[Spring comes. The forest thrives, and Alucard takes what little he needs from it in order to simply survive. Even cooking feels like a chore rather than a way to channel any energy he has into something constructive rather than destructive. The kitchen's use decreases. He comes downstairs less. Fetches water from the stream every other day instead.
Sometimes others wander into the forest. He's set traps (humane ones, mostly) both physical and magical in nature. They're effective deterrents, and they give Alucard the loneliness that is so clearly his lot in life now. No one makes it to the castle. No one sees the impaled bodies save him, and eventually, they blur into the background in their various phases of decay.
The warmth of summer encourages the scavengers to finish picking them clean. Soon enough they'll be bone and fall off their places, and then their bones can be scattered. That feels right. Not good, just right.
Alucard knows when Trevor and Sypha enter the woods. He has enough alarms in place now and--
--and everything in him drops. They're going to see. Of course they're going to see. They'd have come back eventually to this, it was only ever a matter of when and how furious they'd be with the display they found.
He should have prepared for what to do when they did come home. If he'd try and scare them away, fight if they demanded it, or something else. But as they draw closer, he settles in the far easiest of all the options: avoidance. The castle is large and they could take days to find him. Maybe they'll assume he left.
That'd be ideal.
So before they even get to the door, he moves. There is an innermost sanctum here, and that is where Dracula's coffin is. Below the engine room. Unused for the twenty years Lisa of Lupu resided in the castle, demanding he also sleep as a man (and then things happened Alucard just didn't think about, thank you.)
That's where he is when Sypha destroys the front door. He closes the lid and--
--yes. This feels right.
They can walk for as long as they like. Yell. They'll have to exert real effort now.]
[No answer comes from the castle's echoing hall. Sypha scans the chamber for signs of a struggle, but finds no marks other than those made during the skirmish with Dracula's generals. Yet, the doors lock from the inside.
Wordlessly, she and Trevor fan out to search the areas of the castle they'd occupied during after Dracula's defeat. They check the chamber Alucard had claimed as his own - a nicely appointed bedroom in a wing far away from the one he'd grown up in with his parents. The bed is made, but a dent in the pillow suggests it's been slept in recently. Sypha pauses in the doorway as Trevor searches the room. Odd...where did the bedcurtains go? Trevor'd teased Alucard about them when he picked the room, and Alucard had naturally doubled down on keeping them up.
They find no better clues in Dracula's study, laboratory, the dodecahedron navigation node, the rooms they'd briefly slept in, or Alucard's childhood bedroom. That last one is Sypha's idea, though it means trekking clear back across the castle. She stands on the charred mark that is the sole physical remnant of Vlad Tepes and frowns at the warped floorboards. Something about them does not sit right with her memory. It is eidetic, yes, but not flawless. No one's mind is.]
"Sypha," [Trevor calls from the hall, low and uneasy. Sypha toes at the floor, at the dark stains of fire and ash and blood, and turns back to him.
There are at least a dozen kitchens in the castle, and who knows how many massive hearths, but they remember the small one Alucard was fond of, and luck into some actual clues there. Trevor finds the remains of a meal, no more than a day old. A pan sits in the sink, soaking in water that's no longer bubbly but still reflective with a thin skin of soap scum. Whatever happened was recent, much more recent than the bodies, unless these traces were left by someone other than Alucard.
Sypha finds the dolls.]
"What the bloody fuck are those?" [Trevor growls over her shoulder as she leans over, hands on her knees, to study their stuffed and button-eyed selves.] "Witch poppets?"
I don't think so. [She picks up her tiny double and turns it over in her hands, noting the small, neat stitches. Almost surgically precise.] Anything made for ritual purposes would have something of ours worked into it. Hair or clothing or a piece of jewelry. These are just...toys. [Toys that raise more questions than she has time to catalog right now. Not until the most looming question of Alucard's whereabouts has been settled. She sets her doll-self down with a little too much force.] We're not getting anywhere. This place is enormous, he could be meditating in the tallest tower or the deepest basement, for all we know. If...if he isn't...
[Trevor, bless him, cuts her off.] "Someone was here not too long ago. Can't you just, I don't know, use a mirror to track whoever it was down? Use the spell you cast on the castle?"
[Sypha flings her hands up with a disgusted grunt] That doesn't work with just any old mirror! And the castle is a massive focus of arcane force! There are locator spells for familiar persons but, and I realize this may have slipped your observational prowess, I am a combat magician.
[She doesn't mean for it to come out so sharp, so bitter, so acidic. Her hands clench at her sides, as empty and useless now as they were soaked in the Judge's blood. Her control of the elements is miraculous, but it is a weapon above all else, a way for her to cut her own path through the world. Fire cannot heal, lightning cannot seek out that which is hidden, ice cannot ease a broken heart. Dracula's immobile castle is a listing reminder of her capacity to destroy, while her inability to restore left Alucard stranded here along with it. Easy pickings.
