[ She hisses in pain again, pulling her foot away to bring it down once, quickly on the side of his head and then backing away. She doubts that he could kill her now but this is still painful. No need to allow him even small victories. ]
This is childish, my prince.
[ When she moves close again, it's to grab his wrists, bringing them together to hold them above his head in one hand. And it's with actual purpose, rather than pure spite. Still a lot of spite, but there's some purpose there as well. She begins to drag him. Dawn will come soon, and whatever allies he has will miss him before long. Best to retreat somewhere more secure.
The building he's being dragged to smells of reeks of blood, a mixture of pig and goat and human and vampire. Even Carmilla finds it difficult to navigate through the maze of overwhelming stenches. Vampire senses do have their disadvantages. Some way in, once Alucard's eyes are used to the absence of moonlight, long heavy hanging figures become clear. Another moment, and they can be seen even more clearly. Pigs, about half of them. A few more are human. A couple are forged creatures, by the looks of them. One has long fangs. All are hanging from the ceiling by wicked-looking hooks. ]
[Alucard can't struggle. His limbs are lost to him right now. He attempts a retort to her, but no. Words are also lost. His mouth is numb and in his eyes there is a flash of terror. He'll die if this fails and...
...for the first time, he doesn't want that.
Horrible moment for a break through as he's dragged through the streets. Hopefully anyone remaining in Braila can escape during the day. He hopes that the fight has bought some people their freedom. It's worth it, only for that.
They remain along the river though, to the section of the city where all the worst and the smelliest trades are. Alucard can tell a slaughter house by the scent, and oh God he understands what's going on.
Yet it works, doesn't it? It's a horror. It fits Carmilla's awful person that she has devolved into, feeding from her own kind.
Alucard doesn't struggle. But the hatred in his eyes remains.]
Poor dear. It could have been so easy for you. You could have just eaten your supper and slept forever. Been safe and happy with your father’s lovely little pet. You didn’t need to suffer.
[ She lifts Alucard by the collar with one hand, the other stroking the side of his face in mock-comfort. Something cold pokes between his shoulder blades. ]
You make everything so difficult for yourself.
[ With that she pulls down sharply, pushing the meat hook through Alucard’s chest to hang him there. ]
I’m afraid I need you alive a little longer. Best that you metabolise the poison so that I don’t have to.
[ she gives a long pause in mock-thought, the kind that’s calculated to be just long enough to instil dread, and them moves close again. ]
...you don’t need arms or legs to metabolise the poison, now do you?
[ Her long claws dig deep into Alucard’s thigh, deep enough to scrape bone, as she sets about trying to clumsily cut through the limb with her bare hands. It’s horrible, grisly work. But then, then she stops.
Freezes, to be precise, staring up horrified at something that doesn’t appear to be there. ]
[Metabolize. Good. That might be the one chance he has to escape. At least Alucard thinks that for second before Carmilla makes her intentions known. Fuck. Fuck. He won't be able to heal from that and still attack her.
This is how it all goes then. Carved up by Carmilla, who finally has the awful crown she wanted since Dracula was sealed away and Alucard was dragged into her care. Longer than he expected, but...
...he tries to fight back out of instinct. Attempts to kick at her even as long claws dig into thigh, and oh. Nothing should touch bone. She's nearly at an artery, and the blood spray is so dangerous right now.
He can't know what Carmilla sees when she looks up. Alucard can only guess that magic is at work, buying him time.
Yet what Carmilla sees is the face of Dracula, red eyes and blood dripping from his face, every inch of him contorted in fury. He has only one question on his lips.]
[ She sees Dracula. She sees Dracula, and she sees him not as Alucard saw him, nor as her own kind saw their ruler. She sees him as the Belmont siblings saw him. As Trevor saw him, soon after Lisa's death. So he doesn't simply have a couple feet of height on her, he towers twice her size. She has to tilt her head back as far as it will tilt to see his face, and god she has to look at his face because his face is the only part of him that a mind can comprehend. It's horrifying, but it's human-shaped. The rest of him is roiling darkness, the kind of darkness that bores its way into the skull.
