cryptsleeper | Catch All

Oh, that was quick.

[Alucard looks up when Trevor enters, looking mostly surprised about the speed that all has been done. There's five minutes left for the poaching, and that means he can go take care of the wards. He's quick to get to his feet.]

I'll do that now. Can you make sure the pots don't boil over, please?

[There's no time for Trevor to respond. Alucard's taking advantage of vampire speed to get upstairs. Get the wards set. Ensure that tonight they're safe no matter what tries to escape those catacombs.

He's slightly more relaxed upon entering the kitchen again. Slight being the key word, because as Alucard fishes the chicken out of the poaching liquid, his shoulders are still too square. His body is still too taught when he puts the dinner plates down in front of them both, and there's that uncomfortable silence again as Alucard eats. He doesn't savor any of it, he only gets it eaten so that the matter is done.

There's been so many worse things in his life. Alucard doesn't know why it is that this is getting to him so badly.

He needs to break the silence. Small talk. Good, tedious small talk.]

I'm probably going to go right to bed after I do this evening's dishes, if you don't mind me in your bed tonight.

[Not that Adrian is giving him much room to suggest otherwise, but he is absolutely not going to bed right after dinner. After the rather staggering amount of shit Sypha and Adrian gave him about hygeine and regular bathing, he's not about to allow Adrian in his bed without a bath.

Trevor couldn't care less, honestly, but it's the principle of the thing. And as Trevor has practically inhaled his own food...]

You know I never mind.

[Trevor casts Adrian a sidelong glare as he gathers their empty dishes together and dumps them in the sink. They can wait 'til morning. At the moment, there's no matter quite as pressing as Adrian's dire need of relaxation, and Trevor's just given himself an idea.

Before Adrian can escape, Trevor slides up behind and hooks an arm around his waist, pulls him back to bury his face into the dhampir's shoulder and nip gently at the nape of his neck. It's a mean trick, the neck thing, and very nearly indecent; so of course, Trevor's merciless about employing it.]

But we're having a bath first. Together. You and Sypha can't insist I wash constantly and then come to my bed dirty. It's hypocrisy, at best.

[In fairness, Sypha and Alucard began the campaign to Make Trevor Take a Bath Several Times a Week because at the start of all of this, it had been needed. A very different life had left a lasting impression on the Belmont, and while they were happy to live with him they were much less happy to live with the scent that he carried.

Alucard's all set to say something about being irritated by how long the bed is taking to make, or at least something about doing the dishes quickly, he is ambushed! Set upon! Attacked in the sneaky way only vampire hunters can sneak, all while honing in on his true weakness: attention to his neck.

There's an immediate noise that's Alucard's version of a squeak (it's actually just a squeak and he lies to lie to himself that it isn't) from Trevor's sudden ambush. He's done it plenty of times, and Alucard's found it easy to escape from if he's needed to. Sometimes it happens automatically, but now--

--not happening. Alucard's body rebels against the desire to try and escape Trevor's grasp, and so goes slack instead. He isn't even going to attempt this fight.]

I'm not in any negotiating position, am I?

[He's in the opposite. But more than that, having Trevor back against him feels like the release he's needed since this started, and it's more likely to help with plans for the next few days.]

And it was rather gross down there...

You're not. And it was.

[At the very least, Adrian's not resisting -- either the suggestion or the contact -- and that gives Trevor some hope that the evening's not a total loss. He gives Adrian's neck a parting nibble as he disengages, and tugs at the dhampir's sleeve as a silent beckon. Bath. Now.

Trevor remembers the first time he set foot in the downstairs bathroom, because that was the moment he'd decided this manor was a madman's palace of excess, and Adrian an abject hedonist. There's no reason for a Roman-style bath in this house, let alone one of this magnitude. Then again, there's no apparent reason for many of the strange technologies Adrian possesses, but Trevor came to appreciate most of them ably enough.

Besides, the hot water is glorious after a hard day, which helped to assuage Trevor's borderline aversion to bathing, and he stopped questioning it altogether when they discovered that all three of them can bathe together like this. Henceforth, ever and enthusiastically did the Belmont sing its praises.

