Chapter Text
There were great protests from the vampire before they could actually start trying to open the door. The protests were met with meaningful obstinate silence and staring until one or the other relented. For Sâmua it was like arguing with a wall that was full of itself and for D it was having to deal with a tantrum of a rather large and powerful child.
The wall and the child however were able to meet in the middle, D reluctantly let him borrow his utility belt to keep the cape in place as Sâmua would scale the metal workings of the mechanism.
D took the left and Sâmua took the right side, whatever they couldn’t move out of place they broke with their bare hands or bent out of the way.
Sâmua was rather surprised at his strength when he had kicked the metal away in order to make space for the great bar holding the lock in place to slide away. He had doubted D, or more accurately, he doubted D’s estimation of his abilities. When he applied pressure it could bend and contort out of the way and all he could feel was the slight discomfort of the edge of the metal, the rough surface of the rust, the smell and the coolness of it. It folded like a sheet of tin underneath his touch and he wasn’t sure to be pleased or be terrified at the display. Sâmua had not much time to ruminate on his new found power however and continued on. He dutifully did as he was instructed and would sometimes have to observe as D did things on his end. NOT because he was particularly interested in the scene, both of them had to awkwardly contort their bodies in order to get proper grips of things. They wouldn’t hurt from a fall this high (at least according to D) but it would be a pain to have to climb up again. At some point he couldn’t get enough purchase to put the right strength so he had to punch a dent into the metal and used that so he could push the bar all the way to D’s side, who would receive it and nudge it all the way out.
Both of them watched as the bar creaked and groaned before falling with a great crash below. It had broken the marble floor and rolled into the door, shaking it for a moment as Sâmua fearfully held on as everything quaked and dust showered the floor. When the metal stopped echoing and vibrating from the force the two continued their work.
At the end of it there were three great bars dangerously piled upon each other and the two hopped off their perches on the rusted gears back to the cold floor. Sâmua was smoothing down his hair and patting away the rust and dirt from his hands with a grimace while D simply righted his hat upon his head.
“My belt,” D said as soon as they were side by side again, his hand outstretched.
Sâmua made a face, “impatient, you’ll get it don’t worry just let me put myself to rights.”
After adjusting the cape he relinquished the belt, mourning the loss of the security that something could stop the cape from falling off without him having to hold it together. Sâmua did have a change of mind, previously he had been holding the cape around his shoulders and skulking about like a suspicious peddler in the night, now he just tied the cape off around his waist and let it trail on the ground. He was less ashamed of his torso than everything else below.
“What’s in there anyway? Got an awful lot of pockets for a belt.”
“Stakes, salt, garlic powder, silver needles, wooden needles-” D began listing off as he put it back on. A complicated process that somehow involved another strap to his thigh.
The vampire waved him off, “right, right, all the necessities of a vampire hunter. Let’s get on with it.”
The two pushed open one door (there was no need to open both) and entered an entirely different place.
The floor was carpeted, it was the first thing Sâmua noticed as he stepped through, the walls were decorated with wallpaper that had even in this darkness a slight glimmer to it, pillars had vines and flowers carved to twine around them and finished with corbels decorated with the face of the sun and clouds. The ceiling was a romantic painting of the night sky, Sâmua’s artistic abilities could only just recognize a few constellations and if he was being totally honest, he recognized them purely because of the drawing next to it. The hunter with the bow was Orion next to that collection of stars, there was a mermaid and a centaur but that was the limits of his knowledge. The rest was a beautiful confusion of images that had no meaning to him but were vaguely familiar.
While Sâmua was craning his neck to observe he had bumped into a small console table along the wall. He just managed to stop the vase from tipping over but couldn’t stop the withered flowers it had been holding to crumble to pieces. There were various vases and jars filled with black twisted dried up plants or were simply empty devoid of the life they once held.
“Well, I guess this is the better part of the castle,” Sâmua muttered as he ran a hand against the wall, feeling the paper crisp against his finger tips. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
It was a rather gross example of luxury to Sâmua, he remembered small rooms with paper stuck to the walls with art painted upon it. At the time they were less entertaining than the vibrant embroidered tapestries of battles, saints and so on. This was different, there was a metal shine to the flowers, a depth of color he couldn’t make out in the darkness and he suspected if there was light it might’ve been gold.
