[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.
You know it would be rather hypocritical of me to scoff. These beasts, so monstrous and fantastic I can not even blame the skeptical. Not that it is safer not to believe.
[A small flashback. Highly unpleasant.]
Have you ever. Do you have personal experience with creatures like these. Experience with - the undead?
When science explains much of the world, skepticism is well founded and understandable.
[Alucard closes his eyes for a moment, having a flashback of his own. His mother's desire to learn and spread that knowledge. To improve lives. What she might make of this modern age, where for progress there is also a far worse clash of rich and poor and how they live.
But Vanessa's next question is the bluntest query possible. There's no reason to lie.]
Ah yes, the great God Science. Not that I will ever truly be ungrateful for what it has provided society.
[Finger tucked in between the pages of the book, Vanessa leans forward slightly to read his reaction. Not that there's much to gleam from it. Mr. Tepes is, pardon the turn of phrase, a rather closed book.]
And you live to tell the tale. [There is cautious hope in her tone.] Would you share some of your story?
It has at least wiped away most mutterings of the word witchcraft.
[It's perhaps said a shade darker than intended. Alucard doesn't notice it, and then?
He considers the question. Weighs it. Then settles for honesty. Remaining seated and holding Vanessa's eye contact, Alucard's words are as plain as can be.]
The barest of facts are as follows: my father was a vampire. My mother was not. I am, and I have been since the the 1400s, Miss Ives.
Oh it is still there, they have just traded it for a different words, more genteel and deceptive. Sold by doctors who masked it with cures and forced upon us by disgusting, pigheaded old men.
[Not that she's bitter or anything. Vanessa pauses, working to compose herself and release her tense full body tremor.
And then at least she has something to distract herself from that bitter flashback. That pale Victorian complexion turns a shade of gray as she stands quickly. As the book tumbles to the floor her eyes darting to the shadowed corners of the room searching for the creatures that are sure to lurk there.]
What kind of trickery is this, Mr. Tepes? Are you in league with the monster as well? You can tell your master that I will see him in hell...
[There. That's the reaction that Alucard expected might happen, and there's a point he makes next. He remains seated. Splays both of his hands flat on his knees to show that he is not armed, and his lack of movement is a point as well. He's as non-threatening as possible in this moment.]
It's simple honesty.
[His eyes remain on Vanessa's, rock steady.]
And I am in league with no one, nor have I ever been. I am utterly unto myself.
[This is turning sour. So Alucard accepts the inevitable.]
[Listen. There are a lot of things you can't spring on a girl, vampirism is totally one of them. Vanessa Ives does not leave but certainly starts pacing, agitated and confused, this is her thinking movement. Despite the back and forth narrowed eyes remain fixed on him.]
You are not beholden to the monster. How are you not? You did not connive to bring me here to fulfill his purposes? You have been very polite company, Mr. Tepes but I am having a difficult time not seeing you as a very dangerous threat.
[He remains where he is. Letting Vanessa own the room as she sees fit.]
I am also well aware that very little I said will change your classification of myself as a threat. My father's people have always been as such, and they will remain that way into the future. That is the nature of having a species that sees humans as prey.
But as I said. My father's people. My mother was human.
[Occasionally there is a pause, arms crossing over chest to consider before they are unfurled in order to pace again. She is listening despite her brain screaming at her in two very different voices with two very different aches attached to them.]
You have called yourself a vampire, so you retain his blood, his traits. But you do not align with them because of your mother’s humanity?
[Full question with a light frosting of skepticism. Can one be of two very different worlds yet still be wholly apart from both? Can a monster walk in darkness and light? Her fingers twist together as she stops, unconscious of her own bleak prayer.]
The actual term for what I am is dhampir. There are accounts over the years, but they're mostly in the folklore of the Balkans.
[Alucard breathes out. This means getting more personal. He dislikes it. He doesn't even know why he's so hell bent on gaining Vanessa's trust, but it seems worthwhile. If only to argue in favor of not all night things being as god awful as the situation she has found herself in.]
My mother was, as I said, a doctor, and better than many in the current age we live in. She learned from my father's centuries of wisdom, but it was she who brought that knowledge out into the world. She was executed by an ambitious priest who branded her as a witch.
[He's learned to tell the story with precious little wincing these days. Had to. So many generations of Belmonts had to know the story, after all.]
Even in those moments my mother maintained a deep and abiding love for humanity. My own feelings are aloof, but I will always honor her wishes. Even -- especially -- when it brings me into conflict with my heritage.
