cryptsleeper | With matercula

With matercula

Continued from here!

[The way back to the castle brought no surprises. No mobs. Nothing. There was only the road and there was only silence. For most of, Alucard slept, stirring only when there was a change in terrain or something felt off. His sleep wasn't deep. It was just enough to take the reins from his mother if he absolutely had to.

That never came to pass, and in the foothills of the Carpathians, familiar spires rose above the treeline. For any other travelers, the word to describe the spires would be loom. Alucard considered them welcoming. They were home, the horrors far, far behind them and any church hounds were equally distant.

Alucard sleeps for a solid week, having not bothered to eat before collapsing on his bed and only taking a cursory five minutes to try and remove all the blood from his person. (The tattered remains of his shirt and trousers were exchanged for sleep clothes, at least.) It's longer than he expected, the expanse of energy hadn't felt that intense at the time. But it was, and his body decided that those same abilities that had propelled Alucard ever forward needed that much time to reset.

When he wakes, there's an uncertainty that everything before wasn't a dream. It's only when he walks over to the mirror to look at himself, enough blood still there (his hair's a matted mess, it's not a good look) to remind him: yes. Everything transpired as you remember it.

The next part is routine. Cleaning all the blood off. Finding clean clothes. Changing the sheets on his bed not because of the few spots of dried blood, but because the stink of it is alarming at best. It helps keep his mind away from the next wave of emotion that he knows has to hit sooner or later. The emotional one, the one that's going to take more time to get through. Guilt, grief, anger, relief, all of it, a churning mess that will interact with two others and make those same feelings flare like wildfires. He ought to eat first.

But he doesn't. Alucard walks the halls of the castle instead. His parents should know he's awake.]

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It's more complicated, and I can't even make myself say some bravado nonsense about how they can try. Hubris invites falls.

[That feels like the best assessment of everything. How he feels about the actions he's taken, how bitterness is still trying to set in because his father's points are valid and so very true. Being this focal point of two different ways of looking at the world, it was exhausting even without additional circumstances.

The logic behind it doesn't make sense either, it just feels right in the perspective Alucard has as that same focal point. He's no crux, just someone who stands in a different place than most. Raised with knowledge centuries away from other men. Given abilities no one else has.]

And I don't have the words for it either, beyond some sense of responsibility.

[That's all his mother's influence. They both know it, there's no way it could ever come from his father. Alucard's not sure if he should withdraw his hand, so he stands there. Awkward. Unsure. Slightly afraid of where this may go.]

[Sometime later, when the tension of this encounter has long passed and there has been ample time to process what was said and done, Dracula will reflect back on this moment, and this thing that was confessed to him by his son. It's always so easy to see him as his mother's child, from the gold of his hair to the weaknesses his half-human nature adds to the purity of his vampire blood. But in this one thing, perhaps, the parallels between father and son are easy to see. Neither one is very good at integrating with the world that the humans occupy. Hearing Alucard shed light on his own struggles might, perhaps, lend some clarity to those of Dracula as well.

For now, however, he makes no move to brush Alucard's hand away. He remains still, and steady, and his voice keeps that quieter tone, for the moment.

She won't speak of what was done to her. Not to me, he observes, in a voice that sounds eerily thin. Even as she weeps from the memory of their actions, she protects those who tormented her from my temper.

Guilt, again. This time, with the addition of frustration. Lisa's instincts, it seems, have been the same as Alucard's: both of them knew better, when recounting the events of that night, to elaborate on the parts that would surely infuriate Dracula the most.

And yet, to what practical effect? He's left to wonder, with the blanks filled in solely by the ugliness of his own imagination.

She wants to return to them. She won't stay. A doctor's place is among the ill, she says. Yet if I stay my hand and my wrath, then I am left with no means to keep her safe, among these men who have already sought to slaughter her once.]

[The little thin crack in his mother's facade really had just been a fraction of what was being witnessed. There's the familiar pang of anger again at the words their actions. And his father did't see that horrid cell, the chains, the rope, any of it. Alucard gets it. Why his mother won't say anything, why this part of his father's rage feels right. Because they're both understandable actions.]

She may not be ready to speak of it to herself yet.

[They're words said very softly. Not out of fear, but out of a quieter reflection. There's never been a higher emotional tension in the castle, but neither himself or his father get to make this about them either. That's pure selfishness.

And there's no surprise that his mother wants to return to work. It would be a far greater surprise if she didn't, because if there was one thing Alucard's mother did not do, it was stew or wallow in what happened. Moving ever forward, that was what brought her to the castle doorsteps twenty some years ago anyway.]

A different place then. Not a village. Perhaps not even Wallachia anymore. [Wait. Vampire politics.] If that's possible.

[I wanted to see my anger reflected in yours, he continues even more quietly, as though speaking more to himself than to Alucard. To see Târgoviște razed by your hand, and know that your rage was the match for mine.