She stumbles back away from him, from Alucard, as the blood dribbles onto her face. And oh, just as Alucard cursed, it does burn. Like acid. ]
My lord. My- my lord. Please. [ Something stikes her back. She's stumbled back into one of the bodies. But she can't see them. There is only Dracula, and the darkness and the cold dead things trapping her here with him, and in the terror that freezes her veins it barely occurs to her that she could tear the bodies down with a wave of her hand. ] Please understand, I act only in love for our kind-.
[It is the voice of compulsion, delivered in a tone colder than ice. Alucard, still stunned by that awful poison, doesn't move. Doesn't try to move. He can only feel the pain, and the frozen nature of his own vocal chords.
The apparition looms larger, blood red eyes burrowing into Carmilla's own.
You have betrayed your kind by turning your court into a farmyard, and viewing your own as nothing but meat. You have betrayed your own kind by planning to murder my son. You have betrayed your own kind in every imaginable way, and your name shall be the shame of your kind for millennia to come.
What would I do with you if I had a physical body, Carmilla of Styria? How would I imprison you? How would I prolong your worthless, miserable life so it was a torture and you begged to meet the sun?
[ The grave. The grave. Oh, but that is a comfort to hear. The grave. ]
If. If you had a body. Not no, you? You are dead.
[ Her voice is weaker than she wishes it were, but she pushes aside another lump of meat, inching slowly closer to Dracula. ] Deader than any of us ever were. You abandoned us for your petty revenge, and I? I have ensured the survival of the best of our kind in the void you left. Culled the weak to bring power to the strong.
[ Dracula's blood burns. She can feel it tearing away her skin so much more keenly than she could feel Alucard's claws and teeth. But pain is not death, and so it does not frighten her. She will not cower before a dead man. ]
I have done what we have always done, my lord. I have taken. You left your son among wolves - I only bit.
You have the audacity to lie in your final moments?
[The question is coupled with a sudden screech of agony. That? That would be Alucard, finally regaining motion in his person. The ability to express pain and oh. Oh it is deep and it is howling, for the combination of the meat hook and the injury to his legs are so deadly deep.]
[ She hates that she stumbles back again. But this time when her back touches meat (warm meat, still with a pulse. Still bleeding. Still breathing. Still screaming) she doesn't flinch away. He is dead. He is dead and this is her kingdom of flesh and bones and blood. ]
No, my lord. On the morning of my coronation, I speak nothing but the truth. Our kind will survive. Thrive. Even if we must be diminished to one to do it. My master is gone. You are gone. I remain, my lord, to carry your legacies as they deserve to be carried out. To be the paragon of our kind. To take and to take and to take until all things are mine.
[ The hook in Alucard's chast brushes against the back of her head, but she barely feels it. Barely feels Dracula's blood burning away her skin anymore. She has won. She has won and this is an illusion. ]
[Alucard knows that if he can get off the meat hook, that wound will heal. It is the leg that is the problem, for Carmilla is an elder and thus he will always heal slower from their wounds.
He has a voice now. He can screech properly. And he does so, voice echoing off of the walls and mixing with the furious noise the figure of Dracula makes as it lunges at Carmilla, fangs bared and snapping, ready to gobble Carmilla up.]
[ She says, and at first she stands tall. He draws closer and closer and she does not flinch. Will not flinch.
But doubt creeps in. He is dead, yes. But death has never stopped any of them. She falters. Steps back again, until her back is against Alucard's chest and her weight swings him backward on the hook. ]
You are dead!
[ It's a screech of her own when she says it again, claws extended as she brings her arms in front of her face to protect herself against nothing at all. ]
WHO ELSE OF OUR KIND TRICKED DEATH THE WAY I DID, CARMILLA? WHY SHOULD THE GRAVE CONFINE ME?
[Death has bowed to Mathias Cronqvist time and again. Now is no different. And as Dracula lungs, as Carmilla brushes against Alucard, the hook is dislodged and--
--Alucard falls free. He lands atop Carmilla in an awful, messy way, but oh. He can fight through the agony now. He can break his hands apart and free them. He can reach into his coat pocket and withdraw the awful little dagger they fashioned from Carmilla's fang.]
[ And just like that, the sun is risen. Dracula is gone as suddenly as he appeared. He is dead, and she is alive.
It takes her a moment for that to sink in. And then it does, and the halfbreed is down from his hook. A trick. It was a trick. ]
You- [ She begins, pulling herself up. She lifts Alucard by the hole in his chest, fingers tearing into the wound, and then tosses him across the room. Humans and pigs and night creatures alike are torn from their hooks as she gives chase. He lands in a pile of cold bodies and then she is above him, all claws and teeth. ] -I have no more patience.
[The dagger is out. Alucard can manage that much, and so when he lands, he has it pointed upright. She's over him, towering, there is sun out now and--
--and he thrusts upward with all the energy he can give, a gutteral expression of all the fury and sorrow and everything inside of him being let out. The walls and bodies around them shake for the effort, and Alucard doesn't know if he cares. He only forces the fang dagger deeper and deeper into Carmilla's heart, until it is hilt in.
He yanks it out as quickly as he can. The wound should take. The wound has to take.]
[ The wound takes. How can it not, when it's her own body turned against her?
She doesn't die instantly. No, she thrashes about. Drags more corpses down on top of them. The weight of them pins her down (the weight of humans! pinning her down! that oughtn't happen) and then her death throes are against Alucard, fierce to the last but bruising rather than bone shattering and steadily growing weaker. And then they stop, and Alucard is alone in the slaughterhouse, trapped beneath Carmilla and a pile of strangers. ]
[Alucard can't extract himself fast enough. He tries, but his leg won't heal. He tries, but Carmilla is atop him. Carmilla is pulling the dead atop them both. Carmilla's death is happening right up against him and the worst part is that there is comfort when she stops.
She's dead. She's dead and he witnessed it. He felt every inch of it and now she is a corpse. A real corpse.
Except now his space is suffocating, and panic sets in. Alucard's suddenly and all too keenly aware of himself, and he does the only thing he can think of doing: calling to the other two.]
[ It's hard to say how long there is nothing bit silence in response. But eventually the first sound comes. It isn't Trevor or Sypha. It isn't Carmilla.
It's a snuffle, followed by a few quiet oinks. The sound of their feet on the wooden floorboards. It's hard to say what they're responding to, until a moment later there is finally a voice. Not Trevor's or Sypha's, but a voice. Soft and tired and a little too calm, but with an edge of certainty to it that not even this place has dulled. ]
Here. This is the slaughterhouse.
[ A thump, then another, and then splintering wood and the door swinging open and slamming against the wall behind it. And then a chorus of pleased-sounding oinking. And then, finally- ]
-Everyone, behind me. She's in here somewhere. Sypha, once we find her be ready to break a hole in the ceiling to get her into the light. And- I'll be honest, I didn't plan for the pigs. The pigs are a surprise.
[Alucard doesn't know whose voice that is, talking to pigs. He doesn't care, he just tries to move himself towards it. Groans. Strains. Tries to at least put a hand out above Carmilla and all the bodies around him, but it fails.
The world is fuzzy. Alucard can feel how dry his throat is and--
[ He had a plan. A proper, well thought out plan. The whip is near enough useless in tight quarters like this, and so then he had a new plan. And then there were pigs, and so he had to work around those, and-
Fuck plans, he's going in.