D merely put a hand to the wall, there was a slight shift in his features and Sâmua fancied he was displeased. When he tilted his head and raised a brow D would only say, “no defense systems.”
“Isn’t that a good thing?”
D looked away and began to regard the two doors opposite to them, “I don’t know.”
Of course before Sâmua could grill him any further D would slither away from the question by walking determinedly to the door by the left. Sâmua would follow with a sour look upon his face but the look would soon vanish, replaced by curiosity.
He was not familiar with the style of the castle, the room they were held up in with the great mechanical doors was familiar. Marble floors, stone walls, tapestries and dummies meant to be decorated with cloth or armor. The hall they entered was still alien to him, the style of the tables were not familiar, the carpet was not familiar, the walls were not familiar. He felt more and more queasy as they went on. It was beautiful but it was strange and new. The rooms before were rotten but not alien. Even the damn crypt he was entombed in was more known to him than the place they walked in now.
Time really has changed.
His musings made him walk right into D, his nose hitting the back of his head rather abruptly and Sâmua didn’t even get the chance to complain when D raised a hand and pointed.
They had entered a new hall, the portraits of landscapes in oil were gone.
It was a perfectly symmetrical hall lined with doors, each door had a hook by its right side and a large portrait on the left. It ended far off with large ornate double doors framed by two live plants. The portraits closest to them were of two women posed in the exact same way, they would have a hand draped upon a pedestal with a bouquet in a vase and their other hand laid elegantly upon their wrist. There were some differences. The woman on the left wore a silk gown with her chin slightly raised and a calm expression while the woman on the right wore something dark, a richer fabric like velvet and a gentle smile graced her face. Her eyes gazed into the viewer as if she was smiling lovingly at them. Their hair and clothes puzzled Sâmua.
Both were in ringlets, down upon one shoulder that was exposed, flowers upon their hair and ribbons on their chest.
He was half pondering that a portrait like this would send his former social groups into riotous scandal. While Sâmua stared at the portraits with mild horror as he was taken aback by what D considered to be perfectly fine portraits of two women in somewhat antiquated styles of fashion, D was already marching forward.
Sâmua had to hold his arm back and point, “is that what women are wearing nowadays?”
“No, only those who are closely tied to nobi- to vampires.”
“Whatever for? What the hell does that mean? Why wouldn’t others wear these clothes unless they’re close to a vampire? Don’t tell me they’ve put up those stupid laws on fashion again. I hated those.”
D gently removed Sâmua’s hand from his arm, resigning himself to educate his companion and catch him up on the goings on of the world now.
“Vampires tend to dress the era they were turned, whichever place they rule over tend to look and mimic that time period. They like to wrap themselves in what they remember before they took over. I believe these two are late Victorian but the style of this hall and the lounge room are mostly Baroque, mostly.”
Sâmua didn’t recognize those words and decided to throw it over his head. He never was the type to go on about different styles or whatever nonsense some people were about.
The vampire looked at the portrait critically, a half naked man scrutinizing the portraits of two perfectly fine women in perfectly fine dress. He was never one to go totally against fashion; there was nothing wrong with wanting to look good. After coming to the conclusion that his initial reaction to the portraits was mostly just his senses objecting to foreign fashions he could see that it was good clothes that complimented the women well. Sâmua spun on his heel ready to take in more of what he believed to be the future.
“Are there any portraits of men? I refuse to believe what you’re wearing is normal, I want to see what people wear nowadays I won’t be seen wearing something odd.”
D only gazed at his cloak being used as a skirt as it trailed like a river of black ink against the carpeted floor.
However as they walked on they came to a realization. All the portraits were of women, all posed in the exact same way. The same vase, the same pedestal but different women with different flowers. Names engraved on the metal plate upon their elegant doors that were carved delicately with the corresponding flower in their painting.
“Is this hall the ladies’ quarters?” Sâmua said, a little uneasily.
There was no point replying. D approached the closest door, he wiggled the knob to no effect and then crouched down. Sâmua just stood next to him watching as he pulled out a small thin bag filled with all sorts of instruments for lock picking. His nose crinkled up in mild distaste but it was only because he had long associated lock picks with thieves and not vampire hunters breaking into the room of a woman they knew nothing about.
