before Sypha departs. It's kindled because of that smile, but also because he understands Sypha's own plan now. A study in contrasts, enough to make a first night of this easier and enough to have any questions be about how this happened, not why this? Because the why is obvious, and the brightness does invite questions from anyone who's old enough to actually behave.
It's the plan of a trickster, and what a role to play. What a way to skirt the already liminal space. Who else but her would think of it? Who else but Sypha could pull it off?
He watches her depart, and the smile fades. The warmth is gone, and even as there is blood served, he is cold and stiff and gains no color from it as he drinks. (Usual mutters about quality are said, and no questions asked about how. Ethical consumption is the watchword of any who live in the city.)
Alucard's eyes are never far from her though, even as deeper conversation progresses. Something about the Church Ladies having a harder time of it, too many funerals, some younger ones might be joining their ranks so that means some re-learning of the laws of the land. Another thing about something happening in Texas with the Morris family. Distant kin expected to join them, which does no one any harm because Texas is large.
Fifteen minutes are over. Morrises can wait.
The blood glass is put aside, drained, and he begins to make his way over to where Sypha is.]
[She's about halfway through sussing out just how the fae light spells are crafted when she starts to sense the approach of a few partygoers — three of them, in total, all young, two fanged. There's nothing about the way that they draw near that's inherently predatory, but there's still always something about partygoers that advance in groups on a single individual that lends itself to the feeling of a group of sharks moving in on blood in the water.
They're presumably harmless, though all of them carry a drink in their hands, and she notices with some curiosity that one's glass is filled with liquid the color of champagne, while another has something similarly bubbly but with more of a pink-rose tint to it.
You're her, aren't you? The human Speaker, the one with the rosé remarks pleasantly.]
Why, yes. Mm, but I think you are a step ahead of me, may I have the courtesy of your names?
[They introduce themselves, one by one — Richard and Walter and Charles — and they engage her in idle chatter for a few minutes before eventually, Walter remarks, gosh, what lugs we are, taking up the time of a pretty belle without even handing her a drink —
And she can't actually tell if it's coordinated or not, but she suspects that it is, or at least something they've done in practice before, because a little too quickly Charles has a glass of that rosé in his hand and is pressing it toward her, and all of a sudden she wants to look for Alucard, but she knows better than to take her eyes off of a cluster of sharks.]
[Alucard's already walking over to Sypha when three gentlemen he only vaguely recalls meeting seem to reach he first. He isn't concerned exactly - Sypha can hold her own. She's lived a life on the road, there's no doubt that she has dealt with far worse than three tipsy idiots at a party where decorum is actually important.
He doesn't speed up. What he does instead is make sure the three have their backs towards him as he approaches, his eyes making contact with Sypha to ask how far gone any situation is or is not.]
Did you satisfiy your curiosity with the spellwork, Sypha?
[The look in her eyes when she glances up is almost categorically the universal sign for "If these fuckboys even try to start shit I will set them on fire", but, you know, in a pretty and smiling sort of way.]
Mm! Almost, but I wound up a little distracted.
[Detained, more like, but it's almost funny to watch two significant things occur in a matter of an instant: first, the three young vampires whirling around to glimpse Alucard making his approach, and second, Charles very hastily hiding the glass in his hand behind his back.
— Lord, Richard sort of blurts out, when it occurs to them in a split-second that they actually have no idea what sort of address Alucard might be demanding right now, and opting to err on the side of not getting their heads ripped off. Uh. Good — good evening, lord.]
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For months now, there has been a tension in the air — as though the whole lot of vampires that reside here in this city and its surrounding areas are all collectively holding their breath, which is a funny thought given vampires and their lack of a need to breathe in the first place. But it's there, and she can feel it, and she's not even a vampire herself. She's only the ward of one, kept carefully behind closed doors, spirited to the mundane parts of the city whenever she has a need to get out, and always shielded from the supernatural half as thoroughly as can be managed.
