cryptsleeper | 20s AU Post

20s AU Post

Current Carmilla plot outline
--Post-fire, Carmilla and Mr. Peanut team up mostly to use each other. Carmilla's spent the past several months (since November, it is now February 1925) networking, and it's clear to her that Alucard's not suited for the position and that the other two are the obvious weakness. Mr Peanut needs something back, so this is perfect on her end. Mr Peanut can only imagine the joys of vampire blood in his work, and he'd like an army of vampires for his own ends.
--Shit stirring from Mr Peanut (all of March?)
--Mr Peanut also begins to sell mis Miracle Serum, which has vampire blood in it.
--Gang is very much trying to murder Mr Peanut during this.
--Start of April, vampire gets a call from one of the blood bank contacts that 3 patients have come in and are displaying some bizarre signs. Investigation yields the fact that they're in process of turning, and they've all taken the same serum.
--Additional investigation reveals O FUCK IT MR PEANUT
--Meanwhile Carmilla's been made aware of a familiar she didn't sire, so she knows something's up. Big fight with Mr. Peanut and thus Mr. Peanut is left depowered
--Gang commits a murder
--Carmilla's well sured up on her contacts now, and it's time for open rebellion (mid-April)
--In a more subtle attempt to let Alucard just step aside, she cuts the breaks on demon car and shows up to gloat/suggest he not pull a dad and go to deal with his grief quietly while she runs the city. The how he wants to do it is up to him (black widow joke goes here.) Treffy and Sypha walk in.
--1 week of straight up rebellion; feedings, no help from allies, need to do damage control instead of fight carmilla, every dracula rule is
--MEANWHILE IN GRAVITY FALLS, triangle shows Vlad what's up to try and psyche him out, somehow this finalyl snaps Vlad out of his depression and he heads home
--Just in time for Alucard and Carmilla to be tearing each other to bits in one of the bayous, it's not going well
--Vlad coming in means the king of vampires is accosted by a belmont with a pair of blessed knitting needles and a speaker with a fucking gun and he's just like what the shit happened to the world while i was gone
--Wards around the fight means that only demon car can break the wards, everyone has to pile in.
--Carmilla gets her ass kicked AND SENT TO THE JUSTICE DIMENSION

THEN THERE WERE FAERIES.
--Prior to all of this the vampire and Sypha have done a shit ton of research on how to get their Belmont back
--Sypha has also been practicing debating with dad, which leaves everyone Very Tired.
--When Trevor is actually snatched up (1 year after marriage, it takes fae effort. Taking Arn's shape fails, so it's a lot more kidnapping by force), Sypha and Alucard go into Faerie
--But they're playing this as politics, not as heroes rescuing their damsel, so that means the faeries are just "wait what now excuse u?"
--There are 3 gates and 3 trials (the particulars we're still bullshitting.) Each is asked to sacrifice 3 things. (Alucard: voice, his titles as bestowed upon by his father and his people, i forget the third; Sypha: her human form (she's a birb), fuck what were the other two)
--They enter the court at the end of the third trial. After LITERALLY ALL THE TITLES Sypha declares she Speaks for Trevor Belmont
--Claim debate over Trevor, turns out that the rules are in Sypha's favor.
--But that means debating to leave Fae without giving up what they've chosen.
--Sypha lawyers it all out, Alucard is a safety deposit and hangs out with Fae!Trevor
--In the end, safe passage out of Faerie consists of Sypha giving up her memory of the necromancer (billed as a great mage she studied under), the vampire gives up his immortality, and Trevor is replaced with Carmilla (dad was aware of this option and OK with it), but Trevor has his ability to swear taken. He now soundslike a rubber ducky when he tries
--Everyone gets home okay, except for the AU of this AU where the gang fails, but Trevor's on their doorstep like a bat out of Hell because time doesn't work right and he's been in Hell for a WHILE.

Page 39 of 141

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

That's the only comfort here.