There was a click and D stood up, putting his tools back into its case and he stashed it away in his belt. Perhaps Sâmua should’ve let him go on to list what was in there.
D opened the door to an empty bedroom. There were no windows, an elegant four poster bed could be seen behind a heavy half drawn curtain, a closet against a wall, a changing screen, and a rather large vanity. It was all in the same style as the lounge room, with floral wallpapers, winding filigree and more excess luxury. Just like the hall however the one oddity were the living plants in the vases. They hadn’t overgrown like plants left to their devices and they certainly weren’t fake either.
While D stood at the door deliberating over the scene Sâmua walked in, shrugged his shoulders and proceeded to fling open the closet.
As he was perusing he saw the hunter look at him with the same cold hard stare, “what? You said this place was abandoned and I need clothes.”
With that D merely looked up at the ceiling and left the scene.
Naturally, Sâmua protested at being left alone but D answered with a wave of the hand and a simple, “shout if you find something.” before leaving the ladies’ hall entirely. The vampire couldn’t do anything more than grumble and pout as he tried to sift through the clothes and accessories for something salvageable.
Of course all the clothes were positively alien to him. Ribbons, ruffles and lace seem to be the primary feature of the silken gowns and he was significantly larger than them anyway but he couldn’t even find a good coat to cover his shoulders.
In the end Sâmua found nothing besides marvelling at the difference of fashion. He grabbed a belt and some ribbon before going off to see the other rooms. Left to his devices, the empty hall felt slightly sinister when faced with the endless faces of the portraits that lined the walls.
He walked to the second room and looked at the portrait apologetically, “so sorry for the intrusion.”
He had no skill in lock picking of course and he certainly wasn’t going to call D over to open every room. Instead Sâmua grabbed hold of the knob and yanked it with a violence. In that one move he had cracked the wood of the door and the entire knob was in his hand leaving behind a circular hole that once held it. With this act of vandalism Sâmua was pleased with himself as he pushed open the door and waltzed in as if he owned the place.
The room had the exact same furniture as the other one but it was rearranged in a different style, the vanity being next to the closet instead of opposite to it, the curtains drawn to a close to hide the bed and the table and chair behind the changing screen was moved to the side like a place to receive guests in this room. He continued his search picking out clothes and tossing aside what he couldn’t wear.
Sâmua was holding the closet door in his hand and a velvet lined coat in the other when his attention was moved elsewhere. He thumbed something odd carved within the door. He pushed it further open and saw that the inside was lined with runes.
“What the-” He pushed aside the other door and saw the same inscriptions matching it.
Sâmua dropped the coat on the vanity to walk backwards and look deeper into the details of the closet. No runes there, he spun around with narrowed eyes at the rest of the room. In the dark, barely visible and hidden cleverly in the carvings were more runes on the doorframe.
It was almost the same pattern on the closet. He pinched the bridge of his nose trying to remember what little he knew of runes but his knowledge was limited to ‘that is a rune’ and not what kind of fucking rune it was. Sâmua was starting to get a headache but he searched the room anew. There were no runes on the table or the vanity but when he moved the screen aside to reveal a washing basin and a small cupboard he found etched into the bottom of the basin more runes. This one was a different set but it had one singular rune he recognized.
Sâmua tipped all the water out of the bowl and then set it down.
Slowly it began to refill by itself and when he dipped his hand in, it was warm.
So, not only was it an abandoned castle of a vampire it was also chockful of magical extremely convenient gizmos and so on. He moved away from the basin and flung an arm to pull the curtain aside.
What he saw made him start back before swiftly spinning on his heel and darting out the door hissing as he tried to quietly call out, “D? D Get in here!”
D arrived to Sâmua in the hallway with his arms crossed and deep frown on his face standing next to a cracked door with a missing doorknob. The blonde’s expression was grim and uncertain.
The moment he was close Sâmua accosted him in a low voice, “do you know how to read runes?”
“A few,” D said and followed the vampire into the new room.
Sâmua pointed to the inner doorframe and D began to trace the symbols carved into the design.