Sypha nearly jumps out of her skin when Trevor's hands close over her shoulders.] "Sypha. I know you were deprived of books for most of your life, but did you forget about Dracula's very real, unnecessarily well lit, and probably very magical library?"
[Her jaw drops. She breathes out a small, muted "oh", and they're off again.
It takes her another day and a half to find the appropriate spell. Dracula's library could contain the Belmont Hold fifty times over (no slight intended to past generations of Belmonts, but Dracula saw value in learning about things other than monsters and how to kill them), and the filing system ran on a series of gears and levers that, surprise surprise, relied on the same dead power source that had once fed the movement engine. Trevor continues a systematic search of the rooms, checking in with her every few hours. Neither of them sleep. When he returns from his eighth (ninth??) foray, she greets him with a slim book tucked under her arm, a globe of golden energy between her hands, and a feral smile on her face. She feels more like herself in that moment than she has in weeks.
A flick of her wrists flattens the globe into a disc, which in turn plies itself into a long coil of glowing thread. With a sharp crackle, it spins itself out the library doors and down the halls, leaving a searing line of light at elbow-height. Belnades and Belmont chase it at a dead run, neither heeding the path that takes them deeper and deeper into the castle. This is beyond the mechanism, beyond the halls where they'd fought tides of vampires and Dracula himself. The air down here goes still and presses close, shadows so heavy they're palpable. The faint light of the locator spell zings past carved walls and doorways, into a room so dark Sypha cannot map its edges.
She flings a ring of firey globes into the air, illuminating a chamber that might as well have birthed the one she and Trevor found under Gresit. There, dominating the space like a ruler on their throne, sits a massive coffin, pierced by the glowing thread. Sypha looks to Trevor, who nods back with narrowed eyes. They flank the coffin and grasp the lid.
[Dracula's coffin is not what Alucard would consider a safe place to be, never mind an advisible one. When he first climbs into it, there's the genuine expectation that it too will attack him for simply not being his father. It would make perfect sense, given that the cushions are well molded to the late vampire king, but Alucard settles in and there's nothing.
He knows the next part. His coffin and the entire mechanisms around it were his father's coffin in miniature, and so the lid closes and that's that. He has blood for when he needs it. But more than that? He's going to be safe here. Safe in as close to an embrace from one of his parents that he can have now.
Within the coffin, he can see the rest of the castle if he decides to. Track Trevor and Sypha. The mechanisms that Sypha destroyed may have been the key to the castle's abilities, but the coffin is the back up system. No, it can't move the structure, but it can keep an eye on the entire place and communicate when there is danger.
Or it can let it's master sleep for so very long without needing to wake for food or water or anything else. There's air holes. That's all Alucard needs, and indeed, he rests. He's brought a blanket with him for an extra layer of seeming protection, and he can well and truly sleep right now. He does, eyes closed and all of him so, so sure that the other two will wander for weeks before they get here.
But he's wrong. Alucard's wrong about everything these days, including how much he truly needs to rest after all that's happened. He doesn't stir when the coffin tries to alert him that the other two are en route. When it prods him. He wakes only when there's warm breath against him and that very distinct Trevor Belmont musk.
Here is where there is difference: he floated out of a coffin once, gorgeous and in control in spite of all horrid circumstances. Today, right now, this red hot second, his eyes snap open and he looks panicked beyond reason. Bolts upright rather than rises in a careful and controlled manner. Says nothing. His hands curl against the coffin sides, nails digging against the obsidian stone. He's a thing waking from a nightmare, and--
[The coffin opens with less effort than Sypha would have expected. She's instantly annoyed that she let the size and heft of the thing fool her - of course Dracula's own coffin would be perfectly balanced.
For that's what this has to be. Dracula's resting place. Even more so than the bedroom they turned over yesterday. Sypha's belly twists at the thought of how Alucard ended up within it. Was he forced? Or so badly injured he had no other choice, like when he retreated to Gresit?
The lid swings away and for a split second she and Trevor just...look. They take in the sunken eyes, the unwashed shirt, the crescents of dirt embedded under his nails. Alucard never looked so unkempt even when they were a week on the road in the dead of winter. And he was never so unaware of another presence. It's not until Sypha takes in a breath to speak, stirring the air with her lungs, that he suddenly reanimates.
One second he's motionless, the next he's clawed his way upright and looking wildly between Trevor and Sypha. They both pull back on reflex, gestures that would normally summon their respective weapons aborting halfway. Sypha rocks forward, reaching out to her friend.] Alucard! Are you all right? What happened? How did you get here?
[In her way, Sypha isn't wrong. This is an injury like the one that drove him to Gresit, but one where recovery isn't so easy. Oh, yes, it's simple to close oneself off to the world, but to heal? It isn't a matter of letting skin grow back and keeping a wound clean. It's the messiest sort of healing of all.
Alucard doesn't know how he looks at the moment. In truth, he hasn't paid attention to that detail lately. He can't recall how many days or weeks it's been. It's been days, hasn't it?
