cryptsleeper | Catch All

[ An unsettling, bassy pulse throbs throughout the Hold, stifled only by the canvas of Leon's portrait. Meaty droppings, squelching, rattling... the sharp snap of an all too well-known whip. Whatever's happening behind the painting sounds utterly nightmarish, and after one heavy crunch, Leon himself (quite literally out of his own portrait) comes spiraling through the air, his back hitting one of the book shelves and causing its contents to tumble down atop him. He's coated in snot green fluid and the ribbons of the Forgotten One's entrails that he'd managed to lash off. The smell is absolutely putrid, enough to make a man vomit the moment a twinge of it catches a nostril. ]

[ He's coughing, can't feel anything after the impact of the monster one way and the wood breaking his trajectory the other. Curling up like a dying insect, Leon drops the Vampire Killer and clutches his sides, unable to emerge from the clutter of now slimy and bloody books that have collected upon him. ]

Edited 2019-07-07 16:00 (UTC)

[When Alucard has been alone in the Hold with no advanced noticed the other two would be returning home any time soon, he's written noises off as nothing more than the forest that surrounds the Belmont estate. Anything ghostly is sure to be a figment of imagination rather than a true spirit, and anything human makes very distinct noises indeed. The reason he hears anything at all is due to his own nature and the advantages that come with it.

So to say that there is noise coming from near the entrance, something wet and meaty, that's unusual. The smell that goes with it is faint, as he's so very far down, but Alucard can pick it out as nothing good and--

fuck, the books. There's been a shelf there of texts he was going to take up with him tonight so they could enter the conversation queue. Whatever's there now has doubtlessly made his life harder.

Alucard is on his feet in a second, sword in hand. With no time to waste, he takes advantage of his natural speed, and...

...this is a scene that if Trevor was in Leon's place, he wouldn't blink twice. Getting gross stuff into the Hold by accident is far too normal. But no, he's looking at a man who by all rights is dead and has just fallen out of his own portrait, covered in effluvia and looking like absolute shit.

Yet all Alucard can manage is a tired sigh, and an intonation that is absolutely exhausted.]

Belmont.

[No hello, not even a what are you doing here. Just the surname, followed by:] Let's get you away from the books. They don't need any extra reasons to be repaired.

[Alucard walks over very cautiously, sword in one hand and the other outreached towards Leon.]

I know. [ He sighs with contentment at the kiss, then turns his head before Alucard can turn away to kiss his lips. Just for a second, before breaking away to repeat himself.. ] I know.

[ For a little while he goes quiet, seemingly taking a moment to enjoy all of this. The coolness of the evening mingled with the warmth of the day still radiating from the ground. The feeling of Alucard’s back shifting as he breathes. The way that every now and then lilac flowers fall free from the slowly unwinding braids.

And then he leans back to lie in the cushions and look at the stars through the twined branches and leaves above them, pulling Alucard with him and holding him against his chest, one hand still in his, ]

[It's a comfortable silence, the kind of thing that comes easy after so much time spent together. There's no need to fill the space with words - there can be joy found in quiet and in simply being.

Alucard focuses his own eyes with the way colors move across the space they're in, how the light softens then intensifies them with the change of the sun's pattern. He doesn't expect it to set fully, but the sky is ablaze above them and it makes everything that much more intense.

But no. There are stars, and Alucard's pulled onto his back so he can look too.

Except it isn't just stars. There's galaxies he can pick out with his much too good eye sight, he can make out one or two of the planets, and everything is perfect. The scent of lilac is still heavy in the air, and all that Alucard does in terms of movement is bring Trevor's hand up to his mouth and gently brush his lips over the knuckles.]

This is perfect.

[ It's so ridiculously saccarine a gesture that he has to bury his face against Alucard's shoulder.

From down here, there's evidence visible that Sypha has been here. Books, mostly. The first thing she did when she learned that she'd made a medicine for lucid dreaming was to teach herself to read in her sleep. Not even Trevor's sisters are entirely sure how that works - it should be impossible to learn new information in dreams - but if anyone was going to manage it it would be Sypha. A thick blue woolen cloak too small for either of them hangs from one of the branches. ]

You deserve perfect. [ There are different words on the tip of his tongue. 'You could have it'. But he couldn't He can't come here in waking, and if he could he wouldn't want to be trapped. Instead he just sighs again, nuzzing against Alucard's shoulder. ] You both do.

