cryptsleeper | Catch All

I'll be honest, I'm amazed either of you can understand me at all. Well. Perhaps not Sypha.

[She knows all the old languages, but the point stands.]

But I'll keep that in mind and-- oh come here you're never going to get at the stuff from the angle you're at.

Used to insist to my tutors that I'd never need to know old Romanian, but here we are. Guess they got the last laugh.

[ He grumbles - he's tired - but he stands and moves to perch on Alucard's bed. There's a decent sized clump of some sort of plant matter in his hair, just out of reach. ]

Fell in a ditch while I was trying to lose the fucker. But they didn't follow me into the ditch, so I suppose it worked.

I learned enough from listening to you all speak around me, I suppose.

[Trevor was not the only one. Just the last one.

And the first Belmont he's had to groom like this. Alucard stands up slowly, and there. That's--

--nearly an entire branch. There's a soft snuffle as Alucard extracts the thing, trying his best to be gentle.]

You're almost a tree now.

[In point of fact, Alucard has very little love for city life. He's a creature of the mountains, of isolation, of being outside and away from humanity. His presence in London is a requirement right now, for reasons the Belmonts have only sort of explained but not really. Something's going down and we need someone with the Hold's knowledge in their head.

Terrible reason. It set Alucard on edge, especially with the past century of revolution in what was only now the Kingdom of Romania. Place names came and went, Ottomans gave way to Russians gave way to the Austro-Hungarians, gave way to independence, but there was still a sense of loss at Wallachia as it's own place. There was always the chance of another war, and now he was a continent away, unable to defend the castle and the Hold.

It was a pointless worry. Plenty of Belmonts remained to do just that, and so he was in London, doing what research he could. The lie of who he was this time (Adrian Ţepeş, an outed minor nobleman who had lost all when the Kingdom of Romania formed) was simple enough, and he could at least access archives and collections in spaces like the British Museum to attempt to understand what threat the Belmonts saw in London.

Which rather lead to here and now. Those same connections that let Alucard sit and assist with cataloging (because he was good at that) asked permission to pass his name along to someone doing research into Romanian folklore. He had agreed, made the appropriate appointment, and at this point, was making coffee in his kitchen.

The exterior of home was as plain a town home as anyone could hope for. Somber and of the time, with a bell attached. A bell attached that was ringing now, just as the coffee (in the style of the Ottomans) completed it's final boil.

Living alone meant that there was no one else to get the door. So Alucard poured the coffee into two tulip shaped glasses first, then went to greet his guest.

No creepy creaky door. No foreboding. Nothing looking out at Vanessa but a simply dressed man with hair a little too long for the time to be considered fashionable.]

Miss Ives, I presume?

It shouldn't be a surprise when D disappears without comment. The idea of telling Adrian where he was intending to go didn't occur to him and while the parasite remarked that they might be missed, D ignored it. He privately felt that Adrian would be relieved not to have his presence skulking around his family home, and when he caught wind of a band of monstrous creatures raiding villages and towns to the north, the draw to make use of his skills was too much to resist.

It takes longer than he'd expected, takes more out of him as well, and while there'd been a thought at the back of his mind that this was the time to simply leave and never return, disappear and leave Adrian's strange acceptance behind, the younger dhampir had been right about one thing. The castle is clearly the closest thing he'll find here to sanctuary.

The wolves might be the first to let the pale-haired master of the castle know of his return, or perhaps its the scent of blood that surrounds the horse he'd acquired, old and dried but still clinging to it and D himself. His movements are jerky as he dismounts and goes through the motions of finding a place to settle the creature, every movement tightly controlled to avoid giving too much away.

He hasn't seen Adrian yet, but D imagines that he's watched and doesn't trust a lack of apparent eyes to put him at ease. Soon enough he expects there will be questions and he's bracing himself for them, ignoring the way the sun feels particularly harsh today and saps at his energy.

[She was not sure what she was expecting when making when she stood on the doorstep of the modest town home and rang the bell. It was not to be greeted by name. And by the master of the residence. Not that she had given the matter a lot of thought, not with all the other looping, racing thoughts and flashes of insight that lurked around every dim corridor and in the restlessness of sleep.

But after retrospective consideration one should have held no expectations when it came to those whose passion was esoteric knowledge. Which, in some ways, made them easier to flock together and exchange information. Like sought like and it would forever be easier to discuss the unbelievable with someone who already had a toe in the pool - so to speak.

Which suits her purposes well since there is little time to gently ease into the subject. Not to say Vanessa was about to spill her guts. Sensitive information must be guarded carefully and even with assurances that Mr. Tepes was discrete she would hold herself back. She had already slipped and let herself lose control, there would be no relapse.]

Mr. Tepes, thank you for agreeing to meet with me.

[The smile is polite, warm in a way that doesn't truly reach her a little too empty eyes. Stepping forward she offers her hand taking the moment to study him. Sharp angles like a concealed rapier, and a gold that holds a hint of something cold.]