But baths require nudity, and Trevor has long been a fan of not wearing clothes in Adrian's presence. There's no ceremony to it, and no shyness; just stripping and leaving his garments in an untidy pile by the open bathroom door.]

[ The first few nights, he slept like a dead man. Despite Sypha's worries, that had been the only real indication that he'd given that he was in anything but the best condition. For a glorious few days he'd been the gleaming last scion of the protectors of Wallachia, unshaken by loss and torment. Adrenaline and the taste of freedom are strong, strong things.

But they only last so long, and while it's been a mercy in many ways that the last few nights have been more peaceful than the first few it has meant that that adrenaline has slowly ebbed away. In its absence has been left a shadow of a man, a pale moon to the sun he was a year ago. He stands lopsided, won't face the sun with his ruined eye, jumps at shadows. And unless he can find a way to get a drink at night, he sleeps like a man ordered to remain awake and threatened with another whipping the moment his eye closes.

Sypha doesn't like him drinking, says it slows his recovery, and he doesn't like to argue with her. She worries so much already, he doesn't want to tell her something is wrong. So he waits for her to sleep before sneaking out. Just one drink. Just enough to sleep. He chooses the tavern near the outskirts of town. A rougher place, probably with beer like watered down piss, but he doesn't trust the innkeeper at the place they're staying not to tell Sypha.

A man pushes past him roughly, running like he's seen a ghost, and Trevor's thoughts are no longer on beer. He doesn't have his whip, but if something's spooked the man so badly- it could be the hordes. He takes off in the opposite direction, toward whatever the man's running from. And practically trips over their vampire.

Shit. ]

Adrian.

[ He crouches by Alucard, putting a hand on his shoulder while he looks about with narrowed eyes. ]

Is something here?

No.

[It's a simple, terse answer and it comes paired with the vampire trying to withdraw from the and that's on him. The good news is that he manages, but in doing so he flinches and sucks in a sharp breath. It's a giveaway that he's done something stupid instead, and the very, very last thing that he wants to deal with right now is a Belmont response to what will be seen as recklessness.

So Alucard braces both palms on the ground and forces himself upright, ignoring how that gets the knife still inside him twisting and cutting up more of his insides.]

Only me.

[Trevor being remotely interested in baths is what Alucard calls a victory, even though he's aware that it is only because it involves the dhampir also being nude. So be it.

He follows after with only a moment's glance back to the dishes. The baths themselves are what Adrian considers the house's only real luxury, because it is in fact over kill to have a miniaturized bath house in the middle of the city. There are steam rooms and the like left over from the Ottomans here, yes, but more than that, Alucard leaves such places feeling much calmer and civilized. Why would't he simply have one in his own house?

The decor is far more in the Turkish style anyway, all heated marble and elaborate metal working for the fixtures, the hot, cold, and tepid pools sizeable but not swimming pools either. It's absolutely overkill. And maybe that's just fine.

Alucard's own clothing is taken off layer by careful layer, each garment folded and placed aside on the little wooden bench near the entrance that's meant to serve that exact purpose. It's slow going, not just because of the layers, but because the dhampir keeps sneaking glances in Trevor's direction.

He finishes, finally, and wastes little time getting into the hottest of the baths.]

[ His entire body relaxes at that, a little too much. He slumps forward, massaging his temples, and then catches the sharp breath and looks up at Alucard. It's dark and he's so used to the smell of blood by now that it barely registers, but he can see moonlight reflecting off something liquid, something dark dripping down a metal handle and onto the ground. ]

You- appear to have a knife in your gut.

[ He doesn't put a hand on Alucard again but steps forward, frowning and speaking flatly. ]

What the fuck.

I was mistaken for a man of money and means. That is all.

[He says it much too calmly. Alucard has bore plenty of injuries in the past, most having healed quickly. (The first one he ever received was when he escaped from Carmilla. Her long, long talons for finger nails scarred up his left arm, and the marks from them are still there. He understood why that was later in life, that elder vampires can leave wounds that take their own kind actual time to heal from.) This one isn't because the bulk of the energy is being poured into healing the awful gash from Dracula himself. Sypha's cauterized and gone over Alucard's stitches, but the internal pain is still awful, and he expects it to be awful for a long time yet.

Alucard takes a few steps forward, aware that they're shaky but unable to make himself care.]

It's happened before. Stop worrying, I'll be fine.

Mistaken and stabbed.

[ Important omission there, pal.

He looks Alucard over, shaking his head. The injury from Dracula was before they found him - he knows of it vaguely but not how bad it was. But that an injury from a seemingly normal knife isn't healing immediately- ]

-No. You're going to the wagon. Can you walk?

It's only a stab.

[Who cares about just a stab! Alucard makes a point to start walking, but after just a few steps, his shoulders slump forward, the weight of the fur almost engulfing the back of his head. It's an answer to Trevor's question, and Alucard absolutely hates it.]

I can't.

[He hisses it, thin and furious, annoyed at himself and well aware that this is absolutely the last thing any of them need.]

Shit.

[ The supplies are at the wagon, and he'll have easier access to clean water there than he does here. But if Alucard can't walk? Carrying him will aggravate the wound, but leaving him here on the frozen ground, with the smell of blood on the air and the night full of things that can catch that scent? ]

Let me know if I fuck up too badly. [ He rests one arm against Alucard's back to support him as he hooks another under his knees, trying to lift him without too many sudden movements. And then, because he's too tired and too sober to resist the temptation to be just a little petty, he mutters under his breath- ] Shouldn't be too hard. Seems to be what you're best at.

What are you--!

[It's a yelp, one born of someone touching him, mixed with the pain of the wound and the absolute indignity of the entire moment. He expected to have an arm around his shoulder to drag him along to the wagon. Not this.

It isn't relaxing. It isn't helpful. Alucard's entire body tenses up with an absolute horror that is doubtlessly obvious to the Belmont but under no circumstances can the vampire find himself caring. To his credit, he doesn't squirm, but there's a hissed noise of fury that's something only a vampire could make.]

I could have made it with guidance not this, Belmont.

[ He frowns and only holds on to the vampire tighter, even knowing that if. He can be weird about it and make vampire noises later. For now, the most important thing to do is get to the wagon. ]

You'd have made it slowly.

[ Alucard could absolutely break out of the hold if he stuggled rather than tensing up and freezing. Probably would take a few ribs with him, but could break out. He doesn't care. If it happens, it happens. For now, he continues to walk steadily but quickly back to the inn and the wagon parked near its stables. ]

You can complain if I make the wound worse. That'll be helpful.

It would have been fine.

[It wouldn't have been. Trevor's right, but like hell Alucard will admit to any concept of that. He remains taught in Trevor's arms, silent and fuming and biting down on the pain.

It is fine. Shallow, it'll heal up a little faster for that. Half a day, maybe. Enough for it not to be a problem, and if he spends tonight in the wagon, then he spends the night in the wagon. Sypha is far more likely to forgive that anyway, she's seen the deep discomfort that overtakes the vampire when he's been around civilization for more than an hour or two. Going from town to town is madness.

He's quiet until they get to the wagon, having moved only just long enough to readjust his cloak and make sure it wasn't going to fall from his shoulders.]

I can sew myself up.

Right. And nobody would have followed the trail of blood.

[ Which- shit, he'll need to clean up. Once this is done. He sets Alucard down, taking two steps back from him because he felt just how badly Alucard responded to contact. He climbs into the wagon himself, digging around in the packs to find the sewing kit. He sets it down by Alucard along with a mostly-clean cloth and a waterskin and then hops out again. ]

Go ahead.

[ He's not going anywhere, though. He's going to at least take a look at that cut, even if it's from a distance. ]

[It's a relief, not being carried. Having his space back, even if he'd prefer Trevor to be much further away. Alucard reaches for the sewing kit and selects a steel needle, one whose tip is wrapped in a little vial. It's alcohol, all the better to sterilize the needle so it can be used at a moment's notice.]

Shut up.

[Because he has to concentrate, or so Alucard tells himself. He shrugs the cloak off from his shoulders first, and then carefully manuevers his awfully dirty white tunic off himself as well. As tender as he was when Lisa was murdered, Alucard remembers enough of her medical skills and lectures. She'd sit him down in the clinic and let him watch the work, teaching her son when Dracula was away.