[He puts the glove back on rather than focus on the disgusting result of the oil. While Trevor's right, it is good to know how effective the stuff is, it is a huge issue at the moment. Alucard breathes out, using his non-burnt gloved hand to rub at the bridge of his nose.]

I was able to find enough yew that if we need to clean the wound out again, we can, but...it needs to be sewn shut, doesn't it?

[ No sense in lying. Even if this is inconvenient in every possible way. ]

Yeah. It's- Needed to change the dressing three times today, not counting after the bath. Probably best to sew it.

[ He really, really should have asked Agatha to do it while he was with her. He's regretting not doing that now. ]

Fucking hand won't fucking move right, though.

[Alucard is all set and prepared to comment about getting the wound sewn shut, but he's cut off by the hand comment. To hell with the scent of the oil, this is concerning. He walks back over, looking at Trevor's hand.]

Elaborate.

[Because if his hand isn't working, he can't do much of anything. That renders all of them vulnerable.]

[ And he turns his right hand over, the same side that the arrow hit, revealing more of that discoloration travelling down the inside of the arm, up until about halfway up his fingers. It had been all the way to his fingertips earlier, so it's definitely improved. ]

Nothing worth worrying over, just inconvenient. Been improving over the day, but I couldn't hold a needle with it right now. And I can't reach well enough to sew it with my left.

Is that how far the sensation of the iron reached?

[Alucard moves to take the hand, not to hold it, but to examine it. He stops himself, and this is another reminder of how much he loathes their current situation. There's a curse on his lips, and Alucard moves to sit on both of his hands for it.]

You can't sew, and I can't touch you at all. Sypha's managed to sew me up but she was also burning my flesh...

No.

[ It's flat. He's not budging on that point. ]

I'd take the burning flesh, honestly. But I'd sooner not contaminate her. It's-

[ -an emotional thing. At the end of the day, Alucard needs physical contact more than he does. He needs to be able to touch at least one of them. This isn't emergency enough to justify taking that from him. ]

-the fucking car. It wasn't happy just having me in the back seat. Imagine the fuss it'd make if she were trying to drive it with this stuff on her hands.

While it's good to know the car is a reasonable detector of danger levels from your defenses, that doesn't leave us with a solution of how to fix this situation.

[He sounds stressed. That's because he is, and there is no hiding it from Trevor.]

Fuck.

Shitty situation.

[ He smiles in sympathy. It's not been that long since the situations were reversed. The wounds were just internal back then, and the lack of touching enforced only by words and not by pain. ]

It'll be fine. We can leave it for tonight, I can just keep changing the dressing, and you can ask one of the babas to come here in the morning. They want to talk to you anyway, about all this Carmilla business.

Yes, let's leave you with a gaping side wound so you can turn in your sleep and make it bleed worse in the night.

[He's sinking into angry sass, which says everything about the situation. Alucard's hands are grabbing at his own shirt sleeves now, pulling much too tightly. Anger's easy right now, and it means Alucard misses that smile.]

And yes, Agatha called to make sure you got home, mentioned it then but...

[Alucard snaps his fingers suddenly.]

Stay where you are.

[He's...nyooming. At vampire speed.]

[ He just sighs, starting work on undoing the bandages. The dressing will need changing no matter what, and he can ask Alucard to bring him a fresh one once he's done with- whatever he's doing. Dramatic fucking vampire.

The cut is messy and jagged. It should have been cleaner, but he was reaching around his body using his wrong hand to try to fish out an arrowhead because fucking vampires using fucking bows and fucking arrows in the twentieth fucking century. The skin around it is a furious red from the scrubbing and the salt, and the cut itself is closed by dry blood, but opening to weep a little with any movement more dramatic than lying back on the bed. ]

Half of me is actually paralyzed right now. I think 'stay where you are' goes without saying.

[ ...he says that, but he was still going about a vampire's house while half paralyzed. ]

[Alucard returns with several things. The first is a bucket of water, steaming hot. It is for sterilization. With him on his belt is a kit of bandages and gauze, and hovering over his shoulder is a tiny needle already threaded. His stupid experiment worked. Which means he can at least fix this stupid problem without touching Trevor.

