[It is such a difference from when his mother found Dracula, he thinks bitterly. How she knocked on his door, demanding to be taught true science, real medicine, and how Dracula quickly became a proper host to her. How they fell in love.
In some way, Alucard will find her betrayal and she will be executed or forced out. He'd rather not have to kill her, but he'd also prefer to live.
He turns away, gesturing for her to follow, leading away further into the castle. The lights continue on as they go, but the castle is still just as dire. Barely anything appears to have been touched, all of it ignored.
Eventually, Alucard does open the door. The guest room is quite nice, a large bed with proper bedding -- though it's quite dusty, considering how it has been disregarded, no doubt.
For a moment, Alucard actually looks almost embarrassed.]
[She can't help but be a little taken aback by the sight of the room that he shows her. All notions of dust aside, she'd frankly been expecting — well, a pile of musty hay in the corner of a cold stone basement somewhere. Certainly not a proper room with a bed and real drapes, and aged but pretty furniture, and space, and...
No, she thinks again, as she had before. Rude, certainly, but not callous at all. Perhaps even a little bit kind, deep down.]
Such a pretty room hardly needs much. Perhaps just a bit of tidying up.
[She licks her lips, gathering herself up, and then carefully moves past him to walk boldly inside, to spare them both the pretense of any further invitation to enter. Almost absently, she digs in her pocket and finds a little scrap of cloth, which she swipes along the wood of the steamer chest at the foot of the bed. It leaves a veritable stripe in the dust as it glides along its path, and the cloth comes away nearly black, making her raise her eyebrows as she regards it.]
[Before he can help himself, he snorts behind a hand at the sneeze. He shouldn't be so amused by it, it's a bit endearing. No, no, he shouldn't pay it any heed, but...]
I'll bring you a duster, if you'd like. You might as well be comfortable in your next few days.
[She rubs at her nose, a little mortified — there's dust still tickling at it, she may well sneeze again — but feels something in her sour mood ease and lighten at the completely non-sinister, everyday reaction to her mundane suffering.
How long has it been, she wonders, since he talked to anyone at all? Long enough for bones to bleach on their pikes outside. Maybe that's the novelty of it, now that he isn't so determined to scare her away.]
A little, milord. I had bread in town, but...it wasn't much.
[It's her turn, now, to look embarrassed. Begging for scraps had been a blow to her pride, but not nearly so grievous a wound as an empty belly would have been.]
The baker had burnt a loaf, and was going to throw the worst of it to his pigs.
[Alucard considers for a moment. There's enough venison stew to last a few more days for a single person, enough to last another day for two bellies. He looks at her quietly, then turns away.]
Do as you will with your room. I will bring you something to eat.
...Call me something else other than milord. I do not rule you, Rosella. I don't rule anyone.
[How sad he seems, as he looks away. What could leave a vampire so forlorn and melancholy, so quick to threaten death in one moment yet willing to show such manners to a guest in the next?
It's something to think about, she muses, and does so as she abandons her dusty cloth on the top of the steamer trunk and moves to inspect the bed itself. The quilt could probably use a good beating under the afternoon sun, and the pillows aren't far behind, but a strong solid shake gets most of the overt dust off, and if she turns the pillowcase inside out, it's cleaner that way than it would've been otherwise.
That small task complete, she sits down on the mattress, sighing almost instantly at the unexpected luxury of something so soft. It really is a pretty bed, and its comforts so inviting...
And when Alucard returns, that's the very odd arrangement he'll find her in — dusty boots and feet still on the floor, supported from the hips up by the edge of the mattress, tired to the point of exhaustion and fast asleep within seconds of the point when her cheek first touched the pillow.]
[When he returns, in his hands is a bowl of hot stew. He considers for a moment, then sets it to the nightstand. How long has she traveled, he wonders. Where could she possibly be from that demands the use of magic? If she is being truthful, that is.