That's a memory to deal with later. The shirt is gone, and so threads can't get in the wound. He ignores the fact that it means Trevor will see the cauterized scar that runs down his torso, and instead threads the needle before turning his attention to the knife in his side.

The hand not holding the needle is the one that pulls it out, quick and smooth and with only a soft noise of pain. It hurts, but Trevor need not know that.]

It's only a blade. I'd know if it was poisoned.

[He clarifies, as if that's why the Belmont is lingering. The needle goes in.]

[ He doesn't answer. Because he does, actually, know how to follow instructions and if he was asked to shut up- fine. He doesn't have much to say right now anyway. He picks up the discarded knife, examining it. Iron. Not silver. Not poisoned, if Alucard is to be believed. Blunt enough to have been awful going in, hopefully enough that any damage done to organs was crushing rather than cutting. Not that the distinction matters that much for Alucard's kind.

The long scar, still too fresh for comfort, catches his attention the second he lets it waver from the knife. It's nasty, worse than he'd expected, and he'd have commented if he'd not been told to shut up. Instead he stares intently for a while, examining it as best he can from this distance, before returning to the wagon for a piece of paper and stick of charcoal. ]

I'll leave her a note so she doesn't panic when she wakes, let her know I'm staying down here.

[ That is to say: Alucard, you're stuck with company for the rest of the night. ]

You don't need to stay down here. She'll appreciate your company more anyway.

[Trevor is, after all, the nice one. The one she's been looking for to complete that stupid prophecy, not Alucard. Not the disgraced son of the man responsible for the night hoards in the first place. Alucard's amazed Sypha can stand his presence most days and--

--that's not a thought to have while sewing oneself up. Alucard's eyes go to his wound, cursing the awful angle that it's on and that he has to patch it up in the first place. He should have just gone beyond the town borders and into the woods if he was so in need of quiet and space. Not lingered, Not been around humans.]

Go inside and sleep.

No.

[ The response comes immediately, and a little more harshly than he intended it to. He can't sleep, not without a drink, and if Alucard sees him walking off in the opposite direction of the inn so he can find one-

-well, he probably won't have questions. But he'll know. And he might tell Sypha out of spite. Instead he watches Alucard work. ]

You're shit at this.

[ He outstretches a hand, not touching Alucard but coming close. Let him do it. ]

No. You can't see in the dark.

[Alucard pulls suddenly and tightly on the thread, and for a moment he feels the wind leave himself. Shit. Fuck. Stupid move.]

I've done this plenty of times, and my parents were far better doctors than your family of murderers.

Butchers. Murderers kill people.

[ He says it without thinking, without even taking in the statement enough to have any feelings on it. It's probably not a great response, but by the time he's actually considered everything long enough to realise that he's-

-offended isn't the right word, nor is hurt. Not even angry. He's heard his family called far worse. It's more an awareness that Alucard was trying to hurt, and it doesn't exactly leave him in a mood to take his words back. ]

[Good. There's silence after that. Alucard can work with horrible and oppressive silence, because that lets him concentrate. His stitch work is slow, yes, but it's neat even though his mother never did properly instruct him on how to do this. He just remembers watching her, and the rest just...maybe it's some kind of knowledge he inherited.

Either way, he manages three quarters of the way through before the angle becomes too awful to deal with, and every time the vampire twists or turns or shifts to try and see what he's doing, there's a noise of pain and a soft swear. His fingers tremble every time he manages to get the needle in and--

--no. The son of a family of genocidal hunters don't get to help. He keeps twitsting and turning, pointedly ignoring Trevor's gaze.]

For fuck's sake. Unless you got put back together wrong after he cut you in half, your body's not meant to turn that way.

[ He hasn't moves his hand since he offered it, despite the words they've shared, He stretches the fingers of it to draw Alucard's attention to it. ]

Let me do it.

No.

[There's only half an inch left to do. He can do this. He can do it and he knows he can, so why is the Belmont even lingering.

But the word no makes him pull too hard, and there's a breathless choke of pain that blossoms up with it. Fuck. Fuck.]

Catch All

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