abraxaslogs | [closed] | One evening in the spring

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[closed] | One evening in the spring

Who: Alucard and Gideon
When: End of the month following the summit
What: Cheesecake and bs'ing
Where: A small public speaking hall, Cadens
Warnings: None!

Made cheesecake from the goat cheese I got at the summit. Meet me here if you want any.

[There's directions that follow, and the lead to a small public speaking hall in a part of Cadens that is fairly central, all things considered. There are certainly more buildings here than the places Alucard usually lurks besides his little graveyard home.

The building looks just about as out of place. Whereas so much of Cadens is new, new, new, gleaming and bright or else not so clean but clearly recently built. This place isn't quite the same. There's too many elements of Thorne in the façade. Even the script that reads SPEAKING HALL is too old fashioned.

Inside is no different. The ceiling is vaulted, with a second floor gallery along with a first floor and a dais where a podium stands. There's stained glass that has clearly been replaced - colored windows with plain ones, designs difficult to make sense of now. Still, light comes in, and at the front besides the dais are stacks of books along with a few large sheets of paper. Alucard's standing looking down at one, arms over his chest as he reviews what's there.

When the door opens, he looks up and offers a bright:] Ah, hello.

[The sound travels. He might as well be next to the door with that level of clarity.]

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You know what? You're on.

[Maybe Alucard doesn't have Coronabeth's unnecromantically voluptuous cleavage, but she likes him better and he doesn't have a suspiciously co-dependant relationship with a creepy-ass twin sister. It's a no-brainer, really.

His question gives her pause though, and there's something in her expression that says she's seriously considering her answer.]

That's actually a good question. Usually I'd say not fucking likely, it's all about the bones for Harrow...but then, that refrigerated bimbo in the tomb has still got organs and stuff, so far as I know. Even if she is just a god-destroying popsicle. Maybe she's hoping that if the ice ever melts that all her skin will just slough off and leave a sparkly set of bones behind.

[Enjoy the mental image.]

Good. I'll just keep an eye out for the more feminine version of myself and let you know then?

[He has excellent tiddies, but that is fair. Better to not have any creepy twin stuff though, that'd be a bad time no matter how one went about it.]

I feel that the both of us are both just intoxicated enough to abuse that communication network thing and ask. [Do not do this, you two.] But weird how you more or less just described my initial situation except upped the stakes of it from patricide to killing the divine. [He can goddamn relate to this mental image.] My coffin was probably comfier.

[Oh no, why did he suggest it?? Because obviously--]

I dare you to do it. Message her on the weird mind thingy and ask her what her deal is. Like, why fall for the human equivilant of an ice cube tray when she's got other, hotter options available right in front of her eyes, you know?

[More wine. More wine is obviously what she needs right now, and this time she's reaching for the bottle herself to see if there's any left.]

Just don't mention the similarities between you and the corpse bride while you're at it unless you're in the market for a new girlfriend yourself.

You do it. I'm an absolute stranger and I am not ruining any chance of help I'll need for future cemetary work by asking something that personal and weirdly specific.

[Alucard also is pretty sure that by mentioning the hotter option, someone's intentions are obvious. So he hedges his bets with an elbow to Gideon's side. Gently.]

And why would I want to date the necromancer version of myself? As you said. Better options that are right there.

[Perhaps if the wine hadn't already gone to her head, softening her edges, she'd have had the wherewithal to remain more guarded. As things stand, she sighs dramatically. Rolls her eyes heavenward.]

You'd think. What's the point of being born so heartbreakingly attractive if I can't even get one scrawny necromancer to look at me disrespectfully.

[And never fear, idea of drunk-texting Harrow is still quietly percolating in her mind.]

[Look he won't not follow up drunk text. Because the group chat is a way better idea here, clearly.]

Now there's a question I can offer no answer to. [Just that he should shove more cheesecake in his mouth. Because while that doesn't help, it doesn't hurt either. Buys time to figure it out.] Is it likely she's just that oblivious?

[Group drunk-texting Harrow is the perfect way to see out the evening, clearly. She stares at her own half-eaten quatre of cheesecake as though trying to decide whether more cake is the answer, or whether she's lost her appetite.]

I dunno. I'm not even sure what she's into, you know? Aside from bones and frozen corpses. Hard as it is to believe, maybe I'm just not her type. Although I did spend years thinking she fucking hated my guts when she spent all that time considering me to be the only friend she had.

[To be fair, the 'treat em mean, keep em keen' approach kind of worked in this scenario.]

