I know this spell. [Alucard announces this to no one in particular, eyes fixed on a small forest clearing as a misting rain comes down.] I'm only here for a few ingredients that grow here, I have no intention of remaining.
[This spell being the fact that the forest has turned Alucard in circles about five times now, all while preventing him from gathering up wood from a particular type of tree and very specific mushrooms that need to be restocked. He had to do this over a century ago. The forest wasn't as much as a problem then.
He frowns, pulling his coat closer. For all the wool and fur lining, the cold is unnatural and unwanted. Probably on purpose, meant to put someone ill at ease.
Not that Alucard is surprised this place has a defender. There are still witch trials going on through Europe. When not dealing with idiots trying to bring his father back from the dead or supporting the ever sprawling Belmont family and branches, he's tried to spirit witches out of their prisons before their executions. (He's come to hate the Reformation and what happened in the wake of it. The Catholics should not be the people killing the least amount of witches here.) Those with power have found other ways to protect themselves.
Like this.
He huffs, walking over to a fallen tree and sitting himself on it.]
[ Lauralae is not necessarily a victim of the spell - she has, unfortunately, learned this forest like a second skin, knows the twists and turns of it as though she herself was born there - but she is getting a little turned around, as though she is in the depths of a fog. Her irritation is clear, and she would lash out were there anyone present to hear the echoes of her frustration.
There is a sense of unease about the place, something she almost hears from the trees themselves, a stranger walking amongst the forest and taking from it without permission. She understands: this is a place that does not take such things with a speck of kindness, and it is clear that the intruder was either unaware or simply did not think of it in this case.
The forest is near enough sentient with all the magics around it, and she has taken years to learn it properly.
She tracks that strange, discomforting feeling and peers, body low, through the bushes, gazing out at the figure. With a tilt of her head and a frown on her face she realises that it's someone she knows - a strange thing, for someone of her age and nature, to see someone familiar lifetimes after they last saw each other. Slowly, she almost crawls through the undergrowth like some kind of animal, peering up at Alucard with her large, wide eyes.
Perhaps he will recognise her. Perhaps he will not. Either way, she knows him, so her guard is relaxed. ]
[Alucard knows this spell has to be cast. No forest would have it as a natural defense, at least, not to his knowledge. Vampires, magic users, residents of the night world, they would be inclined to ward a place like this.
He turns to finally acknowledge it is to who has spoken to him. Gold eyes meet Lauralae's, and it takes a few moments for him to place her. The memory is there, but it is old. Name escapes him, but he remembers well enough.]
Themselves, I think. They have their own voice these days, with magic as it is.
[ She wiggles forward a little more, properly staring at him from beneath the bushes, her eyes dark as she watches. Lauralae thinks she can almost smell him, and it feels familiar, gently so, like an echo of the past come back to life. It's not something that haunts her, but a comfort that she doesn't know how to place.
It makes her a little uncomfortable, and her expression tightens. ]
I have survived, as have you. It is strange, to see you here.
That's strange. Every time I've encountered this particular working, there's been a caster at the center of it. Sometimes night creatures, sometimes witches, occasionally vampires. [He tilts his head, considering the other options.] Did a nature spirit move in?
[Alucard keeps his gaze on the bushes, but he won't dare force her out if she isn't comfortable with the idea. There's an offer though, simple enough:] This log is long enough for two.
[No matter.]
Is it? I come here every century to take a few things for spells. This is only your first full century though, yes?
It is possible. I have noticed a change, but I did not follow it as it did not seem necessary.
[ Her position here wasn't really different, because she has always been painfully respectful of the woods, of the world around her, of the kind of magic she does. If she isn't careful she lends herself to being attacked or worse, so she is conscious of herself at all times.
Slowly, Lauralae pushes herself up and out of the undergrowth, barely pausing to pick the little twigs and branches out of her clothes and hair before she slips closer. Carefully, she lowers herself down beside Alucard.
She remembers him, remembers trusting him, but she is still painfully on edge. ]
It is. I have been here for some years now, hiding in the forest.
