[Alucard's pretty sure this opium haze will obscure much of Hector's memory, so he has no problems dragging the necromancer through the portions of the house no one sees. Through corridors of pipes and boilers, along a set of stairs that lead underground, and until they get to well, a garage.
In the middle of it is a carriage - a proper one, looking a little too suspiciously of the era. Hitched to it is a horse, ready and waiting. Except it is hardly a horse, just a robot. It and the carriage are detailed in Dracula's prefference for red and black with golden accents, striking bold gold lines that herald the art deco trend to come in the centuries.
Unceremoniously, Hector gets shoved into the carriage proper. It's a comfortable enough thing with leather seats, the windows tinted to help minimize the sun.]
The carriage is fake only in so much as the horse is fake.
[Hector doesn't really have much choice about being unceremoniously hauled through the building. Cezar trots behind them, tiny feet moving quickly to keep up with Alucard's long steps. The dhampir's arm is like iron around Hector... which isn't unpleasant, but is incredibly frustrating.
They reach the coach house, and Hector is tossed inside a very real carriage. It's too high for Cezar to follow, so he sits beneath the door and yips at Alucard expectantly. Uppies for puppy.
Hector untangles his limbs and ends up sprawled out on the carriage seat, half sitting, half lounging.]
Why the fuck would you want a fake horse. Horses are delightful.
[Stoned Hector can't think of a single instance where a machine would be preferable to a flesh and blood horse.]
[Uppies for puppy granted! And belt buckles for both puppy and Hector, which Alucard takes a moment to secure. Cezar he isn't as worried about. Hector? That's the concern.
He gives up at the sprawl. Alucard shakes his head before moving to the driver's seat. He buckles in as well, and then?
Then the engine hums to life. It doesn't roar. It doesn't kick. There is simply the sudden sense of life in the machine, and Alucard grins just a little at Hector. It is so smug.]
This would draw too much attention otherwise. You ready?
[And there. A door opens, revealing Bucharest just as the sun begins to peak over the city spires. This is not a part of the city with a great Muslim population, and so calls to prayer are a thin, distant noise. The mechanical horse makes a rather convincing whinny as they all emerge into the sunlight, and Alucard urges the thing onward.
The streets are as bumpy as one might expect, but their blows made softer for the cushioning of rich red velvet beneath them both.]
[Cesar immediately wiggles out of the belt and puts his nose to the side window. Hector lets out a long-suffering sigh and hooks an arm around his squirming torso.]
If he has a problem with horses, I could help him out. Make him something sturdy, that can see in the dark, and could pass for a horse at night time...
[The carriage is impressive, he guesses, but Hector still thinks there's no good purpose behind it.]
[Alucard sighs, giving up on the horse thing. Hector's stubborn, the opium helps nothing, and he doesn't care about the mechanical world in the first place. Why explain the beauty of something so inorganic to a man whose trade is dirt and bone? But the question does get a little laugh from the dhampir. Soft, genuinely tickled.]
Maybe before tonight. But talking with your father was quite illuminating.
[Eventually their opium-fueled debate had spiraled into all of them complaining about various annoyances in their lives, and Dracula has had some words about his upstart of a child. There was still love in his voice, which had been a novelty for Hector-- who knew paternal bonds came in that variety?-- but also plenty of exacerbation.]
Did you really break through a wall in his castle to steal a pot roast?
[The sigh Alucard gives is put upon, but in a way that's still warm and so very, very unsurprised.]
Of course he shared the pot roast story. [Every. Single. Time.] He did explain that I was all of five years old and hadn't quite gotten a good understanding on how to use my vampiric abilities, correct?
[It is a terrible defense, but damnit, it's the only one he's got.]
[Hector actually chuckles. His head is pounding, but in spite of that, this is almost? fun???]
No, to hear him speak, you would think it happened earlier this year.
[Teasing? Yes. But also not too far from the truth. A quirk of vampires and other immortals- they tend to talk about all lengths of time the same way. Days ago, years ago, centuries ago- Who can recall?]
So there's no chance of you finding us some hidden meal in some dark corridor. Damn it. I'm starving.
Vampires hold grudges for centuries Hector. That doesn't surprise me.
[Hector's like, a baby, compared to all his fellows. But Alucard can roll with it, very literally in this case, turning a corner and smiling just faintly as a drunk rambling along the street stops to double take at their conveyance.]
If you think the staff'll be asleep, I could at least fix you a cheese plate.
[He's smirking at that offer but y'know. Kind of serious.]
[Hector leans his head back against the seat of the carriage.]
