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.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[It's really a wonder to listen to him, as ideas collect traction and snowball into thoughts and plans, and she almost doesn't want to stop him by interjecting because there's something magical about simply sitting back and listening to him. How easily his notions shift from the plight of one woman to the plight of all women like her, to the state of all people on the whole of the continent, just like that.

He's dreaming of changing the world. He wants to use the power at his disposal to shape the course of the world to come, and if there were ever a synthesis to be had of his father and herself, this truly must be it.]

You'd replace the churches with schools. Fill the vacuum the church leaves behind with places for learning, instead.

[It might prove to be too lofty a goal to hope for, in the long run. And yet, how would any change ever take effect, if not for radical thinking and reckless attempts to make it a reality?]

That might be too much to soon. [This requires more realism, but now that his mother has said it, the idea is good. Because it's admittedly easy to look at all of this and say that it's mostly because of the church that is the source of so many the problems.] Introducing the presses might be it's own struggle, and it isn't like I can involve my own face for a lifetime.

[Someone might remember him, after all. Then everything falls apart again, but this is a solid foundation.

There's an important sidebar here though.]

...None of this exactly stops the amount of trouble I'm in, does it?

Oh, no, you're still in trouble. But now you'll have something to ponder over while you're serving out your punishment.

[She turns her hand over, brushing her knuckles lightly against the curve of his cheek.]

And I can tell you the first question your father is going to ask you, as soon as he manages to get you alone. If you'd like to know what it is in advance, to ponder over in the meantime.

Understood.

[Whatever the end result is, there's time to plan. Far better and far more thoroughly than anything else he's done lately.

It still feels good to have his mother's hands where they are, even if the question is one that inspires the first pang of real dread that he's felt for...oh, however long it's been since he woke up and has been talking to his mother.]

Please. I will probably need all the time I can get to formulate the least either rage or disappointment inducing response.

If it were up to me I'd have you cleaning the castle from top to bottom. Dusting the sconces, mopping the floors, cleaning every piece of glassware in the laboratory...

[That's probably an attempt at lightening the mood a little — a punishment so mundane it's almost silly, as though he'd merely broken a window or stayed up past his bedtime or brought home a hellhound and kept it under his bed as a pet.]

But I'm afraid I only have half-say in it, so I can't tell you what your penance will end up being for certain.

[The levity fades, however, when the topic turns back to Vlad, and she takes a moment to purse her lips and glance askance before finally answering him.]

I expect he's going to ask you why the bishop of Târgoviște still breathes. He's been... — it's come up almost every time we've had it out. Even if I could persuade him to do absolutely nothing else, I don't think at this point even I can convince him not to go after that one man in some way, shape, or form.

[There is a very dark chuckle at the extensive description of cleaning the entire castle. To his knowledge, a full deep clean hasn't ever actually been done.]

So half of it will involve cleaning, at the very least.

[At the question's revelation, there's not a single beat missed with a response. This is the easiest question in the world.]

You were, are, and always will be the priority. I didn't have the time of night for the man.

[Nor is he exactly going to disagree with his father's opinion on the man, because from where Alucard sits, this goes back to his earlier point about this not being an isolated incident.]

...He is right though. A man like that will find some excuse to destroy another person in your place now. Better for everyone that he dies.

I expect he'll next go through all of my patients, to see if I infected them with witchery while I was treating them.

[Absently, she rubs at her arm through the sleeve of her dress, where a week ago she'd been pricked with silver needles to see if her flesh burned from the contact. It wouldn't have mattered in the slightest whether she did or not, of course, and it had shown in the self-satisfied smirk on the bishop's face where he stood supervising from his pulpit.]

...I don't want any part in it. Whatever you both decide to do...I can't. I can't have anything to do with that.

Forget I elaborated on it.

[The words are said very, very quickly. His mother's reaction make it clear that this is a Do Not Discuss Ever, and Alucard is happy to close and lock that door. And what's worse is that his mother's thought process about what's next makes a horrifying amount of sense.

There's a gentle squeeze around her middle, a reminder that he's here and that if silence is better right now, that's okay too.]

...I'm the one who should be sorry. You shouldn't have to go out of your way to safeguard your own mother's feelings.

[But it seems now it's her turn to lean on him, seeking the same support she's been so steady in offering up until now, as once again a hairline fracture splits her otherwise collected composure, and a little hint of emotion leaks through with the recollection of her chief tormentor's face.]

But it's hard to disagree that Wallachia would be a better place, were it not for him.