At first, she'd thought that was for her own benefit. More and more, she's started to wonder if it isn't just as much for Alucard's, in its own way.
But then some unknown clock had struck, or some thread of tension had snapped, or some decision had been made. Someone had determined that the city needed to stop holding its breath, and breathe again. Alucard had perceived the opportunity for what it was, and saw in it both the potential for danger, and a risky chance that he would never have cause to seize again.
He often tells her what she needs to know, about the vampire politics, but always only what she needs to know. So she knows the ones who will leave her alone, and the ones to stay away from. She knows where she can walk and where she must avoid. She knows everyone is waiting for Dracula. She knows that Alucard has no idea where he is.
But tonight, one way or another, the business of the city will resume. The gears will turn, the politics will set again in motion. And if they do, while a vacuum of power still exists, then sooner or later that vacuum will be exposed, and there will be chaos as all manner of vampires rush to fill it.
So. Alucard has come up with a different solution. A riskier one, but a better one altogether.
And tonight, she is to be a part of it. No more hiding, no more sneaking. Tonight, they will see her for what she is, too, and that prospect would be daunting were it not for the fact that Alucard will be at her side, always, to keep her safe.]
no subject
That's in effect, what he is. No one has breathed the word, no one has thought of bestowing any titles upon him just as they never have his father, but the word is known all the same. It has been six months since Lisa Tepes was murdered. It has been six months since Dracula fled the city. The assumption of a swift return is well and truly dashed, and there is a need for the reins to be taken up. As stable as the city is, as well protected it is, there is a need. So the crown passes. Because what is Vlad Dracula Tepes if not the closest thing to vampire royalty?
He had a plan, before all of this. He'd bullshit his way through a PhD and see to it that the world could have the technology that was common in the Tepes home. Share it. Make it so that great advances in the world could come through science applied for good, not through means of war. Alucard had talked about that plan with his parents. They both approved, and never could he had hoped for any greater blessing upon an endeavor.
Instead he is here. Gloved hand in Sypha's, weeds for a corsage. Black suit and suit, black coat, precious color to him save for the dark blood red that marks him out for his new position. He is in mourning. Yet he is here.
This is coronation and not. There is to be no explicit acknowledgement of the change. There is only the quiet permission given for Alucard to walk into the festivities armed. His sword hangs at his side because that is his privilege. All planning has gone into Theodora's hands, because she is the only person with a yard and home big enough for not only the entire vampire community, but the whole supernatural community to fit in. (She bought the land so cheap when the French were here darling.)
To bring Sypha along is selfish. It is to put her at risk to all kinds of machinations, because she is a Speaker and she is a mage in her own right, but her hand is in his. That scares him as much as taking on his father's mantle.]
I don't know when we'll be able to return home tonight.
[They've crossed the threshold of the house, but are yet to enter the backyard and the party itself. Theodora's marked out a sideroom for them both, because this entrance needs to be timed.]
no subject
Tonight, she understands, more than ever, she is his. She is always his, but tonight she is His, and she understands why.
She understands, too, that beneath the impeccable exterior still lies a young man grieving for his mother and shattered by the abandonment of his father. Beneath his shirt there still lies the scar that she was invited in to his home to treat.]
I slept all morning, into the afternoon. And I had coffee before we came, so I think I will be all right until the sun comes up.
[She turns toward him, reaching up to fuss with his lapels, with his hair. She can't kiss him without marring her lipstick, and that's agony, too.]
no subject
[Because tonight they have to stay until first light. (Unlike every vampire here, he can stay beyond first light if he must.) That is hardly the worst of it, but it factors into so much. The worst of it, beyond the fact that this is required in the first place, is that Sypha doesn't get to walk into the room as no one more than herself. This is posturing, this is politics, this is stuff neither of his parents were strictly required to do because of his father's long, long shadow. He need only reside in the city, and everything came to heel.
