savewell | Questlevania | GIRL IN THE TOOOOOOOOOOOWER

[As the doors creak to open, it almost seems as if it is with great reluctance. The hinges whine as the enormous entryway casts itself open, less of a welcome to Rosella and more of a dare.

The entry hallway is dark and cold, barely lit by the crack of light coming through the doorway. Bulbs are refusing to light, appearing only as dark spherical glasses set atop what should be candles, adding nothing but the chilling presence of the hallway. Tapestries are caked in dust, not forgotten but ignored in favor of something else by their owner.

Slinking through the hallway is a tall man, draped in a cloak so long it drags along the floor, almost as if a liquid shadow clings to him.

Red eyes glint in the dark, peering at Rosella.]

Who demands an audience?

[Well, he's certainly better-looking than Lolotte, she thinks, which is a frankly absurd thought to have at a time and in a situation like this, but such are the perils of being Rosella.

The gloominess of the castle, however, is spot on in terms of her memories of that wicked palace in the mountains in Tamir. There are oddities that catch her attention — glass baubles where candles ought to flicker, old hangings with their colors faded not from the sun but from the dirt that's collected on their weave — but the high and unforgiving walls are the same. The red eyes in the darkness are just as terrible.

And yet, even amid her fear and her exhaustion, old habits still cling, and when the master of the castle presents himself, it's all but automatic in the way she puts one foot behind the other and offers as polite a curtsey as she can manage with her ragged servant's dress.]

Please, milord — I'm sorry to have disturbed you. It's only that, well...it's said that the lord of the castle in the woods knows magic, and I had hoped —

[She trails off, uncertain, and as she does the notion occurs to her that in the due course of explaining herself, she'd never actually answered his question.]

My name is Rosella, sir. I would...be pleased to know your name as well, that I might address you properly with the respect you're due.

[A logical look at her appearance would make it known that she isn't a danger. Ragged clothes fit for a peasant girl. But then, did others not look simple too? One might not have assumed the worst of Sumi and Taka at first, and they were quite talented at fooling him.

So he is wary, especially at the indication she seeks magic. So did they, he thinks bitterly. So does anyone. All he is, just a well of knowledge to be pilfered and then disposed of.]

Rosella. A pretty name, isn't it.

What could a girl like you want with magic, hm?

[Oh. He's rude. And the most irritating part is that he isn't even overtly so, but simply discourteous in the subtlest of ways — brushing off her good manners and not bothering to offer a name, remarking on hers in a tone of voice that makes it impossible to gauge whether he's a compliment or just dry irony. A girl like you, he says, when he knows nothing of her, knows nothing of what's happened to her or what she's been through or the horrors she's seen, or how desperately she's endured in her quest to find a way home, or how despair is all that awaits her on the other side of this conversation, if she isn't able to find the help she needs from him.

She would snap, if she didn't need this so much. She's so far from home, and help is so sparse, and she's so very, very tired.]

Only to find a way home, sir.

[Perhaps he'll take a trade, she thinks desperately, if generosity alone isn't enough. And it's not as though she has much to offer in kind, but everyone in the villages talks in hushed tones about the night creatures that haunt the skies after dark, and so maybe a man who lives alone among them will have some use, or some interest, in that.

So she reaches into one of her pockets and draws out her obsidian scarab — priceless, in how it's helped her to reach the castle at all — and offers it to him nervously.]

I have some small magic already, only the wrong kind. Perhaps it might be of some use to you — this talisman wards off the night creatures. I would gladly offer it to you, if only you could help me.

[A dry laugh escapes Alucard, and he starts to approach her.]

You know that I am lord of this castle, and yet... I suspect perhaps you don't know precisely who I am.

[She'd asked, he remembers. He made a point to not answer it, assuming she was playing up her manners, her behaviors to dig under his skin, take advantage of him. They all do. There must be some sort of angle he has not yet witnessed.

In due time, he will unravel the mystery.]

I am called Alucard. And the last thing I've to fear is from creatures of the night. They are more kin to me these days than a human.

[And quite honestly, he does not know how the talisman might affect him.]

Where are you from, Rosella?

[What will he say, she wonders, if she speaks of Daventry to him? It would be dangerous to the extreme if an enemy were to learn that the ragged girl come to knock on the doors of his castle was in fact the princess of a distant land. He might take her captive, might seek to ransom her back to her father. That alone would be bad enough — but he might just as easily deliver her back into Shadrack's clutches, and that would certainly spell her death.

On the other hand, she's loath to lie. And that presents a dilemma with no apparent easy solution.

She swallows hard, watching him as he starts to draw near. She has no weapon with which to defend herself, if he attacks her. Perhaps she could run, and simply find herself back in the dark forest where she'd started.

Alucard. Alucard. The name bothers her; he acts as though she should already know it, and something about it nags at her, but she can't quite place what. That he's not human comes as no particular surprise, not after the sight of his eyes, but that's no real help either.]

If you're going to ask me something like that —

[She doesn't know quite what comes over her, but something possesses her to draw herself up a little straighter, shoulders squared as she watches him draw near.

Maybe it's just the incomprehensible urge to be petty in kind, but she's fast reaching her limit of meekly answering questions and begging assistance with scant success.]

If you're going to ask me something like that, I'd prefer it be because you mean to help me. Milord.

[A small scoff escapes him. What gall this girl has, to stand up to him in such a way. Not that he'll cruelly attack her, but he does glower down, eyes glowing faintly, wanting to intimidate her. He'll only defend himself, nothing more.]

Oh? Then perhaps you ought to trade your talisman off, barter your way home to some well-meaning traveler with a wagon. I assure you, there are plenty of adventurers and would-be monster hunters that would value your artifact.

I've no reason to use my magic for such a thing. You don't seem to be entirely foolish, despite ignoring my clear warning before my castle. Perhaps signs would be wise after all to keep trespassers out. Assuming you can read.

If a wagon would do, sir, I would not have bothered you to begin with.

[Still, she takes a half-step back, stung by the insult but determined not to surrender this last thread of hope just yet.

Even if he is a monster in a dark forest castle, she reminds herself, he may yet want something. Lolotte had wanted something. Mordack had his evil designs. Human or creature, good or evil or anything in between, most everyone wants something in exchange for something. Mermaids seek flowers, dwarves seek treasures, gnomes seek a firstborn son or the answer to a riddle about their name. If she can only work out what it is...

(Alucard. A-L-U-C-A-R-D. There's something about that name, isn't there?) ]

If you won't take my talisman, then what will you consider in exchange?

[So she truly is not so foolish. For some reason, she does need magic to return to her home, wherever it may be. A peasant girl with such an item who needs magic, who can sort out enough to give without giving too much. She doesn't trust him, and he certainly would not in return.]

There is hardly a thing you could grant me that would satisfy. You come to my home, uninvited -- not that I would have. You ignored my last visitors on display. You know I will not give this easily, but you clearly have nothing to give me.

So I will give you something. I will give you the mercy of leaving me in the next few seconds before I decide you will be this night's dinner. What say you?

[Threats don't get much more overt than that, and she knows the sound of her life being whittled down to a remaining interval best measured in seconds. It is a beast that lives in this castle, and he's going to kill her if she doesn't run or contrive some means to stay his hand. And if for some reason her legs or her wits fail her, then that will be all — she'll never see home again, never Daddy or Mother or Alexander, never the leprechauns nor the elves nor old Ifnkovhgroghprm —

Backwards.

It hits her like a flash, for what little good it could possibly do her now. A backwards name, A-L-U-C-A-R-D, hungry for a human meal in a castle guarded by the dead —]

Dracula, backwards.

[She thinks aloud, the words slipping out before it occurs to her that he's waiting for an answer or her flight, and she's rather stupidly given him neither one.

They might've at least had the decency, in town, to mention that the strange man-monster in the woods was a vampire.]

...I'll serve you.

[She should be running, but what other choice does she have? He wants nothing and kills his visitors, but there are even fewer options to her outside these castle walls than they are within, and she has to try.]

You've not lit any candles, nor cleaned your halls in what must be years. Your..."visitors" have long since rotted away, so you must not get very many. Your meals must be few and far between.

Set me to whatever task you desire. Put me to work. Give me three days to change your mind. And if I've not convinced you by then — well, then you'll have a slightly cleaner castle to devour me in.

Oh good. You figured it out. [A soft snort.] A crude, final joke by the people of Wallachia.

[And yet, she is observant. Much more than one would peg her by pure appearances. This Rosella may not be everything that she seems, but she is eager for magic. Magic to get home, supposedly. Something he doesn't believe, but she is willing to give anything, evidently.

She can be deadly to trust, he thinks. She is too clever enough to notice much about her surroundings. He should throw her out and send her away.

...But his curiosity wins out. Not that Alucard won't be cautious, but he does wonder about this Rosella.]

Very well. Three days to convince me.

[The red glow fades, returning to his usual golden.]

Then we should establish some rules, I should think.

[It's a proper number, three. Three treasures, three tasks, three doors, three witches. Three heads on a dragon. Her hands are trembling, but she resists the urge to stick them in the pockets of her skirt, for fear of betraying even that small weakness from trying to hide it.

Three days. Either way, it's time bought to rest and to try to make a plan. If she succeeds and wins him over, so much the better, and if she can't, then at least she knows how long she has to figure out a way to kill him, or to flee.]

That does seem sensible, yes, milord.

[What does it mean, the way the red hue fades from his eyes? Perhaps it means he's calmer now than he'd been — though of course, gold eyes aren't necessarily any better ones to be trusted, if Alexander's genie is any sort of indication.

Wallachia. That must be the name of the land she's found herself in. It's not familiar; she doesn't recall it on any map she'd ever read in her studies back at Castle Daventry. She really must be very far from home, now.]

Of course, I'll need to know my duties, in order to...complete them for you.

[Turning away, Alucard approaches a wall, pressing his hand to it. The bulbs flicker on, suddenly bringing light to the hallway and illuminating both he and the castle properly. It is more clear now how much Alucard has disregarded the castle, but it seems as if he himself has had the same treatment. His golden hair is long and just as fair as Rosella's, but the curls are more like tangles at this point. There are bags under his eyes, and the cape is in tatters at the edges.

Yet, he still gazes at her with contempt, a wild wolf ready to snap at any hand extended to him after learning only heartbreak.]

There are rooms in the castle you will be forbidden to enter. I will ensure that they are locked so it is easier for you to remember what to avoid.

Outside on the grounds, you might have noticed the Belmont hold. That, too, will be locked. I will know if it has been tampered with, and if I discover this, I will not hesitate to have you join the others outside.

Clean as you see fit. There is a kitchen as well, stocked, but if you desire meat I will bring something. I will allow you to sleep in one of the guest rooms.

[Wide-eyed, Rosella looks back and forth at the sudden illumination, astonished by the baubles that only seem to confirm that this man and his castle truly are magic. The light does help a little in terms of chasing away the gloom, but at the same time, she can understand why he may have preferred to keep his home shadowed.

Clearly, he's taken as poor care of himself as he has his castle. In a way, they almost look like two of a kind — she with her rags and he with his tattered cape, each a homely sight in their own fashion. He's barely finished threatening her, and yet something about the sight of him makes her tender heart twinge. A monster would not be so considerate as to think of her needs, she thinks despondently, even if he is still awfully rude.

Servant girl to a vampire. Well — it's still better than slave to a wizard, she supposes.]

I understand. Shall I start now? Or — I suppose you must sleep during the day, if you would rather not see me about the castle at all.

[How long has it been, since last she slept or ate? Better not to think of that now. More likely than not, he'll want to see her make good on her end of the bargain at once, and wishing after a hot meal and a soft bed will only make the ordeal worse to suffer through.

Although —]

...Why do you keep a stocked kitchen, if you never have visitors?

I sleep when I wish, day or night. I am as such that the sun does not burn me, something that other vampires cannot claim. So opening my curtain as I rest will do nothing but raise my ire.

[She doesn't know that he isn't full-blooded. Fine by him; the less she knows, the better.]

Rest for tonight. Work begins in the morning tomorrow. There's no point in pushing you to exhaustion. What have you to prove when you've no energy for it?

[The last question makes him shrug.]

I like to eat human food. Even if I've no need for it.

[Strange. The thought of a vampire unhindered by the sun is odd enough, but to think of one that enjoys a meal of something other than blood simply for the pleasure of it is...perplexing, to say the least.

Still, this is no time to dwell on unnecessary things, or to lose sight of the meager gains she's made. If this vampire truly is as solitary as he appears, and as skilled in magic as all the stories suggest, then it's likely that Shadrack will not find her here. And she's won herself at least three days, which is three more than she might have had otherwise.

And, she reminds herself belatedly, he is rough and harsh, but perhaps not quite to the point of being cruel. A more callous captor would not have let her sleep, or concerned himself with her needs. That he acknowledges it even slightly is...something.]

Human food is rather nice. I suppose...blood...must grow a bit tiresome after awhile.

[Still, unwilling to push her luck much further, she glances quickly around to take stock of the castle's layout, hoping to guess which places might be forbidden to her, and which might lead to the rooms he intends to afford her.]

I'll...I'll retire, then, if you'll only be so good as to tell me the way.

[And force herself not to cry from the stress of it all, once she's alone, but there's hardly any need to share that part of it with someone who surely couldn't care less.]

[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.]

...You may make adjustments, if you see fit.

[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.]

A good dusting, certainl— ah, achoo!

[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.

Are you hungry, Rosella of a Mystery Country?

[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.

[He slips out, making his way to the kitchen.]

[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.]

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