[Alucard's excuse for sitting up in full is that his legs are falling asleep. They're not, he can just sense a shift in who needs to be where, and in a few moments, being a child again using his mother to lean on isn't best for either of them.

There's one arm wrapped around his mother's shoulder now, his free hand rests atop hers gently. He's cold because Alucard has always been cold to the touch, but it has never mattered.]

Mmm. I know.

[He doesn't want to say more. That slight change in composure could go so many ways right now, and Alucard's not sure what will tip the balance. So he just stays quiet, knowing if there's another crack, he'll be able to provide the same kind of support.]

...He was going to cut my hair. Cut it off. If I'd still been there at dawn.

[She knows it's irrational, the fact that her thoughts keep turning back to such a minor and insignificant thing. But for some reason it's the one that has lodged itself in her memory and refuses to fade away, like an errant nail catching threads every time a piece of fabric drifts past it.

She's been putting those thoughts and feelings away, ever since. But she'd also been the one advocating for the processing of emotions, hadn't she, and she's not particularly in the mood to be a hypocrite.]

I don't know why I keep coming back to such an...insignificant thing. I just remember thinking it was such an absurd addition to make to the order. Build the pyre, shear her hair, and set her alight at dawn. I don't...know why it stands out. Why it keeps standing out.

The final piece of absurdity sticks the hardest, perhaps.

[He says it softly, resting his chin on the top of his mother's head. It is a pointless act, doing that as a final action for an execution. For an axe it almost makes sense, but for this?

The thought just makes Alucard angry because the act is so pointless. Just for show, as if there hasn't been enough of that as is.]

Some last petty slight, I suppose.

[The awful thing is, she's already sort of arrived at the same conclusion; it's simply easier not to dwell on it. It's one thing to recite the particulars of the ordeal clinically, but to go the extra step and name it the torture it was...

Calling it torture adds context and connotations. It applies an intent and a malice. It means reliving her memories through a new lens, not just of a laundry list of occurrences but with an acceptance of the intentions behind them.]

Something something can't suffer a witch to have a head of hair.

[It only took three failed tests and one piece of spoken testimony to seal the verdict of witchcraft. They'd done more. They'd done every test and trial they had at their disposal, with the bishop looking prouder and more sanctimonious all the while.

Her lower lip trembles at the corners, threatening the otherwise thin-pressed set of her mouth.

They were torturing her, because they could.

The next breath she draws is a shaking one.]

Idiots.

[There are much stronger words, but Alucard's not the kind to use such lanuage. (Trevor Belmont also isn't in his life, so that means fewer colorful sayings too. Probably for the best.) What is happening in his mother's thoughts, what she's reliving, he's imagined so many times already. He used those thoughts to spur himself onward. They still make him angry.

But his anger doesn't matter right now. His mother's feelings are more important, and right now, he's here for her. He holds on tighter when he sees that tremble. Doesn't think about how many times his father might have been it already. It's instinct born of the devotion his mother inspires, and that same impulse is what prompts him to gently kiss the top of her head.]

I'm here.

[If she needs a sign post in her own thoughts, he's given it.]

You don't have to clean the castle.

[Which is, perhaps, an odd thought to lead with, except that the balance between them is shifting and they've both silently caught on to it. Alucard is right; this is a similar pattern to the one she and Vlad have cycled through over the past week while he slept, with periods of strength and calm interspersed with moments when she's needed to fall quiet and be supported.

It's a different dynamic, with each of them. In some ways it's easier to seek comfort from her husband, where with her son she runs into the difficulties of feeling guilty about the need for parent to solicit child for relief. Yet Alucard is half-human, and Vlad is not, and so there are vulnerabilities she can show in front of him that would only incite her husband to further anger.]

The truth is, I can't think of anything to punish you for, really. Saving me goes a long way toward pardoning the rest of it.

[There is a moment's incredulous laugh, a short, sharp thing at the next words out of his mother's mouth. But it also feels like avoiding the source of everyone's problem right now, and that can't be good in the long term either. Alucard's not sure when it will happen, or who it will be with, but at least he's made it clear that he'll listen whenever his mother is ready.

He doesn't move from his position though, and doesn't plan on it until his mother forces him to.]

Mm. You'll think of something in the moment, you know. You always have.

[For smaller infractions that don't involve quite a bit of murder. But it's also the only failproof defense he'll ever have for getting in trouble: there's literally no better version of this ergo I am immune.]

For not giving the horse a name.