But then Sypha reaches out and his instinct is to back away. Recoil from even the idea of touch, because there's no trust there.]
[Sypha's never seen Alucard recoil from anything. Not his father's poisoned words, not the necessary evil of patricide, not the grim work of removing bodies from his childhood home, not any of it. She does not know what to make of this. A quick glance at Trevor shows he's on the same page, brows furiously knit together in confusion.]
Why are we--? [That's where they're going to start, is it? Sypha bites her lip. Well, fine, it's a fair enough question.] We ran into some...developments that worried us. For you. There are things you need to know about. A cult--
[She cuts herself off with a shake of her head. For a Speaker to be so disordered in the telling of a story is truly shameful, but she's running on 48 hours of straight wakefulness, 36 of which were spent squinting at faded text. Her brain is not what it should be.]
"We thought they must have gotten to you first." [Trevor says, sticking his hand palm-up beneath Alucard's nose. Daring him to grab on and be hoisted out of the coffin.]
[Alucard doesn't take the offered Belmont hand. Instead his eyes close, and he tries to settle back into the coffin. This was the original plan after all, to just sleep again. It only took a few months to happen.
He doesn't do much of anything. As if staying in the coffin, declaring himself dead already, will make it so. Will make both of them accept that this is what has happened and they are best off accepting it.]
They didn't. I'm here, and I intend to remain in this spot.
[They didn't but even with his shirt on, there's a scar around his neck that wasn't there before. He shifts, and the fabric of his tunic covers the scar again.]
The cult is destroyed if you are both here rather than fighting it.
[Strained as things have been between them these past few weeks, Sypha still knows exactly what Trevor will do the instant before he does it.
Whether she does nothing to stop him because she's a bad person or a tired one is up for debate.
Alucard sinks backward, eyes closing in a clear dismissal, and Trevor strikes. The hand he'd extended lashes out, grabbing Alucard by his crossed wrists and shirtfront.] "Oh you 'intend', do you? Meaning you climbed in here on your own in the first place? We've been tearing this place apart trying to find you, you horse's ass!"
[There's a hard knot of frustration in Sypha's throat that echoes Trevor's mood, but she knows her role. When he gets like this, she counterbalances. Bad cop, good cop. Alucard will probably recognize the tactic, yet she can't help but step forward and settle her hand over Trevor's, over Alucard's.] We don't know the extent of this cult yet, but Alucard, they're receiving instructions from night creatures on how to pull your father from Hell. I realize that's a lot to take in right now, but, please. Whatever's going on with you, this isn't the best place to ride it out.
[Instinct and fear are terrible things. With Alucard, they come combined with his natural strength. Trevor grabs Alucard, and vampire strength takes over. He shoves at Trevor to get him away. There's no trust in anyone touching him right now.
Especially not a Belmont. Not a family of vampire hunters. No. He can't know if there isn't harm there.]
Let go.
[It's a demand. One that isn't confident. It's frightened, and that's a new note for Alucard.
He barely registers Sypha's words. Something's happened, Dracula's involved and you know what? He can't make himself care right now.]
Just take what you need from the Hold. If he returns, he'll come here first.
[There's tired resignation in his response. Whatever. This is the least awful thing that could happen at this point.]
[Between Alucard's strength and Trevor's grip, it's no surprise that the shirt is the weakest link. It gives with a comically drawn out tear, throwing Trevor backward and off balance. Sypha stumbles away as well, eyes wide and clouded with confusion.]
We know. That's exactly what we're worried about. Alucard.
[His name comes out a plea. She's not sure what for. He looks terrible, and she hates it. He looks defeated, and she despises it. He won't look at them, he flinched from them, and she wants to sink her nails into something and bite it dead.
She forces herself to sit down on the dais beside the coffin instead. They're within arms' reach of one another, but she keeps her hands tucked to her chest. A few strides away, Trevor stands stock-still, breathing heavily through his nose like a stunned bull. Sypha chews at her lip and studies Alucard, the angry red lines visible at his wrists and the torn front of his shirt. They're oddly clean, precise, as though drawn on with ink and a straight edge. She's not sure what to make of them.]
[He can't say nothing happened because that's a lie and they both already know something's wrong. But to voice it? That's too great a task. He can barely make sense of how it all went so wrong, and yet here he is being asked to explain what happened.
Alucard closes his eyes. Turns in the coffin, his back away from them both.]
I can't speak of it.
[That much is a truth. A painful one, but still true. They can accuse him of refusing to talk, but he isn't lying either by claiming nothing happened at all.
It won't be a welcome answer. But it places the ball in their corner, and that's about all Alucard can do right now.]
All right. [She slips into her 'coaxing an injured cat out from under a wagon' voice, her 'the first time Trevor woke her with his screaming nightmares' voice. It might be patronizing, if Alucard weren't so sunken in this dark headspace.] I won't ask you to, then.