He makes the comparisons first and tries to live with them because everyone else will do the same thing. If he can beat the to the thought, then he can move around them. Make sure he is nothing more than a seatwarmer until his father returns. This cannot be a lifetime appointment.
He'd rather Sypha in all the blues that look so lovely with her eyes. Red is..it is not terrible, but it also isn't her. He sighs heavily, knowing that no one else is in the room. She can hear how full of dread he is, hear it as he tucks a stray piece of her hair back into place.]
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[She hesitates, watching him, and absently touches the ribbon tie that keeps her collar clasped closed at her throat. It sits high on her neck, and that's not a coincidence. Obscuring her throat means the collected vampires won't have the pleasure of getting an eyeful, while she mingles. It also means none of them can see what's there beneath the fabric — or what isn't.]
I don't know if that would be...expected. Or if it would help? But I can pretend, if it would help.
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[It is all artifice. What they both wear, how they have to move tonight, what thin polite things Alucard must say when barely felt condolences are offered. (A handful of vampires actually meant them at the wake. Everything else was politic. He and his father both knew it, and he and his father both barely contained their contempt for every lie uttered.)
Only a few more minutes now. They'll kiss when this is done. All he can do is rest his forehead on Sypha's shoulder.]
no subject
[She's careful, when she reaches to stroke his hair, that she doesn't muss it or let even a single perfectly-arranged lock go out of place. But her bare fingers sink into his mane, rest against the back of his head, and cradle the nape of his neck — what small comfort she can offer him, as they stand on the precipice of terror.]
Am I your pet, your...food? Your healer? Your witch? I don't know...which of these things, what would be of the most use...
no subject
You are yourself. I won't accept anything else. Nor will I accept anyone seeing you as anything but yourself. Everything else is...it is slight of hand. Enough to disorient, enough to confuse, enough to be armor should anyone's understanding be unclear.
[But most importantly:]
You're nothing to be used.
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She scratches her nails lightly along his scalp, seeking to comfort, desperate to offer some small measure of sanctuary to him before this night properly begins.]
...I am, though.
[She corrects him softly, as her hand stills.]
Because you are being used, too, aren't you? We both are. By this — all of this. The spectacle. The hierarchy. We are being fed to it, the both of us.
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[He whispers it for the confession it is. Even as the nails in his scalp calm him. Center him. Pull him out of his head, just as he is about to apologize for dragging her in so deep.]
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[She angles her head just so, carefully, so that she can nudge her nose against his hair, with her lips curled in against the possibility of the strands sticking unpleasantly to the color painting them.]
Be strong, for as long as you can. And when you can be strong no longer, then trust that I will be there to be strong in your place.
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I am in your hands.
[What more of a leap of faith can he take? It is at that moment there's a polite knock on the door, Theodora calling Adrian, Miss Sypha, now would be the time.
He straightens up slowly. Reaches over to kiss Sypha's forehead, because that won't show on either of them, then nods. When he steps out of the door, he must be that same ice cold well she met and remarked upon so many months ago.
Speaking of hands. He takes her left hand in his right, and squeezes it gently.]
Like this. Not arm-in-arm.
[Because he wants that weight.]
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[It's such a silly thing to remark on — a last fleeting moment of panicked stage fright before her first steps into the footlights.]
Do I — need...gloves?
[It would be too late now to acquire them anyway, even if she did, but this is a last cleansing of nervousness and apprehension, setting it free from her body in the last moments she has of solitude so that it can't weigh her down when the performance begins.]
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[Over the cliff they walk. Out the side room, through the open doors that lead onto a grand balcony, and overlooking the whole of the yard that seems to stretch on forever. It is a more formal affair, long banqueting tables with white linen cloths, tablesettings with too many forks and a namecard for each. Fae lights and electric ones combined illuminating the whole of the place, the fae lights closer to fireflights with a greater power. Their colors change as they flicker.