[Alucard only huffs in absolute happiness at the gesture. Trevor's face is so impossibly warm against his cool skin, and with the evening comes the chill of night breezes. It's an excuse to draw closer together.

He doesn't miss the books, or the cloak that's clearly meant for Speakers going by color alone. It's nice, knowing that he isn't the first one to step foot here. That Trevor's romanced Sypha many times over in this space, when she wasn't just being a nerd.]

We already have it. [Oh that's over the top mushy, even for him.] The way everything has come together meets the definition, Trevor Belmont.

[ Even here, those spells remain in Alucard, sealed behind that long, ugly scar. Even here, one side of his face is split though by iron, one eye half-blind with it. They're far from perfect, not like they were before. ]

I suppose we do.

[ The chill aside, it's warmer here than it would be in the waking world. Warm and cold each have their benefits, but warm seemed better this time. There will be a time for thick cloaks and blankets and hot tea to warm the hands. Now is a time for lying beneath stars and chills gentle enough to mostly ignore (but just enough to move closer) if clothes come out of order.

He raises the hand that holds Alucard's, gesturing upward and not letting go, so that they have to gesture toward the sky together. ]

It's real, the sky. Mostly. Real as anything is here. [ Which is to say, not at all. Because it's a dream. But in the version of this place that exists somewhere- He knows what he means. ] The land is fairy-made, and the cage is me-made. But we couldn't make something like that. Couldn't even imagine it.

[Aluacrd only nods, because he knows he's right. Save for...save for the Collector, he wouldn't have had things any other way, his scar and the near heartache it caused included. It takes true effort to destroy trust now, and they all know it.

Happily, he shifts in Trevor's arms. The weather is ideal, as the waking world is still full of winter chill and thick furs to be bundled up in. Which he adores, but the late spring feel of here is lovely to indulge in.

As almost a matter of course, Alucard's own hand begins to move, outlining constellations that he can pick out. Even if the sky is only Mostly Real.]

Mmmm, so it's just the background that's someone else's. I don't think I've ever seen things so clearly without the help of a telescope.

[It is clear he approves though.]

[ For an extended moment, the figure crumpled beneath the books does not move. The stillness keeps his ligaments from aching, from the sharp pain he felt in places that he knew would later form gruesome bruises. The voice he hears from under the pile is familiar. Just his last name is so impersonal, something Leon has always disliked in his service as a knight. The hand that's reaching for him is a human's, and the quiet of the Hold in contrast to the literal hell of a chamber he'd been in prior to his arrival scares him in its unsettling tranquility. ]

[ He hesitates, disoriented, but eventually shifts and uncurls enough to take the hand Alucard has reached, its lack of warmth somehow comforting to touch. He's nearly unrecognizable when he rises from the ground, blond hair mussed by wet blood. Leon doesn't seem to see Alucard despite looking at him, his eyes clouded by the realization he's now somplace different. ]

"Leon is fine." [ Is what he says, wobbly. It's the same thing he said to Rinaldo, long before in response to such another impersonal calling. ]

[The response doesn't get anything from Alucard, nor does he discard his sword. What catches his attention is how heavy the scent of blood is, and that far too much of it is barely human. Alucard's eyes go down, trying to identify the points of injury, and after a few moments, giving up. The answer is probably too many places and that changes things considerably.

He doesn't move Leon far, that much Alucard remembers both of his parents always agreeing on if something called Lisa away from home. (It was an argument about her leaving the house versus the important principles that Dracula had taught as a part of the art of medicine.) All he does is guide Leon over towards the door that leads from the area with the staircase and the great big portrait of him into the Hold proper, down into rows upon rows of bookshelves and curiosity cabinets packed full of the strange.]

Don't move. I will return.

[It's a firm voice, one that brokers no argument and one that's soon gone. He's aware of how ridiculous floating in and out of the Hold looks, but proper medical equipment? That's not down there. That's in the castle, and Alucard knows he'll need books to guide his hand.]

