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.

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[In the end, Alucard's not certain that showing up in a camp of Speakers, shirtless and bleeding, is the best idea he's ever had. However, it is a better plan than showing up on the doorstep of vampires or hunters in this city, because that is pre-emptively announcing to the world that Dracula is fled from the city, and his son is laid low.

The cemetary isn't a wreck, but it'll be written off as terrible vandalism come morning. There are broken gravestones, there are graves with clawmarks scratched on them, there are signs of the fight everywhere. His mother would be horrified. The bishop's death would be more than enough for that, but the rest...his father's reaction, Alucard being stupid enough to try and fight back it's.

It's not what he can be thinking about right now. Every part of his body is trying to heal the wound, every part of his skin is refusing to do so. The first few layers of flesh, they've done it, but everything else is refusing to work. Maybe it's because of who inflicted the wounds, maybe there's no reason to it, but he needs help.

Speakers don't stay in one place for long. They help those who need it. He can ask that this not be shared.

Fuck. He must look a fright, grave dirt in his hair, shirt ripped in two, blood all down his front. A proper vampire, in all the ways that count.]

[Everyone in the Speaker camp knows that it's Dracula's son approaching.

The caravan had come to the city with a purpose, and they'd known the risks they were taking when they came. This area, this whole region, was Dracula's territory. Vampire territory. They knew it would be dangerous, when there were certain to be few allies among the humans and next to none among the supernatural, and no hospitality or goodwill to beg.

And yet they had come, because the elders understood that the story to be collected here was one of vital importance, one that needed to be remembered and handed down through the generations even at the greatest cost, because children of a newer day would need to know, and to remember. Such knowledge needed to be preserved for them.

So they had come, to salvage the story of Lisa Tepes — wife of Dracula, mother of a son.

They're good at traveling, the Speakers. They have the practice of arriving in a city down to nearly an art, or at least a science. Everyone has their own role, their own place; some maintain the camp, and some protect it. Some disguise themselves as average citizens so that the locals will sell them food and supplies. And some, like Sypha, go out to gather information and knowledge, and in her case, money to pay for the food and supplies whenever she has the chance to play a few tricks and earn a few dollars from passing citizens eager to be sold a story themselves.

It had been a good day. Telling fortunes and chatting up the locals had netted her a good turnout — enough that there are bubbling cookpots over campfires and tobacco for pipes and even the luxury of a few sweets, and she's sitting on a fallen log practicing tricks with her tarot cards and runestones when the intruder enters the camp.

It's astounding how all the chatter goes silent in an instant. How the old and the frail are hurried out of sight. How suddenly, abruptly, all eyes converge on the ragged, bloody man-shaped figure in their midst.

Vampire.

They know who it is. This is Dracula's son, the woman Lisa's son. And perhaps that's why it's only her grandfather who dares confront him, and speak.]

For what purpose you come among us, son of Dracula?

[Not challenging. Not aggressive. But unmistakably wary.]

Medicine.

[He hisses the word out because everything hurts, his head is everywhere, and the last thing Alucard wants to do right now is explain even a fraction of his current state. He is a mess in every way that has ever and will ever mean something. He's barely himself right now.

The word is coupled with a slightly more apologetic look. He heard how that just came across and is right to chastise himself for it, but there's a quicker route to apology.]

Please.

[It's apparent, now, how the circumstances of the situation at hand conflict badly with the code that the Speakers live by. On one hand, they help those who need it. They serve humanity, as best they can. They extend assistance wherever someone requires it.

And yet this is a vampire, and a wounded one at that. Moreover, this is Dracula's son, and the king of vampires is known to have a long memory — long enough to rival that of the collective memory of the Speakers, almost. In the old days, the Speakers were none too loved by Dracula and his following. Now the son is among them, here in their camp, in a place where they may well have trespassed to collect their most vital story of all.

So, then, what to do? Her grandfather chooses a diplomatic tone — not unkind, but firm.]

Your wound is very grievous. It would be better if you sought assistance from your own kind.

[The tension in the air is palpable.]

We mean no harm. Please, leave us in peace.

Bluntly, this cannot be known to them.

[This is a secret thing. It's this or go home (who knows if his father is home). Possibly just die there, or else wait for this thing to never heal. Coming here was a gamble. If this doesn't pay off then...then higher stakes. Home first.

If not home, maybe he can risk a hospital. Maybe. It'd probably better to collapse on Agatha's door, since the sun will threaten soon.

(Alucard can't blame anyone's hesitation. Speakers know who he is, that's one of their skill sets. They can learn a city's ways so quickly, and his person has never been a mystery within the city. Even as he's mostly been apart from the circles of vampires within it.]

[Her grandfather stiffens a little, drawing just a touch more upright as silence hangs in the air a minute. Eventually, though, he speaks again with that same patient calm.]

We would prefer not to be caught up in the intrigues of your society. We can offer you medicine, for what small good it will do, but you must leave us.

[But from her log, Sypha is watching this unfold quietly, cautiously. There's something about the vampire that looks...defeated, almost. She's good at reading people from a distance — perhaps the best in the caravan, really. And there are tells to the vampire that she suspects her grandfather isn't seeing — the flicker in his eyes when he was initially rebuffed. The way he's thinking behind the mask of his expression, considering possibilities — like he's already resigned to the thought that coming here will prove fruitless for him.]

I understand. That's...that'll do. Thank you.

[He forgot that this would be dragging them into vampire nonsense if it ever got out. The man's right, it's a great risk and he's the eldest. This call is made for the whole, not for the want of a single bleeding idiot who's turned up on the proverbial doorstep.

He takes a few steps back to show that he understands the peril, that he'll loiter just a a little further away to help if that's what they need.]

[Carefully, her grandfather angles just enough to search across the campground for her, nodding slightly when he can see that she's watching, and makes a slight gesture with an incline of his head to direct her. Keeping her eyes low, she pockets her cards and her runestones, heading for the tent where the supplies are kept —

And hesitates a minute, crouching in front of the chest of remedies, mulling over the little spectacle she'd watched. There's something nagging at her, something she can't place. Something above and beyond just the code of the Speakers and their charge to help those in need. Something that leaves her breathless, and she can't explain why.

She chews her lip, and before she can think better of it, she finds the paper bag that the day's shopping had come in, tearing a piece free and flattening it on her knee. Finding something to write with is more complicated, but she manages to find a loose twig and chars the end of it with a breath of fire, and scratches marks onto the torn scrap of paper in haste.

Finished, she blows on it to clear it of debris and folds it into quarters, then picks up a jar of salve and a roll of bandage, and tucks the note carefully inside the latter before trotting out to rejoin her grandfather.]

Here you are.

[She offers them carefully, holding the note against her palm so that only a small sliver of it shows, and offers them to the vampire, watching him with an almost scrutinizing gaze.]

[Alucard waits quietly. He holds a palm to his chest, trying to staunch what he can of the bleeding. It is a fool's errand, but he tries regardless because what else is there to do? He has received all the aid that he could ever demand from anyone at the moment, and he is grateful for it.

Likewise, he's grateful that this camp is far, far away from many prying eyes. A bleeding man on the streets here at this time of night? Normal enough. It's a thought that almost makes him smile, until the terrible truth of why he's here in the first place comes up again. Alucard wants to cry from it all, and he can't. Not yet.

His mind wanders through various ways of trying to express grief. He could sob for hours now, or else become an ice cold wall, or perhaps wander the bayous until his legs finally ache. They're all possibilities, and he is considering each one when Sypha approaches.

He takes everything in his non-bloodied hand.]

Thank you.

[He feels the note. But he doesn't look at it. He walks away, careful with his gait. Disappears around the corner.

Then stops long enough to examine the note.]

[It's very short. There wasn't much room for words, and so she didn't mince words.

(Comical, isn't it. A Speaker, writing things down.)

Wait where the path forks, it reads in thin, scratched letters. I will help you.]

[Crossroads. Alucard isn't sure he can make that walk, but he doesn't get a choice right now. He's already going in the right direction, so all he must do is keep walking.

It is terrible. Every step hurts, everything feels like a knife all along the wound. Alucard can feel how close he is to wanting to fall down, and he does so only once he the crossroads themselves.

He falls all at once. A mess of limbs and a groan of agony.]

[She's late getting there — later than she'd like to be, at least. But back at the camp Sypha has been a quiet flurry of secretive activity, finding a bag for supplies and sneaking back into the remedies tent to collect far more extensive a haul than the meager offering they'd extended to the vampire. She finds some cloths and adds them; she finds a little bread and a flask of water, and whimsically tosses in a few of her candies for good measure. She adds a knife, with some reluctance.

Then she waits, and when activity has returned to the camp as usual, she steals away.

She wonders if he found the note. If he stayed. If he'll just eat her and be done with her, and this was all just a trap all along. Well, so much the better if it is. He can have her, and maybe it will sate him enough to leave the other Speakers alone.

Her sandals make scuffing noises along the dirt path as she makes her approach, and as she rounds the bend to the crossroads —]

Oh —

[If this is a trap, it's a good one. The bait is perfect to have her scurrying over, dropping down to one knee to try to get a look at him.]

