cryptsleeper | Abraxas inbox

[Perhaps he has a point. Perhaps she ought to be glad that she'd been pulled away from the smoking wreckage of her life and dropped into this new one. Perhaps she and Harrow ought to be making a go of it, enjoying their new-found leisure-time, try living like the young women they were instead of the tools of destruction they'd been mercilessly shaped into. But how, precisely, does one do that? Fuck if she knows.

She's saved from having to tell him nah by the abrupt appearance of his sword, an appearance that has her eyes widening behind the smoked-glass lenses, mouth dropping open before she can school her face into something cool and neutral. Too late now, she's already gawking, so she guesses she may as well go on and breathe--]

That is one fancy-ass trick. Is that a Horizon thing, or a you thing?

[Her eyes move between him and his sword, before finally settling more fixedly on the blade. She draws in a shade closer, but like him before her, has too much respect for another person's weapon then to reach and touch it without asking. Like, who does that?? Rude.]

And that is hot.

[She motions with her chin to the sword, admiring the gleam of it, the balance she imagines must be there based on the way it rests in his hands. Not as big or brutal as she prefers, but there's no denying it's a beautiful blade.]

A me thing.

[He's going to not explain the particulars, as not even Alucard is entirely sure of why the mechanism works, just that it does and it is a great advantage. Instead, he's going to just take a moment to enjoy the delightful normalacy of all of this. Standing around, talking about anything while a slowly roasting bird covered in herbs begins to perfume the air.

Hot is a new descriptor for his weapon though. He'll roll with it.]

Thank you.

[The balance is easy enough to show off. After what feels like enough time admiring the blade, Alucard shifts, gripping it tightly in a fighter's stance. With his free hand, he gestures to himself.]

I'm far better with speed than brute strength.

Sweet.

[It's a neat trick, and she's a little jealous that her own beloved blade doesn't come to her hand on command. Does he just think really hard about swords and it leaps to attention? Is there some kind of sciencey theorem involved? Almost, she asks him. But the possibility that there might be some long and very boring scientific explanation for it all ultimately stills her tongue.

For a moment, anyway. He's shifting position, moving with a fighter's easy grace into a ready stance, and there's the quickening spike of her heartbeat at that, an itch in her fingers like she wants to get her own sword in her hands. Wants to see what kind of moves he's got. Even if she already harbours the sneaking suspicion that he won't want to stage a duel in his kitchen.]

I like to think I'm pretty good at both, but I've seen faster.

[Naberius gave her a good run for her money the one and only time they fought, though she knows she would have smashed him and his stupid over-gelled bouffant if they hadn't been bound by ridiculous, genteel duelling rules.]

Maybe you could give me a demonstration?

[She says it with just a touch of hopefulness.]

[Oh it's magic bullshit, don't ask him to explain it. ~~canon sure doesn't.~~ All that matters is that it works, and that in this particular case, no one got injured by the flying sword either.

Gideon is absolutely right about no fighting in the kitchen, and with that, Alucard relaxes the stance. The blade is gently placed on the kitchen table, and--

--yeah. He rather saw that coming. Killjoy the dhampir can be though, as his tone is a serious:] I'm not a trained bat.

[Alucard, who became a series of bats to make a point at Jaskier. Instead, Alucard gestures to the table, where there is already a bowl of salt. He moves towards the kitchen itself, and heads towards the breadbox there.

Bread and salt. Minimum hospitality. The dhampir moves swiftly to gather a few hunks of bread, butter, plum jam, and put it all on a cutting board in a way that looks more artistic and well thought out than anything should be. When it's brought over, he sits.]

Hospitality first. Although I would ask what you're doing here.

[I'm not a trained bat throws her off a bit, and she gives him a dumb, quizzical look, her lips already forming a bemused huh? Drearburh would be the perfect place for bats, that dull, dark cave carved down toward the planet's core-- it would, if anything lived there at all besides the dreary little cult that had built up around a dead monster's tomb. Nothing else thrives in that artificial place, and even the shadow cult she'd been dropped amongst as a baby can at best be described as malingering. She's never seen a bat, can't discern his meaning.

But he's already gesturing toward the kitchen table, and whilst there's still the excitable twitch of anticipation in her, the high-wheeling animal joy that moves through her the moment before a fight, the prospect of food is almost as good. It's a pleasure that has come to her late, when for years food had meant nothing to her besides the grim and mechanical act of refuelling. The tasteless gruel spiked with nutrient paste and gritty snow leaks for flavour, consumed only to pile in enough calories to keep her active and strong. That food can be good is a relatively new revelation, and so she moves to sit with an uncharacteristic obedience, reaching for bread and butter and that sweet-smelling gelatinous stuff almost as soon as it's placed down in front of her.]