There are heavier footfalls accompanied by the sound of a crutch hitting the ground, followed by lighter ones. Quiet 'oofs' from the both of them as they push past the hanging bodies. A quiet, horrified 'oh-' from Sypha after one of those, followed by the sound of a body being pushed away and those quiet footsteps moving quicker. And then the load of bodies is becoming lighter, until the last of the corpses between the two of them and Carmilla's body is gone. ]
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck-
[ Before he knows she's dead, Trevor is pushing Sypha back. Trying to get her clear of Carmilla. Sypha is having none of it. There's a whoosh of air, followed by a long spike of frozen blood that rises from the ground with enough force to puncture Carmilla's body and lift her away from Alucard. ]
-dead. Thank god. Thank god. And- shit. Shit, Adrian-
[ There are hands on Alucard now. Warm ones, lifting him carefully from the corpse pile. A smaller, warmer one brushing hair away from his face. ]
[They're here. Alucard's sigh of relief is loud, and he hopes it'll help the other two find him. Words aren't difficult yet, but Alucard wants to reserve them for when they're needed most. Lying in a pile of corpses isn't one of them.
He can hear them approach. The sense of relief grows, even if there's no way to warn them both of the horrors that lay ahead. There's no way to avoid them anyway, not with Carmilla taking him into the darkest, deepest part of the slaughterhouse.
And they're here.
Alucard's a picture of misery under the corpse pile, his hair splayed out, blood all over himself, and the exhaustion painted on his face. When hands start to pull him out, lift him up, there's no tension. But oh, he still holds that dagger like his life depends on it.]
[ He kicks bodies away unsteadily, clearing a place on the ground to lay Alucard down. He’ll need the crutch again before long, but for now adrenaline is enough. Sypha’s always-too-warm hands stroke through Alucard’s hair as Trevor puts rough stitches into the cut to keep it closed long enough to work on. It’s nothing, compared to the meat hook and Carmilla’s nails, but Sypha tries to comfort him through it anyway. ]
Ready as it’s going to be. Just get it closed.
[ They switch places at that. Sypha attending to the wound and Trevor crouching by Alucard’s face. He doesn’t stroke Alucard’s hair the way that Sypha did, but he tugs at his shirt the way they’ve learned communicates affection. He’s largely unhurt, at least compared to Alucard, but visibly shaking. The front of his tunic is splashed with that looks to be the contents of someone’s stomach. ]
We’re here. [ He says, as Sypha begins and the smell of burning flesh starts to fill the horrible room. ]
[Alucard doesn't fuss. He's still, but he does't tense. Not when Sypha touches him, and not when Trevor goes to work. There's too much happening for him to seize upon one thing and be terrified.
Who's to say if that's for good or ill. For now, it simply is.
The tug at his shirt gets a soft sigh, and Alucard reaches one hand over to place atop Trevor's. He's in pain. Touch is...he can manage it. He can manage that right now.
Hate to inform you, but there’s not going to be an awful lot of her to crumble. Maybe the bones. They might leave the bones.
[ Once Sypha gives the okay to move him again, he props Alucard up against his chest so that he can see better. The oinking has continued while they’ve been working, and a white-haired man stands unsteadily over Carmilla’s body, looking on impassively as a group of four of five pigs - two of them still with the hooks buried inside them - tugs meat from bone. A headless one butts its neck stump against her, like it’s trying its best. ]
They can get rid of the worst of this, right? So there’s not too much blood in the river. Don’t want to turn anyone downstream.
[ The man turns and nods, then returns his attention to the pigs. He strokes the back of the headless one to comfort it when it finally realises that eating is difficult. ]
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This is childish, my prince.
[ When she moves close again, it's to grab his wrists, bringing them together to hold them above his head in one hand. And it's with actual purpose, rather than pure spite. Still a lot of spite, but there's some purpose there as well. She begins to drag him. Dawn will come soon, and whatever allies he has will miss him before long. Best to retreat somewhere more secure.
The building he's being dragged to smells of reeks of blood, a mixture of pig and goat and human and vampire. Even Carmilla finds it difficult to navigate through the maze of overwhelming stenches. Vampire senses do have their disadvantages. Some way in, once Alucard's eyes are used to the absence of moonlight, long heavy hanging figures become clear. Another moment, and they can be seen even more clearly. Pigs, about half of them. A few more are human. A couple are forged creatures, by the looks of them. One has long fangs. All are hanging from the ceiling by wicked-looking hooks. ]
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...for the first time, he doesn't want that.
Horrible moment for a break through as he's dragged through the streets. Hopefully anyone remaining in Braila can escape during the day. He hopes that the fight has bought some people their freedom. It's worth it, only for that.
They remain along the river though, to the section of the city where all the worst and the smelliest trades are. Alucard can tell a slaughter house by the scent, and oh God he understands what's going on.
Yet it works, doesn't it? It's a horror. It fits Carmilla's awful person that she has devolved into, feeding from her own kind.
Alucard doesn't struggle. But the hatred in his eyes remains.]
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[ She lifts Alucard by the collar with one hand, the other stroking the side of his face in mock-comfort. Something cold pokes between his shoulder blades. ]
You make everything so difficult for yourself.
[ With that she pulls down sharply, pushing the meat hook through Alucard’s chest to hang him there. ]
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Alucard's mouth won't work. He's screaming insults within and yet he is mute. Mute and now in absolute agony as the hook pierces through him.
All he can manage is a sharp attempt at drawing in air. Nothing else.
The other two have to be on their way. They have to have something clever. They have to.
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[ she gives a long pause in mock-thought, the kind that’s calculated to be just long enough to instil dread, and them moves close again. ]
...you don’t need arms or legs to metabolise the poison, now do you?
[ Her long claws dig deep into Alucard’s thigh, deep enough to scrape bone, as she sets about trying to clumsily cut through the limb with her bare hands. It’s horrible, grisly work. But then, then she stops.
Freezes, to be precise, staring up horrified at something that doesn’t appear to be there. ]
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This is how it all goes then. Carved up by Carmilla, who finally has the awful crown she wanted since Dracula was sealed away and Alucard was dragged into her care. Longer than he expected, but...
...he tries to fight back out of instinct. Attempts to kick at her even as long claws dig into thigh, and oh. Nothing should touch bone. She's nearly at an artery, and the blood spray is so dangerous right now.
He can't know what Carmilla sees when she looks up. Alucard can only guess that magic is at work, buying him time.
Yet what Carmilla sees is the face of Dracula, red eyes and blood dripping from his face, every inch of him contorted in fury. He has only one question on his lips.]
WHAT HAVE YOU DONE, CARMILLA OF STYRIA?
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She stumbles back away from him, from Alucard, as the blood dribbles onto her face. And oh, just as Alucard cursed, it does burn. Like acid. ]
My lord. My- my lord. Please. [ Something stikes her back. She's stumbled back into one of the bodies. But she can't see them. There is only Dracula, and the darkness and the cold dead things trapping her here with him, and in the terror that freezes her veins it barely occurs to her that she could tear the bodies down with a wave of her hand. ] Please understand, I act only in love for our kind-.
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[It is the voice of compulsion, delivered in a tone colder than ice. Alucard, still stunned by that awful poison, doesn't move. Doesn't try to move. He can only feel the pain, and the frozen nature of his own vocal chords.
The apparition looms larger, blood red eyes burrowing into Carmilla's own.
You have betrayed your kind by turning your court into a farmyard, and viewing your own as nothing but meat. You have betrayed your own kind by planning to murder my son. You have betrayed your own kind in every imaginable way, and your name shall be the shame of your kind for millennia to come.
What would I do with you if I had a physical body, Carmilla of Styria? How would I imprison you? How would I prolong your worthless, miserable life so it was a torture and you begged to meet the sun?
What new laws must I write from beyond the grave?
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If. If you had a body. Not no, you? You are dead.
[ Her voice is weaker than she wishes it were, but she pushes aside another lump of meat, inching slowly closer to Dracula. ] Deader than any of us ever were. You abandoned us for your petty revenge, and I? I have ensured the survival of the best of our kind in the void you left. Culled the weak to bring power to the strong.
[ Dracula's blood burns. She can feel it tearing away her skin so much more keenly than she could feel Alucard's claws and teeth. But pain is not death, and so it does not frighten her. She will not cower before a dead man. ]
I have done what we have always done, my lord. I have taken. You left your son among wolves - I only bit.
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[The question is coupled with a sudden screech of agony. That? That would be Alucard, finally regaining motion in his person. The ability to express pain and oh. Oh it is deep and it is howling, for the combination of the meat hook and the injury to his legs are so deadly deep.]
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No, my lord. On the morning of my coronation, I speak nothing but the truth. Our kind will survive. Thrive. Even if we must be diminished to one to do it. My master is gone. You are gone. I remain, my lord, to carry your legacies as they deserve to be carried out. To be the paragon of our kind. To take and to take and to take until all things are mine.
[ The hook in Alucard's chast brushes against the back of her head, but she barely feels it. Barely feels Dracula's blood burning away her skin anymore. She has won. She has won and this is an illusion. ]
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He has a voice now. He can screech properly. And he does so, voice echoing off of the walls and mixing with the furious noise the figure of Dracula makes as it lunges at Carmilla, fangs bared and snapping, ready to gobble Carmilla up.]
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[ She says, and at first she stands tall. He draws closer and closer and she does not flinch. Will not flinch.
But doubt creeps in. He is dead, yes. But death has never stopped any of them. She falters. Steps back again, until her back is against Alucard's chest and her weight swings him backward on the hook. ]
You are dead!
[ It's a screech of her own when she says it again, claws extended as she brings her arms in front of her face to protect herself against nothing at all. ]
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[Death has bowed to Mathias Cronqvist time and again. Now is no different. And as Dracula lungs, as Carmilla brushes against Alucard, the hook is dislodged and--
--Alucard falls free. He lands atop Carmilla in an awful, messy way, but oh. He can fight through the agony now. He can break his hands apart and free them. He can reach into his coat pocket and withdraw the awful little dagger they fashioned from Carmilla's fang.]
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It takes her a moment for that to sink in. And then it does, and the halfbreed is down from his hook. A trick. It was a trick. ]
You- [ She begins, pulling herself up. She lifts Alucard by the hole in his chest, fingers tearing into the wound, and then tosses him across the room. Humans and pigs and night creatures alike are torn from their hooks as she gives chase. He lands in a pile of cold bodies and then she is above him, all claws and teeth. ] -I have no more patience.
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--and he thrusts upward with all the energy he can give, a gutteral expression of all the fury and sorrow and everything inside of him being let out. The walls and bodies around them shake for the effort, and Alucard doesn't know if he cares. He only forces the fang dagger deeper and deeper into Carmilla's heart, until it is hilt in.
He yanks it out as quickly as he can. The wound should take. The wound has to take.]
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She doesn't die instantly. No, she thrashes about. Drags more corpses down on top of them. The weight of them pins her down (the weight of humans! pinning her down! that oughtn't happen) and then her death throes are against Alucard, fierce to the last but bruising rather than bone shattering and steadily growing weaker. And then they stop, and Alucard is alone in the slaughterhouse, trapped beneath Carmilla and a pile of strangers. ]
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She's dead. She's dead and he witnessed it. He felt every inch of it and now she is a corpse. A real corpse.
Except now his space is suffocating, and panic sets in. Alucard's suddenly and all too keenly aware of himself, and he does the only thing he can think of doing: calling to the other two.]
Trevor?! Sypha?!
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It's a snuffle, followed by a few quiet oinks. The sound of their feet on the wooden floorboards. It's hard to say what they're responding to, until a moment later there is finally a voice. Not Trevor's or Sypha's, but a voice. Soft and tired and a little too calm, but with an edge of certainty to it that not even this place has dulled. ]
Here. This is the slaughterhouse.