Alucard does not flinch as he feels eyes find him. There is no record scratch moment where the festivities stop, but he can see turned heads. The whole city is watching, and that's no exaggeration. Vampires are always drawn to these things, but he can see some of the covens that live in the area. Independent practitioners. The fainter images of some of the ghosts that are not tied down. The demons who live with human hosts and find pleasure in these affairs. All others who are impacted by Dracula's departure and now are his wards.
He takes the responsibility seriously. Stability until his father returns. Then he can get on with his life as it ought to be.
Alucard's eyes go to Sypha. To check in, if only for a moment.]
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They step onto the balcony, her left hand in his right. Alucard is tall next to her, and stable, and solemn, and cold.
But she is herself, and in that first moment, taken as she is with the sight of the fae lights and the whole of the city sprawled out below her, an impulse possesses her that she can't hope to restrain —
And won't, because they should see her as herself.
So she raises her free hand, rising up and bending at the elbow to bring the fingertips to touch against her lips for a kiss, and as she sweeps it out again in an arc, it's not an invisible kiss that's blown but a thousand tiny embers of flame, shed across the expanse of the party below like a meteor shower, each one lighting up the darkness for the barest hint of a moment before burning out and settling back again into night.
She doesn't do it for the attention, but it certainly garners it. So, let them see her: the whimsy of the witch, and the solemnity of the vampire, regent and consort looking out over their kingdom and its subjects.]
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His hand remains latched to hers, fingers laced together. He squeezes for just a moment, cool leather against her warmth. That was wonderful.
That was beginning the party in full. There is a change in the band's tempo, brighter than the soft evening music of before. Invitation to begin dancing. Invitation to begin indulgence. Invitation to all those night things who must obey such sacred concepts.
And for many, it also is an invitation to begin to speak with Alucard. Coldness, in these moments, serve him well. He is able to speak of stability with such certainty, of his father's return with such confidence, that any who seem to have doubt go away with fewer concerns than before. (It shall not last.) He is able to listen to more personal plights (slight things most of the days, and a few concerns with the Church Ladies which he can easily talk out) without betraying too much sympathy that he'd have otherwise.
It's boring. It's tedious. And at a certain break he nudges Sypha softly.]
You're not compelled to linger here if you want to explore. Look for myself or our host when you must.
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It drags on, and she eavesdrops, and much of it doesn't make sense. She watches their faces instead, trying to make a game of which ones are lying and which ones are telling the truth, based on the slight tells in their features. Perhaps she'll ask Alucard about them later. She attends to the refreshments, the drinks, the little details. She'll need to master all of them as quickly as possible, for her to fit in here. Alucard can shelter her tonight, but he won't be able to forever.
But then, eventually, a lull comes, and he nudges her.]
Are you sure you can do without me?
[It sounds like a tease, which is good, because it hides the genuine concern inherent in the question. She does want to look around more than she's been able to at his side, but it's not for the sake of appearances that she's been staying close. Leaving him isn't even a consideration, unless he's going to be all right.]
When will you find me again?
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He hates that Sypha's relegated to detail work. It isn't fair. It's hardly right. How many Speakers stay in a city? What more could she tell them? But no. Not a single question her way.
There's something happening inside. Alucard catches a scent of it, and Sypha's question is well timed.]
I shall survive fifteen minutes and not a moment more.
[There's more vampire specific refreshments about to come, and there's a point he's been proud of around her. She's never witnessed him take this nutrition.]
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[But she steps just slightly away from his side, a little forward and a half-pivot, so that she's more facing him than she is standing next to him. It's partly so that she can see his face but mostly so that no one else can come and take this place as the focal point of his attention from her until she's done. Not that she thinks he would let them, but still. Social grace.]
I'm going to go look at the spells they're using to light the perimeter of the garden. They seem very cleverly done! Certainly I could spend fifteen minutes alone just looking at that, so I expect that is where you will find me.