It depends. Are we pretending like it never happened? [Hector doesn't think he needs to clarify 'it'.] If so, I don't need a pity loaf.

[He takes the jar and leaves the pantry.]

You'll want pita bread with the tzatziki, if you know how to make it.

[Back to shop talk, because talking about feelings for more than a second is like pulling teeth with these two.]

No, it was a travel loaf, Hector.

[He was being genuinely nice you knucklehead. Alucard sighs, pausing to grab the container of flour before following Hector out.]

I know what it looks like, but how is it baked to ensure flatness?

[The hand is taken without a moment's hesitation. Having been fussing with hot water and hot coffee only moments before means that Alucard's skin is not it's usual lukewarm temperature, and that? That is good fortune.]

I couldn't say no to such a request. The parlor's on your right.

[He steps back to allow Vanessa in properly, careful to tread lightly without moving too quickly. To do so would give away his own nature, and it has been known to happen before.

It's a small town house, with the main stair case right in the hallway. No photos hang on the walls, and the walls are plain greys and off whites, suggesting a man who's only just moved in and lacked time to decorate. The parlor is no different, with equally plain walls and book cases that are only half filled. Even the furniture is plain, with no particular details on the wood - although the cushions themselves are wonderfully soft. A single sofa sits across from the fireplace (a mirror hangs over head), and two armchairs flank the sofa. A single coffee table mediates it all, but it all lacks a personal touch.

Alucard doesn't follow Vanessa there. He instead disappears into the kitchen, returning with a small tray of coffee. Two tulip shaped glasses of translucent blue sit there, along with a bowl of sugar cubes and little squares of...well, nothing English. The tray is set down on the table, and Alucard settles into one of the armchairs.]

I realize tea is traditional, but the Turkish style of coffee is unique. I'd recommend adding sugar, and drinking carefully when you're halfway through. The grounds sit at the bottom of the cup.

[Drinking coffee grinds is a bad time.]

There's baklava if you'd like it, I found a decent enough supplier and I grew up around those who worked in Ottoman kitchens and could reproduce the stuff. [That's his lie and he's sticking to it.]

It was only after the report of night creatures in the north that Alucard had figured out where D had gone off to. There was a logic in it, as D insisted he was nothing but a tool made to deal with such problems, and yes, the whole thing was a problem. A big one, but something the Belmonts could have done easily.

Which, several Belmonts pointed out, was probably why D had left to go do it. Sitting around the castle was going to make anyone restless, and Alucard wasn't making D's life any easier. If anything, it made things harder.

An ugly truth, but one Alucard only sighed at before accepting it. There wasn't a wrong word in there, and he simply waited for the alerts that D was back. The wolves. Protecive defenses that were invisible to the eye. His viewing mirror. Whatever went off first to alert him about D's return.

It's the wolves, in the end. They catch the scent of other dhampir and blood, and one of them runs to the castle, awooo-ing to get Alucard's attention. A large white wolf emerges from the castle in response, listens, and then? Then he darts off to where D has been spotted.

Four paws carry him quickly, but Alucard has the good sense to at least look like a man when he approaches D again. Ignores the sharp scent of blood in the air. Hopes the horse won't startle.

"Welcome back."

[A slight nod of greeting and acknowledgement is given when he takes her hand and she takes that first step across the threshold. It is Vanessa's opinion that he could have very well have refused her request. Social etiquette and obligations are one thing but there's always a way to get around them if a person desires. But she is unaware of what kind of man he is outside of a brief history of his background and social guarantees that he is a well respected and knowledgeable gentleman. So he could be speaking the truth when he says he couldn't refuse.

It will be interesting to see if she will find out more about him along with the lore she is looking to find. The absence of decor may lend insight. While presence of books, paintings, trappings gives light to the occupant so too does the lack of. Even if that insight is simply: unconcerned with outward appearance. Vanessa takes it all in as Adrian disappears and reappears with a tray which she takes as a cue to find a seat on the couch, setting her bag next to her.]

Both sound delightful, thank you Mr. Tepes. As a baklava novice I am sure this will be delicious, have no fear. The regular presence of coffee is a new development for me and I haven't quite adjusted to it. But I believe Turkish coffee differs from - [she struggles with how to classify it, she really is out of her depth here.] American coffee?

You'll have to speak English, out there. Not Ancient Frengreekmanian, or whatever you'd call this.

[ First if only because of the lack of branches in the castle. He tenses at the contact, as if expecting something bad to happen, and then relaxes. It's the tiniest thing, but after so long without even the tiniest parts of being cared for- it's nice. He chuckles, at that and at their stupid chimera of a language and at Alucard's comment. ]

Jealous that you're not going to be the only one with a bark?

[ DOG PUNS. ]

You flatten out the dough with a rolling pin and bake it on the stove, or on a heated stone in the oven. It'll puff up and make a nice pocket in the middle.

[Bread is definitely the safer of the two topics. How is Hector supposed to know how to deal with genuine niceness?? Help. Well, Alucard said 'was', so maybe the pity loaf is no longer a concern.]

They are quick to make and best fresh, so we can make them tomorrow. Although if you want to practice, they are the superior form of bread and you can put anything in them. It won't be a hardship to use up a batch.

I'll try the oven first, and see if it puffs up to your standards.

[Alucard is going to just. Stick with bread, really, it is the safer topic.]

mmm. Watch me make the dough and then tell me if I have to make any chances while it proofs over night.

Old Romanian, mixed with old French and modern Romanian.

[Because there's only the Kingdom of Romania now, or that's what Alucard has come to understand from all of the newspapers.

He keeps working though, picking smaller pieces out first and--]

Are you kidding me?

It does. The preparation is a far earlier version of what the Americans do, and it's why the grinds remain in the bottom of the cup. Moreover, it's more concentrated, which is why the cups happen to be so small.

[Alucard takes his own cup, adding two of the sugar cubes to it and then stirring.]

Likewise, it is more bitter. But we're not here for the history of coffee.

[Settling back into his seat, Alucard fixes Vanessa with a mildly curious stare.]

What interest do you have in my country's folklore?

[ Is he laughing at his own joke? Yes, he is laughing at his own awful, awful joke. Loudly enough that he has to cover his mouth with a hand to avoid waking Sypha. ]

Oh, of course not. Why [ Ahem. ] wood [ Ahem. ] I do that?

[ God knows why this horrible side of him is coming out now, of all times. He's tired, he's being shown the slightest bit of care, and- apparently being made comfortable around people leads to puns. He's having a good time with it, at least. ]

No, but I find the pursuit of knowledge a pleasure in its own right no matter what the topic. [Coffee, flesh eating beetles, the blood thirsty undead...

Vanessa follows Adrian's lead, two cubes of sugar and a slow stirring. The ritual of Turkish coffee. The glasses are beautiful, with the delicate handles and bowl of the cup. Once the mixture is stirred she sets the spoon on the saucer and redirects her attention to her host and his gaze.]

Ah, yes. A potentially intriguing topic to be sure; the more monstrous tales from your country. Ones of those who shun sunlight and are sustained by darker substances. It is an interest inspired by recent writings that my colleagues and I have come across.

D's hands are oddly gentle as he settles the horse, taking the time to check it over for injuries and do what he can about the worst of the dried blood. There's nothing too serious, fortunately, but its thin and in need of rest. D himself isn't faring much better; what little of his skin that can be seen has a greyish cast to it and his clothing has more holes and tears than before as well as its own fair share of dried blood.

He doesn't turn immediately at Adrian's voice, continuing to see that the horse has enough feed and water first.

"Should I have come back?"

[That isn't funny at all. Alucard groans, and there. More crap out of Trevor's hair. Alucard then looks down at the pile, pauses and:]

I can't beleaf you managed to get this dirty.

Strigoi?

[Yes, the word vampire has been in circulation for a long enough time, but Alucard knows the part he is playing well an that means using the old words too. He's careful as he holds the coffee in his hand, face a careful blank as he responds in full.]

What of them, precisely? There's too many stories and variations for me to know where to begin without additional guidance, I'm afraid.

"Of course."

That response is automatic at least. The other dhampir steps forward, and as he does so, he accounts for all of D's appearance. Clothing, well, that's clothing and easily fixed. But the gray nature of his skin? Oh, that rings an alarm in Alucard's mind, and his frown deeps.

"I'm a decent seamstress, thankfully. But--"

Not what happened. Only, "You should have told me you were going out."

[ There's a snort of laughter at that, and Sypha stirs. Trevor immediately claps both hands over his mouth while she turns over and returns to her rest. He's still chuckling when he withdraws them.

It's a relief. To just talk. Talk like normal people with terrible senses of humour. He's been able to do that with Sypha, every now and then, but Alucard is different. Too close and too distant all at once. He's known him his whole life, and yet they've never really spoken. But here they are, with terrible tree and dog jokes.

He leans back a little, not far enough that his weight is against Alucard but closer. ]

That's not all of it? Shit, I don't know why I go to the markets for vegetables. I just need to fall of a few more ditches and we'll be fed for a week.

[Vanessa nods simply and takes the moment to pick up the still steaming glass to take a careful sip. It's no exaggeration to call it strong but the sweetness of the sugar helps to temper the bitter taste.]

Out interest mainly lies in their power, more specifically their power over others. [Another delicate, silent sip before she continues - a moment to gather her thoughts.] How to loosen that grip.

"Would you have tried to stop me?"

As much as it might be easier, he can't keep his back to Adrian the entire time so, with a sigh, D finally turns properly to look at him. He knows how he looks which is exactly why he'd been hoping to avoid this conversation at least until he'd had the chance to rest, but that's clearly not about to happen.

He squints at the sun, setting in the distance and haloing Adrian's hair in golden light, and tugs his hat lower.

"And you were busy. I didn't want to interrupt." That's a lie, he'd only assumed as much, but he'll stick to it regardless.

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