[They'd come up eventually. They were the obvious things, weren't they? It had taken so much of that wine to remove the silver (there's a memory never forgotten, nor the scent of wine and silver mixed with real blood.) Waiting for the right moment was inevitable and...well. Perhaps this will be all that's covered for the day.
Without anyone else to hold onto, Alucard's hands find the rug again. Palms flat. Eyes focused on the patterns worn into it already.]
Like the thread in terms of pattern. But with a different purpose. That thread was restraint, the needles were warfare of the mind.
[Trevor saw a portion of that in the dream. Alucard won't belabor it, because it descends into worse madness.]
Did you know she had the forgemaster hang onto the bishop responsible for all of this? [None of them could have known, the question's rhetorical.] Kept his corpse around for making Holy Water and the like, she used that as a particular weapon against other vampires back west en route here. Horrible eyes, even for forged creatures. Knew something was wrong, but not an ounce of resistence.
[There's a moment where Alucard's fingernails extend. Really grab into the carpet.]
The pins went in easier once that thing was on my neck. Hurt in all the little petty ways you'd think, but then she realized what that dead creature caused. How much she owed to him. And then she had him sit across from me as every inch of silver was placed into flesh in order to recount every minute of the farce of a trial my mother endured.
[There's that littlest bit of heat in the word farce. But it all falls away because the memory of it is so much worse than the anger at the act. No quiet. Just a shake.]
All the humiliations endured. The conclusion that since there were no tears shed, then that, in addition to all evidence, was proof of guilt. Because strength in the face of something like...like that was evidence instead of defiance. [And that was his mother, wasn't it? Defiant of everything. It won her love in the strangest place. It won her acclaim for her work, until that lead to death.]
And I could not tear myself free for even a moment to remove his head from his neck in response. I tried, and everything was agony for it. I...
[And there's the flood. A quiet one, no loud sobs, but there's an utter collapse at Alucard's shoulders that say everything. That was what broke him. He sat on it. Hid it from Carmilla because it'd be her victory (and an insult to what his mother endured.) But it was there and every part of him ached for it.]
no subject
Without anyone else to hold onto, Alucard's hands find the rug again. Palms flat. Eyes focused on the patterns worn into it already.]
Like the thread in terms of pattern. But with a different purpose. That thread was restraint, the needles were warfare of the mind.
[Trevor saw a portion of that in the dream. Alucard won't belabor it, because it descends into worse madness.]
Did you know she had the forgemaster hang onto the bishop responsible for all of this? [None of them could have known, the question's rhetorical.] Kept his corpse around for making Holy Water and the like, she used that as a particular weapon against other vampires back west en route here. Horrible eyes, even for forged creatures. Knew something was wrong, but not an ounce of resistence.
[There's a moment where Alucard's fingernails extend. Really grab into the carpet.]
The pins went in easier once that thing was on my neck. Hurt in all the little petty ways you'd think, but then she realized what that dead creature caused. How much she owed to him. And then she had him sit across from me as every inch of silver was placed into flesh in order to recount every minute of the farce of a trial my mother endured.
[There's that littlest bit of heat in the word farce. But it all falls away because the memory of it is so much worse than the anger at the act. No quiet. Just a shake.]
All the humiliations endured. The conclusion that since there were no tears shed, then that, in addition to all evidence, was proof of guilt. Because strength in the face of something like...like that was evidence instead of defiance. [And that was his mother, wasn't it? Defiant of everything. It won her love in the strangest place. It won her acclaim for her work, until that lead to death.]
And I could not tear myself free for even a moment to remove his head from his neck in response. I tried, and everything was agony for it. I...
[And there's the flood. A quiet one, no loud sobs, but there's an utter collapse at Alucard's shoulders that say everything. That was what broke him. He sat on it. Hid it from Carmilla because it'd be her victory (and an insult to what his mother endured.) But it was there and every part of him ached for it.]