[That's actually a lie, the spare got destroyed by Dracula along with most of Alucard's torso. Alucard doesn't say that though, just reaches for bandages so he can pretend he fixed some of this by himself.]
[ He can see the scar better now, and he kind of wishes he couldn’t. It’s a horrible thing, long and ugly and still only barely healed in places, raw and held together by burned flesh. He wants to make it better. He wants to make things right. He can’t. He doesn’t know how.
He sits next to Alucard, drawing his knees up to his chest. ]
I know- It must be hard to believe, that I mean you no harm.
[Alucard just focuses on applying the bandages. It's easy, wrapping them around himself when he's more awake and he has more daylight to work with. Simpler. He's relieved by the time the wound is covered entirely, and he can just pick his cloak back up and pull it around himself again. Oh, sure, it doesn't hide all of the scar, but most of it obscured and--
--Trevor's still there. Ugh.]
This is a prelude to a conversation neither one of us truly wants to have, Belmont.
[ Why did he think that would end well? He sighs, closing his eyes for a moment, and when he gets up it’s with a rare difficulty that makes it all too clear what the year of captivity has done to him.
The chill is back in his tone, and he doesn’t look at Alucard. ]
Drink your breakfast and rest. I’ll wake you in the evening.
And I don't believe you for a moment, either. When this is done, I expect you to try and cleave my head from my neck. [And all too steadily, he simply says:] I'll likely welcome it, after my father's death.
[He says nothing else. He ignores how Trevor stands. He only reaches for the bottle and begins to down it's contents. Blood and then sleep. The normal schedule, and it has been nice, feeding more than once a day.
Alucard tuts at himself. He mustn't get used to it.]
[ He doesn’t respond, just leaves and tosses the shirt into the fire as he passes it.
Sypha is the one to wake Alucard that evening. And the next. And the next. The blood vial still gets filled, but it’s never Trevor who delivers it. It’s Sypha who delivers the news that a vampire named Carmilla has made the castle her home, and Sypha who deals with the aftermath of that news.
But after Carmilla fights her way to Dracula’s study and leaps through the mirror there to escape, Sypha is busy. She has work to do, more work than Trevor can imagine to figure out how to move the castle. There is just him, unwanted as he is. He’s not unscathed himself, but it’s just scrapes and bruises. Alucard was her target, and she went after him with a focus unmatched. ]
[Alucard realizes only come evening after the shirt has been destroyed that it was in fact his only one. He steals a new one from a passing clothes line on some awful little farm out near the wilderness, and he has no ounce of shame in doing so. It's clean. It's loose. It'll do, and he'll find a second spare if they survive all of this.
He drives them at night, saying almost nothing. The space from Trevor is a godsend, even if it's clear from Sypha's body language that the distance doesn't make her happy. Alucard would apologize if he was in a better frame of mind, but he isn't. He's biting back a lot of pain, and not even Sypha's presence makes it easier.
But then the name Carmilla is said and the vampire shifts entirely. Oh, he's still ice cold but all the sadness that surrounds him is replaced by red hot fury, something barely concealed and powering him through the healing process. He isn't shocked to hear that she's taken his father's home and is using it as a prize. But there is satisfaction in the chance to remove her from it violently that helps to gloss over the fact that it will be his first time home in over a decade.
It's not a pretty fight. In it, Alucard is every inch Dracula's son that he has ever been - an awful, feral thing that hisses and bites and claws, unafraid to throw Carmilla around as a man or a wolf and to nearly rip her throat out with his own fangs. Her blood is soaked through the castle's floor, running in neat little rivers that are ice cold and sticky.
He's taken injuries, but Alucard expected that. Carmilla has left marks on him before, and there was such a horrible satisfaction in watching her throat wound struggle to heal. She'll come back, because Alucard knows that she will and...
...and then adreline and fury leave him, and he's just Adrian again. Sad, miserable Adrian who was distracted from the real goal here of defeating Dracula and thus more liable to put their mission at risk.
He doesn't care. Not really. If they fail, then they fail, and Wallachia deserves it. The only reason he's trying at all is because his mother would be horrified to have this violence happen in her name.
It's hard now, being in the castle. Alucard's eyes are on the door, and he swears he expects her to just come in the room and sigh that he's collected a very impressive set of injuries.
[ He really is a monster, isn’t he? It was easier to forget, earlier. When he was man-shaped and just kind of a shitty person. Now, seeing all of that, seeing how he wasn’t trying to kill Carmilla but to destroy her-
-god forgive him. He needs Alucard, he can’t face Dracula alone. ]
I’ll fetch it. Stay still.