Spoilsport. And I guess I just kinda...wandered in? I'm still getting the hang of this whole Horizon thing, and I was just kind of exploring, you know? All of a sudden there were trees and other plant stuff, and this kinda...wet...cloud hanging in the air. I just wandered around in it for a while until I smelt something cooking, and then I found you!

[She adds this last part brightly, before stuffing her mouth with jam-slathered bread.]

So I've been told. [Alucard doesn't sound very proud of having that designation, but absolutely has accepted it. He's a dry, unpleasant, paranoid dhampir these days and that is simply that. The most joy he's felt has been looking at bad taxidermy or romping around the dessert as a wolf under cover of darkness.

Quiet gold eyes watch as Gideon pretty much digs in, and that comes with some satisfaction. The dhampir tries not to think too hard about how all the food here is fake and the effort of preparing it realy doesn't mean anything, but the motions help him anyway. They're normal. He can take stress and make bread through the alchemy of cooking.]

The rain, you mean. [Does Gideon not have rain where she's from? Questions for later. His tone is friendly enough as he continues.] I suppose the stew put you on the True Path, given that this place is supposed to twist and turn to keep people out.

[But Gideon's welcome. He's already gone through the hospitality ritual.] Did you ever find more bad taxidermy in the museum?

[The warm and yeasty taste of the bread, the sweetness of the dark, gooey stuff she'd smeared it with; it all tastes real and good enough that she doesn't bother to question the logistics of it. It's all fictional perhaps, akin to a dream, won't sustain her-- but that hardly matters right now. She closes her eyes and makes a sound that quite clearly conveys her appreciation.]

This is good shit.

[She announces, and swallows. Nods non-committally at 'rain'; perhaps it had been that, but had he told her what she'd experienced had been a hurricane or rainbows she'd have accepted it with the same uncertain acceptance.]

There was definitely a lot of twisting and turning. But if you really want to keep people out you might wanna hold of on the delicious-smelling food, next time.

[Perhaps she'd blundered onto the right path already through sheer good luck at that point, but there's no way of knowing. She reaches for another thick slice of bread.]

And you know what, there were a couple of other unfortunate monstrosities dotted about. Not many, but hunting them down made the trip to that place worthwhile.

[Alucard knows that the bread is good, that the jam is exactly the right kind of sweet without being cloying, the hint of clove just right if one knows to taste for it. Still, the compliment gets to him, and there is a little swell of pride. It's nice, hearing he's at least good at something these days.]

Thank you. I'm sure it'd be halfway decent in reality as well. [There is a pause of consideration, then a soft snuffle that shows that he is wrong about at least one thing.] The jam, I'm not sure. The ingredients for it might not even exist here.

[He's begun to look into the culinary culture of the Free Cities, but time has not been on the dhampir's side for true study. Jams, yes, those exist. Do the same kinds of fruits survive? He's seen a few familiar things, but never mind that.]

So long as at least a portion of the security system is working, I suppose I can stick to only curing meat. That's less likely to perfume the woods, and I do have a fair amount of venison left.

[Venison jerky is the next culinary experiment it seems, but no matter. It doesn't exist in the real world, going through the motions is useful practice. The skill has gone underused lately.]

Then you found more than I did. I'd dare say I need to go back again. Do you recall what areas they were in? [A pause, and then:] Would you like more than just bread?

[There is so much to learn, so much that she's never come across before, that sometimes it feels dizzying. It makes her wonder whether all of the other Houses knew about this stuff, whether if you lived on a planet that wasn't a literal tomb, you didn't need to learn so many new things at once, all in one disorientating blow. But whatever-- she guesses that jam refers to the sweet and tasty goodness she'd lathered thickly over the bread, and that venison is some kind of animal-- perhaps whatever smells so good in the oven, the scent that had tantalised her senses and brought her this way to begin with. It's a good enough guess, she thinks.]

Well if you ever need someone to test out your real world creations on - or more of your pretend world ones even - I am willing to offer myself as tribute. You know, for science. A purely selfless act.

[she says, as she enthusiastically plies butter and jam to her second slice of bread.]

And if you're offering, I'm not gonna say no. It was hungry work, finding my way through that twisty tree maze outside.

[Is she hungry? Is hunger real here? She isn't altogether certain, and doesn't particularly care. One doesn't say no when legitimately good and interesting food is being offered.]