As Alucard leaves, another moment goes by before he returns with a bit of fresh bread and water to join the stew, as well as a proper candle. There's a pause, then he reaches out to touch Rosella's shoulder to wake her. She'll eat, then he'll leave her be. Better to have a hot meal to sooth her stomach before she has proper sleep.]
[It's a testament to her tiredness that she doesn't stir a bit, even when Alucard enters the room, then leaves, then returns again a second time. It's equally a testament to her nerves that when he touches her shoulder, she jolts awake, pushing herself up and looking around quickly like a disoriented, frightened animal trying to get her bearings in a hurry.
As her heart rate slows, she starts to realize that something smells particularly lovely all of a sudden, and that's around when she recognizes Alucard and the meal he's brought with him.]
Oh. I'm — so sorry, I'd only thought to close my eyes for...a minute.
[She rubs at her eyes, pushing herself into a more comfortable position sitting on the edge of the mattress.]
Thank you, mi— ...er, Alucard. Would you care to sit a moment, if you've no other pressing business to attend to?
[Why is she extending such an invitation when surely he must want nothing to do with her? Old manners die hard, she supposes. Even amid a crisis, she'd been taught well, and can't help but mind herself.]
[The reaction is telling, but then, how could it not be? She is a girl carrying a talisman meant to ward off beasts. Though at least it does not seem to repel Alucard, but perhaps it takes more concentration to use than that. In any case, the fear in her eyes is something he recognizes, but he does not comment, even if it tugs at what strings of empathy he has left.]
Despite everything, you want my company? [He says it wryly, a bit amused.] I've threatened death more than once, and you aim to work as a servant for a handful of days. You are an odd one.
But true, I've no pressing matters at the moment.
[He pulls up a chair. It creaks, old, but still strong.]
No odder than a master who takes the time to wait on his servants, instead of the other way around.
[As if by way of indication, she retrieves the bowl of hot stew and spends a second just holding it a minute, like she's warming her hands off the meal's residual heat. Even without taking a bite, the hearty smell alone returns a little color to her face.]
...Anyway, I don't like eating alone.
[But she does like eating, very much, and so she briskly sets to, reminding herself not to get overeager and give herself a stomachache from shoveling the stew into her mouth too fast.]
[It's probably not very wise to be giving Wicked Overlord lessons to the person who was ready to kill her just an hour ago, and who may still kill her three days from now, and who doesn't seem to be very good at it in the meantime. But still, common sense goes further than just self-preservation, and no one ever raised her not to speak her mind.]
...We always had jokes, at supper. Riddles and recitations. Sometimes I had to be quiet — children must be seen and not heard, as the saying goes — but most of the time there was merriment. I never had the quickest wit at the table, but not for lack of trying. It's just that there was no besting my father, is all.
[She pokes at her stew, eating another few spoonfuls as if to cover up some slight bashfulness at her own candor.]
And have to step over your collapsed body from both hunger and exhaustion? I'd rather not.
[But her point remains, feeble his excuses are. He cannot argue more than that. For now, he humors her, wishing he would not relish the company he has now. It's a dangerous game, one he should not be risking to begin with.]
[Well, all right, no pressure at all, then. Just a matter of finding a properly funny joke on an instant's notice, and hoping that she's guessed right about the lord of the castle's sense of humor — and that he even has one at all, to begin with.]
Well...d'you know what a ghost's favorite meal is?
[She lowers her bowl into her lap a minute, focusing on him while she waits.]
[All of a sudden, the notion of telling jokes at all suddenly seems ridiculous and absolutely certain to fall flat. But there had been a court jester in Daventry for years and years, and if there was one thing that Dagonet had always stood by, it was that a good delivery can rescue a poor joke, but even the best of jokes won't land if the delivery is halfhearted.
So, rather than letting self-consciousness get the better of her in the moment, she opts to simply grin at him instead.]