Umm, let me see. Three sonnets, a hour-long monologue about her theory on disease prevention, and one truly awful organ piece composed in honor of 'her hair on a moonlit winter's night'.
[One thing he definitely knows about the mysterious Lord Dracula is that the man is smitten with his wife.]
[Alucard cringes, but doesn't even try to hold back the laugh that comes out. It's genuine. Delighted. Horrified.]
The organ is the worst part, isn't it? [Oh Hector smitten is an understatement.] I've never understood how she managed to sit through piece after piece.
I mean, over the years the organ might've caused it.
[Alucard falls silent for just a moment, forcing the car to do another turn. The buildings outside the window take a turn for the grander. Far fancier than needed.]
He'd write a hagiography of her if wouldn't cause him to burst into flames.
[Hector ignores the skyline of the city outside of the carriage. His father had insisted on settling his family into a home in the most prestigious quarter of the city, and Hector absolutely hates it.
He has an eye on a dilapidated warehouse near the river, whenever he's able to truly escape them and set up his own workshop.]
Thank what powers that be for small mercies.
[He's sure Lisa Tepes is a saint, but the world simply cannot take any more of Dracula's compositions about her.]
Must be strange, though. Parents that like one another.
[Alucard knows they're only a few houses away from Hector's home. Best to go in through the servant's entrance, he suspects.]
Very small. He misses her terribly, but I am sure that was already obvious.
[It had been a natural death though. Old age, no human factor. The half century that had followed saw Dracula flit between fury and depression, impossible to predict which one he'd gravitate towards on any given day.]
I know it's a novelty for many. I'm sorry that it's so in your house.
It's alright. They don't like me, either. It'll make it easier when Cezar and I are ready to leave them.
[And, silver lining, none of them will ever know Dracula's pain of losing someone they love so dearly. So it's fine. Hector isn't emotionally stunted. It's fine.]
If I may be blunt, I'm a bit surprised you haven't left yet.
[Alucard's pretty sure that that's rude. But they seem to also be in a strange liminal space that's much easier to talk through than normal, and he'll take advantage of it.]
[It probably helps that Hector's still pretty fucked up from the opium. His filter floated away with a puff of smoke a few hours back.]
Problem is, I'm not ready to leave the city. [The salons are here, and he hasn't exhausted the library or the black market shops of magical oddities yet.] But my father has influence here. I can't slip away and hope to elude his notice for long.
[And for some reason, even though his father hates him, he refuses to let Hector out from under his rule. The man was notoriously greedy with anything he considered his possessions.]
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[Alucard's pretty sure this opium haze will obscure much of Hector's memory, so he has no problems dragging the necromancer through the portions of the house no one sees. Through corridors of pipes and boilers, along a set of stairs that lead underground, and until they get to well, a garage.
In the middle of it is a carriage - a proper one, looking a little too suspiciously of the era. Hitched to it is a horse, ready and waiting. Except it is hardly a horse, just a robot. It and the carriage are detailed in Dracula's prefference for red and black with golden accents, striking bold gold lines that herald the art deco trend to come in the centuries.
Unceremoniously, Hector gets shoved into the carriage proper. It's a comfortable enough thing with leather seats, the windows tinted to help minimize the sun.]
The carriage is fake only in so much as the horse is fake.
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They reach the coach house, and Hector is tossed inside a very real carriage. It's too high for Cezar to follow, so he sits beneath the door and yips at Alucard expectantly. Uppies for puppy.
Hector untangles his limbs and ends up sprawled out on the carriage seat, half sitting, half lounging.]
Why the fuck would you want a fake horse. Horses are delightful.
[Stoned Hector can't think of a single instance where a machine would be preferable to a flesh and blood horse.]
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He gives up at the sprawl. Alucard shakes his head before moving to the driver's seat. He buckles in as well, and then?
Then the engine hums to life. It doesn't roar. It doesn't kick. There is simply the sudden sense of life in the machine, and Alucard grins just a little at Hector. It is so smug.]
This would draw too much attention otherwise. You ready?
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What makes it move? It doesn't feel magical.
[He's groggy, but he's got a decent sense for magic. It must be one of those mechanical devices the other vampires allege Dracula makes.]
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[And there. A door opens, revealing Bucharest just as the sun begins to peak over the city spires. This is not a part of the city with a great Muslim population, and so calls to prayer are a thin, distant noise. The mechanical horse makes a rather convincing whinny as they all emerge into the sunlight, and Alucard urges the thing onward.
The streets are as bumpy as one might expect, but their blows made softer for the cushioning of rich red velvet beneath them both.]
He's proud of this one. I can't say I blame him.
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If he has a problem with horses, I could help him out. Make him something sturdy, that can see in the dark, and could pass for a horse at night time...
[The carriage is impressive, he guesses, but Hector still thinks there's no good purpose behind it.]
Does he know you're taking it out?
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Hector, it isn't about not liking horses. It's about the experiment.
[Really Hector, he has to explain that to you of all people????
Alucard's grin widens just a little bit more at the question.]
He does not.
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I'll experiment and build him a better horse. [He grumbles.
He can't help but huff out a laugh, though.]
So you're not always the perfect, dutiful son, hmmm?
[Anyone who knew Alucard only through interactions at the salon wouldn't expect such rebellion out of him.]
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But the question does get a little laugh from the dhampir. Soft, genuinely tickled.]
Is that what you think of me?
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[Eventually their opium-fueled debate had spiraled into all of them complaining about various annoyances in their lives, and Dracula has had some words about his upstart of a child. There was still love in his voice, which had been a novelty for Hector-- who knew paternal bonds came in that variety?-- but also plenty of exacerbation.]
Did you really break through a wall in his castle to steal a pot roast?
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Of course he shared the pot roast story. [Every. Single. Time.] He did explain that I was all of five years old and hadn't quite gotten a good understanding on how to use my vampiric abilities, correct?
[It is a terrible defense, but damnit, it's the only one he's got.]
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No, to hear him speak, you would think it happened earlier this year.
[Teasing? Yes. But also not too far from the truth. A quirk of vampires and other immortals- they tend to talk about all lengths of time the same way. Days ago, years ago, centuries ago- Who can recall?]
So there's no chance of you finding us some hidden meal in some dark corridor. Damn it. I'm starving.
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[Hector's like, a baby, compared to all his fellows. But Alucard can roll with it, very literally in this case, turning a corner and smiling just faintly as a drunk rambling along the street stops to double take at their conveyance.]
If you think the staff'll be asleep, I could at least fix you a cheese plate.
[He's smirking at that offer but y'know. Kind of serious.]
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Right, you really do like feeding people, huh? Even though most people you meet don't even need to eat.
[Careful there, Hector might think Alucard actually likes him.]
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My mother instilled in me a strong sense of hospitality.
[Actually, he should ask...] How much did she come up in your little get together?
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Umm, let me see. Three sonnets, a hour-long monologue about her theory on disease prevention, and one truly awful organ piece composed in honor of 'her hair on a moonlit winter's night'.
[One thing he definitely knows about the mysterious Lord Dracula is that the man is smitten with his wife.]
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The organ is the worst part, isn't it? [Oh Hector smitten is an understatement.] I've never understood how she managed to sit through piece after piece.
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[Just that one minor technicality of consorting with demons, whoops.]
There's no chance she was secretly hard of hearing, is there?
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[Alucard falls silent for just a moment, forcing the car to do another turn. The buildings outside the window take a turn for the grander. Far fancier than needed.]
He'd write a hagiography of her if wouldn't cause him to burst into flames.
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He has an eye on a dilapidated warehouse near the river, whenever he's able to truly escape them and set up his own workshop.]
Thank what powers that be for small mercies.
[He's sure Lisa Tepes is a saint, but the world simply cannot take any more of Dracula's compositions about her.]
Must be strange, though. Parents that like one another.
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Very small. He misses her terribly, but I am sure that was already obvious.
[It had been a natural death though. Old age, no human factor. The half century that had followed saw Dracula flit between fury and depression, impossible to predict which one he'd gravitate towards on any given day.]
I know it's a novelty for many. I'm sorry that it's so in your house.
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It's alright. They don't like me, either. It'll make it easier when Cezar and I are ready to leave them.
[And, silver lining, none of them will ever know Dracula's pain of losing someone they love so dearly. So it's fine. Hector isn't emotionally stunted. It's fine.]
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[Alucard's pretty sure that that's rude. But they seem to also be in a strange liminal space that's much easier to talk through than normal, and he'll take advantage of it.]
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Problem is, I'm not ready to leave the city. [The salons are here, and he hasn't exhausted the library or the black market shops of magical oddities yet.] But my father has influence here. I can't slip away and hope to elude his notice for long.
[And for some reason, even though his father hates him, he refuses to let Hector out from under his rule. The man was notoriously greedy with anything he considered his possessions.]
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He pauses, turning back to look at Hector a bit better.]
This place has more cover for the night world than most, but--
[Parents. The dhampir frowns slightly.]
There are expectations of family as we age. Has the matter come up with him yet?
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should we wrap here?