[She shrinks down a little lower, tucking her head more securely under his chin, and closes her eyes to concentrate on the feeling of his arms wrapped around her. It's the same exercise she's been doing with Vlad, all week; memorizing the weight of their embrace, the security of their arms, and reminding herself that nothing will stand a chance of getting through that circle of arms to reach her, so long as it holds.

She's safe. She'll have to keep telling and telling herself that until she believes it, and sometimes she still doesn't quite. But she'll keep after it, until it grows easier.]

I'm proud of you, you know.

I did. It only sounded like endless snoring.

[He hadn't made a single noise in his sleep as they journeyed home, so that's just a gentle lie in an attempt to fight back against the horrible gravity pressing down on them both.

It's unfair that they have to sit like this, talking around and about what's happened. Naming the thing for what it is, it hasn't been done yet. Maybe doing so will give it too much power, and everything is still so fragile. Everyone in the castle is.

So maybe that pride isn't what Alucard expected to hear from his mother after everything they've already discussed. But it's acknowledgement too that in a way, it was the right thing.]

Thank you.

Is that its name, then, a week-long snore? That'll make things tedious, to call for him.

[She's going to fall asleep on him herself, if she's not careful. Not from tiredness, no, but from the carelessness of getting comfortable and letting herself be relieved to feel comfortable at all. She shouldn't impose it on him, this business of needing to mind her and fuss over her, but maybe they both find a certain solace in it, after all.]

I hope that someday the world will learn to be kind to you, and embrace you when you travel it. I encouraged your father to travel because I thought it would be good for him to see the world as a man.

[She smiles softly, hidden just for herself.]

But I think it's the world that would benefit, from having you pass through it.

I wasn't aware that we still had the horse.

[Color him gently surprised that it wasn't just left to run free after they reached the castle. Why that fact, out of everything, takes Alucard so aback he can't say. Something something absurdity, most likely.

If his mother was to fall asleep not long after, Alucard would sit and refuse to move until she woke. To know that he could help contribute to her feeling safe is another kind of reassurance, and maybe seeking so many examples of it is childish. He can't say he cares.]

It...will be a while before I do that. [Not now, that much he knows. Never in Wallachia. West, perhaps, but not alone.]

It nobly carried us to our freedom. There was talk of ceding some choice lands to it. Perhaps a barony.

[Some choice words may also have been uttered about the various Wallachian territories and how a horse would be better suited to govern them than the fools currently in power. Absurdity occasionally flows freely throughout every member of this family, perhaps.]

...Because of this?

[She makes a soft hmmm noise under her breath, like she's mulling over how she feels about that.]

Out of concern for your own safety? Or because you don't want to be away from me?

As good as making the horse a boyar might be, I have to wonder who has been re-reading Suetonius.

[It goes without saying that maybe following after Caligula is a bad idea. In fact, it is a horrid idea, but at least everyone can agree on the fact.

But talking about horses as boyars is a much better conversation topic than this other one, and the honest truth of Alucard's answer.]

Yes.

[To all of them and a few unspoken parts too.]

[It's her nature, somewhat, to approach darkness with dry humor — a seed cultivated over her many years in Vlad's company, tempering his colder moods with brisk wit. In motherhood, that tendency had taken on a softer, lighter touch. Less of a rapier, more of a toy sword.]

There you have it. We'll call him Incitatus; a perfect fit.

[The brevity of his response piques her interest, however; Alucard has always been one to say one word when he means thousands of them. So, in that way that only a mother can, she nudges.]

...It would be good for you, to love someone other than me.

It will be at least fifty years before anyone else can appreciate that joke.

[This poor horse probably doesn't deserve the name, but there's a little bit of relief in being able to make light of something with so much darkness around the castle otherwise. But now the horse is left be, for a topic that feels a little too out of left field. But there's no scandalized teenager response to it, the groans of mother! and asking why the topic has pivoted in this direction.

There's something much calmer instead, practical even. Because between the two options, Alucard knows how he wants to sound. Even if the other response is lurking in the back of his mind.]

There will be time for it. Just not now. There's more important things.

It's not always something you're able to choose. It may well find you first, without being invited in.

[Discreetly, her previously faint smile widens just a touch. Just because he'd taken the smooth and rational response doesn't mean she isn't fully aware that the other was considered. Sometimes it's nice to make him squawk a little. An occasional flustering is sometimes just what the doctor ordered.]

But I mean it. It teaches you about people, and about yourself, and about...growing, in a way that you haven't before. If all you do is watch your parents, then all you'll know how to do is imitate your parents. You've always had my love, and you always will. But finding it, and struggling through learning to foster it...that's something very different.

With matercula

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject