[Vanessa is also not making any real move to leave. There is something oddly soothing about speaking with the Researcher, maybe his soothing dulcet tones. Or how he didn't even remotely question her story.]
Ah, now that is tempting, Sembene might have words with me. I am to love no other man's sweet baked good but his. Though that reminds me, do you live here alone?
[Out of all the secrets in the world Vanessa must hold in her heart that one may be the easiest. Her smiles are lighter, more frequent now.]
I was surprised when you greeted me at the door. You're a unique man, Mr. Tepes, I cannot recall any other man that I have met that does not have help. Do you cook your own meals, or are you a member of a club?
I might consider it if it was going to truly lead to ruin.
[She's got him on pragmatic, that much is certain.]
Mmm. Well, I've a fondness for blood sausage, but that's not something I'd count as cooking exactly. Stufat is our version of a lamb stew that's rather heavy on garlic and makes the house smell quite pleasant.
Practicality is such a wonderful trait to possess. A pity more don't.
[Even with the coffee and the Baklava her mouth begins to water without her bidding.]
Stufat, that sounds delightful I can practically smell it now. I do possess a fondness for way too much garlic that gets me every time. Who taught you your culinary expertise?
[The answer is yes, obviously, but the question has to be asked before the topic is abandoned all things considered.]
My mother, for the most part. She didn't come from nobility, and thus ran the kitchen in person. The circumstances between her and my father are what you'd politely consider unusual for any sort of nobility.
[Nobility. Not vampires. Not vampires at all.]
I had special dietary needs as a child as well, which was another reason for her to be as involved as she was.
Well as long as we had some fun with it before hand, I don’t see why not.
[Everything in moderation, shenanigans included.]
Fascinating, then how did her and your father meet? It sounds like quite the love story, not something you often hear about.
Oh, she knocked on the door to the castle, walked in, and demanded access to his library and scientific instruments.
[That's the short version. Simple. The least sentimental but still fully accurate, and Alucard's careful to let no emotion other than fondness even threaten to creep in.]
In truth, she cared more for the knowledge than him at first.
[It's a relief, Vanessa's eyes going towards the books. Alucard's own focus on a spot in the ceiling, because this conversation could veer into deeply private territory.]
Mmm. You're free to browse the shelf, if you'd like. Most of it is in Romanian, you'll find.
[Rising from the couch she takes the invitation to gaze, not that she'll have a whole lot to say about primarily Romanian texts. It's not truly her forte, but one never knows and books say a lot about a person. Vanessa gazes at them as if she were at a museum, hands carefully clasped together to prevent touching.]
[Alucard does Vanessa the basic kindness of not watching while she browses the shelves. It seems a rude thing on principle, and so instead his eyes go to the window. True enough, there's nothing out there, but it's better than staring at a person constantly.
At her question, Alucard's gaze does return and he notices how Vanessa has chosen to carry herself.]
It is, yes. And you can touch whatever books you like, this isn't a museum or restricted library. You won't upset my organization.
Some people find books very personal things and can become very protective of them.
[Vanessa tosses him a sheepish smile before returning to the shelf and picking out another tome to carefully ease from between it's kin. It's beautifully bound and as she cracks the hardbound cover she lets herself become absorbed in the illustrations. Because, like he predicted, it is in a language that she cannot read.]
It's a more warming display: a creature curled up on a pile of books rather than coin.
[Satisfied with her choice she takes the item back to her seat and sits. Indeed it is an old book containing wood-cuttings from old Romanian/Ottoman/Wallachia folklore.]
What beautiful and intense art. We hold such a fascination with the dark and dangerous. What a thing for prey to do, I wonder why.
In the case of my family, it was understood as a matter of biological science and nothing more.
[Never mind the particulars, which Alucard knows more than ever to avoid.]
The art in there was made by someone who truly believed the creatures within to be real, but assigned no moral judgement to them. They were simply other animals to study.
[Hector's notebooks had long outlived the man. Alucard retained them out of a sense of respect to his father.]
[An interested hum and a new appreciation of the pictures and the attention to detail provided as she turns each page with delicate fingers.]
As it should be, in my personal opinion anyway. Hysteria does no good in the face of dark truths, though that is what they look to inspire. Moral judgment is not entirely objective either even if we wish it to be so.
I believe that at the end of that book there's a colored pull out page.
[Not professionally colored, admittedly. A later generation of Belmont had taken some water color paints and had a grand time alone in the library for a few hours, and the book was one such victim.]
The book beside it is in French, if you have that reading knowledge. It's dedicated to the matter of the Beast of Gévaudan. Far less holistic than the one in your hand, but more modern reading.
[Vanessa immediately goes to the page indicated. A balancing act, with the book cradled in one arm to take the weight of the pages being pushed aside for the last one. Which brings a grin to her lips as she studies the work of art.]
I appreciate the artists' interpretation of the scene with their careful choice of colors and textures. Truly delightful, is this your work or did it come to your collection this way?
[A bit more time is spent on the work of art and a few pages that proceeded it before Vanessa closes it and searches for the Beast of Gévaudan. French she can handle.]
Oh, the lore with that is a younger child in the family found it and happened to have art supplies around.
[Alucard's own smile is a fleeting thing, but it is there, wrapped in the fondness of his words. As if the memory is his own, instead of things passed down.]
[Book in her arms she gazes over the first pages, lips moving silently in the translation of the French.]
The Beast of Gévaudan terrorized the French countryside of, and this is a twist, Gévaudan from 1764 and 1767. It was a giant [here is where she pauses at the word, brows furrowing very slightly.] Man-wolf?
[Alucard pauses to consider how man-wolf would translate back into French, but then he nods.]