But what am I meant to do? Just come out with it and say yo, skullface. Wanna be my girlfriend? I can see the disgust in her sneer as we speak.

[Drunk text. Then more cheesecake to assuage feelings. Ideal order. In Alucard's case, the answer is to check the wine bottle, and consider the weight of it. Only about a third left.]

Well you have bones underneath, that should be a skelling point in your favor. [He considers the hate thing though. Not because that's familiar ~~it is, hi feelings for the Belmont~~ but because the inevitable conclusion is to just do the thing Gideon just said.]

That seems the most straight forward path to resolution? [There's a shrug.] Of course perhaps I am not the correct person to take relationship advice from. Does being blunt with her usually work?

[She makes 'gimmie' gestures for the wine, looking suspiciously as though she's considering downing the lot to steel her nerves before doing exactly the thing she just mentioned, but then she gets distracted by what Alucard said. Skelling point?? She snorts out a laugh and says--]

Hold up, hold up. Did you just make a pun? On second thoughts, fuck Harrow. Marry me immediately.

--I appear to have done just that.

[Not intended, but he grins, lil fangies sticking out and all, laughing. It is soft, but bright. Brighter than he's managed here in months.

Just for that, Gideon gets the whole bottle of wine thrust in her direction. There's a second bottle lurking somewhere.]

Fine, but only because you asked so nicely. And I don't want an engagement ring made out of bone, unlike some people.

[She laughs again and gratefully accepts the bottle as it's handed to her. Takes a long, deep drink before letting her eyes fall closed. Her thoughts feel blurry and slow, softened somehow. Her head gently spins. Obviously this means they ought to keep going and get well and truly plastered.]

Don't worry, I'll get you something sparkly but like, totally tasteful, you know? Like a skull surrounded by fire but the fire is rubies.

[Totally tasteful]

Clearly we're meant for each other. Gideon and Al, love disasters! But hey, seriously though. I'm glad to see you out of the graveyard and like, thinking about the future and stuff. By wanting to stay here, I mean. I'm gonna take that to mean you're doing better.

[He's gonna just awkwardly reach back behind the podium for the second bottle now, don't mind him. It's just an awkward and overly long limb flailing about. Flailing, flailing-- got it. And so he drags the bottle over like a wolf hauling over a carcass. As you do.]

You know the part I hate most is that I agree that it is tasteful, all circumstances considered.

[It's downright low key compared to like, 99% of the castle, for example.]

That's a pretty concise summary of it, yes. [There's a soft snort, although. Wait.] I've told you my actual name is Adrian, correct?

[He's genuinely not sure.] In fairness to myself, I'd like to point out that it is hard to do worse than what I was. [Rock bottom is rock bottom, after all.] It's...different? Having projects that keep my mind occupied seem to be required though. I actually panicked when I realized the work on the graveyard was done.

[She's pretty relieved to see the appearance of more wine, and takes this opportunity to accept that she's settling in for the evening. She drops into a soft-boned, cross-legged position on the floor, looking for all the world as though she has no intention of leaving any time soon.]

Well, obviously! I'm a woman of exquisite taste and high standards.

[She says, before taking another indelicate swig of wine.]

You might have done. I don't remember right now, but either way, Al sounds better than Ad. What kind of nickname is Ad? Or would you prefer something like, Your Umbral Highness or, or maybe, Adrian, Dead and Loving it.

[...he brought it up. He only has himself to blame...]

Whatever you prefer to be called, I'm sure we can come up with a whole list of projects to keep you busy. Trust me, I spent my whole life inventing shit to do to keep me from going insane. Between us we can work something out, indefinitely.

[The second bottle will have to last the rest of the night, but it should be fine. Alucard's pretty sure that he should slow himself down some. Right now is perfect anyway - the room lags just a little behind when he tilts his head, and there's a warm glow at the bottom of his stomach. Absolutely ideal. Nothing left to do but brace his back against the podium and stretch his legs out a bit.]

Al is definitely better. Ad is terrible, I'm 90% sure Umbral Highness was one of my father's actual titles and I don't even know how to react to the last one. Doesn't work, that's all I'll say.

[We are not at the year of our Mel Brooks, alas.]

Good. Because it's this or going out into the desert to howl as a wolf or to hunt something. [They're both drunk. He's been sitting on this for a while. Fuck it.] There's part of me that's still...just so angry about everything. And that's the only release, visiting violence on some rabbit or other desert creature and just eating it raw.

I dunno. I think we can work on that last one becoming a thing.

[You know, with her clever plan to keep him busy indefinitely with as-yet undefined projects. Maybe he really can go from Dead and Hating Himself to Dead and Loving It after all. She'll work on it.