[ The tone’s as cold as it was when they last spoke. He knows Alucard doesn’t want warmth, and he’s not fool enough to try to offer it again.
Neither of them want him here, after all. Sypha fawns over the vampire, the vampire is rude at both of them. They want a Belmont, not a friend, and perhaps that’s for the best. ]
[Alucard would warn Trevor of the kitchen's modernity if he could remotely hope that the kitchen of his childhood was in tact at all. If there's no ice, then they at least have Sypha. But in Trevor's absence, there's a weight that settles over the vampire, almost crushing.
Carmilla was here. She was here for so long, and the house was a trophy to her. He just failed to kill her. It means she'll be back and back with horrible vengance, just as he is already. Survival isn't guaranteed and....
...Fuck. He may as well offer his throat willingly to the Belmont when this is all done.
Alucard's on the floor when Trevor returns, his awful messy, matted hair pooled around him, His hands curled up against the fabric of his cloak, as if he was trying to pull it closer when he fell. He's lost consciousness in all of this, and that's probably for the better anyway.]
[ It’s better this way. There’s no real way to minimise contact when dealing with injuries like this, and- it’s easier. Easier to do this when he knows he isn’t going to be tormented for trying. Easier to do this when Alucard’s face is still and he looks like a man at rest and not a monster.
He washes and wraps cuts, sewing where needed. Smears more of that dark paste over the worst of them, and a different medicine over the bruises. He takes the cloak to take advantage of the running water and clean it, wrapping his own cape around Alucard to replace it.
He’s half dressed when Alucard wakes, about done with patching himself up and setting about the last of his tasks - the little bottle of blood. The bottle is pressed against his palm as he slowly drains himself into it, not paying too much attention to the vampire. ]
[Alucard is quiet when he stirs, and he only stirs because the smell of fresh blood is far too strong for him to ignore. Most days, he'd be able to sleep through even that scent, but he's weakened. Blood will help him heal, and he needs to do that to see this all through.
He sits up slowly, shrugging off the cloak. It isn't his, he knows that by scent alone, and frankly he'd complain about smelling like Belmont if he was in a better state. As it is, he's powered by hunger, and the quiet knowledge that human blood will help him more than animal blood will.
Alucard has known that every poor hunt has resulted in blood from one of the two. He's never asked which one, mostly because he's never cared. He can't care right now because it'll start a fresh fight, and that's important to avoid more than ever.
His voice is raspy when he addresses the Belmont.]
[ It’s him, nearly every time. It’s a luxury that he has, since hunting tends to be left to him. He knows before Sypha does if they won’t have animal blood to hand. ]
There’ll be stores here, more than likely. But I doubt they’ll have come from willing sources.
[ Which is the big problem with the blood thing. He doubts Alucard cares, willingness to give doesn’t change the blood at all. But he does. And if he’s going to pretend Alucard isn’t a monster- this is important. ]
Guessing you’d rather have the bottle than my wrist. [ He says, finishing the task and handing the bottle over. ]
Won't be. Has to be fresh. Blood'll coagulate otherwise.
[He doesn't respond to the wrist comment. Alucard simply takes the bottle and drains it quickly, aware that the moment one drop touches his lips, there's a sense of relief. His all too pale face has a moment of color, and it endures as he drains the bottle.
But as he sits (awkward, hunched over, trying to find a comfortable spot), his feet brush against the floor. The castle vibrates in response, and when the vampire removes the bottle from his mouth, there's something close to a smile on his face.
He leans down, pressing a palm to the floor.]
Yes. [His voice is a whisper, aware that it's threatening to crack.] I've missed you too.
Can’t blame you. I’d rather have the bottle than me, too.
[ He leans his head back, staring up at the ceiling, and then jumps when the castle shakes. That’s too early. Sypha shouldn’t have made this much progress yet- ]
...-it’s. Talking to you.
[ You know what? Not the weirdest thing he’s ever experienced. ]
Yes. [Alucard’s response is still whisper soft, and he strokes the floor once or twice before withdrawing his hand. He moves slowly as he struggles to sit upright again, and his free hand moves to wipe the threat of tears from his eyes.] In it’s way. I….it had assumed us all dead.
[There’s an unsteady breath that follows the statement.]
[ Is he meant to feel guilty about this? He does, a little, but what was the alternative? Just let Dracula kill all of them? To make a house happy? He sighs. He shouldn’t be seeing this. ]
[There’s sincerity in that. That trying to murder Carmilla and then having an entire house rumble like a large kitten is the best welcome the vampire has ever had since he was forced out of his home. Alucard sighs when the truth of that off hand comment really comes home to roost, and he tries to shake it away.]