He goes silent. It hangs in the air, still and thick, until at last it breaks with one more thought — the rawest, most revealing yet.

To know that in this, my son's feelings were like mine. And not like hers.

Perhaps it will always be Alucard's fate, to act as the bridge between two very different worlds.

But Vlad seems to think on the notion that Alucard raises, the possibility that Lisa's deflection and stubbornness may be a sturdy shell hiding a much more vulnerable state of affairs within, and at length he only hums as he seems to process that before turning to face his son.

Abandon Wallachia. Of course it's possible. Perhaps it would even complete my revenge for me, from the infighting that would occur in the power vacuum I left behind.

To his credit, his tone is more dry now than furious, though not quite near enough to be called anything akin to humor.]

[The strangest part of that statement is that there is a metaphor that rises to Alucard's thoughts almost immediately. That anger is there, it's just as angry and raw, but how it's channeled, how it has decided to run it's course is...yes. The comparison works.]

It's more as if it's been passed through a prism and refracted. It is there. Know that.

[If science metaphors fail though, there's been a much more important point made that they would both do well to reflect on. Now more than ever, since this talk has ended up being reasonable. Far more reasonable than Alucard ever anticipated.]

Mm. And there's plenty of time to decide where to go. [His father is the one that has been traveling, after all. He knows where it is safest, and Alucard is unlikely to ever leave the place they settle on until all three of them head elsewhere in some new agreement.]

[A good thing to know.

A validating admission, somehow — not that Vlad Dracula Ţepeş actually needs validation, but it adds a layer of calm over the buried fury that still burns there. Now, at last, it's Vlad's turn to bridge the gap between them, his own hand coming to rest on Alucard's shoulder in a mirror of what was exchanged before.

You both will stay within the castle, for now. I will move it anywhere we need go, and arrange for anything that need be procured from beyond its walls.

Which isn't a state of affairs that will last for long, certainly, but for the time being, it will last. The castle will endure, solemn and unassailable, and the family will endure within it.]

Understood.

[This is all very strange. The hand on his shoulder, that's all right, and Alucard leans into it a little bit more than he expected to. It is still his father, as terrifying as the man can be in these moments. They've reached a quiet accord, and it came about with the least amount of dramatics that could be hoped for given the circumstances.

Nor is he sure what happens next. There will be a natural break in this gesture, and they'll part ways to explore other places in the castle to be alone with all their emotions. Maybe Alucard will sit and spend most of tthe day alone, maybe he'll just go check on the horse. (He really should check on the horse.) It'll go on and then....

..and then where to? West, where there have been little fits and starts of humans moving closer to the technology in the castle. Embracing science, the wisdom of the Greeks, all the forgotten things? The east, where the Islamic sages never forgot the ways of science?

Who's to say at this point? The only option that cannot be pursued is to live in isolation, if only because all three of them in the castle constantly will drive each other to madness.]

[It goes on, as time always does.

It's only to be expected, of course, that they couldn't stand the isolation for long — Lisa least of all, fueled as she is by her drive to put her skills to use helping others. So perhaps it comes as little surprise that the castle moves again before long, this time on a long jaunt that takes a fair amount of Vlad's focus to accomplish. But there are a few fortuitous things about the move, the most obvious of which being that it still puts them well and truly distant from the dangers they'd faced in Wallachia.

Prague is not a town like the ones they'd left behind. No, Prague is a proper city, developed and bustling with people, with commerce, with ideas. Prague boasts a university of radical thinkers, and more than one outspoken voice willing to decry the church and its workings. Prague has a culture of science and learning, not ignorance and superstition; more than once, the astronomical clock has drawn Lisa's attention, and resulted in more than a bit of insistent urging to convince Vlad to visit it with her.

And of course, Prague is a city ready to embrace a doctor with open arms. Procuring a space as the future site of her clinic isn't difficult in the slightest, and the structure is a charming one, set into the high wall of a narrow winding street, with a red rooftop and an empty sign hanging out over the walkway just waiting for a proper lettering to advertise her availability. It's modest but serviceable, with an upstairs and a downstairs, and while it can't possibly replace what she'd lost when the bishop had burned her cottage, it feels like a fresh start, to walk through it.

Vlad, of course, had sneered at the prospect of city life, yet he'd loathed the idea of being away from them more. So more often than not, he can be seen around the town, himself — always given a wide berth, and certainly gossiped about, but mostly just because the locals don't really know what to make of him, the visiting aristocrat from some unknown locale. And of course, when all else fails, there is always the castle, tucked away some distance from the city, awaiting them always should they choose to run back to the safety of its walls.

But it doesn't feel like they need to, not here. The very atmosphere of Prague is so different from what they'd left behind, and truly, it's a welcomed change of pace.]

