miraclewhip | (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

Now that is not a Trevor and Trevor alone job. [Alucard knows that they're inching towards talking about those long gone, and he remembers the stab-wrough-of-shit-talking a sibling.] Who in your family didn't help such a noble quest?

[He can't help but roll his eyes at Trevor's reaction. He knows where it's going, but really.]

It's practical. And it isn't as if this is going to change any time soon. You don't need to wear it constantly. Only when it is needed.

[this is the worst fucking proposal]

It was always like that. The dogs're the last line of defense between you and being turned, you treat them like fucking royalty.

[ They're tools. And the Belmont family has always taken better care of its tools than they did the ones who used them. Even as he was drinking himself to death, Trevor kept the whip as perfectly maintained as the day it was made. ]

And no. No. [ It's hardly a difficult bar to clear, but of the three of them Trevor is still very much the most religious. And also the most kind-of-technically-was-engaged-it's-probably-been-called-off-because-of-the-burning. ] I know this shit means nothing to you, but I still care.

[ The last three words anyone would ever expect Trevor to say. ]

Mm. That's logical.

[But now this topic is going to be left behind, because this is a nerve struck upon in a way Alucard really didn't anticipate. He had it lined up and everything to, vengence for every damned princeling comment made because looking at the family genealogies revealed that technically, the Belmonts had the boyar rank whereas Dracula ceased caring about any kind of human hierarchy at all. In Lupu, they had been ordinary.

But no, that will have to come at a very different time now.]

...Words seldom uttered.

[He has no other wit, because those three words are too strange coming out of that mouth. And there's an apologetic tone immediately after jackassery.]

I hadn't considered. I apologize.

The fuck are you apologizing for? Having an awful fucking idea? Sypha won't be able to say anything but 'sorry' if we start enforcing that.

[ Which is Trevorspeak for 'it's okay', and for 'thank you for the understanding'. The warmth is back in his voice, and he rubs his fingertips lightly against Alucard's side. ]

I know it's completely ridiculous. But it matters. Even now. But I can't- I can't just lie about something like that. [ Everything else, sure. Not this. ] And the alternative is hardly an option.

[ Because it's difficult to marry two people at once when nobody involved is allowed inside a church and one of them is a vampire and also you're already promised to someone. ]

[Trevorspeak still feels a little too on edge for Alucard at the moment, but he refuses to poke the bear further tonight. The warmth on his side, the gentleness of the action, it's soothing.]

It isn't ridiculous. It simply is, and no one else gets to comment on it. [Not even him. Even if Alucard wonders why Trevor still puts any value in the church at all. On his God yes, perhaps, but the thing that excommunicated the Belmonts? The thing that unleashed the night hoards on Wallachia? And why would any God agree to be ruled by the decisions of such men?

Maybe when they're much older these are questions he can ask. But for now all Alucard can do is try to shrug the furs back up his exposed shoulder, and fail utterly at it.]

You still sleep closest to the door, instead of closest to the window.

[ Closest to what feels like the most likely point of entry, though there's little that could get into the castle doors without Alucard's leave. Instead of the most logical point of entry for anything that means them enough harm to try.

He doesn't offer any context to that statement but just leaves it in the air, the closest thing to an explanation that he can manage. It doesn't matter that it makes no sense anymore, because there was a time that it did. ]

I do. [And he understands the point about old habits, when things had to be a certain way.]

I had a far wittier response to all of this, you know. [He'll grouse about it, if only to try and chase any lingering mood away.]

Fine, fine. I'll indulge you.

Goodness, you toothy gentleman. What a wonderful idea! I shall pretend to be married to the both of you, and that will solve all these problems.

[ ...Sypha's man voice is far, far better than whatever silly voice Trevor is trying to do right now. ]

[It's hard to not laugh loud at that. Because the voice is unexpected, and because that wasn't even where Alucard was heading with that. He manages to keep the volume down, but only just so.]

I was going to say something closer about a fair peasant maiden's heart being broken by a rude princeling.

You're rude now? When did that happen?

[ Probably when he was off brooding. He has no idea what Sypha and Alucard have been talking about over the last few days. ]

I thought it was just me.

Because that nickname was a rather effective one that rankled at me, but I couldn't quite put my finger on why.

[Alucard smirks because he's a little too proud of this research.]

My father never bothered with the hierarchies of Wallachia, there was no point. Your family, however, did have status, House of Belmont and all that. You held land, there were people farming it meaning you had serfs, and you had a military function. Boyars.

[And if the how comes up, that's easy.]

Your family genealogy is very useful.

They weren't-

[ Okay, they were functionally identical to serfs. At best, they were well protected serfs who had come to Belmont lands willingly to earn that protection. You need farms to fight a war against evil, okay. People have to eat. ]

-what I'm hearing is that my station is higher than yours. So I can just tell you to shut up.

Of course, princeling.

[There will probably be a nickname soon enough, meant to not only replace but grate harder. But for now there's been clarification and the pettiest of petty vengeance. The smirk fades, turning into something much gentler.]

Do you think you can sleep now?

Well, it's no rug on the kitchen floor.

[ There's a hint of nostalgia in that, one that isn't quite touched by the bitter tang of loss. Warm and safe and happy, like a thick rug at the fireside and a sturdy balkan hound proudly feeding her pups. ]

But we can't have everything. I'm sure I'll manage.

I'll get you a rug. [He's probably serious about it.]

Good night, Trevor.

[The hand on Trevor's cheek stays where it is, enjoying the weight and warmth. He's lean over to kiss Trevor on the forehead as well, but there's a Sypha making it harder than usual. So instead Alucard closes his eyes in the hope that Trevor actually will get to sleep.

And maybe he'll gain an hour or two of it himself.]

(for cryptsleeper)

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