I think I could find my way back again. To the taxidermy mutants, I mean. I could draw you a map. Or I could show you, sometime. You know. If you wanted.

[The last part comes out a touch more awkwardly than she'd meant it to. A little less smooth. It's not as though she's ever had occasion to just casually ask someone to hang out with her, before.]

Well, it all requires me finding a kitchen that will let me use it. [Wait, no, and the other thing:] As well as recalibrating my skills to what equipment is actually available. I'm not sure what is common place here yet.

[There's a soft laugh that bubbles up out of the dhampir in spite of himself. Hungry work indeed, and it's nice, being able to just trust someone. Gideon doesn't strike Alucard as someone who'd be effective at having an alterior motive. Everything about her she makes obvious, and that is the real reason she's not been chased out or told to fuck off.

The dhampir gets to his feet, and moves to the oven. When he opens it, a no frills cast iron pot sits, having perhaps been going for hours. Or a few minutes. Who knows how it works, he just knows it'll be ideal. Still, he opens the pot lid, and the scent that fills the room is instant. Dark, earthy red wine mixes with root vegetables and mushrooms - the fruits of a late autumn forest - and the gameiness of vension whose source is also entirely hypothetical. It's nothing to reach for a wooden spoon on the counter and check for the correct consistency, just as it takes no time to put two hearty servings into bowls. There's already bread on the table too.

The only remaining addition are utensils and a sprinkle of thyme over each dish. Alucard grabs forks and spoons (no need for knives, the meat is falling apart tender), then adds the greenery before setting both bowls down.]

I...suspect it'd be easier if you just showed me.

[That's how you accept hanging out, right?]

[It actually comes with a touch of relief to hear him say there are things here that he doesn't understand, or hasn't yet got to grips with. Even if it's something so small as not understanding the ingredients or kitchen equipment this world has to offer-- small, compared with the fact that she's never cooked a meal in her goddamned life, has only stepped foot in a kitchen a couple of times. That's what bone servants are for.

She watches him with unabashed interest as he moves toward the oven, as he begins to ladle out the rich-smelling goodness from the cast iron pot. Her mouth waters as the heady scent spills into the close confines of the room, and whether hunger here is a real or not, she swears she can feel her stomach muscles contract with need. It's smells a far cry from even the pale white meat and steamed vegetables that had seemed an astounding luxury back at Canaan House, and escaping the tight confines of her own world abruptly seems worthwhile, just for this.

She's quick to finish her bread the moment the bowl is placed before her, to grab up a spoon and tuck into this new delight instead. And the first bite is such an explosion of taste and wonder that it takes her a moment to even realise her first ever real hangout request has been accepted.]

Fuuuuuck me, this is like, the best thing I've ever tasted in my whole life.

[Which is perhaps only mediocre praise considering she's still experimenting on that front, but praise well meant all the same.]

And cool, cool. [She adds, around a mouthful of the most perfectly tender meat, affecting a casual air.] Let me know when you wanna go and we can while away a few hours laughing at long-dead animals.

[As gratifying the praise is, there's an underyling question that gives the dhampir more than just a little pause for concern. He's a little more careful as he approaches this subject, reaching first for one of the slices of bread and dipping it into the stew, tasting the juice of it all before he dives in.]

May I ask what food is generally like for you back home?

[He'll hate the answer, but Alucard is curious.]

Perhaps in the next few days? Besides the occasional job and some drafting, I can't say I am doing much.

Sometime in the next few days works for me. I'm kinda in the same situation, just picking up odd jobs, trying to get a bit of money behind us before Harrow and I move on to Libertas.

[She devours another hefty spoonful of stew, then seeing him dunk bread into the rich liquid, she reaches to grab another slice so she can do the same.]

And back on the Ninth food was just something you needed to refuel, you know? Just something to keep you alive and moving. We had this like, thin shitty gruel, it was just kinda grey and mostly tasteless. There was nutrient paste slugged into it, to keep us from winding up with any deficiencies, but it didn't taste of all that much. And then there was the only vegetable anyone could ever figure out how to grow in that artificial atmosphere, called snow leaks? Just these long, anaemic-looking things, sort of gritty and vaguely tangy. Nothing like this. Before I left the Ninth I didn't realise food was something people actually enjoyed.

Having to pay for rooms and meals dents pretty much anyone's savings in trying to move on from here.

[It's the issue he's finding, at any rate. Not that Alucard intends to go anywhere, he just wants a nice crypt to take a long, long nap in. But he needs to build everything to sustain him in that nap, and that's when costs come into play.

