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
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? ]
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? ]
no subject
[ Not that he likely had that much of a choice in what he's wearing, but- it's as good a reason as any. More pertinent is that Trevor cannot be trusted to make choices about this and he knows it. But- there is no need to bring that up, not while the reason that he cannot be trusted to make those choices lies on the ground still. ]
If you'd rather not, he gets the same choice as any other soldier here, save for that I'll take his hands to keep him from working again before freeing him.
no subject
Sypha and Trevor manage the Hold. It is a thing agreed upon if only because there is a risk that some idiot might try something on Alucard with a piece of silver or something else equally dumb, and then the entire Hold is liable to drown in blood. Trevor's set his terms. It is...irresponsible to risk it.
The study when you're both done. I expect I shall be there for a while.
But after the two depart, Alucard lingers in the hallway. Mutters a few words to at least clear out the sea of blood, and does the only kindness he thinks himself capable of right now. He finds enough linen for a shroud, and he wraps Enid's bones in it as carefully as he can. (So much is burnt. So much is brittle. So much crumbles away.) He'll do this because he failed so horribly otherwise. And because it is right.
And then he goes back into that horrible little room of his, picks up the obsidan black jar that holds the precious few ashes of his father, and goes to the study. Hector is brought up along the way, and there is no doubt about Trevor's assessment. Pathetic.
Within the study, the half a chair is still there. (They both have to take a moment to deal with that weirdness.) Nothing else. Alucard does not go to find a chair, and Hector does not sit. There is no natural light in this place, but Alucard keeps the door open so that when Trevor and Sypha return, they know they are welcome in this place.
This part is so very deliberate, because right now Alucard knows he treads a razor thin edge of patience, of mercy, of rage, of all the contradictory impulses that make up his core. He places his father's ashes underneath his mother's portrait (unburnt, untouched, and maybe this is the more correct set up), then turns to Hector. He is still soaked red with blood. He is still wearing his hair as his mother once did. He is legacy made flesh in every way it could ever be made flesh, and Alucard knows it.
And with that, he begins. (He sees that dog peak around the corner. And trot over to Hector. And isn't that a fine detail?)
Let me be very clear in this moment, Hector, he intones. Any sympathy that I might have had for your situation is outweighed by what has been visited upon me and mine. You know my father's approach to these things. So you will tell me exactly how we have come to this point, and then I will decide what is to be done.
There's no water offered, no time to pause, there is only the bare naked truth of it. How Carmilla dominated his father's own war council, how she obtained a forgemaster (and in that moment Alucard knows that his father's anger was the cause of one thing, and Hector's blind trust is the cause of this situation), and all other things that have unfolded since. There are so many things clarified from the evidence left behind at the Castle that Alucard can piece together a decent timeline of what happened between his father's striking him down to the moment the three re-entered the castle, but...
...but this man is the cause of so many things. Trevor's agony. Sypha's endless worry. His own torture, because there is no way that Carmilla could have brought an army forth like that without this man.
And then it is done. The story is told. And Alucard stands there in terrible, perfect silence, weight of judgement on his shoulders. (Even his mother's infinite love of humanity might waver, just a bit. Just because of what was done to him.)]
no subject
They remain at the ice's edge, bound by cuffs of ice, until the rest are gone. Sypha widens the opening and they are permitted to return one at a time to carry the bodies to the surface.
(The bodies have to be searched. It is grim work, but far preferable to allowing some of the things in the hold to fall into the wrong hands.)
The ice is closed again, until dusk, and Sypha and Trevor return to the castle. They enter the study through the normal door, not the secret one in the cells (they could not use that door if they wanted to without Alucard's aid, hidden as it is from mortals).
The forgemaster does not shrink away from them, either because he is too tired now to show fear or because he has nothing left to be afraid of, even as Trevor's eyes narrow with rage. The dog yips happily as he enters the room, but then returns its attention to Hector. He can feel Sypha's hand on his wrist and it may as well be an iron cuff, gentle as her hold is. ]
Have you decided? [ Is all he says, eventually. It's choked with fury. But this is Alucard's choice. ]
no subject
But then the dog barks and trots around Hector's feet again, and something in his mind clicks in a chilling and awful way that makes his stomach drop.]
No. Things just became more complicated than I anticipated.
[He looks down to the dog again, expression grim but his eyes huge. Because he gets it. He understands why Enid had anything in her at all to resist beyond being a fucking Belmont, why that thing attacked Carmilla and no one else, and it's right here on four paws, wagging a little skeleton tail.]
You've only ever made one thing loyal unto yourself since this began, haven't you, Hector?
[He gestures to the dog. There is a nod. And Alucard sighs.]
Selfishness saves us all.
no subject
You're telling me he stole my fucking dog.
[ He doesn't even sound angry at that anymore, just- caught off guard. Slightly bewildered. He can't bring himself to be enraged the way he is about his sister- the Fourth Dog died when he was nine. Of old age. There was no injustice in it, it didn't burn the way his family did. It's an insult, of sorts, but it's just a bizarre one that he can't even quite process it.
Sypha's hand tightens around his wrist, just in case, but he's just confused. Who the fuck steals a dog? ]
no subject
[Just enough dignity. Just enough to know to carve runes into bones so that there would be time to wreck Carmilla for all she's worth.
Just enough Belmont to resist.]
A very loyal dog.
no subject
[ He said that before, didn't he? Those exact words. And Fourth Dog, Fourth Dog had been spoiled the most out of any of them. He'd been the one to sniff out tainted blood in his eldest sister in time to save her from turning. Every member of the family had snuck him extra food after that. He'd got fat. Been retired from work early to spend his last few years curling up in front of fireplaces and playing with the children and sleeping on Enid's lap in the seat by the window and covering her reading dresses in shed fur. ]
Never thought that 'treating them like royalty' would be quite so literal as to include allowing them to decide what to do with prisoners.
no subject
[He says ours because it is the greater truth. Alucard knows he cannot decide. Oh, he has an idea now, but he will not put it into action without the other two's say so. There will be no blood, but the idea he has is...is dark.
So wordlessly he gestures the other three outside, and once they're in the corridor, he closes the door behind him.]
Are there books in the Hold about bone runes?
no subject
[ He thinks on that for a moment, then nods. ]
They won't be under that name, but there ought to be. They don't- usually go on bones. They're protection spells. You carve them into doorways to keep things from entering uninvited, or into items to make them invisible to thieves. Sometimes you carve them into your bedroom door to take away the voice of anyone who goes in without your say-so for a few days.
[ Belmonts. The latter may well be the only reason he's acquainted with them. ]
no subject
[And he knows how cold that is, because it is horrifying what he is about to propose.]
He dislikes humanity so much that he was willing to help my father? Let him be exiled with no other company, on some island on the other side of the world. He desires to live in spite of all works done? Very well. Silence will let him debate if that was truly the greatest course of action, and if perhaps now he ought to rethink all the paths that lead him to this place.
No forging. Hands limited in what they can do. The mirror to ensure that he is either finally dead, or is continuing this pitiful existence.
My...mother would still argue against death. And this is not any true justice, but the situation has none. Nor can I think of anything else.
no subject
Anesthetic, for the carving. A thick cloak, a good knife and three days' food and water.
no subject
I will do the work.
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He puts strategy aside for just a moment. There'll be time for it at dusk, when they face the vampires that remain in the hold. And he pulls his arms around both Alucard and Sypha, pulling them both to his chest. Sypha's little touches to both of them aside, it's the first real affection he's allowed himself since this battle began. Now that nobody can see them, now that the success of his plans doesn't hinge on being the most terrifying thing in a castle full of vampires - they can have this much. ]
We're alive. All of us. That's more than we ever ought to have hoped for.