[ Leon can only stagger so far as it is, what open wounds he has soaking the black fabric of his sleeves. He's took quite the beating from that monster, its strength far greater than even that of Walter Bernhard's. His ribs feel like they might pierce his organs as he struggles to breathe deeply through his nose. ]

"Thank you." [ Alucard is helping him. He's able to recognize the voice of who's found him even though he can hardly see through what's like a blanket of blind spots. His light-headedness causes him sway until the point that he has to hold onto one the railing of the staircase when his hand is let go of. ]

[It takes time for Alucard to find what he needs.

Well. Sort of.

His mother had a large bag of medical supplies, the go bag for when she was needed outside of her clinic. Alucard knows where it is, but knowing where it is and getting over the emotion of it are two different things. (It is the reminder that these situations do not afford the luxury of time that causes him to get over that.) Finding the right medical books takes more effort though, as in the mess of the library, not everything is back to rights.

He's back in ten minutes though, which is definitely worthy of some praise, bag in one hand, a bucket of clean water in the other, and a travel bag slung over his back that is full of books, towels, and a few other things.]

Listen to me closely. I'm going to take out a towel for you to lay your head on, and then I will need to cut off clothing that you have on that happens to be around the injury site - that can't be helped, it's easier to cut them off than attempt to undress. The only thing I need from you right now is to tell me what areas are bleeding. If you can't speak, indicate with hands, and if not that a glance of the eyes will do.

Do you understand?

That might be a dream thing. You know it's all there, so you can see it. Or- the sky's there, but all the dust and clouds and such isn't. I don't really know.

[ He lets Alucard guide their joined hands, tracing over constellations. It's perfect, the kind of thing that they should do more often in reality, now he's finally started to recover. Alucard with all the constellations taught in books and theories about blazing storms of gas, Sypha with all the ones that mothers whisper to children and stories about wishes and sailors finding their way. Him with the secret names the his kind use to address the stars and the knowledge that they are seeing thousands of years into the past, that some of those stars are long dead.

It would be nice, even if what he can offer is a little sad. He can listen to the other two talking. He could listen to it for a lifetime and not grow bored. Slowly, he releases the arm that's around Alucard and moves it downwards. Enough to slip a hand under his shirt. He doesn't go further than that, just resting his hand there against his side, fingers stoking. ]

Either way, it's...lovely.

[Alucard murmurs softly the name of each constellation as he goes. Sometimes he explains what the shape is, Orion, one of the Greek heroes, but he never veers into a history lesson or anything else.

This is all he wants. He wants it in the waking world, the three of them curled up around Sypha while Alucard talks about the winter's night sky. They can do that now.

Alucard sighs as Trevor slips the hand under his shirt. Going beyond that would be nice, but he doesn't need it. There's only one thing he requires now:]

S'hard to kiss you at this angle.

[ He could rearrange them. They wouldn't be looking at the stars anymore (as if he hasn't been looking at Alucard instead the whole time) but he could do it.

Or he could be a shit.

He leans forward over Alucard's shoulder as far as his neck will allow. He's close enough to his face that if he blinks his eyelashes will brush against skin, but the angle is still absolutely terrible. He smirks, kissing Alucard's cheek. ]

Try harder, then.

Trevor!

[It's a half whine, half laugh that comes out. It's all impossibly, impossibly smitten, and he tries to shift so he can kiss the Belmont better. This is only a slightly better angle, but he manages to catch the very corner of Trevor's mouth and that counts for something.]

Better.

[ Eventually he takes pity on Alucard, freeing their hands from each others so that he can shift out from under him, lowering him onto the cushions below and lying next to him on his side. One hand rests near Alucard's cheek, fingertips stroking against it, positioned so that if he turns onto his side his cheek will be cupped in it. The other takes one of the fallen lilacs from the ground, tucking it behind his ear before reaching over him to return to his side, stroking up and down again. ]

More convenient?

[Alucard's practically a dead weight when Trevor starts to shift them around. He's so happy to allow it, and even happier to be put down into the pile of cushions.

