[Sypha has been back in their arms for five days now. There is a point in time where the clinging will lessen, when they will surround each other the more normal amount, when the vampire will be moved to the middle because the weather is unbearable, but that time is not now. Their Sypha, theirs, has so much rest ahead of her and what can either of them do but keep her as safe as possible in order to make sure she can recover.
The vampire barely slept when she was gone. He’s only sleeping now because it can be done in shifts, and because he’s catching up on a lost week. It is enough to eclipse dreams, until it isn’t.
He doesn’t sleep nearest the door anymore. Protecting the three of them, physically at least, is a job Alucard feels unqualified for in light of all of this. He simply lays down with Sypha’s back against his chest, her tiny hands balled up into the fabric of Trevor’s PJs, and he sleeps as well as he can.
Alucard is not sure of where he is. It is a forest, each pine tree cloaked in black, reaching up against a night sky. The full moon does so little to help with making sense of the place, and the forest floor provides no help as to the season. His breath does not cloud in front of him, but there is still a chill in the air.
What Alucard does not have in knowledge of where, he at least knows why he is here. The necromancer’s voice is ringing out just ahead of him, and beyond that there is something else. Something that thunders in a way that Alucard has never heard before, not even among his vampiric elders. It is in the same direction of the necromancer’s voice, and so the vampire has no choice: he follows.
He’s not saying anything comprehensible. Alucard’s not sure if that’s his rage or a thing the necromancer has done on purpose, mastering the art of sounds that might be a language but well and truly aren’t. There are flashes of the man through the forest, and the vampire gives chase until the thing thundering in the distance is not so distant anymore.
Why the name comes so easily to him, Alucard can’t say. Theodora only spoke of it once, laughed a witch asked her of her time with the Wild Hunt and remarked “it would never survive on these shores, darling! An entire cadre of fae or King Arthur’s people or leftover worshippers of Artemis? The things that were here before us would have a fit!” But Alucard knows that’s what he’s witnessing. A stream of purple intent that glitters in the moonlight is wrapped around a retinue that emerges from the dark woods is the Hunt’s herald. It is lead by a black stallion whose mane looks like it has the whole of the galaxy in it, and on that stallion’s back is a woman dressed in the deepest royal purple. Even her hair is the same color, pulled back into elaborate braids to avoid being a nuisance in the hunt itself. Every inch of her drips in gold and silver.
And the necromancer is there. He is there several horses down now, riding like a proud nobleman and looking every inch the part. He’s not in his suit anymore, he’s in the clothes that everyone thinks medieval folk wore and...
...and Alucard is as well for that matter, black trousers the same but his usual white dress shirt is replaced with something longer in a dark grey, belt around his waist. The coat he should have on is now a red one, fur trimmed and looking far too much like old paintings of his father.
He is so still as the Hunt passes by. Then it strikes him: they’re not pursuing quarry. They are returning. They have been successful.]
no subject
The vampire barely slept when she was gone. He’s only sleeping now because it can be done in shifts, and because he’s catching up on a lost week. It is enough to eclipse dreams, until it isn’t.
He doesn’t sleep nearest the door anymore. Protecting the three of them, physically at least, is a job Alucard feels unqualified for in light of all of this. He simply lays down with Sypha’s back against his chest, her tiny hands balled up into the fabric of Trevor’s PJs, and he sleeps as well as he can.
Alucard is not sure of where he is. It is a forest, each pine tree cloaked in black, reaching up against a night sky. The full moon does so little to help with making sense of the place, and the forest floor provides no help as to the season. His breath does not cloud in front of him, but there is still a chill in the air.
What Alucard does not have in knowledge of where, he at least knows why he is here. The necromancer’s voice is ringing out just ahead of him, and beyond that there is something else. Something that thunders in a way that Alucard has never heard before, not even among his vampiric elders. It is in the same direction of the necromancer’s voice, and so the vampire has no choice: he follows.
He’s not saying anything comprehensible. Alucard’s not sure if that’s his rage or a thing the necromancer has done on purpose, mastering the art of sounds that might be a language but well and truly aren’t. There are flashes of the man through the forest, and the vampire gives chase until the thing thundering in the distance is not so distant anymore.
Why the name comes so easily to him, Alucard can’t say. Theodora only spoke of it once, laughed a witch asked her of her time with the Wild Hunt and remarked “it would never survive on these shores, darling! An entire cadre of fae or King Arthur’s people or leftover worshippers of Artemis? The things that were here before us would have a fit!” But Alucard knows that’s what he’s witnessing. A stream of purple intent that glitters in the moonlight is wrapped around a retinue that emerges from the dark woods is the Hunt’s herald. It is lead by a black stallion whose mane looks like it has the whole of the galaxy in it, and on that stallion’s back is a woman dressed in the deepest royal purple. Even her hair is the same color, pulled back into elaborate braids to avoid being a nuisance in the hunt itself. Every inch of her drips in gold and silver.
And the necromancer is there. He is there several horses down now, riding like a proud nobleman and looking every inch the part. He’s not in his suit anymore, he’s in the clothes that everyone thinks medieval folk wore and...
...and Alucard is as well for that matter, black trousers the same but his usual white dress shirt is replaced with something longer in a dark grey, belt around his waist. The coat he should have on is now a red one, fur trimmed and looking far too much like old paintings of his father.
He is so still as the Hunt passes by. Then it strikes him: they’re not pursuing quarry. They are returning. They have been successful.]