It is rare that anyone comes here. People are afraid of the forest, and the curses that it has.
[ Lauralae thinks they're foolish: there is no reason to be afraid unless you are planning to do something wrong. As far as she's concerned whoever did that would deserve it.
Glancing up at Alucard, she tilts her head, watching almost warily. She remembers how much she liked him, once, and how careful he had been with her.
It makes her a little less hissy than she might have been. ]
If that's the case, then I confess myself surprised that none of them have moved.
[Alucard saw the village on the way to the forest, although he steered clear of it himself. Better and safer, and he has no interest of making himself known to the residents there.
It doesn't escape Alucard's attention that Lauralae's movements are different to what he remembers, although he couldn't name an exact particular example. Something is off. That is all he knows.]
[ Which isn't as damning as it might sound to other people: she means it in a genuine sense, in that humans are cocky, arrogant, often imagining themselves above these sorts of things, when they are not.
She remains here because she does not know where else to go, but also because it is a kind of safety.
Carefully, her hands press flat on her lap, clenching around the fabric of her dress as she pauses to think. ]
[ Not as though she has spent a long time debating the merits of humanity, considering their treatment of her. She has been more than content with shaming them for their choices and allowing that to carry her through the years of her life.
Once, it would have been her desire for vengeance that kept her going, allowed her motivation, but now... She feels as though, despite her relative youth, she is too old. The trail is cold and she has no hope for it to return to her.
Her gaze, when she looks at Alucard again, is unblinking and unwavering, eyes dark. ]
[He pauses, stretching out his legs for a moment. The knees crack just a little, which Alucard doesn't mind. He enjoys the occasional hint of age, all things considered.]
Most days, I look after a castle and those who live in it. Sometimes, when there are rumors of witch burnings, I try to see if lives can be saved. And then there are the times I come out to forests like this to fill needs for food or for magic.
[ She perks up at that. Lauralae's heart still seeks a place of safety and protection, somewhere that she can bury herself in and not fear being found or chased, and a castle certainly seems appealing to that.
There's more, though, and she frowns in confusion as she leans closer. ]
Mm. Large. Foreboding enough, but there is a village that has sprung up.
[Small. Alucard has known everyone in it since they were born, or else since they took up residence. He is everyone's perpetual uncle, and has found that fact a comfort in a rapidly changing world.]
Because most of them aren't. They're people doing their best or else doing something different. That shouldn't mean death. And for those who are truly witches, I've yet to see a truly malevolent one.
they had sailed right into the storm, hail and thunder all around them like out of a horror story, one of those told by old sailors of the wrath of the sea — and yet it is that their crew braves, on flint's command, rather than accept pardons that would see them all free men. there is only one path, the path of resistance, the path of revenge, the path that doesn't bow down to an empire... and they will walk through fire and storm if need be, for it.
well, silver thinks, made it through the second one of those, it seems.
shifting his focus on his surroundings, he's... on a bed? the blanket that he lies on is threadbare, old, and as he blinks his eyes open, the cottage around him seems just as old. there's a faint scent of herbs in the air.
with a groan, he sits up, noting with dismay his prosthetic is missing. lost in the wreckage of their ship, probably — not the time to worry about that now, though. ]
Where am I?
[ his voice is groggy with disuse, his throat dry like the sands of nassau, and he hopes whoever brought him here from where he had washed up didn't mean to save his life on a temporary basis. ]
It is not in her nature to take care of strangers found on the edge of the ocean, too close to the little spot she had called her own. With Myrana gone, she had been able to take the humble cottage into her own, accepting that she had nowhere else to go. She had her garden, she had her herbs, she had her books, and it was enough. If strangers somehow found their way, she was quick to send them off.
When she had found the drowning man, something in her had made her drag him, poorly, to the cottage, to make sure he lived, and to do something to ensure he stayed that way.