[ He doesn’t have to like Alucard overmuch to understand a little of what he’s been through. Wallachia isn’t a kind place, certainly not to people who stand out. ]
Looks worse than it is. [ The worst of the cuts does, indeed look worse than it is. The gouge is deep but the cut is clean, and her claws scraped over his collarbone rather than his throat. It could have been worlds worse. ] As for poison, there’s no way to know until it takes effect. You’ll have taken more of it than me, if she was using it.
No. I would have tasted it, and your blood was normal enough.
[It's not a normal thing to say at all, but the vampire doesn't care.]
She usually used small doses of things that would otherwise be fast agents. Took pleasure in seeing someone ration out just how much they could stomach before they'd put themselves at real risk of death.
[He tries to be matter of fact about this. Being home it’s...he’s not more open. Just calmer. More willing to try and respond to what kindness has been shown, because at least here, home, he’s safe as he’s ever been.
It doesn’t stop the lump in his throat.]
After...everything [you deprived me of my father], I was out in the wilderness. Couldn’t find the castle. So she found me instead, and I kicked and screamed and bit all the way back to Styria. Held me long enough to declare her a guardian, then wanted my death to be slow so she could say it was grief. Or illness. The poor constitution of a half-breed.
[Alucard spits the last word out.]
I was ten. I sat there calculating how much I could manage as I was wasting away. Escaped in the daylight by good fortune and found myself a river. Floated down it, covered my wolf-form in mud, and tried to at least get away from her.
[ He cuts himself off. That’s a pointless line of thought. If they’d know, they would have done a lot of things differently. ]
I’m sorry.
[ God, he’d thought Alucard was some ancient vampire. They’re practically the same age. That... puts a lot of things into perspective. He wants to offer Alucard a hand. That’s what seems natural to him. But he can’t, and so instead he pulls the white cape up around his shoulders instead, touching only by proxy. ] If you need to hear it - you didn’t deserve this bullshit.
[There’s a lot of responses he could give. You would have what? This is your fault. I’d be dead too and at least be less miserable. Alucard doesn’t reply with any of them.]
My life was the greatest secret my father kept from humanity. If you were doing something differently, he would have sense he failed.
[He doesn’t say more. Alucard falls silent instead, hardly reacting to the fabric or it’s warmth. The silence lingers, and he shakes his head slowly, like that might prompt more words from him.
It doesn’t. There’s a soft noise of...it’s ambiguous what it means. A softer rumble comes from the castle itself.]
[ This is his fault. It's his fault, and he's painfully aware of it. But there's nothing he can do to make it right. ]
There's a scrape on your scalp I couldn't get to through the hair. [ Is all he says after a while, soft and distracted. ] I don't think it's anything worrisome, but you should take advantage of this place's magic water while we're here and get it cleaned up. You'll be more comfortable, if nothing else.
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But then you- won't have a shirt.
[ It'll be very distracting. ]
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[That's actually a lie, the spare got destroyed by Dracula along with most of Alucard's torso. Alucard doesn't say that though, just reaches for bandages so he can pretend he fixed some of this by himself.]
It's fine, Belmont. And it's better stitching.
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[ He can see the scar better now, and he kind of wishes he couldn’t. It’s a horrible thing, long and ugly and still only barely healed in places, raw and held together by burned flesh. He wants to make it better. He wants to make things right. He can’t. He doesn’t know how.
He sits next to Alucard, drawing his knees up to his chest. ]
I know- It must be hard to believe, that I mean you no harm.
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--Trevor's still there. Ugh.]
This is a prelude to a conversation neither one of us truly wants to have, Belmont.
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[ Why did he think that would end well? He sighs, closing his eyes for a moment, and when he gets up it’s with a rare difficulty that makes it all too clear what the year of captivity has done to him.
The chill is back in his tone, and he doesn’t look at Alucard. ]
Drink your breakfast and rest. I’ll wake you in the evening.
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[He says nothing else. He ignores how Trevor stands. He only reaches for the bottle and begins to down it's contents. Blood and then sleep. The normal schedule, and it has been nice, feeding more than once a day.
Alucard tuts at himself. He mustn't get used to it.]
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Sypha is the one to wake Alucard that evening. And the next. And the next. The blood vial still gets filled, but it’s never Trevor who delivers it. It’s Sypha who delivers the news that a vampire named Carmilla has made the castle her home, and Sypha who deals with the aftermath of that news.