But can you come out of the coffin? [Her voice doesn't even wobble on the word 'coffin', which Sypha feels should earn her some points. Perhaps a pastry. Definitely a reprieve from this terrible room.] Your shirt's ruined, we should get you another one.
[That's Alucard for no and it's a downright miracle that he doesn't reach up to close the lid on himself. It's also a sign of how well and truly far gone he is, as he doesn't even pick up on Sypha's tone. In better times, he'd scoff. As if Sypha was talking to an adult or a scared dog.
[A breath stirs the room, like earlier. This time it's Trevor, and Sypha whips a look over her shoulder fit to freeze the blood in his veins. He locks up, but the stare he shoots back in response speaks volumes.
Don't she silently urges. Don't open your big Belmont mouth now, of all times.
Fine says the flat line of Trevor's mouth. But I'm not leaving. His gaze slips sideways, to Alucard, tinged with worry and wariness both. Sypha hates that she understands where he's coming from. She wouldn't leave Trevor alone with him right now, either.]
I can't do that. [She risks settling her hands on the coffin's lip.] Because when you say 'let me rest', what I'm hearing is 'leave me alone'. And I won't do that, Alucard. We never should have left you alone in the first place.
[He has an idea of where her hand is. He presses up against the side of the coffin opposite of where Sypha is standing, although it isn't terribly comfortable. For now it'll do.]
I want quiet. And to not argue about that.
[Because all three of them? They are stubborn. Fighters. Alucard is not so far in his own head to know that this won't be a fight to some degree. The extent is the only question.]
[Her fingers curl back, tucked against her palm. He shifts away from her like a frightened survivor hiding away in the rubble of a raid. Everything in her wants to reach out and pull him free, but she holds herself still.]
All right. We'll be quiet. Like you said, we have work to do in the Hold and the library. Just come out of here with us.
[He knows them. They'll drag him out tomorrow if he doesn't come along willingly. Alucard doesn't care. He can take the day to figure out how to be human shaped. But not right now. Not today.]
Tomorrow, then. [God, she wants to take his hand, smooth his hair back, run cool fingers over those angry looking red lines. But that's not what he's telling her he needs right now, so she stands up and steps back to Trevor's side.] Is there anything particular you'd like to eat for supper tomorrow?
[He wins a tomorrow. That feels like a very slight miracle, because there was a very strong chance they'd just pick him up now and hurl him into the--
--daylight? Moonlight? He genuinely has no sense of time at this point and Alucard is more than fine with that. He shouldn't be but that is the horrible truth of it.
Sypha's footsteps move away. Good.]
No. Thank you.
[Food's not as much a priority as it was.
He is polite enough not to close the coffin lid yet though. That can wait until the other two are gone. There will be mutters of rude if he does.]
[She restricts herself to a nod of acknowledgement as she takes Trevor's arm. He's rigid and unyielding in her grip, such that it takes real effort to turn him away from the coffin. If he had his way, he'd probably drag Alucard hissing and scratching from the damned thing. It may yet come to that, if that 'tomorrow' doesn't manifest as promised.]
Goodnight, Alucard.
[They exit the - call it what it is - sepulcher. Sypha opens her mouth, but Trevor silences her with a raised hand and a shake of his head. It's not until they've climbed two full floors that he relaxes his shoulders somewhat and nods.] "He probably can't hear us now." [Oh. She hadn't even thought about that. Her mouth quirks in a small, tired smile of thanks.]
I was just going to say, we should...do something about those bodies. Before he joins us tomorrow.
[Trevor rubs at his mouth and frowns at nothing as they walk.] "Do you expect him to?"
[The coffin lid shuts when the door shuts behind Trevor and Sypha. Alucard unsticks himself from the side, his heart slowing down by just a hair. He is so tired. He's going to regret this. Really drive them away and--
--and even this much has left him exhausted. Exhausted and encased in the safest part of the castle, where if nothing else, he's safe for one more day. Or night. Whatever it is. All Alucard knows is that sleep claims him and holds him fast.
He's learned that dreams don't enter the coffin's space. It is the first time he hasn't had dreams in months and it still feels so good. So safe. A place where his own head can't get to him, and that's all thanks to his father's careful spellwork and disdain for humanity.
Maybe that'll come through in the next few days. Then they'll leave and he can stay in that coffin until otherwise demanded to emerge. Some stubborness can be defeated, if things have well and truly changed.
Alucard honors the agreement though. Tomorrow comes, and with the setting sun, he finds his way to the kitchen. He's found a clean shirt and trousers for good measure, but that's it. When he walks in, there's no eye contact. He looks only ever ahead, because to have his face downward is far worse.]
As agreed.
[His voice is thick and heavy. It showed some yesterday, but he's not used to talking these days.]
[Trevor's the one who cuts the bodies down the next morning. Sypha burns them, well away from the castle's walls and the well-used footpaths to and from the river. Their faces are mostly gone even before she touches flame to their hair - pecked away by crows and buzzards, most likely. Yet Sypha can't help but notice the razor sharp incisions nearly bisecting their necks. The edges of the cuts have barely gone ragged at all, despite the rot that's set in elsewhere.