Roughly something of the sort. There is a great deal of lore around men and women who can transform their shapes under full moons. Some point back as far as the ancient Greeks for the concept.
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[Alucard is inclined to rush people out the door, away from his little sanctuary, but in Vanessa's case, it seems a cruelty.]
You're welcome to take some with you when you depart. I've more than enough for myself.
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Ah, now that is tempting, Sembene might have words with me. I am to love no other man's sweet baked good but his. Though that reminds me, do you live here alone?
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[It's a very silly secret, but the whole conversation is silly. The tone of it is a pleasant contrast to the moments before and, indeed, now.]
Yes, I do. The home is small, and I prefer to look after my own affairs rather than use another's labor.
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[Out of all the secrets in the world Vanessa must hold in her heart that one may be the easiest. Her smiles are lighter, more frequent now.]
I was surprised when you greeted me at the door. You're a unique man, Mr. Tepes, I cannot recall any other man that I have met that does not have help. Do you cook your own meals, or are you a member of a club?
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[It doesn't even have to be a secret. Alucard simply sits there, folding his hands in his lap and quietly nodding along.]
I cook myself as well. It has helped me become familiar with all the markets here in London. Your butchers are very friendly.
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[Despite being delivered with knowing smirk she is not certain at all. It's a pragmatic solution and he certainly seems like a pragmatic gentleman.
Among other things.]
Truly. What is your favorite dish for you to make then, when you're feeling in a mood.
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[She's got him on pragmatic, that much is certain.]
Mmm. Well, I've a fondness for blood sausage, but that's not something I'd count as cooking exactly. Stufat is our version of a lamb stew that's rather heavy on garlic and makes the house smell quite pleasant.
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[Even with the coffee and the Baklava her mouth begins to water without her bidding.]
Stufat, that sounds delightful I can practically smell it now. I do possess a fondness for way too much garlic that gets me every time. Who taught you your culinary expertise?
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[The answer is yes, obviously, but the question has to be asked before the topic is abandoned all things considered.]
My mother, for the most part. She didn't come from nobility, and thus ran the kitchen in person. The circumstances between her and my father are what you'd politely consider unusual for any sort of nobility.
[Nobility. Not vampires. Not vampires at all.]
I had special dietary needs as a child as well, which was another reason for her to be as involved as she was.
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[That's the short version. Simple. The least sentimental but still fully accurate, and Alucard's careful to let no emotion other than fondness even threaten to creep in.]
In truth, she cared more for the knowledge than him at first.
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[A tug at the corner of her lip as she glances toward the partially covered book shelves.]
Well good knowledge is hard to find.
[apologies for the delayed responses, with the holidays it's been bananas. i will be more responsive now!]
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[It's a relief, Vanessa's eyes going towards the books. Alucard's own focus on a spot in the ceiling, because this conversation could veer into deeply private territory.]
Mmm. You're free to browse the shelf, if you'd like. Most of it is in Romanian, you'll find.
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Is this a translated version of the Iliad?
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At her question, Alucard's gaze does return and he notices how Vanessa has chosen to carry herself.]
It is, yes. And you can touch whatever books you like, this isn't a museum or restricted library. You won't upset my organization.
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[Vanessa tosses him a sheepish smile before returning to the shelf and picking out another tome to carefully ease from between it's kin. It's beautifully bound and as she cracks the hardbound cover she lets herself become absorbed in the illustrations. Because, like he predicted, it is in a language that she cannot read.]
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[Which is a bad joke in it's own way, given how Dracul translates.
From where he sits, Alucard can see that one of the older books has been selected. The exact tome he's not sure of, but he knows the section.]
That section is all early printings in Romania. It took the country some years to start to take advantage of the printing press.
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[Satisfied with her choice she takes the item back to her seat and sits. Indeed it is an old book containing wood-cuttings from old Romanian/Ottoman/Wallachia folklore.]
What beautiful and intense art. We hold such a fascination with the dark and dangerous. What a thing for prey to do, I wonder why.
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[Never mind the particulars, which Alucard knows more than ever to avoid.]
The art in there was made by someone who truly believed the creatures within to be real, but assigned no moral judgement to them. They were simply other animals to study.
[Hector's notebooks had long outlived the man. Alucard retained them out of a sense of respect to his father.]
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[An interested hum and a new appreciation of the pictures and the attention to detail provided as she turns each page with delicate fingers.]
As it should be, in my personal opinion anyway. Hysteria does no good in the face of dark truths, though that is what they look to inspire. Moral judgment is not entirely objective either even if we wish it to be so.
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[Not professionally colored, admittedly. A later generation of Belmont had taken some water color paints and had a grand time alone in the library for a few hours, and the book was one such victim.]
The book beside it is in French, if you have that reading knowledge. It's dedicated to the matter of the Beast of Gévaudan. Far less holistic than the one in your hand, but more modern reading.
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I appreciate the artists' interpretation of the scene with their careful choice of colors and textures. Truly delightful, is this your work or did it come to your collection this way?
[A bit more time is spent on the work of art and a few pages that proceeded it before Vanessa closes it and searches for the Beast of Gévaudan. French she can handle.]
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[Alucard's own smile is a fleeting thing, but it is there, wrapped in the fondness of his words. As if the memory is his own, instead of things passed down.]
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[Book in her arms she gazes over the first pages, lips moving silently in the translation of the French.]
The Beast of Gévaudan terrorized the French countryside of, and this is a twist, Gévaudan from 1764 and 1767. It was a giant [here is where she pauses at the word, brows furrowing very slightly.] Man-wolf?
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Roughly something of the sort. There is a great deal of lore around men and women who can transform their shapes under full moons. Some point back as far as the ancient Greeks for the concept.
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