But after Carmilla fights her way to Dracula’s study and leaps through the mirror there to escape, Sypha is busy. She has work to do, more work than Trevor can imagine to figure out how to move the castle. There is just him, unwanted as he is. He’s not unscathed himself, but it’s just scrapes and bruises. Alucard was her target, and she went after him with a focus unmatched. ]
Is this broken, or just swollen as shit?
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He drives them at night, saying almost nothing. The space from Trevor is a godsend, even if it's clear from Sypha's body language that the distance doesn't make her happy. Alucard would apologize if he was in a better frame of mind, but he isn't. He's biting back a lot of pain, and not even Sypha's presence makes it easier.
But then the name Carmilla is said and the vampire shifts entirely. Oh, he's still ice cold but all the sadness that surrounds him is replaced by red hot fury, something barely concealed and powering him through the healing process. He isn't shocked to hear that she's taken his father's home and is using it as a prize. But there is satisfaction in the chance to remove her from it violently that helps to gloss over the fact that it will be his first time home in over a decade.
It's not a pretty fight. In it, Alucard is every inch Dracula's son that he has ever been - an awful, feral thing that hisses and bites and claws, unafraid to throw Carmilla around as a man or a wolf and to nearly rip her throat out with his own fangs. Her blood is soaked through the castle's floor, running in neat little rivers that are ice cold and sticky.
He's taken injuries, but Alucard expected that. Carmilla has left marks on him before, and there was such a horrible satisfaction in watching her throat wound struggle to heal. She'll come back, because Alucard knows that she will and...
...and then adreline and fury leave him, and he's just Adrian again. Sad, miserable Adrian who was distracted from the real goal here of defeating Dracula and thus more liable to put their mission at risk.
He doesn't care. Not really. If they fail, then they fail, and Wallachia deserves it. The only reason he's trying at all is because his mother would be horrified to have this violence happen in her name.
It's hard now, being in the castle. Alucard's eyes are on the door, and he swears he expects her to just come in the room and sigh that he's collected a very impressive set of injuries.
But no. It's just him. Just Trevor. No one else.]
Swollen. There should be ice in the kitchen.
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-god forgive him. He needs Alucard, he can’t face Dracula alone. ]
I’ll fetch it. Stay still.
[ The tone’s as cold as it was when they last spoke. He knows Alucard doesn’t want warmth, and he’s not fool enough to try to offer it again.
Neither of them want him here, after all. Sypha fawns over the vampire, the vampire is rude at both of them. They want a Belmont, not a friend, and perhaps that’s for the best. ]
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[Alucard would warn Trevor of the kitchen's modernity if he could remotely hope that the kitchen of his childhood was in tact at all. If there's no ice, then they at least have Sypha. But in Trevor's absence, there's a weight that settles over the vampire, almost crushing.
Carmilla was here. She was here for so long, and the house was a trophy to her. He just failed to kill her. It means she'll be back and back with horrible vengance, just as he is already. Survival isn't guaranteed and....
...Fuck. He may as well offer his throat willingly to the Belmont when this is all done.
Alucard's on the floor when Trevor returns, his awful messy, matted hair pooled around him, His hands curled up against the fabric of his cloak, as if he was trying to pull it closer when he fell. He's lost consciousness in all of this, and that's probably for the better anyway.]
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He washes and wraps cuts, sewing where needed. Smears more of that dark paste over the worst of them, and a different medicine over the bruises. He takes the cloak to take advantage of the running water and clean it, wrapping his own cape around Alucard to replace it.
He’s half dressed when Alucard wakes, about done with patching himself up and setting about the last of his tasks - the little bottle of blood. The bottle is pressed against his palm as he slowly drains himself into it, not paying too much attention to the vampire. ]
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He sits up slowly, shrugging off the cloak. It isn't his, he knows that by scent alone, and frankly he'd complain about smelling like Belmont if he was in a better state. As it is, he's powered by hunger, and the quiet knowledge that human blood will help him more than animal blood will.
Alucard has known that every poor hunt has resulted in blood from one of the two. He's never asked which one, mostly because he's never cared. He can't care right now because it'll start a fresh fight, and that's important to avoid more than ever.
His voice is raspy when he addresses the Belmont.]
Thank you.
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There’ll be stores here, more than likely. But I doubt they’ll have come from willing sources.
[ Which is the big problem with the blood thing. He doubts Alucard cares, willingness to give doesn’t change the blood at all. But he does. And if he’s going to pretend Alucard isn’t a monster- this is important. ]
Guessing you’d rather have the bottle than my wrist. [ He says, finishing the task and handing the bottle over. ]
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[He doesn't respond to the wrist comment. Alucard simply takes the bottle and drains it quickly, aware that the moment one drop touches his lips, there's a sense of relief. His all too pale face has a moment of color, and it endures as he drains the bottle.