[Alucard had expected to go across the sea and south to where the Italians were. It was impossible to miss their rumblings, the sudden interest in what was antique and now valuable again. But there was too much of the church in those lands (and perhaps, in truth, too much garlic) and so further north and just a little bit west it had been.

It wasn't Wallachia, but all three of them were sick of the place. Years after his mother truly did pass (from old age and nothing else), perhaps he would go back. But there would be no affection for the land that saw his parents meet, there would only be a mild interest in seeing the changes to the landscape and how the Ottomans influenced certain things.

There's no point in attending the university, but he is aware of it and the goings on, just as he is aware of so much else. Around him is a veritable sea of humanity, and to be in the midst of it feels strange. He grew up in the castle after all, and in Lupu when his mother realized so much isolation was not in his best interest.

The upstairs is theirs, of course. Much less spacious than the castle, but also a much easier place to protect. There are nights early on when rather than sleep in bed, Alucard takes to his wolf form and squishes himself against the front door, sleeping there instead. To catch drafts. An absolutely bullshit excuse, but he uses it anyway.

One thing that Alucard argued for in the clinic were dummy books. Contemporary works, not the advanced ones that the castle had, works with incorrect understandings of human anatomy and health and all things besides. If there was another attempt to attack, then the books could not be evidence. They were published this year. Last year. Two years ago. The printers were all in Prague or from Italy or the Germans.

He walks into the clinic with another armful of the books, not exactly proud of the fact that there's ink smeared on his face. Picking things up from the printer means time spent means ending up being asked to help with a stuck press means ink on his face and arms.]

Mother? This is the last batch.

[It's unsurprising, perhaps, that Lisa is all but delighted at the prospect of seeing Alucard in particular exposed to life in a city. That's not to say that she doesn't find it daunting herself, to step out of the doors and find that veritable sea of people waiting for her instead of the more sparse populations in the towns of Wallachia, but the exposure to the culture is in some ways the best of both worlds: the benefits of traveling to see the wonders humanity has to offer, but without the physical act of traveling, so that they can stay together.

Still, there are little things to get used to. Waking up to find her son a wolf instead of a young man, for example. Hearing Vlad slip out at night and hoping they won't wake up to rumors of missing citizens come the morning. More often than not, she awakes to find a still-warm loaf of bread waiting on the table instead, which goes a long way toward softening her apprehensions down into relieved fondness.

But this afternoon, they're working at getting the interior of her future clinic in order, and while she's mostly focusing on the big-picture concerns like the arrangement of tables and treating implements, Alucard is focusing more on the aesthetics and optics. They make a good team that way, really, and she smiles when she hears him come in.]

Wonderful. How many shelves is that filled, now?

It should take up the last empty shelf on the book case and leave several additional texts to scatter around as required.

[The wooden crate that they're in is set down on the ground beside the bookcase in question, and Alucard sinks down with it. The actual binding is simple, as again, none of this can match watch the castle has. Plain brown leather. Simple marks. So much Latin and nothing else, because the heavens forefend anything not written in Latin.

There's a practiced care in putting each book back though. Alucard knows better than to damage books, even ones meant to just serve as backgrounds to what is actually a pretty long con, if he thinks about it. Set up as a simple doctor with only the contemporary knowledge, end up providing the best possible care anyone can have because of being married to a vampire who has a massive library.]

What else is left?

To wash your face, perhaps.

[She laughs softly as she looks at him, rubbing lightly at her own face in indication of the places where he's wound up with ink smudged on his. It's actually a rather nice look for him, owing mostly to his ethereal brand of beauty; her son has the sort of features that can carry some imperfections and not just still look good, but to actually make the imperfections seem attractive just by virtue of being a part of his face.

Certainly it won't be long before the eligible daughters of the town start turning out at her door, she muses with a hint of suppressed mirth. A whole flock of them, with all manner of made-up ailments, designed not to seek medical treatment but rather just a glimpse of the young man always hanging about the clinic.]

And I've yet to find a good place to hide the phlebotomy apparatus. It likely needs to be hidden, doesn't it? Or do you think it could sit out without arousing too much suspicion? I'm of two minds about it, at present.

I know. The press got stuck and they needed an extra pair of hands.

[Alucard looks embarrassed enough at the thought of the mess. To know his mother's thoughts about anyone's interest in him, that would just be sheer mortification. There's a version of all of this, the paths gone elsewhere, where the question of romance is not a thing of teenager-esque embarrassment, but she is also not there to witness it. (~~And one of them is rude besides.~~)

His mother's question comes with a considered silence, punctuated by the books on the shelf trying to fall over every so often.]

Hide it for now. When there's more of an established opinion, you can bring it out and claim it a new device you've just bought, and give it a made up backstory. How often do you use it anyway?

[Lisa Ţepeş is alive and well and enjoying every last bit of being a mother, including but not limited to thriving on her child's awkward suffering. What could possibly be a better sampling of the human experience than having to deal with parrying the affections of amorous young women who can't take a hint.]

Not very often. At least, not when it comes to treating patients. Occasionally it finds...other uses.

[Bloodletting equipment in a family of vampires. Hmmm.]

Another for the pile heading back upstairs, then. Do you suppose I ought to have a shelf of jars with strange powders and leafy weeds inside them, just for the sake of appearances?

[There is none, and it is made all the better for Alucard's knowledge of knowing what this is, trying not to give into it, and failing every time.]

...Ah, that explains a few things.

[Really how didn't he put two and two together?]

As for the jars, perhaps. The herbals that have been published recently haven't been incorrect about certain uses, so the material described within would at least have an air of practicality, even if most of it will be for appearance's sake.

And how many have they gotten completely wrong, I wonder? Recommending hemlock as a cure for a sore neck, or something equally absurd. That'll cure the soreness, all right, but by spoiling everything else.

[She picks up the aforementioned phlebotomy equipment, making certain not to tangle the tubes as she arranges it into a reasonably neat pile for carrying and brings it over to what must be her designated "not down here" space.]

Like curing a toothache by beating someone upside the head with a stick.

Less than usual, not enough to meet your exacting standards.

[Alucard picks his head up from shelving the books, looking at his mother with both fondness and some exasperation.]

It's not going to be instant understanding, you know that.

Yes, of course, my standards of not feeding people grave soil and foot shavings as a universal remedy.

[She winds up smiling a little ruefully, though, shoulders dropping as she absorbs that look of exasperation with a little good-natured sheepishness in response.]

I forget sometimes, I suppose. I don't feel very exceptional or even out of the ordinary, but I've had a lot of benefits that even most doctors don't.

Apparently according to some gossip, feet are a thing so perhaps neither of us can judge that fact.

[Medieval Prague is kinky, apparently. Or the university students are getting very, very creative in slandering professors. Either way, Alucard has information he never wanted.]

We both have. But they're catching up, just a little.

[Always they. Never we.]

Is that why you let yourself be caught up in doing so many favors and errands around town, hmm? You've been listening to the local gossip?

[She's clearly teasing. She's also heading over to watch him shelve books for a little while, not because she's done with her own work or because he needs the help, but just for the sake of being a little nearer to him.]

And certainly listening to some interesting discussions, to have learnt so much about feet and people's opinions on them.

It isn't on purpose, I can assure you. On these topics, I would be content in ignorance.

[So much ignorance about the foot thing.

There's a few books left in the crate, and Alucard grabs the next one. It doesn't go on the shelf though, this one he offers to his mother.]

This wasn't in the order. It caught my eye as I walked in.

[The binding isn't flashy either, and within is no medical glory. Instead it speaks of only the skies, of stars, and what patterns live in them. None of it is new information. What is new, why it caught her son's eye in the first place are the woodcuts. They're rendered lovingly, but more than that is the deft hand of a colorist who has taken great care to give a sense of depth to each image.]

Oh?

[Curious, she takes the book from him, nestling it carefully in the crook of one arm as she opens the cover with the other, and as soon as she does, she understands instantly why her son was drawn to this one. The stars, the night sky — they'd always given these things to him, even from the time when he was only an infant, painting the decorations in his room with constellations and rewarding him with glimpses through his father's telescope after moments of triumph and success.

It's a beautiful book. The illustrations are delicate and finely crafted, with that fragile and minimalist sort of look that art of its nature always seems to carry. And page by page, she traces the very tips of her fingers over the images, wondering at their delicate beauty.]

...Oh. It's beautiful...

[No wonder it caught your eye, is the implication between the lines.]

[Alucard can't help but stay where he is, looking up at his mother goig through all the pages of the book. Astronomy was as much a part of growing up as all the other sciences, but the art of depicting the sky, that's something that seems to always be a skill, the knowledge of how it all works be damned.

He remembers the books at home. The illuminated manuscripts (he always wondered how his father acquired them from monasteries), the rarer things on papyrus. This is just a continuation.]

You could keep it open on one of the spare tables. It might spark some interest.

Or make a fine litmus test for deciding which of my patients we like and which ones we like?

[She turns the page again, lips parting slightly in a silent, pleased intake of breath at the next page.]

Look at this one — an aurora. It looks like the glow of a fire below the horizon.

It can serve two purposes.

[The description of the next page is enough to actually prompt Alucard to his feet. It was something read about once or twice, but there had never been any particular images so far as he could remember. Within a moment he is standing besides his mother eyes looking down at the page.

It is remarkable. And he can't help but grin.]

Remarkable. I can't believe the patron that originally requested it decided to leave this behind.

With matercula

cannot blame them at ALL

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