miraclewhip | (for cryptsleeper)

Entry tags:

(for cryptsleeper)

[ He remembers- maybe about half of what happened last night. A little more, perhaps. He remembers the comments that initiated the fight. Vaguely remembers being dragged back to the inn. Remembers throwing cold water on his face to wake himself up to do the terrible fucking job of stitching himself back up that he found himself with this morning (if there was ever a chance to keep that fucking cut from scarring, well, he's gone and botched it).

And he remembers telling the fucking vampire things that he probably should not have told the fucking vampire. He doesn't remember the specifics but he knows that he said too much. More than he's told anyone in a decade maybe. All for the sake of a petty victory that he doesn't even remember if he achieved.

He's uncharacteristically quiet today, even for being as hungover as he is. He forces the almost-solid porridge down his throat when it's pushed in front of him. He drinks half the water that he was using to wash himself last night and pours the other half over his head to wake himself up after maybe an hour of sleep. He only interrupts Sypha's long, long 'discussion' when she stares at him for an indication that he's still awake. It's after that that he's dismissed to the back of the wagon, either because Sypha can't stand his presence right now or because she doesn't trust him not to fall off and end up tangled under its wheels.

(Can't blame her, being tangled up under the wheels of a wagon sounds better than being in his own head right now, even without the throbbing pain.)

He doesn't sleep, mostly because he's been told not to and he is, even more uncharacteristically, on his best behavior right now. The day is mostly uneventful until sometime in the afternoon, when a particularly foolish highwayman sees a wagon driven by a single speaker woman and tries to take advantage of the situation. He's driven off within moments, of course, harmlessly to both them and himself, and the worst that happens is that the horses are startled by Sypha's display and the wagon lurches to one side, knocking Trevor onto his side against the wooden floor. It's only after everything has been confirmed okay, once the horses are calm and they're moving again, that he places a hand to his lower chest. ]

Fuck.

[ It's warm. And damp. He's gone and opened his shitty stitches, hasn't he? ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Alucard flinches at that one. He can't not, it's disgusting that anyone would think that doing something along those lines would be acceptable. And what is the point of an action like that anyway, what does one gain? Nothing but pointless satisfaction.

He rests both of his hands on top of Trevor's knees and squeezes gently. The turn is over.]

[ His hands settle against Alucard's ribs, beneath his coat but over his shirt. He's still careful, still gentle, but he's growing less overly cautious. Alucard can be trusted to speak up when he wants this to end, at this point. ]

[There's so much warmth in those hands. And where they rest, that one was a special sort of hell.]

One of the crucibles from my mother's workshop was used to melt silver. An...an inordinate amount. [He pauses for this one, because the part of the act that outraged him was not the melted silver, but taking from his mother's laboratory. And using it like this. Undeniably the point, but still.]

Applied. It was too hot, the agony knocked me out for the worst of it. The smell though that...[There's a shudder.] Hovered for too long.

[ That was one that manages to surprise him. The Belmonts never had a use for molten silver. His fingers twitch, only slightly. His face remains soft. Carmilla is dead. This is done with. All that remains is to drain the poison from the wound, the same way he did with stories and words. His hands trail softly over Alucard's ribs, around to the small of his back where they rub softly, slipping just underneath his shirt to do so. As they do, he kisses Alucard. On the lips this time, soft and quick and genuinely chaste as is possible in this situation. ]

[There's no near collapse from unburdening this particular horror, even though it is one of the ones that comes up time and again when Alucard is out foraging. Perhaps that's just because it's one of the activities he did with his mother, going out into the woods and fighting over which mushrooms were safe, and to have that connection just gave the whole thing worse power. He's had to sit when it's surfaced before, smell of burnt flesh in his nostrils.

And one day he'll be able to at least deliver some snarky comment about how Trevor's just managed the most innocent kiss while totally shirtless (because that's a thing happening here and now), but it isn't happening tonight. There's just a kiss (and maybe he returns it too eagerly), and that is that.]

[ It's probably not the worst of it. He knows that. He suspects he knows what the absolute worst will be. He's known since he came up with this stupid game. Eventually he'll place his hands over Alucard's ears and ask him what Carmilla said, and that will be the worst of it.

But it's shitty. And that Alucard can say it all so plainly with only a little hesitation is a good sign. This is working.

He pulls back, bringing a hand to Alucard's cheek to stroke it softly (he was crying earlier, wasn't he? He isn't now, but he would have objected to the gesture then whether it was needed or not. Better late than never). ]

Your turn. Do your worst.

[There's not much left of the calmness, if Alucard was to pause for a moment and actually acknowledge the churning mess in his head. Stormclouds, about to break, held off by sheer surprise. Picking things out and laying them flat on the table to be examined, it'll work. But then there will be one thing plucked that brings a flood, and they'll have to put this all on hold for a day or so. Just enough to stuff all the things back behind the dam wall, let it settle, and begin again.

But he doesn't. The hand on his cheek is soon enclosed by one of Alucad's own, wanting to keep it there. There's such warmth in the weight (never mind the summer), such aching familiarity that it helps ignore the threat of overflow.]

In fairness, I'm beginning to detect that all of these are the worst.

[Not a great attempt at a joke. But he's also right, which in this case is a rather upsetting thing to be. All the same, the hand not atop Trevor's hovers for a moment, then settles on something just below the collar bone.

Alucard had kissed it a whole of once, and there was a sour face at the time. Never again. And for all the other scars on Trevor that never got a disapproval during times in bed (and very much not), it was a mystery.]

At least a few are from fucking up with the whip. Or from falling off a horse.

[ He sighs when Alucard's hand presses against the scar at his collar. Well, he did invite Alucard to do his worst. A hand against it he can deal with. A fanged mouth, less so. ]

Vampire again. This one found me, heard word that there was a Belmont nearby and decided to go hunting instead of leaving. First time I ran into one who could do the compulsion thing, so I just ended up standing there like an idiot while he bit.

[ He had seemed the most beautiful, perfect creature in the world. Following the instruction to remain still and not fight had just made sense. He broke free when the vampire actually tried to turn him, because that went so far against his nature. There's a reason he's so quick to recognize attempts at using compulsion these days. ]

Fangs wouldn't have left a scar, but- [ But he carved out the flesh himself, so that there would be no part of him that those fangs had touched. ] -you know, precautions.

Edited 2018-12-08 17:20 (UTC)

[Small wonder fangs are forbidden from that spot. What's far more than that is...is any of this. Any kind of trust built up, because there's been enough past experiences to forbid it. It's a reminder of how truly extraordinary the circumstances were that drove all three of them together. An enshrinement of what that work required that has allowed them to stay together.

No fangs there. Or fingers now, just Alucard's forehead resting on the spot for a long moment, hair sliding down to cover his face. There's that natural coolness of him pressed to that spot, still a blessing for the summer.]

Of course.

[And he lingers.]

[ Even if it were winter, he's accustomed enough to the cool of Alucard's skin that it's impossible for it not to be comforting. Lips would be too much, even Sypha's fangless ones (both Sypha and Alucard really are the most beautiful, perfect creatures in the world. It's too much. Too similar), but this is nice. He leans forward to press his lips into Alucard's hair.

He pushes his hands under Alucard's coat again, settling over his shoulder blades. If he's ready for another turn, then it's Trevor's choice. If not- if not then it can just be another touch, another reminder that neither of them are alone for this. ]

[He's going to stay there until Trevor moves him. Like this is nice. The sensation of softness against his hair is nice. Always has been. Always will be, and with them both, that sensation is only for one lifetime.

Shoulders? Stakes, no, those were lower. Near all the vital bits inside the torso, angled to just miss. The twine? His legs, not up there. The molten silver, no. Which means that this next part is very embarrassing.]

I don't think I recall.

[ One of them was going to end up saying that sooner or later. He's been drunk for so many of his scars that some of them he can only offer guesses at. And- whether or not anything happened (perhaps nothing did, even if it seemed like there was no part of Alucard that had not been touched. He doesn't remember tending to any injuries across his back), Alucard not remembering is a good thing.

Of course, he never bothered to figure out rules for not remembering. He turns the touch into rubbing Alucard's back. This wasn't how he intended this to go- in his head this game seemed like it would work better if the only touching was to prompt words. It seemed more correct that way. But this is how it has ended up. ]

Your turn, or mine again? I never made rules for not remembering.

Perhaps this is enough for a first round.

[Alucard's not intending to move from where he is, the way he seems to have settled makes that much so very clear. His palms are flat on Trevor's thighs for just enough support, and while the position's a little awkward, that's nothing a bit of rearrangement can't do.

And Trevor was right earlier. He's tired. This has brought it home to roost, at least for a day more.]

[ The second time, two days later, starting again is awkward. That had been minimized when it was a surprise. This time, they all know it's going to happen. It lasts maybe three turns each, until Trevor puts his hands in Alucard's hair (he knows, but Alucard needs to say it aloud. Poison from the wound) and the vampire falls completely silent. Too much, too soon. Sypha steps forward, pulling them both into her arms, and they stay there until he can speak again to say that he really ought to be starting on dinner.

They've waited a little longer for the third time. It could have waited longer - the attacks of silence and stillness, as if he's not really there in his body but somewhere else, back behind the entrance to the cells (it's not bricked yet, but Trevor's pushed a heavy bookcase in front of the door to hide it), they come less frequently. But the last few days have been dedicated to replacing the things that were broken in their room, and that- that has been difficult.

He takes Alucard's hand after dinner - he's let Sypha know about his intentions, but not him - and leads him to the reading room. It's better prepared this time (Sypha's idea, bless her.), a small area of the floor covered with cushions and rugs. More comfortable than the stone of the floor, even if it's less pleasantly cool to the touch. ]

You know where you sit by now, yes?

[Some of it is easier. The walks outside, they don't require as many minutes to reset after something rises to the top of Alucard's mind and flings him back into the realm of memory. There are still night terrors (the power only slightly waned.) But there is work and there is this, and no one ever said an antidote would be quick acting. Not for things of the mind. Within that second session had been the goddamn pomander (and on that there had been not quite tears but the spitting fury and fear of being present and helpless at the same time) so at least that thing was behind them all. Plus the thin wry laugh of the attempt to use salt in wounds before silver, no one catching on that salt is a natural thing in the human body.

And it was easier to clean and go through the physical. Their room was...no that was hell, but it was easily fixed. It'd be whole soon, the varnish on the wood for the new bed had just been applied today, and within another day or two the whole would be complete. They could have that room back properly. Theirs again. Fully.

The space between this session and the last is good. In some ways, less so, part of Alucard has very much wanted to rush through and have this all done with as if it's a magic cure for all the horrible stillnesses. (He knows it isn't. He can dream.)

He looks first at the rug, then to Trevor. If this was normal, he'd joke about just turning into his wolf form and letting Trevor relive a few good memories. This isn't normal. So he nods.]

One day you're going to run out of scars, and then where shall we be?

[He will too. But Trevor's likely to be first.

He sits.]

I'll go to amass some more. More stupid ones, maybe.

[ Alucard had very gingerly touched at a nasty-looking gash on his outer thigh last time, clearly concerned about what he might hear. It had been a kick from a startled horse. They don't all have terrible stories behind them, and it's impossible to tell which are which by sight alone.

He undresses to his smallclothes, as he did the second time. It does make him look just a little stupid, with Sypha and Alucard both being fully dressed. But he's asking a lot of vulnerability from Alucard. It's only fair.

Besides, it is still warm. He takes his place. ]

Who should go first?

Yes, but then I'll know the exact origin, because I'll have been the one to fix them.

[Because that was his job now. Sewing up stupid Belmonts who got themselves stabbed for either extremely good reasons or amazingly pointless ones. There was no in between. Never.

The cushions are as soft as they ever were, although the way this has been piled together makes the set up almost fortress like. No roof. But enough comfort, and honestly the silliness of Trevor just undressing tended to fall into the categories of what are you doing no and stupid attractive Belmont. Comedy was not ranked.]

Ended on my choice last time.

I just won't tell you what happened. Let you worry.

[ Empty threat. He's done that a few times in the past, and learned very quickly that it was one of the fastest ways to end up with a very brooding, very testy vampire refusing to sleep in the same bed for the next few days. ]

If you're sure-

[ He brings a hand to Alucard's hip, stroking down it along where that awful thread was laced through him. There's less hesitation by now, because there's no options that are ever going to be better than others. ]

Exile you to the rug. No dogs.

[Less an empty threat, he still has to buy the rug. That's on the list, once all the expenses for repairs are done. They are not so isolated to be free of the economy in full. Even if Alucard's mostly a weird woodland elf who goes around with baskets of food being trailed by a bunch of ravens some days.

The thread. That had been a multi-pronged thing.]

No one knew what it was, at first. Just that there was an awful lot of it, and that those vampires who went down into the hold to begin with gave it a wide berth. No index number.

[Which is weird too, but.]

It wasn't until someone looked at the spool it was on and noted the characters that they figured out it was associated with the eastern understanding of vampires. Wrap it around, and things bind. So they tried that first. [Trevor had seen that part of the dream, all twine around Alucard's legs.] Wasn't strong enough, or I was too furious enough. Either way, I broke through it. Worth it for her face.

[And then there had been a world of regret. Alucard's not sure where to look for this part, so he looks at the rug. How his hands settle on the fibers on it.]

Then they found that...thing. [It will always be that thing.] And when not binding my legs, used it for nothing short of embroidery work.

Always that thing. The one fucking thing that we ever made to help a vampire, and it ended up being the worst of all.

[ He doesn't often respond to what Alucard says, at least not in words. It's part of the game. This isn't meant to be a conversation. It's meant to be him prompting, to allow Alucard to talk to himself. Name the horrors, make them into something that can be controlled. But god, that fucking thing. That thing meant to give vampires a way to control their thirst. Created so that no more Sara Trantouls needed to end their lives to avoid harming others.

He regrets speaking, and closes his mouth instead of continuing. Embroidery. That was what he had called it when Alucard took too long with the stitches, when he was accusing him of torture. It's a weighty word. He runs his hand down his leg a few times, from hip to knee, then withdraws his hands to let Alucard take his turn. ]

Didn't anticipate a half-one.

[Sure as hell didn't anticipate taking the half-one into bed and a million other little things aside.

Alucard's made it through that one without deflating much. His voice? Calm, or at least calm enough. The hands on his legs feel weightier than some of the other embraces, the soft touches, the reassurances that this was all going to be okay in some distant future.

There have been precious few scars on Trevor left untouched. All the tiny ones, they're just that. There's one that Alucard's noted before though, on Trevor's left side. Bite marks, if he clocked it correctly.

His hands go there.]

[ There is one that they both know Alucard won't touch (small, new, inner left thigh). The rest- the rest are fine. He can do whatever he wants, may Trevor say whatever he wants, if it will help.

The current scar isn't bad. From happier times. The worst part of happier times, but happier times nonetheless. ]

When we thought my sister might turn, one of the guard dogs frightened. Too much panic, he didn't like the priest we brought in for last rights, he didn't know her smell anymore. I was trying to calm him down. I had to go to Enid, because anyone else would have- you know what happens to dogs who attack six year olds.

[That scar is Never to Be Touched. It nearly sundered everything. Better for it to be unacknowledged. Forgotten, as close as a scar can be. The only pride in it is how small it's become, how well it healed. A testament to skill, or else a blessing for three years of faith in each other.]

Dog whisperer. [He says it fondly. For all of this, he still got a few minutes with her. That part made up for a small portion of this.] Of course.

She was shitty at first aid. Just told me to stop bleeding, like it was my fault. And told me that if anyone found out and the dog got in trouble, she'd turn my skin green.

[ She'd always been strange. ]

Never did find out if she actually could do that.

Well, you didn't give her reason enough to find out. That's...that counts for something. Not sure what though.

(for cryptsleeper)

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

saturday work life in a bit, back in about 6ish hours.

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