But as he sits (awkward, hunched over, trying to find a comfortable spot), his feet brush against the floor. The castle vibrates in response, and when the vampire removes the bottle from his mouth, there's something close to a smile on his face.
He leans down, pressing a palm to the floor.]
Yes. [His voice is a whisper, aware that it's threatening to crack.] I've missed you too.
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Can’t blame you. I’d rather have the bottle than me, too.
[ He leans his head back, staring up at the ceiling, and then jumps when the castle shakes. That’s too early. Sypha shouldn’t have made this much progress yet- ]
...-it’s. Talking to you.
[ You know what? Not the weirdest thing he’s ever experienced. ]
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[There’s an unsteady breath that follows the statement.]
It’s happy.
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[ Is he meant to feel guilty about this? He does, a little, but what was the alternative? Just let Dracula kill all of them? To make a house happy? He sighs. He shouldn’t be seeing this. ]
Welcome home, I suppose.
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[There’s sincerity in that. That trying to murder Carmilla and then having an entire house rumble like a large kitten is the best welcome the vampire has ever had since he was forced out of his home. Alucard sighs when the truth of that off hand comment really comes home to roost, and he tries to shake it away.]
She didn’t strike to deeply at you?
[He’s trying. He really is.]
And there was no poison on her claws?
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[ He doesn’t have to like Alucard overmuch to understand a little of what he’s been through. Wallachia isn’t a kind place, certainly not to people who stand out. ]
Looks worse than it is. [ The worst of the cuts does, indeed look worse than it is. The gouge is deep but the cut is clean, and her claws scraped over his collarbone rather than his throat. It could have been worlds worse. ] As for poison, there’s no way to know until it takes effect. You’ll have taken more of it than me, if she was using it.
[ A pause. ]
So I’ll worry about that if you get sick.
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[It's not a normal thing to say at all, but the vampire doesn't care.]
She usually used small doses of things that would otherwise be fast agents. Took pleasure in seeing someone ration out just how much they could stomach before they'd put themselves at real risk of death.
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[ He listens, and- ] Stomach.
[ That implies poison in food, not on a weapon. That implies- ]
You knew her before we came here. [ Its slightly more thoughtful than ‘you were her prisoner, but that’s the picture he’s getting. ]
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[He tries to be matter of fact about this. Being home it’s...he’s not more open. Just calmer. More willing to try and respond to what kindness has been shown, because at least here, home, he’s safe as he’s ever been.
It doesn’t stop the lump in his throat.]
After...everything [you deprived me of my father], I was out in the wilderness. Couldn’t find the castle. So she found me instead, and I kicked and screamed and bit all the way back to Styria. Held me long enough to declare her a guardian, then wanted my death to be slow so she could say it was grief. Or illness. The poor constitution of a half-breed.
[Alucard spits the last word out.]
I was ten. I sat there calculating how much I could manage as I was wasting away. Escaped in the daylight by good fortune and found myself a river. Floated down it, covered my wolf-form in mud, and tried to at least get away from her.
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[ He cuts himself off. That’s a pointless line of thought. If they’d know, they would have done a lot of things differently. ]
I’m sorry.
[ God, he’d thought Alucard was some ancient vampire. They’re practically the same age. That... puts a lot of things into perspective. He wants to offer Alucard a hand. That’s what seems natural to him. But he can’t, and so instead he pulls the white cape up around his shoulders instead, touching only by proxy. ] If you need to hear it - you didn’t deserve this bullshit.
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My life was the greatest secret my father kept from humanity. If you were doing something differently, he would have sense he failed.
[He doesn’t say more. Alucard falls silent instead, hardly reacting to the fabric or it’s warmth. The silence lingers, and he shakes his head slowly, like that might prompt more words from him.
It doesn’t. There’s a soft noise of...it’s ambiguous what it means. A softer rumble comes from the castle itself.]
It’s happened. That’s all there is in the end.
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[ This is his fault. It's his fault, and he's painfully aware of it. But there's nothing he can do to make it right. ]
There's a scrape on your scalp I couldn't get to through the hair. [ Is all he says after a while, soft and distracted. ] I don't think it's anything worrisome, but you should take advantage of this place's magic water while we're here and get it cleaned up. You'll be more comfortable, if nothing else.
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time for some EXTREME MOOD WHIPLASH
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