He kneels at Trevor's side, motions for him to inch closer. The bucket is placed down on the floor, Alucard grabs the jar of yew ash just in case.

From where he sits, he can at least assess the wound better than before. It's worse than he expected, and it looked pretty bad earlier. Salting a wound will do that, and so will iron.]

I cannot articulate how much I hate this right now.

[The needle is dipped into the bucket to sterilize it properly.]

I'm going to make a paste of the yew ash and ask you to apply it first, understood?

You've been articulating how you can't articulate it for a while, now.

[ He shuffles closer as best he can, until he's as close to the edge of the bed as he dares to get when he can't stop himself from falling off and Alucard will almost certainly burn himself trying to catch him. ]

Understood.

I suppose I have, haven't I? [He says it softly, with a twinge of embarrassment. It's a sign of how stressed he is, repeating himself like a broken record.

Alucard moves on from that, reaching for the ashes. He then realizes he needs something to mix them in, and he leaves the room for just a few minutes more. He returns with a small, shallow dish, and he dumps the ashes into it first. Then adds just a little of the sterile water, and takes off the glove of his non-burnt hand. Mixes it all carefully, then holds it out near Trevor's hands.]

Smear this on both the skin around the wound and into it first.

[ He takes the dish, taking care not to let his skin get too close to Alucard's. The paste is similar to ones Enid used to mix for them (blackthorn ash and holy water, to be smeared in a thick layer over injuries from a vampire's claws and allowed to dry before being peeled away and buried in a churchyard). It's- all of this is familiar, in truth. Comforting in the stupidest way possible.

Less comforting is the task of working the paste into the cut. It's a highly unpleasant process, made moreso by the fact that he needs to use the most distant hand for it. He gasps and swears, but finally succeeds. ]

Fuck. Done, I think.

[Alucard watches Trevor's hand carefully. He has to sit on his own so he doesn't try to help. There are moments when his arms twitch, compulsion to help. Because this is forcing more pain onto Trevor, and he shouldn't be doing this.

But here they are. Trevor doused in annoited oil, Alucard repelled, and injury making the matter too complicated.

Once Trevor's done, Alucard gets as close as he can. Observes the work, then nods.]

Okay. I'm going to start sewing. You need to stay still, because this is all mental for me. I can't hold you steady.

[The needle floats up out of the sterlized water. It dangles over where the work must begin.]

Ready?

[Packing up their camp is mindless, methodical, familiar.

It's good that it is, in a way, because it means she can do it without even thinking about it. That's good in its turn because right now she's not thinking of packing at all, much less at doing it properly, so if it had depended on her focus to be done right, it certainly wouldn't have been accomplished successfully at all.

On the other hand, it's a shame that she can do it without thinking, because that frees her up to think about so many other things — difficult things. The way that Adrian's mouth felt when angled against hers; the silk of his long hair woven through her fingers. The way she could tell the precise size of his hands from how they fit at her hips. How effortlessly strong he proved himself to be, from lifting and moving her when she bid him too.

The other memories are even stronger than the tangible ones — the warmth, the laughter, the taste of his food on her tongue. The way his eyes looked so sad even when his lips were smiling at her. The ache each time they'd separated, but consoled themselves with the knowledge that at least it wasn't the last — until the time when it was.

(They hadn't said goodbye. Only to be well. She wonders if either of them will be, after this.)

So they pack their things, and head for the trainyard, and with the help of a small sum to the workman loading cargo into the boxcars, they install their possessions into one of the empty cars and settle in for the long haul, the same as they always do. The passenger cars still have some time yet to take arrivals and load, but for now they're all comfortable and accounted for, and soon to be free of the dangers that lurk for them in New Orleans.

It's only as she's settling in that she finds the note.

Hurriedly, she pulls up her knees to her chest and uses them as a shield to hide her secret behind, drawing the letter into her lap and unfolding it carefully as her heart leaps into her throat.