Hearing him move, she turns, expression tight and the line of her mouth a slash of irritation, arms crossing over her chest as though to protect herself from his groggy wakefulness. ]
Right, [ he mutters, because of course it's a cottage, and he'd figure it belongs to the person currently in said cottage — but considering the alternative to being here would be being at the bottom of the ocean, maybe he doesn't have much to complain about.
which is why, after shaking his head a little to clear his vision and maybe also his brain, he zeroes in on her and gives her an honest, grateful smile. water sounds good, but thanking the person responsible for his current state of life is better. ]
You're the one I have to thank for not drowning, then? Can't have been easy, dragging me here. You have my thanks, miss...?
[ It's clear she is being cautious as she steps around the cottage, trying to keep an eye on him as she moves, gathering things here and there. He might be injured, so she'll need some herbs, and if she has to defend herself she ought to find her dagger, too. Whoever this stranger is, almost drowning has made him weaker, so she is confident enough in her self-defence.
Leaning against a table, she watches him, expression dark. ]
Lauralae.
[ She nods to the water, not looking away from him. ]
You were heavy. [ A brief pause, until; ] I am sorry I could not find your leg.
Lauralae, [ he repeats with a nod, as if to tell her that her name matters, and that he's committing it to memory. ]
I'm John Silver. [ he doesn't expect her to recognise the name; that of flint, yes, because the name of pirate captain flint is known far and wide outside of the waters around nassau, is likely whispered not only in the cities of the colonies but also in england — but the name of his quartermaster is not (yet) quite so well known.
there's a surprised laugh he lets out as she tells him he was heavy; but the laugh twists into a half-smile at the mention of his leg. ]
Seems to me I'm the one who should be sorry, for causing you all this trouble. And don't worry about my leg. I'll fashion a crutch out of something, and that'll do.
[ Lauralae says it with an edge of something sharp, like she doesn't want this but respects the need for it, that he is in her house, and therefore she is required to know who he is, what kind of creature he makes himself into. The name is foreign to her, but she expects that; it is rare that she knows anyone, no matter how famous they are elsewhere.
Stepping around, she pushes the water towards him before she begins to pick some herbs off her wall, gloved hand pinching them as she speaks. ]
You did not choose to drown, no more than you chose to arrive on the beach.
[ Her eyes flick back over to him. ]
Unless it was intentional, in which case you have been an inconvenience to us both.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Some deep haunted forest, take your pick of where in Europe
[This spell being the fact that the forest has turned Alucard in circles about five times now, all while preventing him from gathering up wood from a particular type of tree and very specific mushrooms that need to be restocked. He had to do this over a century ago. The forest wasn't as much as a problem then.
He frowns, pulling his coat closer. For all the wool and fur lining, the cold is unnatural and unwanted. Probably on purpose, meant to put someone ill at ease.
Not that Alucard is surprised this place has a defender. There are still witch trials going on through Europe. When not dealing with idiots trying to bring his father back from the dead or supporting the ever sprawling Belmont family and branches, he's tried to spirit witches out of their prisons before their executions. (He's come to hate the Reformation and what happened in the wake of it. The Catholics should not be the people killing the least amount of witches here.) Those with power have found other ways to protect themselves.
Like this.
He huffs, walking over to a fallen tree and sitting himself on it.]
no subject
There is a sense of unease about the place, something she almost hears from the trees themselves, a stranger walking amongst the forest and taking from it without permission. She understands: this is a place that does not take such things with a speck of kindness, and it is clear that the intruder was either unaware or simply did not think of it in this case.
The forest is near enough sentient with all the magics around it, and she has taken years to learn it properly.
She tracks that strange, discomforting feeling and peers, body low, through the bushes, gazing out at the figure. With a tilt of her head and a frown on her face she realises that it's someone she knows - a strange thing, for someone of her age and nature, to see someone familiar lifetimes after they last saw each other. Slowly, she almost crawls through the undergrowth like some kind of animal, peering up at Alucard with her large, wide eyes.
Perhaps he will recognise her. Perhaps he will not. Either way, she knows him, so her guard is relaxed. ]
You didn't ask nicely. The trees were listening.
no subject
[Alucard knows this spell has to be cast. No forest would have it as a natural defense, at least, not to his knowledge. Vampires, magic users, residents of the night world, they would be inclined to ward a place like this.
He turns to finally acknowledge it is to who has spoken to him. Gold eyes meet Lauralae's, and it takes a few moments for him to place her. The memory is there, but it is old. Name escapes him, but he remembers well enough.]
You've fared well in the past century.
no subject
[ She wiggles forward a little more, properly staring at him from beneath the bushes, her eyes dark as she watches. Lauralae thinks she can almost smell him, and it feels familiar, gently so, like an echo of the past come back to life. It's not something that haunts her, but a comfort that she doesn't know how to place.
It makes her a little uncomfortable, and her expression tightens. ]
I have survived, as have you. It is strange, to see you here.
[ Why are you here is what she means. ]
no subject
[Alucard keeps his gaze on the bushes, but he won't dare force her out if she isn't comfortable with the idea. There's an offer though, simple enough:] This log is long enough for two.
[No matter.]
Is it? I come here every century to take a few things for spells. This is only your first full century though, yes?
no subject
[ Her position here wasn't really different, because she has always been painfully respectful of the woods, of the world around her, of the kind of magic she does. If she isn't careful she lends herself to being attacked or worse, so she is conscious of herself at all times.
Slowly, Lauralae pushes herself up and out of the undergrowth, barely pausing to pick the little twigs and branches out of her clothes and hair before she slips closer. Carefully, she lowers herself down beside Alucard.
She remembers him, remembers trusting him, but she is still painfully on edge. ]
It is. I have been here for some years now, hiding in the forest.
no subject
It weighs on Alucard though, as he has a deep curiosity about such things. And because the forest is being rude to him.
He's polite. Doesn't note that she's missed a few spots in her hair. It never seems a priority.]
Have you considered a different forest, if you need such cover?
no subject
[ Lauralae thinks they're foolish: there is no reason to be afraid unless you are planning to do something wrong. As far as she's concerned whoever did that would deserve it.
Glancing up at Alucard, she tilts her head, watching almost warily. She remembers how much she liked him, once, and how careful he had been with her.
It makes her a little less hissy than she might have been. ]
Where else would I go?
no subject
[Alucard saw the village on the way to the forest, although he steered clear of it himself. Better and safer, and he has no interest of making himself known to the residents there.
It doesn't escape Alucard's attention that Lauralae's movements are different to what he remembers, although he couldn't name an exact particular example. Something is off. That is all he knows.]
The world is large. You could go anywhere.
no subject
[ Which isn't as damning as it might sound to other people: she means it in a genuine sense, in that humans are cocky, arrogant, often imagining themselves above these sorts of things, when they are not.
She remains here because she does not know where else to go, but also because it is a kind of safety.
Carefully, her hands press flat on her lap, clenching around the fabric of her dress as she pauses to think. ]
I... I do not know if I would be able.
[ She is afraid. ]
no subject
[Alucard still can't imagine it is a good idea. Regardless, he doesn't dwell on it. Humans are going to human, end of story.
Able is an interesting word of choice.]
The world is mostly made of forests as well. You wouldn't need to go close to most villages.
no subject
[ Not as though she has spent a long time debating the merits of humanity, considering their treatment of her. She has been more than content with shaming them for their choices and allowing that to carry her through the years of her life.
Once, it would have been her desire for vengeance that kept her going, allowed her motivation, but now... She feels as though, despite her relative youth, she is too old. The trail is cold and she has no hope for it to return to her.
Her gaze, when she looks at Alucard again, is unblinking and unwavering, eyes dark. ]
You make it sound so simple. Is that what you do?
no subject
[He pauses, stretching out his legs for a moment. The knees crack just a little, which Alucard doesn't mind. He enjoys the occasional hint of age, all things considered.]
Most days, I look after a castle and those who live in it. Sometimes, when there are rumors of witch burnings, I try to see if lives can be saved. And then there are the times I come out to forests like this to fill needs for food or for magic.
no subject
[ She perks up at that. Lauralae's heart still seeks a place of safety and protection, somewhere that she can bury herself in and not fear being found or chased, and a castle certainly seems appealing to that.
There's more, though, and she frowns in confusion as she leans closer. ]
Why do you care for witches?
no subject
[Small. Alucard has known everyone in it since they were born, or else since they took up residence. He is everyone's perpetual uncle, and has found that fact a comfort in a rapidly changing world.]
Because most of them aren't. They're people doing their best or else doing something different. That shouldn't mean death. And for those who are truly witches, I've yet to see a truly malevolent one.
no subject
they had sailed right into the storm, hail and thunder all around them like out of a horror story, one of those told by old sailors of the wrath of the sea — and yet it is that their crew braves, on flint's command, rather than accept pardons that would see them all free men. there is only one path, the path of resistance, the path of revenge, the path that doesn't bow down to an empire... and they will walk through fire and storm if need be, for it.
well, silver thinks, made it through the second one of those, it seems.
shifting his focus on his surroundings, he's... on a bed? the blanket that he lies on is threadbare, old, and as he blinks his eyes open, the cottage around him seems just as old. there's a faint scent of herbs in the air.
with a groan, he sits up, noting with dismay his prosthetic is missing. lost in the wreckage of their ship, probably — not the time to worry about that now, though. ]
Where am I?
[ his voice is groggy with disuse, his throat dry like the sands of nassau, and he hopes whoever brought him here from where he had washed up didn't mean to save his life on a temporary basis. ]
no subject
It is not in her nature to take care of strangers found on the edge of the ocean, too close to the little spot she had called her own. With Myrana gone, she had been able to take the humble cottage into her own, accepting that she had nowhere else to go. She had her garden, she had her herbs, she had her books, and it was enough. If strangers somehow found their way, she was quick to send them off.
When she had found the drowning man, something in her had made her drag him, poorly, to the cottage, to make sure he lived, and to do something to ensure he stayed that way.
Hearing him move, she turns, expression tight and the line of her mouth a slash of irritation, arms crossing over her chest as though to protect herself from his groggy wakefulness. ]
My cottage.
[ Which. Doesn't help, but she doesn't care. ]
There's water, there.
no subject
which is why, after shaking his head a little to clear his vision and maybe also his brain, he zeroes in on her and gives her an honest, grateful smile. water sounds good, but thanking the person responsible for his current state of life is better. ]
You're the one I have to thank for not drowning, then? Can't have been easy, dragging me here. You have my thanks, miss...?
no subject
Leaning against a table, she watches him, expression dark. ]
Lauralae.
[ She nods to the water, not looking away from him. ]
You were heavy. [ A brief pause, until; ] I am sorry I could not find your leg.
no subject
I'm John Silver. [ he doesn't expect her to recognise the name; that of flint, yes, because the name of pirate captain flint is known far and wide outside of the waters around nassau, is likely whispered not only in the cities of the colonies but also in england — but the name of his quartermaster is not (yet) quite so well known.
there's a surprised laugh he lets out as she tells him he was heavy; but the laugh twists into a half-smile at the mention of his leg. ]
Seems to me I'm the one who should be sorry, for causing you all this trouble. And don't worry about my leg. I'll fashion a crutch out of something, and that'll do.
no subject
[ Lauralae says it with an edge of something sharp, like she doesn't want this but respects the need for it, that he is in her house, and therefore she is required to know who he is, what kind of creature he makes himself into. The name is foreign to her, but she expects that; it is rare that she knows anyone, no matter how famous they are elsewhere.
Stepping around, she pushes the water towards him before she begins to pick some herbs off her wall, gloved hand pinching them as she speaks. ]
You did not choose to drown, no more than you chose to arrive on the beach.
[ Her eyes flick back over to him. ]
Unless it was intentional, in which case you have been an inconvenience to us both.