[She glances once up into his eyes, with a question in her own — that's what you need, isn't it? — and looks for the confirmation that she's right.]
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He nods once to show that he'll bear it as best he can. At any other moment he'd put a kiss to her forehead or stroke her cheek before departing, but that can't be done here either. Mourning is mourning after all.
(After tonight, he will have to transition to colors. Hers, perhaps, blue is not so bad a match with golds and blacks and moonlight whites.)]
I'll see you presently.
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Her Alucard is there, somewhere, buried beneath all the formality and pretense. He's the one she smiles for, surreptitiously, even as she maintains her own show of deliberate whimsy.
(It makes her a foil to him, and that's important. The eye, she knows, likes to see things in contrasts, in dualities. He looks more solemn simply by virtue of standing next to her when she doesn't. He gains more gravitas when held up next to her, when she's merry.)
She makes sure her smile lights up her whole face, watching him.]
Don't do anything fun without me! Or dance with anyone prettier than me. I might get jealous.
[And off she goes, hiding her reluctance to leave his side behind a light bounce in her step.
The nice thing is, she wasn't lying about being interested in the fae lights, so she really does make a beeline for them once she's on her own. The spells are fascinating, not for their complexity but simply because they're worked in a way she's never seen before. It's more than enough to hold her attention for a little while, at least.
Coincidentally, she's more than enough to hold the attention of a handful of young vampires for a little while, herself, but it'll be a minute or two before they properly make their move.]
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It's the plan of a trickster, and what a role to play. What a way to skirt the already liminal space. Who else but her would think of it? Who else but Sypha could pull it off?
He watches her depart, and the smile fades. The warmth is gone, and even as there is blood served, he is cold and stiff and gains no color from it as he drinks. (Usual mutters about quality are said, and no questions asked about how. Ethical consumption is the watchword of any who live in the city.)
Alucard's eyes are never far from her though, even as deeper conversation progresses. Something about the Church Ladies having a harder time of it, too many funerals, some younger ones might be joining their ranks so that means some re-learning of the laws of the land. Another thing about something happening in Texas with the Morris family. Distant kin expected to join them, which does no one any harm because Texas is large.
Fifteen minutes are over. Morrises can wait.
The blood glass is put aside, drained, and he begins to make his way over to where Sypha is.]
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They're presumably harmless, though all of them carry a drink in their hands, and she notices with some curiosity that one's glass is filled with liquid the color of champagne, while another has something similarly bubbly but with more of a pink-rose tint to it.
You're her, aren't you? The human Speaker, the one with the rosé remarks pleasantly.]
Why, yes. Mm, but I think you are a step ahead of me, may I have the courtesy of your names?
[They introduce themselves, one by one — Richard and Walter and Charles — and they engage her in idle chatter for a few minutes before eventually, Walter remarks, gosh, what lugs we are, taking up the time of a pretty belle without even handing her a drink —
And she can't actually tell if it's coordinated or not, but she suspects that it is, or at least something they've done in practice before, because a little too quickly Charles has a glass of that rosé in his hand and is pressing it toward her, and all of a sudden she wants to look for Alucard, but she knows better than to take her eyes off of a cluster of sharks.]
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He doesn't speed up. What he does instead is make sure the three have their backs towards him as he approaches, his eyes making contact with Sypha to ask how far gone any situation is or is not.]
Did you satisfiy your curiosity with the spellwork, Sypha?
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Mm! Almost, but I wound up a little distracted.
[Detained, more like, but it's almost funny to watch two significant things occur in a matter of an instant: first, the three young vampires whirling around to glimpse Alucard making his approach, and second, Charles very hastily hiding the glass in his hand behind his back.
— Lord, Richard sort of blurts out, when it occurs to them in a split-second that they actually have no idea what sort of address Alucard might be demanding right now, and opting to err on the side of not getting their heads ripped off. Uh. Good — good evening, lord.]
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