There's the quick, hard arch of her brow when he says just eating it raw, and she makes an exaggerated gagging sound to go with it.]

And I thought you were some kind of fancy food connoisseur. There's other ways to go about taking your anger out on stuff. Entirely less gross-sounding ways. Like, maybe you could come with me out on a job sometime. I kill monsters and beasts and shit if they're causing problems for the people in the city in exchange for cash, and nothing beats hitting stuff with a sword if you're having a bad day, you know? And we could totally howl while we're at it if you want.

It's too long to say in a sentence though. You really want to go through that every time you address me?

[Look he'll settle for Undead with Less Eunni About it. Which is the goal, at this point.]

I can be both. Also, paws can't hold kitchen tools. [Look sometimes you just want to overzealously rip something apart. It happens.] Shared violence is...I wouldn't say no, but it isn't quite the same either. I'm not sure that makes sense? It isn't about the judgement, which I wouldn't expect from you either. The texture is different, is all I can say.

[Going absolute apeshit is just something one sometimes wants to do without anyone else about. Even if it's your best friend who you're drunkenly encouraging to just ask her crush out already.]

Alright, fine. Al it is. For now.

[No promises that she won't think up something more elaborate and obnoxious at a later date, but there we are.

She's silent for a moment after that, thinking through what he says whilst reaching for another hefty forkful of cheesecake. So maybe she's never gone into the desert and ripped some defenceless creature apart with her teeth, but there were the hours (and hours and hours) spent training until every muscle in her body screamed in protest. All the times where she's pushed herself past the point of exhaustion only to push herself some more. There were the cool, blank spaces afterwards, a mind washed clean of the wrongs heaped upon her throughout the day. Nothing remaining except for the blissful, bone-deep ache of a body pushed to its physical limits.

She thinks she gets it. Kinda. Sorta.]

Whatever trips your trigger, I guess. And hey, it's fair to be angry. Sometimes things get so shit and stupid that the only sane response is to be angry, you know?

[The eyebrow raise that responds is that of a man who does not trust that statement, not in the least. There is going to be something in the near future. Alucard can feel it in his bones.

But they've veered into the feelings territory again, and this time Alucard's not really going to push them out of it. The freedom in admitting exactly how much the need to go feral and the frequency of it is incredibly freeing. There's a nod, and he focuses on trying to get the cork out of the wine.

So you know, using a single extended vampire fingernail, shoving it into the cork, and wiggling it about. Extremely good use of powers.]

It is precisely that. There's just the two feelings that follow that always contradict each other. One part of me just wants to give over to that feeling entirely and just...keep going. I felt like that the entire time in Thorne, and all I wanted to do was carve a bloodied path out of that dungeon because how dare anyone just throw people in a dungeon for simply existing in a space. Then there's the you were raised better than that voice and-- ugh.

[As if to underscore the point, the cork pops out. Alucard pauses, holding his hand with the impaled cork up because at least someone's going to appreciate this.]

I would highly recommend completely ignoring the you were raised better than that voice.

[She says it in a rusty, creaking rasp which is clearly intended to allude - again - to someone she has known, and the derision therein is real.]

I mean, if you were really raised better than that, maybe the compulsion wouldn't be there, you know? Maybe there'd be no need to be a naturally demeaning little shit if people were respectful just like, one time. Or in your specific case, maybe you wouldn't need to rip a red path through your enemies or even just random bystanders if you hadn't been brought up by some weirdo who wanted to destroy everything. That's how I see it. Whoever that shitty voice belongs to only has themselves to blame.

[She's felt it too, of course. The cut of guilt. The expectation of something better branded down into ones bones. But it can, nonetheless, fuck all the way off.]

Not that I'm advocating for random acts of mindless violence here. More like, those feelings come from somewhere and not all of them originate with you. You're allowed to feel shitty or angry or whatever sometimes.

[Whoever that voice belongs to? Alucard's just glad he has someone who gets it. Maybe not with the same emotional connections (because that is very much his mother's voice saying that and she's not wrong), but it's a reminder of why talking to Gideon is easier. She gets so much of it.]

That much is true, but there's just the threat of overkill, I think. Fear, maybe? I just know that it is entirely from my father and everything about himself that he built up over the centuries. He always had earned his reputation, and I was always aware of that in the abstract. [They've entered the daddy issues portion of wine and cheesecake club, it seems. There's a soft sigh, and fuck it. He's drinking right from the bottle at this point. After he tugs the cork off his finger nail.] I just didn't understand why he built things that way until now. Easier to get people leave you be when you have that kind of a reputation. Keeps you safe without having to lift a finger.

[There was a point in there. Probably. Whatever. He thinks he's found it]

The balance of it is just...hard. And who else am I going to share this with besides you, given the extreme of it?

[And she gets that, too. The fear that if she were to start she might never, ever stop. It's one of the reasons she'd never allowed herself to really go for Harrow back on the Ninth, when what had stood between them had felt entirely like hot, heavy hate. She was afraid if she started hitting, she'd carry on and on until there was nothing left but bloodied pulp and bones, and then both she and Harrow would have doubtless died down there in the dark. There are times when restraint feels like little more than a gossamer thread, too easily broken. And so she joins him in swigging from her own bottle, almost down to the dregs of it now.]

Welp! Lucky I'm here then, isn't it. If there's one thing I know about - and I'm happy to admit that there are not many of those - it's extremes.

[Even if living out an extreme had only been a half-grasped thing all her life, having no other experiences to guide her. Even if - even now - she only knows the half of it.]

But I dunno. I kinda think that if you've got that thought in you, if you're worried about going too far and becoming the worst version of yourself, that you probably won't? In my admittedly limited experience, the real psychos are the ones who just don't care. Who'll step all over anyone and anything if it means getting what they want.

Edited 2022-03-23 19:26 (UTC)

[You know what? Alucard's never been more relieved in his life that someone just showed up in the dungeon cells offering additional food in his life. There's zero point in hiding the look of real, genuine relief on his face at Gideon's reaction. Or the sigh that follows, like every bit of stressed air in him is being excised at once.

For a moment, his eyes fall onto the bottle she has. Not enough for the rest of the night, that's clear. So he makes the grabby hand gesture. He's capable of a smooth pour of wine bottle into wine bottle]

I think you're right. Probably. [Hopefully?] But I understand the path to not caring a little bit more now. [It scares him, but it is as she says. He has the thought, still. It can be restrained.

The threat of silence hovers though, and Alucard can't say he likes it much. He shifts just a little in his comfy flopped out spot, eyes moving towards the ceiling.] Thank you.

[He makes the grabby hand gesture and she's more than happy to oblige, holding out her almost-consumed bottle of wine and watching as he pours. She's definitely drunk now, and her eyes have the glazed aqueous look that attests to it, but not so drunk as to fail to appreciate the depth of the conversation.]

Hey, you're welcome. Glad to be of use for something besides hitting things with a sword or carrying heavy shit for once. And I think I get the concern...it'd be easy in a way, to just stop giving a shit. But you obviously do give a shit, or we wouldn't be having this conversation.

[She holds her bottle aloft in a toast.]

So here's to giving a shit. And if there's anything I can do to help with your renovations, you know where I'm at. Even if that does just involve carrying heavy shit.

[And she drinks - long and deep - from her newly refilled bottle.]

[Alucard takes his sweet time in looking from bottle top to bottle top and figuring out the right height to pour from. The angle of it. And okay, there is absolutely a little sploshing, but it isn't as bad as it could be and he manages to half the bottle appropriately. The room is swaying gently when he passes Gideon the bottle back. They probably won't get much further than this, and Alucard fully expects that they won't be leaving the building for a few hours.

Get pillows for next time this happens is the mental note he makes for himself.]

The heavy shit is only metaphor this time.

[Here's to indeed. Alucard leans over, the clink! echoing off the walls of the hall.]

Here's to giving a shit. And your future romantic endeavors.

[He's not going to chug the bottle, but he's pretty sure that it is worth hoping for success in Gideon's personal life. One of them should be the lesser disaster.]

I promise not to abuse your kind offer though. And we will figure out the cooking thing. You can't keep your muscles going on bar food.

[At the mention of romantic endeavours, she softly groans. Perhaps she's fucked. Totally doomed to always fall for the wrong kind of woman, such as ancient warriors who kill all her friends or vicious, pious Reverend Daughters who seem to contain all the sex-drive of the dried-up stick she resembles. This is not how she envisioned things going for her.]

Ugh, don't remind me. It's probably a lost cause. You'll have much better luck with teaching me to cook than wishing me well in the romance department, and I say that as someone who doesn't have the first fucking clue about preparing food.

[She sighs, then slumps back against the boards beneath her, propped up on just her elbows. Wine sloshes over the bottle's rim, and she makes a disappointed clicking noise with her tongue at the wasted droplets.]

Giving a shit, though. It's definitely worth hanging on to.

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[closed] | One evening in the spring

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