[Silence fills the room for a moment. Whatever Alucard had been expecting, it was perhaps not that. He looks confused for a moment, then snorts softly.
Eventually, he adds wryly:] A ghastly joke, to be sure.
[There, again — he won't laugh outright, it seems, but he's not immune to mirth entirely. He'd done similarly when she'd sneezed, before, and even if it's not a hearty, deep belly laugh, it's still a reaction.
A monster wouldn't laugh, she thinks vaguely, and returns to eating her stew. A beast this Alucard may be, and a wild one at that, but a monster he's not.]
[How much, she wonders, is safe to say? He'd caught on to her reluctance to mention her homeland or anything of how she'd made it onto his doorstep. But just to speak of them in general should be all right, she supposes, so long as she's careful.
Besides, it's progress enough that he seems interested at all. Interested enough to ask, at least. It's better than wanting nothing to do with her, or seeking to add her to the ranks of his other visitors outside.]
...Yes, that's right. My parents, and a brother.
[Not a twin brother, she reminds herself. That's a touch too specific, as identifying descriptions go.]
Likely they're looking for me by now. Surely my brother, but perhaps my father too. It...wasn't that I left home, exactly, so much as it is I was taken from it.
[A family to lose, if he's interpreting it right. Taken away in such a manner that she needs magic, which is absurd to him, unless it was indeed very far away.
It tugs a bit at his heart strings, but then he internally recoils. No, he knows better. Don't open yourself, don't empathize, damn it. She's here for a reason. Even if it isn't to hurt him, he still doesn't owe her a damned thing.]
With magic, you were taken away. And with magic, you look to return.
[She ducks her head, fixing her eyes on the dwindling portion of stew in the bowl. It's mostly only broth left, and a few smaller pieces of venison and vegetable. She'll finish it in a minute, but for the most part she's all but inhaled what was given her, and she is starting to feel better for it.
How strange, that a kindness as small as a bowl of soup can make such a strong memory in one's mind. Even now she remembers the kindly dwarf in Tamir, filling two bowls for himself, then directing her unexpectedly to take one of them for herself.]
Have you ever met someone who seems larger than life, even though you know deep down that they're still only a person like everyone else? The sort of person who can do anything, who...always seems to know what to do, no matter how grave the danger or strange the peril.
[There are a few people that suit that description, but more than anything he certainly thinks of Dracula. Literally larger than most people would ever be, imposing and powerful -- but still a man who mattered to his family. Who was a good husband, a good father. Whose end was miserable and sad.
That's my father. I always thought he could do anything.
[She laughs a little, just under her breath.]
Most of the time, I was right. I only ever saw him look helpless once.
[She stirs her stew thoughtfully, then moves the spoon to the side and picks it up to finish it outright, tipping the rest of the cooling broth into her mouth before setting the empty bowl back onto the nightstand.]
It's hard not to feel as though, if he were in this predicament instead of me, he'd have found his way home already. Contrived some means. Nothing could possibly keep him away.
[Isn't that just how he feels about Dracula? So strong, only weakened by how much he loved his wife. But then, too, Dracula chose his wife over everything else. A tragedy.
He takes the bowl, thinking to himself.]
No living person is flawless. Despite how we might admire them. Unless he is a powerful magician himself-- [unlikely, she is just a peasant] --then he would be trapped in similar circumstances.
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In some way, Alucard will find her betrayal and she will be executed or forced out. He'd rather not have to kill her, but he'd also prefer to live.
He turns away, gesturing for her to follow, leading away further into the castle. The lights continue on as they go, but the castle is still just as dire. Barely anything appears to have been touched, all of it ignored.
Eventually, Alucard does open the door. The guest room is quite nice, a large bed with proper bedding -- though it's quite dusty, considering how it has been disregarded, no doubt.
For a moment, Alucard actually looks almost embarrassed.]
...You may make adjustments, if you see fit.
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No, she thinks again, as she had before. Rude, certainly, but not callous at all. Perhaps even a little bit kind, deep down.]
Such a pretty room hardly needs much. Perhaps just a bit of tidying up.
[She licks her lips, gathering herself up, and then carefully moves past him to walk boldly inside, to spare them both the pretense of any further invitation to enter. Almost absently, she digs in her pocket and finds a little scrap of cloth, which she swipes along the wood of the steamer chest at the foot of the bed. It leaves a veritable stripe in the dust as it glides along its path, and the cloth comes away nearly black, making her raise her eyebrows as she regards it.]
A good dusting, certainl— ah, achoo!
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I'll bring you a duster, if you'd like. You might as well be comfortable in your next few days.
Are you hungry, Rosella of a Mystery Country?
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How long has it been, she wonders, since he talked to anyone at all? Long enough for bones to bleach on their pikes outside. Maybe that's the novelty of it, now that he isn't so determined to scare her away.]
A little, milord. I had bread in town, but...it wasn't much.
[It's her turn, now, to look embarrassed. Begging for scraps had been a blow to her pride, but not nearly so grievous a wound as an empty belly would have been.]
The baker had burnt a loaf, and was going to throw the worst of it to his pigs.
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Do as you will with your room. I will bring you something to eat.
...Call me something else other than milord. I do not rule you, Rosella. I don't rule anyone.
[He slips out, making his way to the kitchen.]
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It's something to think about, she muses, and does so as she abandons her dusty cloth on the top of the steamer trunk and moves to inspect the bed itself. The quilt could probably use a good beating under the afternoon sun, and the pillows aren't far behind, but a strong solid shake gets most of the overt dust off, and if she turns the pillowcase inside out, it's cleaner that way than it would've been otherwise.
That small task complete, she sits down on the mattress, sighing almost instantly at the unexpected luxury of something so soft. It really is a pretty bed, and its comforts so inviting...
And when Alucard returns, that's the very odd arrangement he'll find her in — dusty boots and feet still on the floor, supported from the hips up by the edge of the mattress, tired to the point of exhaustion and fast asleep within seconds of the point when her cheek first touched the pillow.]
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As Alucard leaves, another moment goes by before he returns with a bit of fresh bread and water to join the stew, as well as a proper candle. There's a pause, then he reaches out to touch Rosella's shoulder to wake her. She'll eat, then he'll leave her be. Better to have a hot meal to sooth her stomach before she has proper sleep.]
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As her heart rate slows, she starts to realize that something smells particularly lovely all of a sudden, and that's around when she recognizes Alucard and the meal he's brought with him.]
Oh. I'm — so sorry, I'd only thought to close my eyes for...a minute.
[She rubs at her eyes, pushing herself into a more comfortable position sitting on the edge of the mattress.]
Thank you, mi— ...er, Alucard. Would you care to sit a moment, if you've no other pressing business to attend to?
[Why is she extending such an invitation when surely he must want nothing to do with her? Old manners die hard, she supposes. Even amid a crisis, she'd been taught well, and can't help but mind herself.]
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Despite everything, you want my company? [He says it wryly, a bit amused.] I've threatened death more than once, and you aim to work as a servant for a handful of days. You are an odd one.
But true, I've no pressing matters at the moment.
[He pulls up a chair. It creaks, old, but still strong.]
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[As if by way of indication, she retrieves the bowl of hot stew and spends a second just holding it a minute, like she's warming her hands off the meal's residual heat. Even without taking a bite, the hearty smell alone returns a little color to her face.]
...Anyway, I don't like eating alone.
[But she does like eating, very much, and so she briskly sets to, reminding herself not to get overeager and give herself a stomachache from shoveling the stew into her mouth too fast.]
This is marvelous. You made this yourself?
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[But he understands a bit. Not wanting to eat alone. Maybe that's why pathetically he'll talk to dolls of old familiar faces.
...He should probably hide those.]
Yes. It doesn't offer me much nutrition, but I enjoy food.
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[It's probably not very wise to be giving Wicked Overlord lessons to the person who was ready to kill her just an hour ago, and who may still kill her three days from now, and who doesn't seem to be very good at it in the meantime. But still, common sense goes further than just self-preservation, and no one ever raised her not to speak her mind.]
...We always had jokes, at supper. Riddles and recitations. Sometimes I had to be quiet — children must be seen and not heard, as the saying goes — but most of the time there was merriment. I never had the quickest wit at the table, but not for lack of trying. It's just that there was no besting my father, is all.
[She pokes at her stew, eating another few spoonfuls as if to cover up some slight bashfulness at her own candor.]
Do you like jokes?
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[But her point remains, feeble his excuses are. He cannot argue more than that. For now, he humors her, wishing he would not relish the company he has now. It's a dangerous game, one he should not be risking to begin with.]
I like funny jokes. So you may do your best.
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Well...d'you know what a ghost's favorite meal is?
[She lowers her bowl into her lap a minute, focusing on him while she waits.]
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No. Do enlighten me, please.
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So, rather than letting self-consciousness get the better of her in the moment, she opts to simply grin at him instead.]
Ghost toast! With boo-berry jam, of course.
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Eventually, he adds wryly:] A ghastly joke, to be sure.
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[There, again — he won't laugh outright, it seems, but he's not immune to mirth entirely. He'd done similarly when she'd sneezed, before, and even if it's not a hearty, deep belly laugh, it's still a reaction.
A monster wouldn't laugh, she thinks vaguely, and returns to eating her stew. A beast this Alucard may be, and a wild one at that, but a monster he's not.]
...Perhaps I'll tell you a better one tomorrow.
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[There's a moment as he considers, letting her enjoy her stew before he chooses to speak again.]
You have family waiting for you. Yes?
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Besides, it's progress enough that he seems interested at all. Interested enough to ask, at least. It's better than wanting nothing to do with her, or seeking to add her to the ranks of his other visitors outside.]
...Yes, that's right. My parents, and a brother.
[Not a twin brother, she reminds herself. That's a touch too specific, as identifying descriptions go.]
Likely they're looking for me by now. Surely my brother, but perhaps my father too. It...wasn't that I left home, exactly, so much as it is I was taken from it.
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It tugs a bit at his heart strings, but then he internally recoils. No, he knows better. Don't open yourself, don't empathize, damn it. She's here for a reason. Even if it isn't to hurt him, he still doesn't owe her a damned thing.]
With magic, you were taken away. And with magic, you look to return.
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[She ducks her head, fixing her eyes on the dwindling portion of stew in the bowl. It's mostly only broth left, and a few smaller pieces of venison and vegetable. She'll finish it in a minute, but for the most part she's all but inhaled what was given her, and she is starting to feel better for it.
How strange, that a kindness as small as a bowl of soup can make such a strong memory in one's mind. Even now she remembers the kindly dwarf in Tamir, filling two bowls for himself, then directing her unexpectedly to take one of them for herself.]
Have you ever met someone who seems larger than life, even though you know deep down that they're still only a person like everyone else? The sort of person who can do anything, who...always seems to know what to do, no matter how grave the danger or strange the peril.
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Alucard glances away.]
Perhaps I do.
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[She laughs a little, just under her breath.]
Most of the time, I was right. I only ever saw him look helpless once.
[She stirs her stew thoughtfully, then moves the spoon to the side and picks it up to finish it outright, tipping the rest of the cooling broth into her mouth before setting the empty bowl back onto the nightstand.]
It's hard not to feel as though, if he were in this predicament instead of me, he'd have found his way home already. Contrived some means. Nothing could possibly keep him away.
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He takes the bowl, thinking to himself.]
No living person is flawless. Despite how we might admire them. Unless he is a powerful magician himself-- [unlikely, she is just a peasant] --then he would be trapped in similar circumstances.
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