He's quiet as Gideon elaborates, eating as she does so. Under most circumstances, he might take the time to judge his work and determine what could be improved next time (more pepper, maybe some smoked paprika?) but the reality of Gideon's situation is far too engrossing.

What kind of place subsists on that food seemingly alone?

There's no control as Alucard's nose wrinkles in distaste the more she explains. He barely restrains a that's awful, because it isn't like he has the context to understand why it is this way, but he can't help the knee jerk reaction.

When she's done, there's a soft sigh.] Well, at least one good thing has come out of this nightmare: you get better food.

[She can see the distaste in his expression, can't exactly miss it with the way he wrinkles up his face, and it leaves her wondering what kind of life he'd had before they ended up here. What kind of life so many of her fellow 'guests' in this world have had; they seem to differ so wildly from her experience, from the things she'd taken for granted as commonplace for years of her life, despite all the while knowing that her existence could hardly be referred to as 'normal'.

He's right though, and she laughs a quick, bright laugh that lacks anything approaching offence.]

Yep. The food is definitely better. And if I'm honest, this whole experience might be something of a shitshow, but it's not all that bad. You should have seen what happened the last time I travelled somewhere new.

[Though perhaps the less said about that the better-- all that death and destruction, the suspicion that had torn them all apart. She's hoping they don't have a repeat of it.]

Although I guess there's still time for things to get worse. And I’m pretty sure my necro hates it here.

Hmmm, that sounds like it just ended in chaos. [Gideon simply strikes him as the type. Nothing to be judgemental about in either direction in that case, just...pretty much what Alucard's used to.] I'd like to note that your journey here isn't over yet though. It could still end in a similar way.

[Maybe he's missed a few things, but based on all they've been told? Alucard is at least confident in that prediction. Not his favorite news to have, absolutely nothing to take heart in, but a reasonable expectation often makes things easier, in his opinion.

He takes another bite, before stirring some of his food to better distribute the gravy.]

Any particular parts she takes issue with, or just the whole thing?

[Chaos is definitely the word, but she turns her mind away from all that to take a big, indelicate slug of her stew, by way of side-stepping the topic. And he's right, she supposes. Shit could still hit the fan-- as much as she'd love to believe that the fuckery ended the moment they left Thorne behind them, it seems doubtful at best. One can only hope that whatever new drama they're they're thrown into now is one that she can get behind. One that - with any luck - involves swords.]

I think she was actually kinda into it at first. You know, with us being brought here as honoured guests, called upon for some great task, and all that bullshit. She loved poking around in Thorne's stuffy old library looking for info on the world. She's a lot less keen on Cadens though. Too many people, too much noise, not enough bones. And literally her whole thing is being the best necromancer the Ninth House has ever produced, so winding up in some place that isn't so big on the whole 'magic' thing? Not really her bag.

[This is playing it down. If she's overstimulated by the sheer volume of newness they've been thrust into, Harrow is feeling it tenfold.]

But she'll get used to it eventually.

[She adds, without conviction.]

--Not enough bo- [Necromancer, right. At least Hector had the good sense not to list that as a problem, although the sigh that comes out of Alucard makes it clear that volume of bones is not the biggest problem in his mind. Necromancers are gonna just Be Like That.] There are other cities, at least. Perhaps moving out to one of them, where there's fewer people might help.

[There's no commentary offered about getting used to it. He hates the city too, for much the same reasons.]

Is there anything else besides her work that might help? [When one is defined only by their magic, there has to be something else.]

Yeah, I've been asking around, and I heard that Libertas is meant to be some kinda safe haven for the eccentric and the strange. I figure in a place like that, maybe a skinny bitch obsessed with skeletons will blend into the background a bit, you know? Make it easier for us.

[Although again, it's said without any great conviction. She's swiftly learning that the two of them are painfully different, both from their fellow displaced and the natives. Harrow seems to be taking that transition harder than most. This world with all it's bustle and noise and weather is a far cry from Drearburh's silent, mouldering depths. Mouldering depths that Harrow - rather sadly - seems to prefer.

Gideon lets out an expansive sigh, and rests both elbows on the table.]

And I don't know. I think she's been so used to holding the whole damned thing together for so long back on the Ninth that now there's no longer a set purpose she's just kinda...at a loss. She needs something new to focus on, probably. What do you reckon, Al? Got any words of wisdom for me?

I think there's others heading there as well, although-- [the small, sharp laugh that comes with skinny bitch obsessed with skeletons isn't intended, but boy, it sure does happen. If nothing else, Gideon's way with words continues to be an absolute delight.] Perhaps. Or there will be enough safe desert to explore and gather enough bones to keep her occupied. I'm nearly tempted to say you should approach the museum about working to help assemble some of their displays.

[The question, however, forces that little spark of entertainment away though. For all that Gideon's actually managed to find the least depressed part of Alucard, he's still a pretty miserable person right now. So to be asked how to give someone else purpose? There's a darker tone in the response, even if he's trying for a more humors inflection.]

You're talking to someone whose grand plan right now is to build a life supporting crypt in one of the graveyards here and take a decades long nap. I'm not exactly the right person to ask about this.

[She quirks a smile when he laughs, feeling pretty pleased with herself. Takes the morphing of his solemn features into amusement on her behalf as a win-- even if it comes apart again in the next moment, and he answers her question in the kind of sepulchral tone that wouldn't have gone amiss on the Ninth.

She sets her spoon down in her almost-empty bowl the moment he starts banging on about building a life supporting crypt of all things. Stares at him with open incredulity for what seems like the longest moment, before letting out an explosive groan and dropping her head into her waiting hands, fingers clutching at her shock of ginger hair.]

Why do I always end up hanging around with morbid assholes obsessed with tombs?? No offence.

[She announces with melodramatic flare, before raising her golden eyes to meet his.]

Remind me not to introduce you to Harrow. If she ever sees you taking a grave nap she'll probably fall wildly in love with you, and I already have one corpse girlfriend to contend with. My sweet and fragile heart can't take it.

[What can he say, Gideon? He's half undead, it's going to happen.

Why everyone seems to hate his crypt idea is genuinely beyond Alucard at this point. It has worked in the past, and quite frankly, the judgements he has been getting from four people now are starting to get old. He's all ready to defend himself with it has worked before! but Gideon's reasoning is at least new.

Not that it really helps the flippant answer he offers.]

Given that the last time I attempted a relationship I was almost murdered, I can assure you that I'd rebuff anything romantic.

[....wait, he just said that out loud.

Alucard feels color in his pale cheeks, and while he doesn't clamp a hand over his own mouth, it is a near thing. Instead, there's the quiet embarrassment of letting out something he's held close to his chest for months now, and immediately he looks away. Away and gets up. Bread refill. He can cut more bread, he just can't sit.]

[What's this now, is he...blushing? Gideon peers at him as though trying to discern whether or not she'd imagined the whole thing over the top of her mostly-devoured soup, only for Alucard to abruptly look away. There's the slight squeal of the chair legs against the floor as he stands and moves away from her, and she chews over his words for a moment, trying to work out how she wound up in a conversation that feels a touch out of her depth. He's upset, that much is obvious. Probably let slip something he hadn't really meant to say, but they can't just leave that bombshell hanging between them and go back to casual chatting. So she says--]

So the last time you got down and dirty with someone, they ended up trying to kill you? Man, that's rough. But if it makes you feel any better, I once had a crush on this cute older girl who kinda seemed like she liked me too, you know, paying me lots of attention and stuff. But then it turned out she was some ancient holy terror who had killed all my friends. So what I'm saying is, I can kinda relate.

[She watches him as he cuts up more bread, trying to discern whether she's pissing him off further, or whether any of her prattle is actually helping.]

If you wanna offload to someone, I'm probably your girl.

[Mostly he'd like to crawl into a hole and not come out! Which in theory, is perfectly plausible in this place, but there is still a part of Alucard that was raised correctly, thank you that points out that he can be swallowed by the Earth only after guests leave.

There's a crunch of bread under the weight of the serrated knife as Alucard continues to cut through the bread, more needing something to focus on than anything else. The crust wasn't this thick before, was it? Is he actually making this place give him crunchier crust for the sake of filling in the noise.]

Did you impale her corpse on the front lawn afterwards?

[The Alucard version of unloading is, in fact, to ask a very weird question while focusing on food and avoiding all contact, while keeping a conversationally flippant tone. It isn't really a great way of coping, he's aware.]

[Gideon winces, the sound a sharp inhalation through her teeth as he sounds out the word impale.]

There was an impaling involved, but alas, it wasn't her. Harrow and I did finish her off though.

[Or so her necromancer had assured her. She'd been there...in a sense. Abruptly, she shakes her head. Ignores the suddenly very crunchy bread to push on with the crux of their conversation.]

But never mind me. It sounds like she got what was coming to her. I hope all the blood didn't fuck up your front lawn too much.

[Whatever one of those might be.]

So what happened?

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