miraclewhip: after kicking in toilet. (Wallachia man floods strip club)
Trevor 'The Bear Situation' Belmont ([personal profile] miraclewhip) wrote2018-11-23 08:39 pm
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(for [personal profile] 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? ]
cryptsleeper: (Gold Steel)

[personal profile] cryptsleeper 2018-12-02 07:24 pm (UTC)(link)
Understood. No more preludes.

[There's no anxiety in his voice, just the cold determination to get this over with because it must be done. It is the same coldness that drove Alucard through their first horrible task, eyes set forward and trying to ignore the swells of grief over his mother and rage that fortune should force him to destroy what family he had that remained. It is a tool he's put aside for a very long time, because he did not need it. There could be the softness that his mother nurtured in him, a way to honor all the things she loved in the world.

The curiosity in how it all works means that Alucard watches the stuff be mixed. Doesn't divine what Trevor's thinking, but he can see the actions. See the reaction of wine to the chain, and it clicks. It returns things to a neutral state. It dissolves all things. More complicated mechanics (is it really from the excommunication or just the fact Trevor believes so very much that he is excised from some paradise by a God that answers to petty men) are not brought up.

Alucard braces himself. The arm not being attended to does not hang loosely. His palm is flat on the wooden floor, because better to scratch that than Sypha.]
cryptsleeper: (Let's do this)

[personal profile] cryptsleeper 2018-12-02 07:35 pm (UTC)(link)
[Seared flesh is enough to make any man gag, but between the three of them there is an additional weight that makes it all the more horrible. That causes Alucard to let out the first choke of agony rather than the physical pain, and it is all he can do to demand the emergency gag because no. He will not let this thing break him twice, he will not give voice to that pain.

But he also doesn't look away. Last time he was forced to watch. This time there's still that mild scientific curiosity of how precisely his body has been expelling all of the things still inside of him and...well. That's interesting, watching melted silver come out of bloodied holes.

But there's something else too. There's blood used in this, blood of two very different men, and while Alucard's never experienced the Sacrament or divine blood, he can tell when there is something darker in the system. That? That isn't from the blood of Christ.

Shit. Shit. He can't tell how bad it is, not while swimming in a sea of pain, but it is there. And even if it's a drop, then there is power held. They may be being tracked. They could be found when they dock in Istanbul. They could be anticipated at the castle.

He can't say those words. Not until his horror is confirmed and not until this next round of exorcism is done.]
cryptsleeper: (Let's do this)

[personal profile] cryptsleeper 2018-12-02 08:14 pm (UTC)(link)
[If there was any real mercy out there, Alucard would pass out and pass out now. Stay passed out through this next round of horrible work, sparing the other two the sight of struggle and thrashing that he has worked so hard to always keep bundled up. It is his lot to worry about the other two. They're mortal. Not vice versa. Never turned back around.

His legs twitch but don't flail. Silver rolls down his shoulder in it's horrible little rivers, burning the skin for but a moment before the wine (once beloved, once rejected, now neutral) works it's miracles. Because that's the right word for it, Alucard's metaphysical musings aside. A miracle, still performed with the Blood of Christ, still functioning to heal and to redeem.

None of this parallels the very first experiment though. If there is any consolation, it is that fact. Alucard's still alert, and as the last of the silver leaves from his shoulders, he manages a muffled:]


How much wine is left?

[How quickly can they remove all that remains?]
cryptsleeper: (No further)

[personal profile] cryptsleeper 2018-12-02 08:49 pm (UTC)(link)
[Alucard nods to show that he's understood, and then prepares again. He ought to ask Sypha to knock him out, and he's not sure why he doesn't. Assumption that the pain will do the work for her? Perhaps.

He remembers the stakes. There was an actual debate about if any of them would be effective, until Carmilla bluntly pointed out that stabbing anything through the heart with a great big hunk of wood would result in death, and the heart wasn't the point anyway. The death wasn't the point. It was the stupidest exchange Alucard had ever witnessed, and he had seen some stupid arguments in his life. Been involved in a healthy chunk of them.

There's no single stake that has gone all the way through. Most were stuck in at odd angles and then left in for a few hours, then removed. There hadn't been too much gained from the stakes, the pain of impact had permitted Alucard to black out quickly, and that just killed the fun of it. A small mercy.

The blankets shred under Alucard's hands, long fingernails responsible for fraying fabric. He buries his head into Sypha's shoulder, further muting everything that has managed to escape from his mouth.]
cryptsleeper: (A moment in thought)

[personal profile] cryptsleeper 2018-12-02 09:43 pm (UTC)(link)
[In fairness, the few moments spent standing the other day were driven only by rage and terror in the kind of superhuman strength everyone has in their own little moments. And there had been a horrible logic in using the twine meant to keep away the east Asian vampires who were said to hop rather than walk as men. It prevented escape. It made every step agony. It was more forced restraint, applied rather cleverly if this was the evaluation of the method of other hunters and not vampire triage.

Instinct means that Alucard kicks. Through the gag he manages to beg Sypha to grab his legs and keep them down, and around Alucard's ankles is a sudden thick rim of ice to try and make it all easier. The cold feels good and soothing but it's still a terror to be pinned down again. It's for a greater good. He will live with the temporary fear.

The threads fray, thin little whisps of the stuff getting everywhere and trying to seep into what open flesh there is from their being cut out. His legs still thrash and this time the smoke that comes up is worse for all the small little bits that are clinging to his skin. Steam comes up in a horrifying wave, burning alcohol and flesh strongest it's ever been from this solvent.

But the steam clears. The threads are gone. The blackness rubbed into them is no more. Nothing on Alucard's legs suggests that there was ever anything there in the first place. For all intents and purposes, he is whole.

He gasps for air. Tries to slow his breathing. He wants to play all of this off like it's no big deal, like it wasn't terrifying, but there's no point. Sypha's the one who removes the gag, and Alucard flops bonelessly against her.]


...My mother would be very proud of you both.
cryptsleeper: (A moment in thought)

[personal profile] cryptsleeper 2018-12-02 09:57 pm (UTC)(link)
Bold of you to think I can manage to kick anything at the moment.

[So no. Not at all. But on a more serious note, he continues.]

You were clever. [And you used your faith for it. He'll speak of that later, for there is a time and a place for that discussion and it isn't right now.]