Trevor 'The Bear Situation' Belmont (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
miraclewhip) wrote2018-11-23 08:39 pm
miraclewhip) wrote2018-11-23 08:39 pm
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(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? ]
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? ]
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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.]
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[ 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?
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[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.
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[ 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. ]
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[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.
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[ 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. ]
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[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.]
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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.
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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.
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[ She'd always been strange. ]
Never did find out if she actually could do that.
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[ This is stupid, it really is. But he's chuckling as he says it. It's good, maybe, to have a moment of levity before this resumes proper and things become dark again. ]
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You and Sypha should do woodcuts together and illustrate an entire book.
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[ Hmph. He feigns indignation for a few seconds before meeting Alucard's eyes. ]
Are you ready, or should we complain about my drawing skills a little more?
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[But he takes the point. And nods.]
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[ Softly, he brings a hand to Alucard's face, striking down it softly. He doesn't remember needing to treat any injuries there, but he saw the mess that she left of her forgemaster's, and how she'd painted his sister with rouge. She liked making things either prettier or uglier. ]
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Never anything there, save for my own blood.
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'f you run out of scars, just do what I'm doing and fucking guess. I'll tell you what I can.
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Mm. Take the do-over, since it is early.
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[ He half considers the hair again, but no. That didn't end well last time. He's not going to go for something he knows is terrible when he's already bending the rules to begin with. (The rules are there for a reason, even if he can't quite put that reason into words. It makes this fairer. Less about forcing Alucard to relive everything.)
He puts his hand on Alucard's chest. ]
Pretty sure I already know about the big fucker. [ That is to say, the scar that Dracula left. He can talk about it if he wants to (Dracula was there, after all, in that nightmare) but if it's not relevant, there's not much point. ]
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[The hair is cheating. Dreams took care of that, he's muttered about it before the hair is done and closed.
So the chest it is instead. And he almost laughs because leave it to Trevor to just call that the big fucker. But he takes Trevor's hand in his and traces down the scar's outline, because there's something important in it.]
Notice how the mark misses the vital organs? Heart? Lungs would have been hit, but not as badly?
[It was a controlled strike.]
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But this is not a time for minding his own business. This is actually kind of the opposite of that. So he focuses on the texture of it, on the discoloration of the skin, of the sole imperfect part of half of the best fucking thing that ever happened to him.
And he observes, because he is good at observing. In the same way he recounted the way Alucard slept so long ago, he says what he sees. ]
Would have just missed the vein here. [ As his fingers trace over where it begins, at the collarbone. ] Nicked it further down, on its way past the heart. Fatal to a human, wouldn't expect it to do a vampire in. Hell of a lot of blood. Ribs would have taken the brunt of it here. [ Lower, where the scar is at its widest. ] Probably more damage from the ribs being cut clean through and going into the lungs than from the cut itself. Misses the stomach, too.
[ Was he faking it that time he confused livers and ovaries just to be obstinate and to fuck with Alucard and Sypha? All signs point to 'yes'. ]
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But Alucard nods as Trevor repeats the diagnosis, because it's all correct. It's the scar that sits easiest for the exact reasons Trevor's outlined. It was a thing of brutal rage (shared rage, of course), but of some acknowledgement that it was still his son that was being attacked. A contradictory thing, a heavy thing to bare for one's life, but thinking of it as Alucard had long decided to do? That made the scar easier.
It's why he never flinched when the other two brushed against it. Beyond the fact it was rather hard to avoid, the emotions associated with it were long since dulled.]
There was some sense in there, still. Cold comfort, of course, but it allowed enough time to retreat.
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He kisses the top of the scar at the collarbone, where it's visible above the neck of Alucard's shirt, then sits back and waits for Alucard to take his turn. ]
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There's one on Trevor's knee that has always looked strange though. Like skin was removed and then healed back in place. His hands go there.]
This one's always looked weirder than the others.
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