Later, after they've gone inside and washed up, Sypha speaks up against the voice inside that whispers to let it be.] You saw the wounds? If no one else was ever here...
[Trevor grunts and prods at some salt pork and onions sizzling in a pan] "Sure that's a scab you want to pick at, Sypha? Might not like the answer."
[Her stomach gives a sour twist as she digs through the cabinets for cups and plates. How much ugly truth can she stomach in a month's time? Yet, the Alucard she's sure she knew was a gentle soul at heart. She'd not be surprised that he'd defended himself to the death, but to stake out the bodies like that...
The meal's just about finished when Alucard appears, silent and present as a wraith. Sypha tries to catch his eye, the smile falling from her face when he refuses to interact beyond simply being there. She takes a breath and tries to reach for something still and steady within herself.] As agreed, thank you. Hungry?
[That's the nice thing about the coffin, it takes care of important things like that.
He doesn't move to sit. He doesn't meet their eyes. In truth, he doesn't do much of anything beyond exist in their general vicinity, certain that he no longer ought to be a part of their lives. To resort so quickly to his father's ways when threatened with his life, that is unforgiveable. That much he knows for sure.
An awkward, horrible thing, that's what he is. Staring at the floor, wanting to crawl out of his own skin rather than interact with what used to be the two most important people in the world. They still are, but oh. He doesn't deserve them now.]
[Good thing they'd mostly finished with their meal, or they'd be stuck marinating in this agonizing awkwardness until sunrise. Sypha tips her dirty dish into the washbasin and studies her boys a moment longer.
Alucard stares fixedly away, but Trevor shoots her a look that she'd call 'imploring' on anyone else. On him, it's like a slightly sadder kind of constipation. She takes a fortifying breath.]
I know you asked for quiet, and I want to respect that, but does that mean you don't want us to talk to you at all? You have met me.
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Sometimes others wander into the forest. He's set traps (humane ones, mostly) both physical and magical in nature. They're effective deterrents, and they give Alucard the loneliness that is so clearly his lot in life now. No one makes it to the castle. No one sees the impaled bodies save him, and eventually, they blur into the background in their various phases of decay.
The warmth of summer encourages the scavengers to finish picking them clean. Soon enough they'll be bone and fall off their places, and then their bones can be scattered. That feels right. Not good, just right.
Alucard knows when Trevor and Sypha enter the woods. He has enough alarms in place now and--
--and everything in him drops. They're going to see. Of course they're going to see. They'd have come back eventually to this, it was only ever a matter of when and how furious they'd be with the display they found.
He should have prepared for what to do when they did come home. If he'd try and scare them away, fight if they demanded it, or something else. But as they draw closer, he settles in the far easiest of all the options: avoidance. The castle is large and they could take days to find him. Maybe they'll assume he left.
That'd be ideal.
So before they even get to the door, he moves. There is an innermost sanctum here, and that is where Dracula's coffin is. Below the engine room. Unused for the twenty years Lisa of Lupu resided in the castle, demanding he also sleep as a man (and then things happened Alucard just didn't think about, thank you.)
That's where he is when Sypha destroys the front door. He closes the lid and--
--yes. This feels right.
They can walk for as long as they like. Yell. They'll have to exert real effort now.]
what even is this i don't know
Wordlessly, she and Trevor fan out to search the areas of the castle they'd occupied during after Dracula's defeat. They check the chamber Alucard had claimed as his own - a nicely appointed bedroom in a wing far away from the one he'd grown up in with his parents. The bed is made, but a dent in the pillow suggests it's been slept in recently. Sypha pauses in the doorway as Trevor searches the room. Odd...where did the bedcurtains go? Trevor'd teased Alucard about them when he picked the room, and Alucard had naturally doubled down on keeping them up.
They find no better clues in Dracula's study, laboratory, the dodecahedron navigation node, the rooms they'd briefly slept in, or Alucard's childhood bedroom. That last one is Sypha's idea, though it means trekking clear back across the castle. She stands on the charred mark that is the sole physical remnant of Vlad Tepes and frowns at the warped floorboards. Something about them does not sit right with her memory. It is eidetic, yes, but not flawless. No one's mind is.]
"Sypha," [Trevor calls from the hall, low and uneasy. Sypha toes at the floor, at the dark stains of fire and ash and blood, and turns back to him.
There are at least a dozen kitchens in the castle, and who knows how many massive hearths, but they remember the small one Alucard was fond of, and luck into some actual clues there. Trevor finds the remains of a meal, no more than a day old. A pan sits in the sink, soaking in water that's no longer bubbly but still reflective with a thin skin of soap scum. Whatever happened was recent, much more recent than the bodies, unless these traces were left by someone other than Alucard.
Sypha finds the dolls.]