[ A thump, then another, and then splintering wood and the door swinging open and slamming against the wall behind it. And then a chorus of pleased-sounding oinking. And then, finally- ]
-Everyone, behind me. She's in here somewhere. Sypha, once we find her be ready to break a hole in the ceiling to get her into the light. And- I'll be honest, I didn't plan for the pigs. The pigs are a surprise.
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The world is fuzzy. Alucard can feel how dry his throat is and--
--Trevor.]
Belmont!
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[ He had a plan. A proper, well thought out plan. The whip is near enough useless in tight quarters like this, and so then he had a new plan. And then there were pigs, and so he had to work around those, and-
Fuck plans, he's going in.
There are heavier footfalls accompanied by the sound of a crutch hitting the ground, followed by lighter ones. Quiet 'oofs' from the both of them as they push past the hanging bodies. A quiet, horrified 'oh-' from Sypha after one of those, followed by the sound of a body being pushed away and those quiet footsteps moving quicker. And then the load of bodies is becoming lighter, until the last of the corpses between the two of them and Carmilla's body is gone. ]
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck-
[ Before he knows she's dead, Trevor is pushing Sypha back. Trying to get her clear of Carmilla. Sypha is having none of it. There's a whoosh of air, followed by a long spike of frozen blood that rises from the ground with enough force to puncture Carmilla's body and lift her away from Alucard. ]
-dead. Thank god. Thank god. And- shit. Shit, Adrian-
[ There are hands on Alucard now. Warm ones, lifting him carefully from the corpse pile. A smaller, warmer one brushing hair away from his face. ]
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He can hear them approach. The sense of relief grows, even if there's no way to warn them both of the horrors that lay ahead. There's no way to avoid them anyway, not with Carmilla taking him into the darkest, deepest part of the slaughterhouse.
And they're here.
Alucard's a picture of misery under the corpse pile, his hair splayed out, blood all over himself, and the exhaustion painted on his face. When hands start to pull him out, lift him up, there's no tension. But oh, he still holds that dagger like his life depends on it.]
Careful, she....she got in deep.
[Actually--]
It's smarter to cauterize it, I think.
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[ He kicks bodies away unsteadily, clearing a place on the ground to lay Alucard down. He’ll need the crutch again before long, but for now adrenaline is enough. Sypha’s always-too-warm hands stroke through Alucard’s hair as Trevor puts rough stitches into the cut to keep it closed long enough to work on. It’s nothing, compared to the meat hook and Carmilla’s nails, but Sypha tries to comfort him through it anyway. ]
Ready as it’s going to be. Just get it closed.
[ They switch places at that. Sypha attending to the wound and Trevor crouching by Alucard’s face. He doesn’t stroke Alucard’s hair the way that Sypha did, but he tugs at his shirt the way they’ve learned communicates affection. He’s largely unhurt, at least compared to Alucard, but visibly shaking. The front of his tunic is splashed with that looks to be the contents of someone’s stomach. ]
We’re here. [ He says, as Sypha begins and the smell of burning flesh starts to fill the horrible room. ]
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Who's to say if that's for good or ill. For now, it simply is.
The tug at his shirt gets a soft sigh, and Alucard reaches one hand over to place atop Trevor's. He's in pain. Touch is...he can manage it. He can manage that right now.
He's smelled burning flesh before. Alucard doesn't care.]
Belmont. [He breathes out.] I want to see her crumble in the sun. Need to.
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[ Once Sypha gives the okay to move him again, he props Alucard up against his chest so that he can see better. The oinking has continued while they’ve been working, and a white-haired man stands unsteadily over Carmilla’s body, looking on impassively as a group of four of five pigs - two of them still with the hooks buried inside them - tugs meat from bone. A headless one butts its neck stump against her, like it’s trying its best. ]
They can get rid of the worst of this, right? So there’s not too much blood in the river. Don’t want to turn anyone downstream.
[ The man turns and nods, then returns his attention to the pigs. He strokes the back of the headless one to comfort it when it finally realises that eating is difficult. ]
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