This is not exactly what I had in mind when I said to wait for me, friend.

[Alucard doesn't bother to get up. It'll look pathetic if he does, and some terrible part of him still gives a shit about dignity. He hasn't had it since the start of this horrible farce, and he won't have it for months to come. A speaker finding him collapsed at the crossroads shouldn't rankle as it does.

He lifts his head slightly. That's about all he can manage, and even then it's just to make eye contact. To acknowledge that she's there, and that he's quite exhausted from exerting himself. Otherwise he is so very still.

There's enough energy in him to reply though.]

Couldn't be helped.

Let me help you onto your back.

[More specifically, let her sort of un-heap him and get him instead into a position where she might actually stand a chance of helping him. She's not really sure about the wisdom of spontaneously touching an injured vampire, but she starts with his legs first, trying to sort of pull and rotate him into a supine position.]

...To do this, we must have an agreement between us. I will not ask what happened to you, to cause this. But you must tell me the things I need to know to treat you. Do you agree?

Agreed. Anything that touches my blood needs to be destroyed.

[That's the most important part. This young woman being here is probably a risk to her people and their safety. He cannot jeopardize anything else in addition to that simple fact.

He's cooperative though. Lets himself be unheaped because there's something easier about having a person who isn't himself directing all of his limbs, the rest is on gravity and momentum to follow her lead.]

Do you require someone else's blood to heal this?

[She's simply got to be blunt about it; there's really no time for anything else. Shucking off her top layer of robes, she moves up to his head and lifts it unceremoniously, just long enough to shove the cloth underneath it as a makeshift pillow.]

Also. I have a steel needle and a silver one. If I suture this, which will pierce better to make the stitches?

Not immediately. It can be seen to when I'm home, there is a supply from one of the hospitals we arrange with.

[He's trying to be quick. Anything else is unhelpful to the speaker and....

...and the pillow comes with a little grateful noise.]

First one. Silver will only burn.

Very well.

[She digs in her bag, finding the flask of water and one of her towels, which she reluctantly holds out to him.]

I assume you do not want me to touch your blood, so I need you to clean it off yourself first. This is water to rinse, and the towel to blot.

Do you have gloves?

[He asks it as Sypha hands him the flask. He can pour the water down his front, use his non-bloodied hand to wash out the dirt that has doubtlessly got itself caught in the wound. There's a horrible hiss as he does so, one that is enlongated for as long as he is scrubbing through everything.

Then there's the towel. It hurts in it's own way, but it is a little easier. Just by a hair.]

I didn't bring any, I'm sorry. If you need more water, tell me and I can make more.

[WITCHCRAFT.]

Be gentler with yourself. Don't scrub, just...stroke. Like this.

[She motions vaguely for him, trying to mime the appropriate method and level of care.]

I think it's enough.

[He doesn't even blink at making more water. She's a Speaker, it could be some kind of metaphor or. Or whatever. Alucard's decided that minimal thinking is best right now since there's someone else to help.]

Slightly too late for that now.

[But apparently he has enough in him to gently be a bit of an ass.]

Don't be a smart-aleck.

[She says, to Dracula's son, a literal vampire (or at least half of one) who, even injured, could still probably eviscerate her faster than she could blink, if he wanted to.

As the blood and dirt starts to wash away, she's got a much better vantage point on the actual nature of his wound, and she winces to look at it. It's deep, and ugly. There's no chance it won't scar.]

...I should tell you now that I have never done this before, in practice. I know the theory. And if you know something I do not about your own...anatomy, tell me. But this will get infected if it stays open. I think it will need to be sewn shut.

[In any better time, Alucard would actually laugh at being told off. As it stands, he accepts the chiding for what it is, since he can't alienate the only help he's received. The only help that's willing to risk so much for well, a stranger. Who only knows him by reputation, and what a terrible reputation it is.]

If there is anything at all I can think of, I will say so. These injuries usually heal within seconds, and you can see the flesh trying to do so. There's...something preventing it. So do whatever you determine is appropriate.

[It isn't dramatic to say his life is in her hands. Just accurate.]

This will hurt. Perhaps terribly.

[She's digging in her bag again, looking around for supplies, and eventually finds a steel needle and heavy thread. Chewing the edge of her lip, she surveys the gash in his chest once more, and ventures carefully.]

Tell me what happens when you burn yourself. On a stove, or on something hot. How do you heal yourself from that? Does your body mend beneath the burn and push out the burned portion?

That's fine.

[Sypha, he's pretty sure this can't get worse. Pretty sure.]

Similar to that. The flesh moves layer by layer, inside out, to put it all to rights. Does that make sense?

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