“These… These are not runes I’m familiar with. They do not appear to be Nordic.”
“Well, I don’t know what you’re on about but I only recognized what I was taught.” He pointed to a three pronged rune, “that’s wood and there’s a basin over there with a water rune but I don’t get the rest of it.”
D raised an eyebrow, his knowledge on runes made it so that Sâmua was either lying or misinformed, “then you know more than I do. These symbols in this pattern are not recognizable to me.”
And he had a perfect memory. Some of them of course were similar to other runes but their use made no sense. He was shown more of the markings within the closet and then the basin. Sâmua knocked out the water and let D watch it refill itself. The rune for water was simple for even D to recognize it (three wavy lines) but the rest of them continued to be incomprehensible. Like the scribblings of a child who did not know what letters meant. If he swept a more critical eye around the room he’d find three out of the four corners had more runes, D would look up and in the pattern of the medallion above there were more.
Although he wasn’t experienced in the use of spells he had encountered many witches, what he hadn’t encountered were the runes being used this way. Perhaps it was some code, when he gathered enough examples D would be able to figure out their pattern then their meaning.
The bowl was simple, the magic being used there was to summon water and to heat it to a degree, perhaps to keep it clean and so on. The ones on the door, the room and the ceiling were more tricky but he could recall that the closet had the same markings.
He was interrupted from his conjectures when Sâmua tugged him away and pointed at the bed.
There lying between the cream colored silken sheets was a pale unmoving woman, with long wavy dark hair that encircled her head like a dark halo against the light sheets and her lighter skin. For a moment D was still, he could almost imagine a different woman, with the same deathly pallor, the stillness of the chest and the dark flowing hair.
But it was not her, this was simply the woman in the portrait outside.
The nose was not right and neither was her brow.
He approached the side of the bed carefully with Sâmua close behind him looking and feeling uneasy.
“Is she dead or undead?” He whispered close to D’s ear but D merely slightly leaned his head away.
D placed the blade upon her forehead too quickly for Sâmua to protest and when nothing happened, “just dead.”
“I thought the blade was for ghosts.”
“A vampire would wake up.” Or rather be struck with revulsion enough to be startled into movement.
The vampire looked confused, “but why?”
D didn’t think there was any use of trying to convince or explain D that normal vampires would be repelled by the symbols of God so he took the next action he thought would silence Sâmua’s questions. Rolling his eyes and walking away.
It was effective, Sâmua was too insulted to be able to even stutter a word as he glared at D’s back. He crouched down in the foot of the bed to trace more of the runes that were hidden in the wood and was vaguely aware that Sâmua had moved on too. He moved back to the bowl and began to wash his hands, leisurely cleaning himself. After that he would disappear from D’s vision entirely and D could hear the rustle of clothing, some clinking, more fuss about the vanity (D supposed Sâmua was inspecting himself). He was getting agitated over the noise which was minimal but still distracting. It had gotten to the point that he glanced at Sâmua who had returned to the bowl.
The hunter was sure his face was still blank trying not to show his affected manner and Sâmua, whatever he saw upon his face, would stick his tongue out before flinging the changing screen between them and blocking his view entirely. It was the more delicate equivalent of slamming a door to spite him, D supposed.
There was a scoff and D didn’t care enough to punish the sound.
Instead he pressed his palm against the runes and ran it along the repeating pattern.
“A spell of preservation, its source is elsewhere.” A quiet muffled voice could be heard.
The changing screen folded to open revealing a slightly cleaner Sâmua with a damp face, “what did you say?”
“Preservation spell, it’s probably why the body is in perfect condition and it’s everywhere.” He pointed up on the ceiling and at the doorframe. “Keeps everything in order and stops the wood from rotting or being eaten.”
Sâmua looked up but he didn’t look back at the doorframe. He was still craning his neck and his eyes narrowed. He pointed his finger up too.
“That… Looks familiar?” His voice was unsure, “a light rune?”
Whatever was going on in his head D wasn’t sure but Sâmua put his hands up and clapped.
Immediately there was a spark-like sound to be heard and the room was bathed in light as the candles flickered to life and the medallion on the ceiling began to glow a warm yellow light.
Sâmua was delighted at this achievement. D didn’t say anything, merely followed the vampire as he marched out into the hall and clapped again. The same thing happened: the lights that hung on the ceiling flickered into action and everything could be seen in its full glory.
“Whoa,” Sâmua breathed out as he took in everything. “Magic’s quite convenient.”
The carpet they had been walking all over was a deep red color. The delicate flowery frames, the filigree that twined along the edges of the ceiling and the corbels were all gold. The walls were painted cream which Sâmua thought was slightly better than the wallpaper inside the rooms. It was less busy to his eye.
He had his hands on his hips as he examined the whole place but when he turned and saw D was looking at him he jumped a little. Sometimes he felt like he was a little scared of D but Sâmua was generally always frightened by the men he liked so that was nothing new. His face turned a little red at the remembrance of his past doings.
“What? Scenes like this are not a daily sight, for me at least.” Sâmua said defensively.
D looked at the scene with a calm and ever unchanging look. He was either used to the sight or unimpressed which irritated his companion a little.
“Well, whatever, go on. Stick your nose in magical carvings, I’m going to find myself some clothes.”
An eyebrow slightly raised, “In women’s rooms?”
“Fine, don’t ever get your cloak back,” Sâmua haughtily tilted his nose up as he stalked away. He had a firm grip upon its knob then tore the whole thing wide open with a great crack and some pieces of splinter flying off before waltzing in.
D followed because he might as well see and besides the temper tantrum was just a little entertaining. He had already memorized the hallway’s runes in his inspection. The repeated pattern of a preservation spell as well as the light spell. Nothing new to learn, that was his reason as he entered the room.
Sâmua was standing in front of the closet, the belt he had acquired in the previous room was slung upon his shoulder as he rummaged through the belongings. D realized that he might’ve picked the room right as the portrait outside was a woman with a less delicate frame. The vampire liked to be inconstant in his displays of intelligence but D supposed he functioned entirely by instinct.
While Sâmua was talking to himself making noises of displeasure or appreciation, D was lifting up a vase inspecting the painted runes (no longer carved into the porcelain) that kept the plants moist and healthy even without the sun. He was still holding the plant when Sâmua walked past him with his acquisition.
In this room the vanity was right next to the changing screen which was convenient for Sâmua, who would throw the clothes upon the desk and he unfolded the changing screen to hide himself from view.
D put down the vase and watched the shadow of movement behind the changing screen. The silhouette behind it was more obvious now with the lights.
“Will I get my cloak back?”
“If these fit,” was the reply.
Sâmua felt out of sorts, he was too hyper aware of the other person in the room.
He also made sure to throw the cloak away from where D was standing, not trusting the man or elf or whatever he was to take it when he had the chance.
Besides, what the hell was he doing lingering here? Sâmua had planned to clean himself of the filth from the levels below and then see if what he picked out might be fit to wear.
D however was unassailed by such worries, this room had no corpse in it and so he turned around and prepared to sit on the bed.
When he did however D immediately stood up, wooden and with a shock as he glared at the bed with wide eyes.
There was great high laughter but it was quickly cut short as he clenched his fist and grimaced.
The laugh startled Sâmua who was tall enough to be able to peek over the changing screen. The blue eyes looking accusingly at D. He schooled his expression instantly.
“What’s wrong with you now? Going mad all by yourself?”
“Perhaps it was a ghost.”
Sâmua scowled, though only his eyes could be seen as it furrowed down, “it definitely came from you, stop messing with me. If you’re going to go mad try not to do it right next to me.”
His eyes disappeared again as he returned to his fuss behind the screen and D folded his arms looking upon the bed with a different expression. After a few more moments Sâmua swept the changing screen aside looking pleased with himself.
It wasn’t like he had no reason to be vain but there was always something irritating or something humorous in beholding vanity. Though it seemed D would not be able to get his cloak back just yet.
The vampire had donned a white night shirt with delicate snowflake patterned lace framing his collarbones and over that was a thick deep blue and maroon colored silk and velvet dressing gown that had a long hanging sleeve with golden floral embroidery. All the while D’s cloak was used as a wrap around his waist being held together by two belts.
“Couldn’t you have picked out a skirt instead of my cloak?” was his first acknowledgement of the change.
The scowl returned but it eased away into haughty composure as the now refreshed Sâmua merely brushed the golden curls off his shoulder, “of course not, I do not like their skirts there’s too much train and layers of silken ruffles. Whatever material your cloak is-it’s much lighter and longer.”
He deemed that sufficient explanation and D wasn’t going to quarrel over his cloak for now.
Instead he pointed at the bed and said, “try sitting on that.”
“Hmm? Why?” Sâmua looked at the bed, he was just absentminded enough to immediately obey but he caught sight of D’s face and he folded his arms. Suspicion in his eyes. “I don’t like that look upon your face.”
“I don’t have any look upon my face.” He folded his arms too, confident in his answer. D’s face was always as it was, or at least it felt to be.
“Yes, you do,” he continued to accuse him, “there’s a little quirk on your lips that makes it look smaller than it already is and I’d know it anywhere. You’re up to mischief, what did you do with the bed?”
D had a hand on his lips at what Sâmua said but he put it away and cradled his elbow instead.
“I didn’t do anything to the bed.”
“Then why are you acting odd?”
“I haven’t.”
Sâmua glared at him with accusation and distrust while D simply waited to see how he’d respond and if he’d give in to the curiosity.
“I’m not touching it.” He declared firmly.
“Fine.”
D turned away to be nonchalant and to keep Sâmua guessing over the meaning of the bed. As he left the room he watched Sâmua still eyeing the bed with reluctance and unease before quickly catching up to him, his face in a pout clearly troubled. D was pleased, why he wasn’t sure, maybe it was the comfort that Sâmua wasn’t entirely a mystery and at the very least his mind could be understood to an extent. No matter how odd it would be.
They then explored a few more rooms, Sâmua had lost all interest in the runes and preoccupied himself by checking to see if he could find anything better. D was in a fair way of understanding most of the runes. At first D would pick the locks but after the fourth room he let Sâmua (who had grown impatient) brute force the door and after that whoever got to the door first would pry it open.
However when they reached the thirteenth room both men paused. The portrait was slashed to pieces and even the metal plate meant to display the number of the door number was scratched. They both looked at each other, expecting the other person to take the door handle. Neither did then at the same moment both of them held the doorknob.
Sâmua was always first to withdraw, his hands in the air as if in apology or surrender while he looked away, his hair hiding his face from D.
D wrenched the door open and both of them were hit by the dank smell of rot and moisture.
The room was totally wrecked, the floors were covered in dust, the walls had strips of the wallpaper barely clinging while the rest seemed to curl away like aging skin, the ceiling was decorated with abandoned spider webs, black fuzzy masses could be seen in splotches on the furniture.
Sâmua unenthusiastically clapped and nothing happened.
It might have been a good thing, he’d rather not see this in all its glory.
D walked in and the first thing he noticed was the scratches. The inner doorframe was wrecked, so were parts of the ceiling, the closet door was ripped to pieces, the vase shattered on the ground and the bowl was bent out of shape. All the spells were purposefully sabotaged.
In the middle of the room clawing at the wall next to the bed was another corpse. This one had not the grace of the former, it was dry, blackened with age, the skin clinging the the bones of its former inhabitant, the dress was stained and in tatters. More interestingly its head was entirely gone. In the mess of the place there were no more remnants of blood splatter. A quick look around the room and D could see the head was nowhere to be found.
“Gods,” Sâmua’s voice was muffled as he had a hand on his mouth hiding the deep grimace his face was set into.
No matter how fine this castle would seem to be there will always be an underlying cruelty to it.
D gently moved the corpse aside with his foot and watched it crumple in on itself like burnt paper. Though there was no telling which stains were blood there was something that caught his attention. There was a darker stain on the floor but it didn’t extend to the wall. The wall was still gray, dirty, splotchy and the wall paper was shredded away but it wasn’t stained.
D put his hand against it.
“A passage.” The voice said in the same tone he would.
He pushed, felt the wall give, swing and soon they were both facing a path of darkness. Dark stone walls with stone floors and unlit torches upon the walls.
D clapped his hand and the torches sprang to life.
He looked back at Sâmua who was looking at the scene with deep displeasure.
“Shall we?”
“This place fucking sucks.”