[It is a choice to leave out the patricide. That is not a detail that demands to be shared at the moment.]
[Despite the agitated pacing Vanessa is listening, is watching him and processing the story that he is telling her. She relates and reacts very deeply at the fate of his mother and for a moment she turns away from him and the smoldering fireplace. Letting her mind fill with the horrific sights and sounds of Joan's death at the hands of the small-minded savages of the moor.
Vanessa's turn back toward Mr. Tepes is slow, limbs slow and numb with residual pain, loss in the face of this uncertainty. His words are plain, personal, but in this world of dark threat it could simply be a ruse. For what reason she hasn't a clue but the last few months have been nothing but chaos and reactive flailing from her and her allies. It makes her wary and suspicious and that shows plainly on her drawn face as she moves back toward him and the seat across from his own.]
I am sorry to hear about your mother. I too lost someone close to my heart because of the ignorance of men of power. Such women possess powers to change the soul of a person. To fill them with such beliefs and strengths. I can see how she could make such an impression on your views of humanity but I must verify.
[Vanessa will not apologize for this need. Even as she walks the fine line of being sympathetic of his loss, his need for guarded personal information. She uncurls fingers and offers a steady hand to him.]
Allow me to read you. To see this part of which you speak.
[It's hard to give words to the worst of one's memories and be told that they are not enough. Alucard doesn't snap though, groan, or give any indication that he views Vanessa's request as unreasonable. Her circumstances are extraordinary, as is the nature of the vampires she has dealt with so far.
So he offers out his right hand, knowing that palmistry is a matter that demands the dominant hand.]
As you see fit.
[There is a good chance that the matter of Alucard's father will come up in the reading. So be it.
Alucard's hand is cool to the touch, pale as the rest of him, and his pulse far slower than any human's should be. But he has explained his origin already. There's no reason to blink at it.]
[He offers his hand and she knows that it is not an easy thing to do if he believes in what she can do. But in this dark and murky world that they both travel in doubt isn't always something one struggles with.
He offers his hand and she takes it with a hand that is also cool but for a different reason. As she gazes at him, focusing, the touch between them warms. As she gives over to her bittersweet gift her gaze goes through him, traveling back, back through the years and all the breaths from then till now.
The emotions come first, slow. Then the visuals, slow. Then it is all there and in shrieking high clarity; an intensity that comes with a being not fully human. His words, the truth he spoke - all there. Then the sight of Dracula's furry is terrifying beyond all words as the conflict between the two. Vanessa drops his hand like it is scalding liquid, rearing back, chest heaving, eyes rolling. A bead of sweat rolls slowly down the small of her back. Unable to speak she nods quickly that she know he speaks true.]
[Alucard keeps his hand rock steady. Doesn't flinch. Doesn't react even as he can feel the deepest, darkest memories stir to life in his own mind. He has lived with them for so very long now that they have little power over him.
But he knows the intensity of the memories. When Vanessa reacts as she does, letting go of his hand, he withdraws it slowly.]
I'll put the kettle on for tea if you'd like a few moments alone.
[He's figured out the tea thing pretty fast, being not English and all.]
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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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You know it would be rather hypocritical of me to scoff. These beasts, so monstrous and fantastic I can not even blame the skeptical. Not that it is safer not to believe.
[A small flashback. Highly unpleasant.]
Have you ever. Do you have personal experience with creatures like these. Experience with - the undead?
no subject
[Alucard closes his eyes for a moment, having a flashback of his own. His mother's desire to learn and spread that knowledge. To improve lives. What she might make of this modern age, where for progress there is also a far worse clash of rich and poor and how they live.
But Vanessa's next question is the bluntest query possible. There's no reason to lie.]
Yes. Especially the undead.
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[Finger tucked in between the pages of the book, Vanessa leans forward slightly to read his reaction. Not that there's much to gleam from it. Mr. Tepes is, pardon the turn of phrase, a rather closed book.]
And you live to tell the tale. [There is cautious hope in her tone.] Would you share some of your story?
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[It's perhaps said a shade darker than intended. Alucard doesn't notice it, and then?
He considers the question. Weighs it. Then settles for honesty. Remaining seated and holding Vanessa's eye contact, Alucard's words are as plain as can be.]
The barest of facts are as follows: my father was a vampire. My mother was not. I am, and I have been since the the 1400s, Miss Ives.