"What the bloody fuck are those?" [Trevor growls over her shoulder as she leans over, hands on her knees, to study their stuffed and button-eyed selves.] "Witch poppets?"
I don't think so. [She picks up her tiny double and turns it over in her hands, noting the small, neat stitches. Almost surgically precise.] Anything made for ritual purposes would have something of ours worked into it. Hair or clothing or a piece of jewelry. These are just...toys. [Toys that raise more questions than she has time to catalog right now. Not until the most looming question of Alucard's whereabouts has been settled. She sets her doll-self down with a little too much force.] We're not getting anywhere. This place is enormous, he could be meditating in the tallest tower or the deepest basement, for all we know. If...if he isn't...
[Trevor, bless him, cuts her off.] "Someone was here not too long ago. Can't you just, I don't know, use a mirror to track whoever it was down? Use the spell you cast on the castle?"
[Sypha flings her hands up with a disgusted grunt] That doesn't work with just any old mirror! And the castle is a massive focus of arcane force! There are locator spells for familiar persons but, and I realize this may have slipped your observational prowess, I am a combat magician.
[She doesn't mean for it to come out so sharp, so bitter, so acidic. Her hands clench at her sides, as empty and useless now as they were soaked in the Judge's blood. Her control of the elements is miraculous, but it is a weapon above all else, a way for her to cut her own path through the world. Fire cannot heal, lightning cannot seek out that which is hidden, ice cannot ease a broken heart. Dracula's immobile castle is a listing reminder of her capacity to destroy, while her inability to restore left Alucard stranded here along with it. Easy pickings.
Sypha nearly jumps out of her skin when Trevor's hands close over her shoulders.] "Sypha. I know you were deprived of books for most of your life, but did you forget about Dracula's very real, unnecessarily well lit, and probably very magical library?"
[Her jaw drops. She breathes out a small, muted "oh", and they're off again.
It takes her another day and a half to find the appropriate spell. Dracula's library could contain the Belmont Hold fifty times over (no slight intended to past generations of Belmonts, but Dracula saw value in learning about things other than monsters and how to kill them), and the filing system ran on a series of gears and levers that, surprise surprise, relied on the same dead power source that had once fed the movement engine. Trevor continues a systematic search of the rooms, checking in with her every few hours. Neither of them sleep. When he returns from his eighth (ninth??) foray, she greets him with a slim book tucked under her arm, a globe of golden energy between her hands, and a feral smile on her face. She feels more like herself in that moment than she has in weeks.
A flick of her wrists flattens the globe into a disc, which in turn plies itself into a long coil of glowing thread. With a sharp crackle, it spins itself out the library doors and down the halls, leaving a searing line of light at elbow-height. Belnades and Belmont chase it at a dead run, neither heeding the path that takes them deeper and deeper into the castle. This is beyond the mechanism, beyond the halls where they'd fought tides of vampires and Dracula himself. The air down here goes still and presses close, shadows so heavy they're palpable. The faint light of the locator spell zings past carved walls and doorways, into a room so dark Sypha cannot map its edges.
She flings a ring of firey globes into the air, illuminating a chamber that might as well have birthed the one she and Trevor found under Gresit. There, dominating the space like a ruler on their throne, sits a massive coffin, pierced by the glowing thread. Sypha looks to Trevor, who nods back with narrowed eyes. They flank the coffin and grasp the lid.
On a silent count of three, they heave.]
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He knows the next part. His coffin and the entire mechanisms around it were his father's coffin in miniature, and so the lid closes and that's that. He has blood for when he needs it. But more than that? He's going to be safe here. Safe in as close to an embrace from one of his parents that he can have now.
Within the coffin, he can see the rest of the castle if he decides to. Track Trevor and Sypha. The mechanisms that Sypha destroyed may have been the key to the castle's abilities, but the coffin is the back up system. No, it can't move the structure, but it can keep an eye on the entire place and communicate when there is danger.
Or it can let it's master sleep for so very long without needing to wake for food or water or anything else. There's air holes. That's all Alucard needs, and indeed, he rests. He's brought a blanket with him for an extra layer of seeming protection, and he can well and truly sleep right now. He does, eyes closed and all of him so, so sure that the other two will wander for weeks before they get here.
But he's wrong. Alucard's wrong about everything these days, including how much he truly needs to rest after all that's happened. He doesn't stir when the coffin tries to alert him that the other two are en route. When it prods him. He wakes only when there's warm breath against him and that very distinct Trevor Belmont musk.
Here is where there is difference: he floated out of a coffin once, gorgeous and in control in spite of all horrid circumstances. Today, right now, this red hot second, his eyes snap open and he looks panicked beyond reason. Bolts upright rather than rises in a careful and controlled manner. Says nothing. His hands curl against the coffin sides, nails digging against the obsidian stone. He's a thing waking from a nightmare, and--
--he stares at them blankly. No words form.]
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For that's what this has to be. Dracula's resting place. Even more so than the bedroom they turned over yesterday. Sypha's belly twists at the thought of how Alucard ended up within it. Was he forced? Or so badly injured he had no other choice, like when he retreated to Gresit?
The lid swings away and for a split second she and Trevor just...look. They take in the sunken eyes, the unwashed shirt, the crescents of dirt embedded under his nails. Alucard never looked so unkempt even when they were a week on the road in the dead of winter. And he was never so unaware of another presence. It's not until Sypha takes in a breath to speak, stirring the air with her lungs, that he suddenly reanimates.
One second he's motionless, the next he's clawed his way upright and looking wildly between Trevor and Sypha. They both pull back on reflex, gestures that would normally summon their respective weapons aborting halfway. Sypha rocks forward, reaching out to her friend.] Alucard! Are you all right? What happened? How did you get here?
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Alucard doesn't know how he looks at the moment. In truth, he hasn't paid attention to that detail lately. He can't recall how many days or weeks it's been. It's been days, hasn't it?
But then Sypha reaches out and his instinct is to back away. Recoil from even the idea of touch, because there's no trust there.]
I'm fine. [A lie, obviously.]
Why are you both here?
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Why are we--? [That's where they're going to start, is it? Sypha bites her lip. Well, fine, it's a fair enough question.] We ran into some...developments that worried us. For you. There are things you need to know about. A cult--
[She cuts herself off with a shake of her head. For a Speaker to be so disordered in the telling of a story is truly shameful, but she's running on 48 hours of straight wakefulness, 36 of which were spent squinting at faded text. Her brain is not what it should be.]
"We thought they must have gotten to you first." [Trevor says, sticking his hand palm-up beneath Alucard's nose. Daring him to grab on and be hoisted out of the coffin.]
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He doesn't do much of anything. As if staying in the coffin, declaring himself dead already, will make it so. Will make both of them accept that this is what has happened and they are best off accepting it.]
They didn't. I'm here, and I intend to remain in this spot.
[They didn't but even with his shirt on, there's a scar around his neck that wasn't there before. He shifts, and the fabric of his tunic covers the scar again.]
The cult is destroyed if you are both here rather than fighting it.
Close the lid, please.
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Whether she does nothing to stop him because she's a bad person or a tired one is up for debate.
Alucard sinks backward, eyes closing in a clear dismissal, and Trevor strikes. The hand he'd extended lashes out, grabbing Alucard by his crossed wrists and shirtfront.] "Oh you 'intend', do you? Meaning you climbed in here on your own in the first place? We've been tearing this place apart trying to find you, you horse's ass!"
[There's a hard knot of frustration in Sypha's throat that echoes Trevor's mood, but she knows her role. When he gets like this, she counterbalances. Bad cop, good cop. Alucard will probably recognize the tactic, yet she can't help but step forward and settle her hand over Trevor's, over Alucard's.] We don't know the extent of this cult yet, but Alucard, they're receiving instructions from night creatures on how to pull your father from Hell. I realize that's a lot to take in right now, but, please. Whatever's going on with you, this isn't the best place to ride it out.
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Especially not a Belmont. Not a family of vampire hunters. No. He can't know if there isn't harm there.]
Let go.
[It's a demand. One that isn't confident. It's frightened, and that's a new note for Alucard.
He barely registers Sypha's words. Something's happened, Dracula's involved and you know what? He can't make himself care right now.]
Just take what you need from the Hold. If he returns, he'll come here first.
[There's tired resignation in his response. Whatever. This is the least awful thing that could happen at this point.]
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We know. That's exactly what we're worried about. Alucard.
[His name comes out a plea. She's not sure what for. He looks terrible, and she hates it. He looks defeated, and she despises it. He won't look at them, he flinched from them, and she wants to sink her nails into something and bite it dead.
She forces herself to sit down on the dais beside the coffin instead. They're within arms' reach of one another, but she keeps her hands tucked to her chest. A few strides away, Trevor stands stock-still, breathing heavily through his nose like a stunned bull. Sypha chews at her lip and studies Alucard, the angry red lines visible at his wrists and the torn front of his shirt. They're oddly clean, precise, as though drawn on with ink and a straight edge. She's not sure what to make of them.]
What happened? Please.
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Alucard closes his eyes. Turns in the coffin, his back away from them both.]
I can't speak of it.
[That much is a truth. A painful one, but still true. They can accuse him of refusing to talk, but he isn't lying either by claiming nothing happened at all.
It won't be a welcome answer. But it places the ball in their corner, and that's about all Alucard can do right now.]
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But can you come out of the coffin? [Her voice doesn't even wobble on the word 'coffin', which Sypha feels should earn her some points. Perhaps a pastry. Definitely a reprieve from this terrible room.] Your shirt's ruined, we should get you another one.
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[That's Alucard for no and it's a downright miracle that he doesn't reach up to close the lid on himself. It's also a sign of how well and truly far gone he is, as he doesn't even pick up on Sypha's tone. In better times, he'd scoff. As if Sypha was talking to an adult or a scared dog.