To ask you to give up your world.

He knows. He knows exactly what he's asking of her, with this letter, and he'd tucked it into her things anyway. All those pretty words, cordial words, perfect words, and he still couldn't manage to say the one thing he'd written them for.

Come back.

She doesn't notice she's forgotten to breathe until her lungs start to burn from holding her breath, and even then it takes her another minute to remember.]

[The house is quiet now. There are leftovers in the fridge to last for a few days, saving Alucard the effort of cooking and preventing him from thinking about how he is now only preparing food for one person rather than two. One is...one is hard right now.

There's not much to do in the house anyway, at least as far as keeping it in order goes. Every home they've ever had has been kept clean and orderly, usually by magic and often from minimal use. This house is just one example. There was a thin layer of dust when he arrived (because it wasn't home the way the castle was), and it was taken care of quickly. Nothing was out of place because there was no one around to move things to begin with.

Alucard looks at the clock that's in the living room. She's gone now, isn't she? He had debated the wisdom of going to the station to see her off, but in the end, realized it was a terrible idea. All it would do is make things hurt worse, and there was already enough emotion for him to deal with.

He focuses on the newspaper he bought earlier. The world has moved on without Alucard. Things happen beyond one's grief, and he has to catch up with everyone else. Reading should make time go by, allow him to not think about Sypha and the train she's on, pulling her ever westward to California.

The attempt work for ten minutes. After that, Alucard finds himself pacing the whole of the first floor for no reason, other than his feet insist that he do so.]

[She is sitting in the empty, drafty boxcar of a train, surrounded by everything she loves in this world, except one.

Come back.

Her grandfather is here. His face is so familiar, so sweet; she knows every wrinkle and laugh line in it when he smiles. He is the last of her living family, except that he isn't, because everyone in this boxcar is her family. The Speakers are her family, her collective family, each and every one of them a part of her.

Come back.

The train is bound for California. In their time, they'll arrive, safe and embraced by the Speakers that have settled there, turning their attentions toward a new, more cutting-edge means of preserving their stories and spreading them to the world. That enclave of progressives is well known among the many traveling bands of their people; they will be welcomed there. There will be so many Speakers there, in California.

Come back.

They'll leave New Orleans to the vampires. To Dracula, or to the vacuum of power he has left behind among the supernatural community. They have saved the story of his wife, that future generations will know. They have done what they came to do.

Come back.

Every one of them, each and every one of them, is carrying the story of Lisa Tepes, and it will be carried and saved forever, in the collective memory of the Speakers. All of the Speakers. Every one of the Speakers.

Come back

The stories will not mention her son, alone in a townhouse wondering if Sypha Belnades ever found his letter, or if he will ever hear a reply to begin with.

Beneath her, the machinery of the train gives a mighty heave; they're connecting up the cars, she surmises, and most of her people automatically take a seat if they had been standing, used to these particulars of travel and already knowing how to adapt in response to them, to keep from falling.

She knows, too, because this is her life. Her world. She is one of the Speakers, and has always been one of the Speakers, and will always be one of the Speakers.

(Except that to Adrian Tepes, son of Dracula and Lisa, she was just Sypha Belnades.)

She looks at her grandfather, and the warmth in his expression. She'll miss him, bitterly and yet —

And yet she's on her feet in an instant, moving over to his side, sitting with him and taking his hands and forgetting all about the letter with her name on it, with Adrian's. He looks at her and she tries to memorize his face in the few moments she has, and with all her courage she tells him, I can't, I cannot go west, I have to stay —

And before she can even find words to explain, he shakes his head and smiles and says softly, that vampire boy?

She hadn't even known that he knew.]

...So in exchange for the ability to hunt the baobhan sith —

[Which she pronounces perfectly, not missing a vowel or consonant.]

— the firstborn son of your family, forever, is given to the fair folk to be their tribute to hell.

[...Good job, Belmonts.]

