[So then, to make the water run out again when she's done, she must simply need to pull out the plug, and it'll all run away again — to where, she doesn't know. Presumably into just another part of the whole apparatus, which just makes it all the more terribly clever.
Thoughtfully, she finds a safe place to set her lovely dress aside for safekeeping, where it won't pick up too much dust while it rests, and then reaches over to examine the temperature of the water as he'd suggested. It's surprisingly hot — moreso than she'd been imagining — but the principle of the thing comes quickly to her, and so without hesitation she reaches for the cold knob and twists it until she finds a temperature she likes better.
It'll take at least a minute or two for the tub to fill, she gauges as she watches the water pour in, and so while it does, she turns her attention back to Alucard, and then to their surroundings, before drifting back to him again.]
You don't use this room, either. It's as dusty as my bedroom was.
[...]
But someone must've made use of it once, surely...?
[It's not exactly a question that Rosella asks in so much as it is an opening for conversation. Yet, he doesn't say anything, his eyes lowering for a moment before he goes to the wardrobe, opening it to obtain a towel.]
The castle was home to more than one man, at one time. That was awhile ago.
[He leaves the towel on a chair after wiping some dust off with his hand first.]
[A woman lived here once, Rosella interprets without much difficulty, and one that Alucard doesn't care to speak of. A woman who must've been about her age, or at least her height, who left her dresses behind. One who must have been either very regal or very cherished, to have warranted such finery and consideration.
She wonders who it was. It's a pity she knows better than to ask.]
It's a shame it's fallen into such neglect. So much of it is so beautiful.
[Is she talking about the castle, or about the man who lives within it? Perhaps the two are linked, their futures one and the same.]
I'll clean in here, too. When I'm through with the bath.
I once desired to make something of it. But it was a cruel lesson to learn otherwise.
[A slow breath escapes him as he thinks briefly to the past. How bitter he's become. Alucard was not ever truly naive of the world, but he'd let his hopes raise him too much too many times.
He cannot afford to again.
He takes a step back.]
Whichever order you prefer to have it. I'll be gone momentarily from the castle, but I will not be long or far.
[He's going to test her, perhaps. Go on a sudden journey and see whether she behaves herself in the interim. And if he's truly to be gone, it would be the perfect opportunity to snoop around and see if she can't unearth some of the magic she's certain he has hidden away in the castle, but —
But it's only the first day. She has two more, yet, to win him over. And if she were to slip and get caught, that would be the end of it, forever.
No. Better not to press her luck, not yet. Better to wait and see, a little longer.]
Yes, of course. I understand. And...I'll look forward to your return.
[There's plenty to keep her busy in the interim, anyway. The luxury of a hot bath, the pleasure of dressing up in a proper gown. And then, of course, doing what she can to make something out of the disrepair that the entrance has fallen into — dozens upon dozens of bulbs to dust, and floor to sweep, and dirt to scrub away.]
If you hear a knock on the door, do not answer. I don't knock on my own house.
[Turning away, Alucard takes his leave of the room, granting Rosella her privacy, however she chooses to do it. He isn't sure what to expect out of her, truthfully; he wants to know what kind of person she really is, and those moments in which he feels like she's genuine, that glittering curiosity in her eyes... it is dangerous. Like a brightly colored plants, beautiful but clearly poisonous.
He leaves the front door closed, instead leaving through a window as he transforms into mist. Outside, he reforms into a wolf, taking off into the woods.
[The foreboding warning chills her to the bone. It's strange how easy it is to forget, within the high stone walls of Alucard's castle, that somewhere out there still lurks a wizard of nigh-unfathomable power, for whom walls and distance mean next to nothing. Shadrack had snatched her from Daventry and brought her to his wretched wizard's keep with nearly no trouble at all. Who's to say that he couldn't just as well find her now?
I don't knock on my own house.
The words linger in her mind as she bathes, sinking down deep into the water as if to try to warm some of the ice out of her soul, but to no avail. They stay with her as she dresses and fixes her hair, discarding the old rags she'd been wearing in a heap on the floor of her borrowed bedroom before setting off to deal with the rest of her day's chores. They leave apprehension climbing up her spine as she finds a little table to stand on and uses it to clean bulb after bulb, holding her breath as often as she takes it in or lets it out, waiting for a booming knock on the great tall doors that — never comes.
It occurs to her, as she's sweeping the floor, that Alucard never said where he was going, and that "not long" is a relative term. The day wanes, and the sky turns from blue to shades of orange and yellow, and still she is all alone.
Where could Alucard have gone?
Twilight descends, and it will be properly nightfall soon, and still nothing has come of it. The entrance looks better than it has perhaps in years, and the cobwebs are all cleaned out of the pretty bathroom, and the laundry is hanging to dry, and still — still —
Something must be wrong, she decides, and hurries up to her room to snatch her meager possessions up from under the bed, bundling them all in the rags of her old dress and setting out to find a way out of the castle without opening the front doors. It takes a bit, but she manages to find a window on the first floor that she can get open without great difficulty, and wriggles out of it before closing it nearly to shut behind her.
The scarab tucked away in her bodice thrums. The night creatures will be out soon, when darkness falls.
But Alucard said he wasn't going far, and that means he must have gone into the woods. And so it's into the woods that Rosella goes, too, past the pinioned bones and the spooky trees, looking for bootprints or any sign of where the lord of the castle may have disappeared to.]
[It hadn't occurred to him to give a specified amount of time of how long he would be. He assumed that... well, that Rosella would work on the castle for rooms that she could reach. Idly, Alucard wonders if he should make it easier for her and label the doors she can enter. That would be more convenient, probably.
No, he decides bitterly. It's only a few more days. A few more days for her to try to convince him, because he's nothing but a tool anyway.
Nobody ever chooses Adrian.
Eventually, dusk comes. Enough chasing around critters in the woods and eventually he catches a fine stag by the throat, canines ripping through flesh easily. Animal blood does little to help him, but it staves off the bloodlust at least. After licking his jaws, he starts to drag off the deer in the direction of the castle.
He pauses, ears flicking. There's more than just animals in the woods. There are beasts, too.
Sniffing the air confirms it. But it also confirms there's someone else.
Huffing through his nose, he makes his way toward the scent of Rosella, hoping to cut off whatever creatures lurk in the night.]
[It's growing colder out, as night falls; it makes her wish she'd looked around for a cloak of some sort, but it's far too late for that now. She should've brought a candle, too, only so much of the light in the castle comes from bulbs that she probably couldn't have even tracked one down if she'd tried.
Alucard said he wasn't going far. "Far" might be as relative a term as "not long", but she has to believe he wouldn't have gone too deep into the woods. And at least none of the trees have reached for her yet, even though a few long shadows have made her jump more than once, as she moved beneath the branches.
Overhead, and in the distance, she can hear the familiar screeching of the night creatures; tucked away in her bodice, her scarab warms and thrums the same way it did back in Tamir. The things in the sky will give her a wide berth, or so she hopes. The sound of them makes the night spooky, but not dangerous.
The sound of heavy footsteps crunching in the undergrowth, on the other hand, makes her blood run cold.
It's hard to make out something blue among the gray-black shadows, so it isn't the color of the monster that she picks out first; it's the shape. It's one she's altogether too familiar with — part ram, part praying mantis, with red eyes and dripping fangs. It's close; she's downwind of it, which is a small blessing, but for the part where it means she can smell its horrid, decaying stench.
It's Shadrack's henchman, his blue meanie — and she knows all too well that it's not something her scarab will repel.
She knows better than to run; she'll never escape it on foot. She tries to bolt for the nearest tree with low-hanging branches instead, hoping to scramble up its trunk and seek momentary refuge beneath its canopy. But the meanie is astonishingly fast, and she's not quite out of reach by the time it catches up with her, its grasping claws circling around her ankle and hauling her bodily back down to the ground.
Her shriek pierces the night air; half her possessions tumble away beneath the tree as the fall turns her head over foot and sends her crashing to the dirt. In another second, it's got her around the waist, hefting her over its knobby shoulder and beginning a new march through the wilderness, in the opposite direction from whence Rosella came.
She knows where it's taking her. She knows who sent it. She knows that to go back will mean a fate worse than death.
But struggle as she might, she can't get herself free, and so all that remains is to scream her terror into the night, fruitless and brokenhearted as the fright soon turns to desperate sobs.]
[The shriek of her voice pierces the air, and makes it all the easier for him to follow. She is in danger.
Dropping the deer's body, Alucard makes his way through the woods, faster than any creature has the right to be. He didn't bring his sword, but he should be enough for any night creature out here.
The beast that he sees carrying away Rosella is not one he knows. It doesn't even seem quite right, like it certainly does not belong here. More importantly, it seems set on purely capturing Rosella, not distinctly harming her.
Not that it changes his decision.
Snarling, he leaps out from the brush, pouncing onto the beast's back and biting furiously with his fangs, determined to attack until he can free Rosella.]
[It all happens so fast. One second she's being hauled away, powerless to escape or resist; the next, there's the unmistakable snarl of a wolf thundering in the air, and the whole world quaking again as its lunge sends it squarely into the blue meanie's back. Faithful a henchman though it is, it's still an independent creature in its own right; once attacked, its mission goes by the wayside in favor of striking back at whatever creature dared try to inhibit its progress.
Two hard falls in nearly as many minutes leave Rosella stunned and disoriented; she's not altogether sure what combination of kicking and struggling landed her on the ground again, but it does leave her too dizzy to try to make any further escape. All she can do is watch, head spinning, as the meanie's assailant comes into view for the first time.
There are wolves in Daventry, great ones that roam the countryside and would carry off a little girl unmindful of where she chose to play. This wolf dwarfs any other she's ever seen in her life, massive and fanged, and surely capable of tearing her to pieces with a single bite.
All of a sudden, she isn't altogether sure which of the two she hopes will win.
Meanwhile, the blue creature is doing its best to hold its own against the attacking wolf; what it lacks in size and power, it makes up for in poison, snapping its venomous jaws at the wolf's muzzle whenever it tries to get close, and lunging itself to try to rake its claws deep enough into the wolf's fur to strike skin and tear.]
[It's Alucard's mistake. He doesn't think much of what this beast can do to him, even though he knows it's foreign. He's never seen anything like it in all of his years growing up as heir to Dracula, or thumbing through books of the Belmont hold. Underestimating a foe is foolish, especially when he can't remember the last time he's properly fed.
The claws tear through his skin, ripping wounds into him. He snarls, but the thing's poisonous fangs finally bite into his shoulder. Letting out a sharp yelp, Alucard shoves himself off of the blue beast, stumbling onto his paws.
Then he melts away, reforming back to his body as a man.]
Enough. I think you've outlived your welcome.
[Without waiting another precious second, he grabs onto the creature's leg, swinging it around until he throws it off onto the sky. A few seconds later, there's a thud in the distance.
He huffs, his wounds trying to heal, struggling and unable to. There'd been other times where this happened. Terrifying moments. Here, he thinks... he feels a bit braver, knowing he's succeeded in something.]
[The wolf — was him? He'd changed his shape, no wonder she couldn't find him in the woods, but then...he must've heard the commotion, and —
He...saved her?
Her heart is pounding, her lungs devoid of air. She hurts all over; surely she'll have a whole ugly complement of bruises tomorrow morning, from all that she's been grabbed and thrown around tonight. But the wounded cry that had escaped the wolf's muzzle when it'd been bitten is still ringing in her ears, and before she's even really thought of it, she's stumbled to her feet and run to him.
In a perfect world — the sort that princesses are supposed to live in, the ones that go as they're meant to — she'd be free to fall into his arms and cry, shaken from the ordeal but returned to the safety of her rescuer's arms. But this isn't a storybook world, and she has never been a proper princess, and so when she reaches him her hands immediately go to his shoulder, pulling the fabric of his coat away with reckless abandon to try to get a look at the wound.]
I — I think I hit my head.
[But that's not important right now. Shadrack's monsters are all bred to kill, and she's certain that those fangs sunk deep into Alucard's flesh, wolf or not.]
It's enchanted. Its fangs — there's venom, it's magic, that's why. You're not immune to magic, are you?
[Of course he isn't. Would he be so affected right now if he were? But there's no time to worry about that. It's fast-acting poison; a human would likely already be halfway to dead by now. Alucard's body must be working overtime to hold the toxins off, but there's no possible way of knowing how long he'll be able to maintain it.
And in that moment, it's not about finding a way home, or about the castle, or their bargain. It's not about Alucard being perhaps her only chance to see her family again. Her own troubles and perils are the very last thing on her mind — so much so that they're not even present to begin with.
He's hurt.
He's hurt and she can't just stand still and do nothing.]
Lie down. Hurry. Conserve your strength, every bit that you can. I think — I think I can help.
[Magic. A magically made beast, then? Not impossible, of course, but his mind is sluggishly trying to collect itself. He blinks for a moment, then he seems to stiffen a moment when she asks him to lie down.
Is this the moment where she stakes him? Because he's at his most vulnerable? There's fear in his eyes for a moment, and he doesn't think he could fight her off if he had to right now. No, no that's all irrational -- she doesn't have a weapon, she could just leave him to suffer if that was it, but the gnawing agony of the past few years aches at him.
Alucard closes his eyes, slowly sinking down to lie on the forest floor.]
[It's a very good question, and for at least a few seconds, Rosella doesn't even have an answer. What could she possibly do? She's no magician. She's certainly no doctor. What does she know about vampires and toxins and monsters? Nothing. So how can she possibly hope to help him?
But she's watching his face when that terror flits through his eyes, and because she doesn't know his thoughts, she mistakes it for a different fear — or rather, the same fear, just born of a different cause. If she doesn't do something, that bite could very well kill him. So, not knowing can't be the barrier to doing. She's done impossible things before. This won't be the first; she'll just have to make sure it's not also the last.
She gets up as he eases his way down, hurrying back to where she'd dropped everything she'd been carrying and snatching up the old dress she'd been using as a makeshift sack. Now it'll do just as well as a makeshift pillow, and she brings it back to set beneath his head as she sinks down to her knees beside him and tries to think.]
Something's keeping you from healing it...
[It's something she'd said in a flash of inspiration, wholly on impulse. Now, crouched amongst the shadows, she makes herself think through the ramifications more deliberately. The bite isn't the problem, inherently. That he was wounded isn't what's killing him, not the way receiving a wound like that would kill a human. But it is the wound that will do him in, because he can't heal it like he thinks he ought to. So it won't heal; it'll only stay as it is, bleeding and festering, until he dies of it.
A bite that won't heal. Enchanted venom. Could it be cursed?
If it were cursed, then she'd need to break it. That would take being a wand and a wizard, and she doesn't have the time. If only it weren't Alucard who were cursed, she thinks absently. Likely he has magic enough that he could do something about it, except that he's the one that's been felled by it to begin with, and —
No. No, maybe there is something she can do. Isn't there?]
Are there ever swans in the brook?
[She strokes his hair back off his face as she says it, trying to soothe him even as her mind races. Maybe it sounds like nonsense. Maybe it's the only chance they have.]
Chickens. Doves. Something white. I need to find a white bird — it doesn't matter what it is, so long as it has feathers.
[They are tiny gestures, but so kind. There's almost a look of confusion on Alucard's face, but he accepts it all quietly, the way her fingers brush back his hair. If she truly wanted, she could go into the castle and try to find what she needs and to hell with him.
But really, she genuinely wants to help him, doesn't she? What a rare thing. He could almost cry.]
There is an old owl that lives around here. White as snow. There is a stream by the castle where there's an old tree, and a hole just big enough for him to roost in.
It is night, so he is probably hunting... but that means you should easily find his feathers.
[She is so kind, he thinks tiredly. Kind and beautiful. What did that monster want with her? In the end, he thinks he made the right choice in protecting her. Thank goodness--
Ah. She asked a question. He closes his eyes as he thinks about her soft fingers, then remembers to answer.]
This way. [Alucard points to his right.] I don't think it's far.
[He looks so weak and so small, lying there among the leaves. To think that this is the same man who lunged at her in the dark with red eyes and snapping teeth. The same man who, just minutes ago, had taken on the shape of the largest wolf she had ever laid eyes on, and come howling to her rescue as the meanie tried to take her away.
Well, it's her turn to repay the favor, now. And as loath as she is to leave him, every minute is precious, and there's no time to waste.]
Hold on, Alucard.
[She whispers it like a spell cast in her own right, and then she gets to her feet and hurries off through the woods, navigating by sound more than by sight as she weaves through the trees in search of the stream he'd described.
It feels like her search takes hours, between the rush of need to get back and the apprehension that the meanie might come back for her, but soon enough the earth starts to grow soft beneath her boots, and when her heels start to sink into it, she knows she's grown close to the stream.
At least the owl's tree is unmistakable. There's really only one that could fit the description so neatly, and it does seem that the old friend is out on the hunt; when she clambers up the trunk, unmindful of the bark catching on her beautiful dress, she sees a number of shed feathers inside the hole, and takes two just to be safe.
On the way back, she takes a slight detour and pokes around until she finds another landmark she'd seen earlier that morning — a wild tomato plant, late to bear fruit, and still with a number of its stems ending in yellow flowers.
Once she has her prizes, she begins to hurry back, following the mental landmarks she'd made until she's back to where she'd dropped the rest of the trinkets she'd been carrying with her when the meanie had grabbed her, and collects them before returning to where she'd left Alucard malingering in the grass.]
[This wouldn't be the worst way to die, he thinks as he watches Rosella go. Dying protecting someone else -- that's noble. That's better than most people, quite honestly. Dracula died mourning his truest love so hard that he wanted to bring the world down with him. Lisa died so cruelly to people who didn't understand how badly she wanted to help them. Both terrible deaths. Would they be proud of this, then?
His mind wanders, and he glances toward Rosella when he hears her footsteps approach. The moon's light barely cracks through the foliage, but what glimmers out makes her lovely. He doesn't think to control himself as he smiles at her.]
You're really helping me.
[So many times she could had fled and helped herself. But she's true to her word. More noble than most people he's had the displeasure of dealing with.]
[...Did he really think she wouldn't come back? He must really have thought — well. There'll be time to think on all that later. Right now, she's got to rack her brain to remember a rhyme she hasn't tried to recite since she was nine or ten years old, and somehow turn a forest floor in the dead of night into some semblance of a functional worktable. And cast a spell, when she's never been a magician in her life, with no training, no warning, and no reference.
...Why not? It's not even the most impossible thing she's ever managed.]
I suppose it doesn't quite fall under the terms of our agreement, does it. Well, of course not. I only agreed to do chores, and this isn't one.
[First things first. She digs through her scattered belongings, unearthing a burned-out lightbulb she'd taken from the front hall, along with a few bits of flint, the yellow flowers, and the owl's feathers. Then, at last, she slips off one of her boots and unbuckles something from around her ankle, unwinding it before offering it to Alucard.]
The settings — it's silver, I'm sorry, but do you think you can work the stones out without coming to any harm?
["The stones", when a moonbeam catches them, glimmer brilliantly off their multifaceted surface; she's offering out a pendant necklace whose focal point is made of two stones, one a rather lovely round diamond, and the other a brilliant sapphire.]
I need them both. I can try to break it myself, but it might take me longer.
[Without a word toward why a peasant girl would be carrying something so valuable, or more importantly why she'd been hiding it in her boot, she turns her attention back to the forest floor, and starts clearing a space to set up some flat stones.]
[There's a soft laugh, then he winces. The pain is still there, the weakness, but he's able to pay attention to her and her request.
He does wonder... how did a peasant girl end up with such a trinket? It's beautiful, and he almost feels terrible for ruining it. Idly, he wonders if he could fix it for her later.
His claws extend out, and he grasps the silver in them to keep his flesh away from the metal.]
I can do it safely. It would be easier with my sword, but... I did not bring it out here.
[Yet, he still manages to use his claws just fine to pry out the stones as requested. He holds them out.]
...It's only jewelry, I suppose. What are a few stones, next to your life?
[As he works, she's busy herself, snapping the screw end of the lightbulb off with a thankful minimum of jagged edge and broken glass, and once she pulls out the guts of the apparatus, she's left with a reasonably serviceable glass basin — not very big, but luckily she doesn't need it to be.
By the time she has it set up on the stone array she's made, Alucard is offering the gems back to her, and she's quick to take them, along with the silver pendant setting and chain, now emptied of their splendor. Almost immediately, the sapphire goes into the bulb; shortly thereafter, the yellow tomato flowers follow it. Next comes the flint, which she hurriedly strikes until sparks fly off onto the kindling she's prepared inside the little array of stones, and as she carefully builds it into a little fire, she watches the combination of gem and flower carefully, holding her breath.
For a little while, nothing happens, and her shoulders begin to droop.
But then, implausibly, the contents of the bulb start to melt and coagulate, turning a brilliant green color within the glass.]
Oh! Oh, that's a good sign...
[What a proper little witch she is, casting spells. Next comes the owl feather, which she pokes a little awkwardly into the bulb and uses to swish the mixture around, and then finally the diamond goes last — not quite a crystal, but hopefully the magic won't care too awfully much — and again she holds her breath as, gradually, the liquid begins to disappear, and the stone submerged in the solution begins to turn green.
Now, if only she can get the rhyme right. On the one hand, it must be a decade or more since she first heard this tale. On the other...
She almost smiles, as she closes her eyes and calls the verse to mind. When has she ever not been able to recite a tale of her father's exploits from beginning to end, with every word perfect along the way?
She murmurs the spell, leaning over the bulb as if to imbue every word into the newly-forged emerald, and by the time she's through, there's only a lovely green stone left behind.
Hurriedly snuffing out the fire, she tips the emerald out into her palm, and turns back to Alucard, looking worn but somehow triumphant.]
We need to get you into the moonlight. One moonbeam should do, but it needs to pass through this gem and strike where that thing bit you.
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Thoughtfully, she finds a safe place to set her lovely dress aside for safekeeping, where it won't pick up too much dust while it rests, and then reaches over to examine the temperature of the water as he'd suggested. It's surprisingly hot — moreso than she'd been imagining — but the principle of the thing comes quickly to her, and so without hesitation she reaches for the cold knob and twists it until she finds a temperature she likes better.
It'll take at least a minute or two for the tub to fill, she gauges as she watches the water pour in, and so while it does, she turns her attention back to Alucard, and then to their surroundings, before drifting back to him again.]
You don't use this room, either. It's as dusty as my bedroom was.
[...]
But someone must've made use of it once, surely...?
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The castle was home to more than one man, at one time. That was awhile ago.
[He leaves the towel on a chair after wiping some dust off with his hand first.]
And now there is one.
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She wonders who it was. It's a pity she knows better than to ask.]
It's a shame it's fallen into such neglect. So much of it is so beautiful.
[Is she talking about the castle, or about the man who lives within it? Perhaps the two are linked, their futures one and the same.]
I'll clean in here, too. When I'm through with the bath.
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[A slow breath escapes him as he thinks briefly to the past. How bitter he's become. Alucard was not ever truly naive of the world, but he'd let his hopes raise him too much too many times.
He cannot afford to again.
He takes a step back.]
Whichever order you prefer to have it. I'll be gone momentarily from the castle, but I will not be long or far.
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[He's going to test her, perhaps. Go on a sudden journey and see whether she behaves herself in the interim. And if he's truly to be gone, it would be the perfect opportunity to snoop around and see if she can't unearth some of the magic she's certain he has hidden away in the castle, but —
But it's only the first day. She has two more, yet, to win him over. And if she were to slip and get caught, that would be the end of it, forever.
No. Better not to press her luck, not yet. Better to wait and see, a little longer.]
Yes, of course. I understand. And...I'll look forward to your return.
[There's plenty to keep her busy in the interim, anyway. The luxury of a hot bath, the pleasure of dressing up in a proper gown. And then, of course, doing what she can to make something out of the disrepair that the entrance has fallen into — dozens upon dozens of bulbs to dust, and floor to sweep, and dirt to scrub away.]
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If you hear a knock on the door, do not answer. I don't knock on my own house.
[Turning away, Alucard takes his leave of the room, granting Rosella her privacy, however she chooses to do it. He isn't sure what to expect out of her, truthfully; he wants to know what kind of person she really is, and those moments in which he feels like she's genuine, that glittering curiosity in her eyes... it is dangerous. Like a brightly colored plants, beautiful but clearly poisonous.
He leaves the front door closed, instead leaving through a window as he transforms into mist. Outside, he reforms into a wolf, taking off into the woods.
A good run and hunt might do him well.]
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I don't knock on my own house.
The words linger in her mind as she bathes, sinking down deep into the water as if to try to warm some of the ice out of her soul, but to no avail. They stay with her as she dresses and fixes her hair, discarding the old rags she'd been wearing in a heap on the floor of her borrowed bedroom before setting off to deal with the rest of her day's chores. They leave apprehension climbing up her spine as she finds a little table to stand on and uses it to clean bulb after bulb, holding her breath as often as she takes it in or lets it out, waiting for a booming knock on the great tall doors that — never comes.
It occurs to her, as she's sweeping the floor, that Alucard never said where he was going, and that "not long" is a relative term. The day wanes, and the sky turns from blue to shades of orange and yellow, and still she is all alone.
Where could Alucard have gone?
Twilight descends, and it will be properly nightfall soon, and still nothing has come of it. The entrance looks better than it has perhaps in years, and the cobwebs are all cleaned out of the pretty bathroom, and the laundry is hanging to dry, and still — still —
Something must be wrong, she decides, and hurries up to her room to snatch her meager possessions up from under the bed, bundling them all in the rags of her old dress and setting out to find a way out of the castle without opening the front doors. It takes a bit, but she manages to find a window on the first floor that she can get open without great difficulty, and wriggles out of it before closing it nearly to shut behind her.
The scarab tucked away in her bodice thrums. The night creatures will be out soon, when darkness falls.
But Alucard said he wasn't going far, and that means he must have gone into the woods. And so it's into the woods that Rosella goes, too, past the pinioned bones and the spooky trees, looking for bootprints or any sign of where the lord of the castle may have disappeared to.]
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No, he decides bitterly. It's only a few more days. A few more days for her to try to convince him, because he's nothing but a tool anyway.
Nobody ever chooses Adrian.
Eventually, dusk comes. Enough chasing around critters in the woods and eventually he catches a fine stag by the throat, canines ripping through flesh easily. Animal blood does little to help him, but it staves off the bloodlust at least. After licking his jaws, he starts to drag off the deer in the direction of the castle.
He pauses, ears flicking. There's more than just animals in the woods. There are beasts, too.
Sniffing the air confirms it. But it also confirms there's someone else.
Huffing through his nose, he makes his way toward the scent of Rosella, hoping to cut off whatever creatures lurk in the night.]
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Alucard said he wasn't going far. "Far" might be as relative a term as "not long", but she has to believe he wouldn't have gone too deep into the woods. And at least none of the trees have reached for her yet, even though a few long shadows have made her jump more than once, as she moved beneath the branches.
Overhead, and in the distance, she can hear the familiar screeching of the night creatures; tucked away in her bodice, her scarab warms and thrums the same way it did back in Tamir. The things in the sky will give her a wide berth, or so she hopes. The sound of them makes the night spooky, but not dangerous.
The sound of heavy footsteps crunching in the undergrowth, on the other hand, makes her blood run cold.
It's hard to make out something blue among the gray-black shadows, so it isn't the color of the monster that she picks out first; it's the shape. It's one she's altogether too familiar with — part ram, part praying mantis, with red eyes and dripping fangs. It's close; she's downwind of it, which is a small blessing, but for the part where it means she can smell its horrid, decaying stench.
It's Shadrack's henchman, his blue meanie — and she knows all too well that it's not something her scarab will repel.
She knows better than to run; she'll never escape it on foot. She tries to bolt for the nearest tree with low-hanging branches instead, hoping to scramble up its trunk and seek momentary refuge beneath its canopy. But the meanie is astonishingly fast, and she's not quite out of reach by the time it catches up with her, its grasping claws circling around her ankle and hauling her bodily back down to the ground.
Her shriek pierces the night air; half her possessions tumble away beneath the tree as the fall turns her head over foot and sends her crashing to the dirt. In another second, it's got her around the waist, hefting her over its knobby shoulder and beginning a new march through the wilderness, in the opposite direction from whence Rosella came.
She knows where it's taking her. She knows who sent it. She knows that to go back will mean a fate worse than death.
But struggle as she might, she can't get herself free, and so all that remains is to scream her terror into the night, fruitless and brokenhearted as the fright soon turns to desperate sobs.]
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Dropping the deer's body, Alucard makes his way through the woods, faster than any creature has the right to be. He didn't bring his sword, but he should be enough for any night creature out here.
The beast that he sees carrying away Rosella is not one he knows. It doesn't even seem quite right, like it certainly does not belong here. More importantly, it seems set on purely capturing Rosella, not distinctly harming her.
Not that it changes his decision.
Snarling, he leaps out from the brush, pouncing onto the beast's back and biting furiously with his fangs, determined to attack until he can free Rosella.]
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Two hard falls in nearly as many minutes leave Rosella stunned and disoriented; she's not altogether sure what combination of kicking and struggling landed her on the ground again, but it does leave her too dizzy to try to make any further escape. All she can do is watch, head spinning, as the meanie's assailant comes into view for the first time.
There are wolves in Daventry, great ones that roam the countryside and would carry off a little girl unmindful of where she chose to play. This wolf dwarfs any other she's ever seen in her life, massive and fanged, and surely capable of tearing her to pieces with a single bite.
All of a sudden, she isn't altogether sure which of the two she hopes will win.
Meanwhile, the blue creature is doing its best to hold its own against the attacking wolf; what it lacks in size and power, it makes up for in poison, snapping its venomous jaws at the wolf's muzzle whenever it tries to get close, and lunging itself to try to rake its claws deep enough into the wolf's fur to strike skin and tear.]
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The claws tear through his skin, ripping wounds into him. He snarls, but the thing's poisonous fangs finally bite into his shoulder. Letting out a sharp yelp, Alucard shoves himself off of the blue beast, stumbling onto his paws.
Then he melts away, reforming back to his body as a man.]
Enough. I think you've outlived your welcome.
[Without waiting another precious second, he grabs onto the creature's leg, swinging it around until he throws it off onto the sky. A few seconds later, there's a thud in the distance.
He huffs, his wounds trying to heal, struggling and unable to. There'd been other times where this happened. Terrifying moments. Here, he thinks... he feels a bit braver, knowing he's succeeded in something.]
Are you hurt?
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[The wolf — was him? He'd changed his shape, no wonder she couldn't find him in the woods, but then...he must've heard the commotion, and —
He...saved her?
Her heart is pounding, her lungs devoid of air. She hurts all over; surely she'll have a whole ugly complement of bruises tomorrow morning, from all that she's been grabbed and thrown around tonight. But the wounded cry that had escaped the wolf's muzzle when it'd been bitten is still ringing in her ears, and before she's even really thought of it, she's stumbled to her feet and run to him.
In a perfect world — the sort that princesses are supposed to live in, the ones that go as they're meant to — she'd be free to fall into his arms and cry, shaken from the ordeal but returned to the safety of her rescuer's arms. But this isn't a storybook world, and she has never been a proper princess, and so when she reaches him her hands immediately go to his shoulder, pulling the fabric of his coat away with reckless abandon to try to get a look at the wound.]
I — I think I hit my head.
[But that's not important right now. Shadrack's monsters are all bred to kill, and she's certain that those fangs sunk deep into Alucard's flesh, wolf or not.]
Did it bite you? Let me see. Hurry...
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It's not healing. I don't understand. No silver or... anything holy.
[He feels dizzy and strange. Numb and colder than usual.
Alucard should be angry she'd left the castle, but if she wanted to flee she could right now. He couldn't stop her.]
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[Of course he isn't. Would he be so affected right now if he were? But there's no time to worry about that. It's fast-acting poison; a human would likely already be halfway to dead by now. Alucard's body must be working overtime to hold the toxins off, but there's no possible way of knowing how long he'll be able to maintain it.
And in that moment, it's not about finding a way home, or about the castle, or their bargain. It's not about Alucard being perhaps her only chance to see her family again. Her own troubles and perils are the very last thing on her mind — so much so that they're not even present to begin with.
He's hurt.
He's hurt and she can't just stand still and do nothing.]
Lie down. Hurry. Conserve your strength, every bit that you can. I think — I think I can help.
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Is this the moment where she stakes him? Because he's at his most vulnerable? There's fear in his eyes for a moment, and he doesn't think he could fight her off if he had to right now. No, no that's all irrational -- she doesn't have a weapon, she could just leave him to suffer if that was it, but the gnawing agony of the past few years aches at him.
Alucard closes his eyes, slowly sinking down to lie on the forest floor.]
What will you do?
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But she's watching his face when that terror flits through his eyes, and because she doesn't know his thoughts, she mistakes it for a different fear — or rather, the same fear, just born of a different cause. If she doesn't do something, that bite could very well kill him. So, not knowing can't be the barrier to doing. She's done impossible things before. This won't be the first; she'll just have to make sure it's not also the last.
She gets up as he eases his way down, hurrying back to where she'd dropped everything she'd been carrying and snatching up the old dress she'd been using as a makeshift sack. Now it'll do just as well as a makeshift pillow, and she brings it back to set beneath his head as she sinks down to her knees beside him and tries to think.]
Something's keeping you from healing it...
[It's something she'd said in a flash of inspiration, wholly on impulse. Now, crouched amongst the shadows, she makes herself think through the ramifications more deliberately. The bite isn't the problem, inherently. That he was wounded isn't what's killing him, not the way receiving a wound like that would kill a human. But it is the wound that will do him in, because he can't heal it like he thinks he ought to. So it won't heal; it'll only stay as it is, bleeding and festering, until he dies of it.
A bite that won't heal. Enchanted venom. Could it be cursed?
If it were cursed, then she'd need to break it. That would take being a wand and a wizard, and she doesn't have the time. If only it weren't Alucard who were cursed, she thinks absently. Likely he has magic enough that he could do something about it, except that he's the one that's been felled by it to begin with, and —
No. No, maybe there is something she can do. Isn't there?]
Are there ever swans in the brook?
[She strokes his hair back off his face as she says it, trying to soothe him even as her mind races. Maybe it sounds like nonsense. Maybe it's the only chance they have.]
Chickens. Doves. Something white. I need to find a white bird — it doesn't matter what it is, so long as it has feathers.
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But really, she genuinely wants to help him, doesn't she? What a rare thing. He could almost cry.]
There is an old owl that lives around here. White as snow. There is a stream by the castle where there's an old tree, and a hole just big enough for him to roost in.
It is night, so he is probably hunting... but that means you should easily find his feathers.
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[She casts a worried look toward his shoulder. It's bad, but — but he's not dead yet, and there might still be time.
(Just like Daddy. Slowly slipping away, while she runs off on a hope and a prayer.)
She strokes her fingers down the curve of his cheek, soothing in what little measure she can.]
I'll come back for you soon. I promise.
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Ah. She asked a question. He closes his eyes as he thinks about her soft fingers, then remembers to answer.]
This way. [Alucard points to his right.] I don't think it's far.
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Well, it's her turn to repay the favor, now. And as loath as she is to leave him, every minute is precious, and there's no time to waste.]
Hold on, Alucard.
[She whispers it like a spell cast in her own right, and then she gets to her feet and hurries off through the woods, navigating by sound more than by sight as she weaves through the trees in search of the stream he'd described.
It feels like her search takes hours, between the rush of need to get back and the apprehension that the meanie might come back for her, but soon enough the earth starts to grow soft beneath her boots, and when her heels start to sink into it, she knows she's grown close to the stream.
At least the owl's tree is unmistakable. There's really only one that could fit the description so neatly, and it does seem that the old friend is out on the hunt; when she clambers up the trunk, unmindful of the bark catching on her beautiful dress, she sees a number of shed feathers inside the hole, and takes two just to be safe.
On the way back, she takes a slight detour and pokes around until she finds another landmark she'd seen earlier that morning — a wild tomato plant, late to bear fruit, and still with a number of its stems ending in yellow flowers.
Once she has her prizes, she begins to hurry back, following the mental landmarks she'd made until she's back to where she'd dropped the rest of the trinkets she'd been carrying with her when the meanie had grabbed her, and collects them before returning to where she'd left Alucard malingering in the grass.]
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His mind wanders, and he glances toward Rosella when he hears her footsteps approach. The moon's light barely cracks through the foliage, but what glimmers out makes her lovely. He doesn't think to control himself as he smiles at her.]
You're really helping me.
[So many times she could had fled and helped herself. But she's true to her word. More noble than most people he's had the displeasure of dealing with.]
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...Why not? It's not even the most impossible thing she's ever managed.]
I suppose it doesn't quite fall under the terms of our agreement, does it. Well, of course not. I only agreed to do chores, and this isn't one.
[First things first. She digs through her scattered belongings, unearthing a burned-out lightbulb she'd taken from the front hall, along with a few bits of flint, the yellow flowers, and the owl's feathers. Then, at last, she slips off one of her boots and unbuckles something from around her ankle, unwinding it before offering it to Alucard.]
The settings — it's silver, I'm sorry, but do you think you can work the stones out without coming to any harm?
["The stones", when a moonbeam catches them, glimmer brilliantly off their multifaceted surface; she's offering out a pendant necklace whose focal point is made of two stones, one a rather lovely round diamond, and the other a brilliant sapphire.]
I need them both. I can try to break it myself, but it might take me longer.
[Without a word toward why a peasant girl would be carrying something so valuable, or more importantly why she'd been hiding it in her boot, she turns her attention back to the forest floor, and starts clearing a space to set up some flat stones.]
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[There's a soft laugh, then he winces. The pain is still there, the weakness, but he's able to pay attention to her and her request.
He does wonder... how did a peasant girl end up with such a trinket? It's beautiful, and he almost feels terrible for ruining it. Idly, he wonders if he could fix it for her later.
His claws extend out, and he grasps the silver in them to keep his flesh away from the metal.]
I can do it safely. It would be easier with my sword, but... I did not bring it out here.
[Yet, he still manages to use his claws just fine to pry out the stones as requested. He holds them out.]
It is a shame to ruin this...
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[As he works, she's busy herself, snapping the screw end of the lightbulb off with a thankful minimum of jagged edge and broken glass, and once she pulls out the guts of the apparatus, she's left with a reasonably serviceable glass basin — not very big, but luckily she doesn't need it to be.
By the time she has it set up on the stone array she's made, Alucard is offering the gems back to her, and she's quick to take them, along with the silver pendant setting and chain, now emptied of their splendor. Almost immediately, the sapphire goes into the bulb; shortly thereafter, the yellow tomato flowers follow it. Next comes the flint, which she hurriedly strikes until sparks fly off onto the kindling she's prepared inside the little array of stones, and as she carefully builds it into a little fire, she watches the combination of gem and flower carefully, holding her breath.
For a little while, nothing happens, and her shoulders begin to droop.
But then, implausibly, the contents of the bulb start to melt and coagulate, turning a brilliant green color within the glass.]
Oh! Oh, that's a good sign...
[What a proper little witch she is, casting spells. Next comes the owl feather, which she pokes a little awkwardly into the bulb and uses to swish the mixture around, and then finally the diamond goes last — not quite a crystal, but hopefully the magic won't care too awfully much — and again she holds her breath as, gradually, the liquid begins to disappear, and the stone submerged in the solution begins to turn green.
Now, if only she can get the rhyme right. On the one hand, it must be a decade or more since she first heard this tale. On the other...
She almost smiles, as she closes her eyes and calls the verse to mind. When has she ever not been able to recite a tale of her father's exploits from beginning to end, with every word perfect along the way?
She murmurs the spell, leaning over the bulb as if to imbue every word into the newly-forged emerald, and by the time she's through, there's only a lovely green stone left behind.
Hurriedly snuffing out the fire, she tips the emerald out into her palm, and turns back to Alucard, looking worn but somehow triumphant.]
We need to get you into the moonlight. One moonbeam should do, but it needs to pass through this gem and strike where that thing bit you.
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