He's definitely a scared, feral thing right now.]
Let me rest.
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Don't she silently urges. Don't open your big Belmont mouth now, of all times.
Fine says the flat line of Trevor's mouth. But I'm not leaving. His gaze slips sideways, to Alucard, tinged with worry and wariness both. Sypha hates that she understands where he's coming from. She wouldn't leave Trevor alone with him right now, either.]
I can't do that. [She risks settling her hands on the coffin's lip.] Because when you say 'let me rest', what I'm hearing is 'leave me alone'. And I won't do that, Alucard. We never should have left you alone in the first place.
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I want quiet. And to not argue about that.
[Because all three of them? They are stubborn. Fighters. Alucard is not so far in his own head to know that this won't be a fight to some degree. The extent is the only question.]
Please.
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All right. We'll be quiet. Like you said, we have work to do in the Hold and the library. Just come out of here with us.
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[He knows them. They'll drag him out tomorrow if he doesn't come along willingly. Alucard doesn't care. He can take the day to figure out how to be human shaped. But not right now. Not today.]
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--daylight? Moonlight? He genuinely has no sense of time at this point and Alucard is more than fine with that. He shouldn't be but that is the horrible truth of it.
Sypha's footsteps move away. Good.]
No. Thank you.
[Food's not as much a priority as it was.
He is polite enough not to close the coffin lid yet though. That can wait until the other two are gone. There will be mutters of rude if he does.]
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Goodnight, Alucard.
[They exit the - call it what it is - sepulcher. Sypha opens her mouth, but Trevor silences her with a raised hand and a shake of his head. It's not until they've climbed two full floors that he relaxes his shoulders somewhat and nods.] "He probably can't hear us now." [Oh. She hadn't even thought about that. Her mouth quirks in a small, tired smile of thanks.]
I was just going to say, we should...do something about those bodies. Before he joins us tomorrow.
[Trevor rubs at his mouth and frowns at nothing as they walk.] "Do you expect him to?"
I suppose we'll find out.
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--and even this much has left him exhausted. Exhausted and encased in the safest part of the castle, where if nothing else, he's safe for one more day. Or night. Whatever it is. All Alucard knows is that sleep claims him and holds him fast.
He's learned that dreams don't enter the coffin's space. It is the first time he hasn't had dreams in months and it still feels so good. So safe. A place where his own head can't get to him, and that's all thanks to his father's careful spellwork and disdain for humanity.
Maybe that'll come through in the next few days. Then they'll leave and he can stay in that coffin until otherwise demanded to emerge. Some stubborness can be defeated, if things have well and truly changed.
Alucard honors the agreement though. Tomorrow comes, and with the setting sun, he finds his way to the kitchen. He's found a clean shirt and trousers for good measure, but that's it. When he walks in, there's no eye contact. He looks only ever ahead, because to have his face downward is far worse.]
As agreed.
[His voice is thick and heavy. It showed some yesterday, but he's not used to talking these days.]
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Later, after they've gone inside and washed up, Sypha speaks up against the voice inside that whispers to let it be.] You saw the wounds? If no one else was ever here...
[Trevor grunts and prods at some salt pork and onions sizzling in a pan] "Sure that's a scab you want to pick at, Sypha? Might not like the answer."
[Her stomach gives a sour twist as she digs through the cabinets for cups and plates. How much ugly truth can she stomach in a month's time? Yet, the Alucard she's sure she knew was a gentle soul at heart. She'd not be surprised that he'd defended himself to the death, but to stake out the bodies like that...
The meal's just about finished when Alucard appears, silent and present as a wraith. Sypha tries to catch his eye, the smile falling from her face when he refuses to interact beyond simply being there. She takes a breath and tries to reach for something still and steady within herself.] As agreed, thank you. Hungry?
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[That's the nice thing about the coffin, it takes care of important things like that.
He doesn't move to sit. He doesn't meet their eyes. In truth, he doesn't do much of anything beyond exist in their general vicinity, certain that he no longer ought to be a part of their lives. To resort so quickly to his father's ways when threatened with his life, that is unforgiveable. That much he knows for sure.
An awkward, horrible thing, that's what he is. Staring at the floor, wanting to crawl out of his own skin rather than interact with what used to be the two most important people in the world. They still are, but oh. He doesn't deserve them now.]
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Alucard stares fixedly away, but Trevor shoots her a look that she'd call 'imploring' on anyone else. On him, it's like a slightly sadder kind of constipation. She takes a fortifying breath.]
I know you asked for quiet, and I want to respect that, but does that mean you don't want us to talk to you at all? You have met me.
[A weak joke, but better than the silence.]
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Words are difficult right now, Sypha.
[Meeting a joke with honesty is a choice, one Alucard isn't sure that's right to make. But he does it all the same, unsure and awkward and awful.]
I can't assure you I'll be able to respond.
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