That...is a terrible contract, and an even more terrible burden to place upon you.

[Pacing doesn't get anything done. Trying to read the paper doesn't get anything done. There's nothing to do in this house or the castle, because everything is too still. Too perfect. Perfection hiding a shattered world, and there's no outlet for the grief.

It's a side effect from the blessed reprieve Sypha offered. The grief, while not gone, was managed in a way that probably was too early. Now all there is is a terrible restlessness, a desire to do something, anything and finding the matter impossible.

His eyes go to the door. No sounds of approaching footsteps. No doorbell. Nothing he can do in the yard without aggravating the wound on his chest. In every way that could ever matter, Alucard is stuck. Never has he hated a feeling more. Never has he pitied himself so deeply for it, because there's naught else to do.

And maybe it's that self pity that finally unleashes a floodgate of emotion in the form of every intonation of the word fuck he can think of. Alucard has the good grace to go upstairs into the bathroom, where the floodgate should be muted as to not disturb his neighbors, and soon enough the swear session becomes an outpouring of every emotion.

(Cute how he thought he reached the end of grief.)

There are tears and there are moments of rage, and he shakes from it all by the end, his head resting on the tiled wall of the bathroom, claws digging into the material. This is what it will be for some time now.

That realization sets off a fresh swell of tears.]

[ With some difficulty, in the case of his right arm, he brings his arms upward and grabs on to whatever is convenient. The corner of the mattress, for his left. For his right, he just tries to latch his fingers behind the nightstand. To hold himself in place. He doesn't trust himself not to thrash about, not now the adrenaline has faded. The instruction will help, but it's best not to take chances. ]

Ready.

[Alucard concentrates on the needle. On moving it through Trevor's flesh for the first time, and he already hates this method. To do this properly, he needs to be able to touch the skin. To understand how deep something is, to have that tactile sense in order to make adjustments. His eyes are on Trevor's wound, yes, but that makes none of this easier

The rest of him is perfectly still, guiding the needle all the way through. Pulling the thread tight. Making sure it all holds. His gloved hands grip the bed frame, and now the needle begins it's second stitch.

He can't look at Trevor. He can't. It'll break his concentration, it'll hurt them both, they can't be like this for months on end.]

Negotiation's never been a skill of ours.

[ Belmonts: good at whips, shitty at contract negotiation. ]

Appreciate you not making it weird. Last person I told started crying. Fucking hated that.

[ He makes it sound like people getting emotional about it is more of a bother than the going to hell thing itself. ]

[She aches for the way her grandfather breathes her name, Sypha, half chiding and half tender. She's not sure, now, how she ever could have thought he didn't know, not when he's reminding her of her late nights coming back to the camp and the way she'd mysteriously vanished not long after the son of Dracula had sought help from them and left. He kisses her forehead and whispers a note of pride into her hair, and she understands what a terrible burden it had been on his soul, to do only the least of what he could and no more, that night. He'd noticed she'd lost her robes. He'd noticed the sudden surplus of good food and supplies with no explanation. He'd noticed these past few nights. He'd noticed everything.

It will be grave danger for you, he reminds her, and she finds herself whispering back that the danger is something she can bear, but not the burden of leaving, when yet again they had done the least of what they could do and no more.

It's not the truth, not really, but it's enough to shed light on the real truth, to make him understand. This train may take her body away, but her heart will not leave, and to bear that separation will be nothing short of agony.

The train lurches. Time is short.

Go, then, he tells her kindly, and kisses her with all the affection inside him, and goes with her to help wrench open the door in the boxcar wall as slowly, slowly the wheels start to turn beneath them.

With everything she owns in the world held in her hands, save one, she jumps and she doesn't look back.]

It's already weird, Belmont. Very little I could do or not do would change that.

[This conversation is, after all, taking place between a witch who loves radio dramas and a fairy, aggressively knitting a baby blanket, as they discuss his someday sacrifice to hell.]

When are they set to take you...?

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 39 of 141

20s AU Post

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject