cryptsleeper | Catch All

Three hundred and fifty. Dracula does not bargain like a fishmonger's wife.

[Alucard doesn't like this at all. He doesn't like that the person matters less than the idea, and he does not like the horned man that emerges. He is...he's ill. Alucard can see that much is true, by the way he carries himself. It's too brow beat, too worn too...

...Ugh.

That is no assistant. Alucard knows the Turks and others keep others as property, and this is no better.]

Of course not. He pays fairly for things of great value.

[ But he knows when he can't barter and won't push his luck. The Merchant writes on the strange, patterned paper again, and the man tenses. He falls deadly still for a few seconds and then moves, pouring the bottle's contents over sheets of more normal-looking paper. As it soaks in, the papers fill with words. It's a stream of consciousness, structureless, containing everything from the understanding of printing books to fear over the oncoming burning to hope that loved ones will be safe in these dark times.

Toward the end, another thought train joins those - an offer to make the death painless and take away the fear in return for his thoughts. ]

Our methods produce- disorganised results, I'm afraid. But you will find the information you seek there.

I would not expect a dying man's thoughts to be organized.

[Alucard would be a liar if he said he wasn't interested in the magic. He watches as the man tenses, and he understands two things. First, how commands are given here - they're written. And as for the rest, it's a brutal thing to witness, for as the words appear on the paper, Alucard's insides wretch. The man's final thoughts were bought. A promise of mercy. Alucard doesn't know if the Merchant truly made that come true. He has doubts.]

May I read the material over to confirm that fact? I would not wish to return without a careful inspection of such an item.

Of course. Give the good man the papers.

[ Trevor does as he is told, handing over the papers. The information is indeed there, if fragmented among a thousand other thoughts. Words twist into diagrams every now and then, pictures of how a printing machine might look, where the thin lines are made up of the desperate, terrified thoughts of a man about to die. ]

I assure you, whatever complaints you might hear about my work, you will not find a single customer dissatisfied by the information I provide.

[Alucard reads the papers carefully. He knows what he's looking for, but there's bile that rises in his throat as he witnesses every word. It's awful. The man's dying, and he was forced to think of this instead.

It's a miracle that Alucard's hands don't shake by the time he's done reading. But more than that, he's resolved to at least take away something from this monster.]

I'll take your assistant too.

[ There is a silence, at that. Trevor looks up just for a moment, eyes not quite focusing on Alucard properly, and then lowers his gaze again. The merchant finds his voice again quickly. ]

My assistant is not for sale, sir. Not even to a man such as your master. I trade in thoughts, not in living things. [ He absolutely trades in living things. But he does, at present, have the good sense to not advertise that to Dracula. He has not taken kindly to slavers in the past. ] Even if I did, I would be trading away my entire livelihood. I can hardly be a Silk Merchant without a weaver, can I?

[ Or, more pertinently, a trader of secrets without a fairy to pull them out of people's skulls. ]

[Alucard draws himself up just a little bit more, channeling every inch of his father he can. He knows what Dracula at his most imposing looks like, and to put it into action is...he looms is what he does, casting a shadow even in low light.]

I thought I was dealing with an all too clever man of means who could find any sort of magical solution to mundane problem. Surely you don't mean to imply all of your wealth comes from investing in a single man.

[Cold, gold eyes meet that of the Merchant's, daring contradiction.]

There are plenty of ways to manufacture bolts of silk, after all.

You are dealing with a man of means who came about those means through one very sound investment.

[ His eyes narrow. He straightens the papers, placing them in an envelope for Alucard. ]

You will pay me, and you will leave. Your patron's business is appreciated.

(He has hit a nerve. Good. Telling. But alucard won't dare do more than that right now. He places a small, black coin purse down atop the envelope, and his eyes meet that of the merchant's.)

Please, count it all out.

(It is time to thunk.)

[ He counts carefully, not taking his eyes from Alucard. As he does, Trevor gathers up the envelope. The Merchant nods eventually. ]

Give the man his papers.

[ Trevor does, handing over the envelope. But also handing over something else with it, one of those strange patterned sheets of paper. It's soft, almost warm to the touch, and patterned almost like a large butterfly wing might be. The merchant does not seem to have noticed its absence. ]

[Alucard takes the envelope, and he's careful as he looks through them. The correct number of pages are there and...something else. Alucard doesn't react to the something else. He simply clutches the envelope closer to himself, and with it, he begins to walk away. Whatever that wing means, he can't be seen with it until he is a safe distance away.

And so he walks. Walks, then runs, then moves as vampires do to a safe space away from the Merchant and the horned man, and then he opens the envelope.

The wing pattern, there has to be something to it. Alucard fishes it out, unsure of what it truly might bring.]

[ On closer examination, it's not paper but a piece of a large insect wing, roughly cut into a square. The orders from that last encounter are written on it, starting with the obvious - 'bring the printmaker's memories', 'put the memories to text' - and ending with-

-Make him forget.

Alucard was right to try to make distance. Trevor can't catch up immediately, not in his current state, but he has orders. And if his kind are good at anything, it's hunting. ]

[Alucard sighs heavily as he re-reads what is on the page. He could have figured this out in time, couldn't he? He's paid for a dying man's thoughts because he wanted too much, and now, well.

He spots a tree stump and he sits upon it, taking scant moments to collect himself. To refocus on Trevor, and how that situation might be rectified instead.]

[ The moths arrive, one by one. They’re mismatched, dusty grey ones among brighter ones and big ones among small. Eventually, there are enough for them to gather together into that horned man. ]

You should forget- that. [ He says, with a voice that sounds like it gets very little use. ] I can take the memories. It won’t need to bother you.

[...He's a fae. That follows then, with the comments about silk. Alucard frowns at Trevor, tilting his head slightly.]

What is it that you want me to forget, exactly?

My master asks that you forget me.

[ His master asks that. Because he personally doesn’t care that much if Alucard remembers him. He holds out a pouch - it contains the extra fifty coins that the Merchant bartered for. His kind can only take away what people trade willingly. ]

Not for free.

[Alucard doesn't hide his confusion. He looks from Trevor to the pouch back to Trevor again, and...he doesn't understand. Not really.]

Is he so worried about how Dracula treats slavers in this land that he failed to account for the vampire seeing through my eyes the entire time?

...Dracula can see?

[ It's the first time that emotion has entered his voice, and that emotion is fear. He doesn't remember why that terrifies him but it does. He takes a step back, just one, and then his spine straightens. He has orders. ]

Please. I can't go back until you forget.

If he wants.

[The emphasis is on the word if, to reassure Trevor that it wasn't the case right in this moment.]

Explain the mechanics to me. I don't know what you need forgotten or what that even ties into or... [The dhampir gestures.]

The vagueness doesn't help.

I don't do the talking, he-

[ -isn't coming. Alucard covered a lot of distance. Trevor's managed to catch up, but the Merchant won't be able to. This is a first. Trevor doesn't do the bartering. ]

We trade. I give you something you want, and take away your memories of seeing me - just of me, you won't forget anything else of tonight. Like the inventor traded his thoughts for pain medicine.

It's painless? [ He offers as an afterthought. ]

The pain isn't what I'm worried about. [He hasn't even considered that so, thanks Treffy.]

Does removing my recollections serve you in any way?

[Maybe he can't confirm that fact verbally.]

It serves my master. [ So no. ]

He will be kinder when I return, if you have forgotten me?

[ 'Kinder' is a relative term, here, more than likely. But Trevor has, if accidentally, pointed out the catch here. Any consequences for his failure will happen when he returns. He can't return unless he succeeds. ]

And what if you don't return?

[The question is asked so very cautiously. Unsure. Unready. But there's a thought there.]

If you're taken by your quarry?

He will- not be kind.

[ That last part is said through gritted teeth - not quite the terror that struck him at the thought of Dracula, but close. But then there is thought. ]

-but there will be no-one for him to be unkind to.

There will not be. And especially not if the ties that bind are broken.

[If anyone can look at a magic bond and make determinations about it, it is Alucard's father. The dhampir is confident of that much, and so he slowly rises to his feet.]

We must travel as the undead do then. [Slowly, Alucard offers a hand.] When we enter the darkness, you musn't let go.

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