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[Not that she's bitter or anything. Vanessa pauses, working to compose herself and release her tense full body tremor.
And then at least she has something to distract herself from that bitter flashback. That pale Victorian complexion turns a shade of gray as she stands quickly. As the book tumbles to the floor her eyes darting to the shadowed corners of the room searching for the creatures that are sure to lurk there.]
What kind of trickery is this, Mr. Tepes? Are you in league with the monster as well? You can tell your master that I will see him in hell...
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It's simple honesty.
[His eyes remain on Vanessa's, rock steady.]
And I am in league with no one, nor have I ever been. I am utterly unto myself.
[This is turning sour. So Alucard accepts the inevitable.]
You're free to leave if you wish. I understand.
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You are not beholden to the monster. How are you not? You did not connive to bring me here to fulfill his purposes? You have been very polite company, Mr. Tepes but I am having a difficult time not seeing you as a very dangerous threat.
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[He remains where he is. Letting Vanessa own the room as she sees fit.]
I am also well aware that very little I said will change your classification of myself as a threat. My father's people have always been as such, and they will remain that way into the future. That is the nature of having a species that sees humans as prey.
But as I said. My father's people. My mother was human.
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You have called yourself a vampire, so you retain his blood, his traits. But you do not align with them because of your mother’s humanity?
[Full question with a light frosting of skepticism. Can one be of two very different worlds yet still be wholly apart from both? Can a monster walk in darkness and light? Her fingers twist together as she stops, unconscious of her own bleak prayer.]
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[Alucard breathes out. This means getting more personal. He dislikes it. He doesn't even know why he's so hell bent on gaining Vanessa's trust, but it seems worthwhile. If only to argue in favor of not all night things being as god awful as the situation she has found herself in.]
My mother was, as I said, a doctor, and better than many in the current age we live in. She learned from my father's centuries of wisdom, but it was she who brought that knowledge out into the world. She was executed by an ambitious priest who branded her as a witch.
[He's learned to tell the story with precious little wincing these days. Had to. So many generations of Belmonts had to know the story, after all.]
Even in those moments my mother maintained a deep and abiding love for humanity. My own feelings are aloof, but I will always honor her wishes. Even -- especially -- when it brings me into conflict with my heritage.
[It is a choice to leave out the patricide. That is not a detail that demands to be shared at the moment.]
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Vanessa's turn back toward Mr. Tepes is slow, limbs slow and numb with residual pain, loss in the face of this uncertainty. His words are plain, personal, but in this world of dark threat it could simply be a ruse. For what reason she hasn't a clue but the last few months have been nothing but chaos and reactive flailing from her and her allies. It makes her wary and suspicious and that shows plainly on her drawn face as she moves back toward him and the seat across from his own.]
I am sorry to hear about your mother. I too lost someone close to my heart because of the ignorance of men of power. Such women possess powers to change the soul of a person. To fill them with such beliefs and strengths. I can see how she could make such an impression on your views of humanity but I must verify.
[Vanessa will not apologize for this need. Even as she walks the fine line of being sympathetic of his loss, his need for guarded personal information. She uncurls fingers and offers a steady hand to him.]
Allow me to read you. To see this part of which you speak.
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So he offers out his right hand, knowing that palmistry is a matter that demands the dominant hand.]
As you see fit.
[There is a good chance that the matter of Alucard's father will come up in the reading. So be it.
Alucard's hand is cool to the touch, pale as the rest of him, and his pulse far slower than any human's should be. But he has explained his origin already. There's no reason to blink at it.]
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He offers his hand and she takes it with a hand that is also cool but for a different reason. As she gazes at him, focusing, the touch between them warms. As she gives over to her bittersweet gift her gaze goes through him, traveling back, back through the years and all the breaths from then till now.
The emotions come first, slow. Then the visuals, slow. Then it is all there and in shrieking high clarity; an intensity that comes with a being not fully human. His words, the truth he spoke - all there. Then the sight of Dracula's furry is terrifying beyond all words as the conflict between the two. Vanessa drops his hand like it is scalding liquid, rearing back, chest heaving, eyes rolling. A bead of sweat rolls slowly down the small of her back. Unable to speak she nods quickly that she know he speaks true.]
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But he knows the intensity of the memories. When Vanessa reacts as she does, letting go of his hand, he withdraws it slowly.]
I'll put the kettle on for tea if you'd like a few moments alone.
[He's figured out the tea thing pretty fast, being not English and all.]
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