They're settled soon enough, and once Trevor lies back down, Alucard's hand is on his hip, resting there. It's feather light, no possessiveness as there might be normally. He's in no mood for that, only for the tenderness.

When Trevor tucks the lilac back into his hair, Alucard actually blushes. He then takes his other hand and runs it through Trevor's hair.]

Yes.

[He leans his cheek against Trevor's other hand, wanting to lean against that palm. To be held all too tenderly.]

I love you.

Of course you do. Sentimental thing that you are.

[ The tone was intended to be an attempt at feigning being dismissive, but it’s too warm for that. It’s teasing instead.

He draws his thumb over Alucard’s cheek. ]

Loved you since the beginning. Don’t regret a moment.

[Of course he's sentimental. The teasing just gets a low, warm laugh, one that ends with a soft kiss pressed against Trevor's thumb.]

Neither do I.

[He should kiss Trevor here. Now. It's the right moment for it, after all. But all Alucard wants to do is lie and luxuriate in the affection. He's practically stupid with it right now.]

But there are parts I'll always apologize for.

Apologise all you like. You know there’ll never be any need.

[ He traces patterns across Alucard’s hip, ornate swirling things that mean nothing but feel beautiful and delicate as his fingers trace them out. They branch outwards, downwards, ans before long Trevor’s fingertips are tucked under the waist of Alucard’s trousers. ]

...I was asleep before you, so I don’t know- You’re not- wearing anything you’d rather keep clean?

[ A crude question, awkward compared to everything that came before, but kind of an important one. ]

Aside from my own>

[Alucard's own hand responds by winding strands of Trevor's hair around his fingers, the letting go. The action repeats with a pleasant idleness, the joy of simply having the texture of Trevor's hair under his hands.

This is so much. He'd feel overwhelmed if this wasn't in dreams.

His feet nudge against Trevor's. Just to be there.]

I'm not. Don't worry about it.

"Yes." [ Shorter answers feel more appropriate. The rush of adrenaline is starting to fade, leaving Leon with only the heaviness of his own weight in a completely different time and place. His eyes look over Alucard's bags and the bucket, and then back to the painting of himself that he'd come flying through. ]

"It didn't make it through to this place, did it?" [ The Hold seems safe enough now, but... ] "—I'll have to go back in and kill it, Adrian. Please hurry." [ Resiliently. He swallows, and his mouth tastes bitter and metallic. Nothing about his body quite feels like it should, but there's no time to be wasted. The murals he'd seen of the Forgotten One were unable to be dismissed, and made it more than clear that the monster had posed an immediate threat. Getting rid of that thing is his responsibility now. ]

"Where's the whip?" [ It's still near the books he'd soiled, but he doesn't remember letting it leave his hand. ]

The whip is with the books. Forgive me if I don't consider it a priority right now, considering I can't handle it unless I'm wearing thick hide gloves.

[Even then, it hurt to handle, but Alucard could manage.]

Nothing came through beside yourself. As for the rest, whatever it is, it can wait. [It probably can't wait, but right now Leon is centuries ahead of the thing.

It is with a tired sigh that Alucard sets everything down, and he reaches into his bag. He's found a pair of older gloves to work with for now, and that'll have to be enough of a barrier. The scissors come out next, and they're placed down on the ground.]

Wounds. Indicate where they are.

"Right... okay." [ Compliant, Leon lowers himself to the ground to where the towel had been placed. The impending doom of the world on the other side of the portrait haunts him as he rests his head. He worries that his absence may undo the very fibers of the future in which he now exists. He looks not at Alucard's face, but at the long locks of hair that fall around it. ]

"My right shoulder, down to the forearm. Left thigh, from the hip bone to the knee." [ The main sources of his agony, aside from some perhaps now crooked ribs. ]

[ He shifts on the floor for a moment before offering a small, blue vial from somewhere in his coat. ]
"Holy water. You can use it, so long as you're careful not to get it on yourself. I don't think I'll turn this way since whatever I was fighting wasn't a vampire, but we can't be too certain."

Edited 2019-07-10 14:57 (UTC)

Catch All

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