reposing | a world without logos

a world without logos | stoneup

The conclusion of the mission in the heart of Paris had finished by Alucard's lone hand -- technically, in any case. The building in which Millennium was inhabiting and running tests, evidently, had already seen its blood bath from someone else: one of their own, more or less. Alucard returned to the Hellsing manor with the blonde-haired vampire, covered in dried blood and wearing clothes that don't fit him, scrubs and a lab coat -- and a giant scar on his chest that he could not hide.

The vampire's name is Adrian. Beyond being a pet project, he doesn't remember anything else outside of a life of Millennium. It begins there, and ended with circumstances Alucard only described in a laugh and a Don't interrupt his reading time.

The elusive new vampire is not seen for another day. Then, as if he has always belonged in Hellsing manor, he walks the halls with a regal elegance, fully dressed this time and certainly much more put together. There is almost always a suspicious look in his golden gaze, skeptical as he looks at most people, but significantly less lost than when he'd first arrived.

Reluctantly, he does approach one Trevor Belmont, a book under one arm.

"Alucard has instructed me that I should be introducing myself to the rest of the organization," Adrian says, sounding bland and distant.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only | Expand All

The look isn't bad. Leering, he's used to. Whether because of how he looks, or the scientific interest -- something like that, he's more adjusted toward. But Alucard looks at him like a person, Trevor looks at him with a different interest. It's... weird.

But not unwelcome.

"What do you do between assignments? Besides drinking."

He does his best to not ask whether there was in fact much more that was much more fun than drinking in between assignments, but that's not strictly true.

Fine, he can give Adrian a straight answer.

"This -- Talk, mostly. Usually with the boys, but I've heard so many of their stories over and over..." He chuckles. "And I'm sure they could use a break from mine, so I guess you're going to be stuck with me for a while."

Stories. Adrian doesn't think he really has any he could share that would be interesting or fun, admittedly. He's self-aware in regard to that. None of it is nice or pleasant.

"You're all right," he decides to say, because it's true so far, even if Trevor seems a bit like a ruffian but he's still not horrible. "Then tell me one. A story. ...Your favorite place you've been."

Trevor doesn't have many pleasant stories from his childhood, but joining the mercinaries had afforded him at least a handful of fond memories. That doesn't mean that the fondest of them aren't still at least tangentially related to where he grew up, in Romania.

He leans in toward Adrian, both so he can speak more softly and because it gives him an excuse to be a little closer.

"Hm. We had a mission in Moldova, a few years back. Ended up having to retreat up into the mountains, and holed up in a monestary in Orhei Vechi...for weeks. I thought I'd hate it, but those priests were some of the funniest, most alcoholic assholes that I think we've ever run into, and the mountainside was ... Breathtaking. Reminded me of where I was born, sans all the baggage."

When Trevor leans in, Adrian takes it as a cue to do the same. Curiously, he listens; he wonders how the mountainside might look outside of pictures.

"Where were you born?" he asks, voice soft. He doesn't remember having a childhood, personally, but it is a shame that it was also stolen from Trevor. Stolen from all of them, it seems.

He's not at all put off when Adrian leans in in turn, even as one knee bumps against the vampire's. Talking about his childhood is rarely easy, but it's gotten more natural with time.

"Romania," he says carefully, rolling the first "r" with some flourish. "Haven't been back there in decades, and I'm planning to keep it that way."

He's some flavor of undesirable citizen there anyway, he's fairly certain.

"It's not like I miss all the fucking rain, anyway."

The contact, basic as it is, is almost jolting. Not that Adrian moves away, but there is some tension he isn't certain he knows what to do with. But he listens and he... thinks he can envision it, the damp cold air, the mountains, Targoviste--

Adrian jerks his head up, feeling off. He doesn't remember being to Romania, but he has a sense of deja vu.

"Vorbiți românește?" he rolls out naturally.

Curious and curiouser. There aren't many people who speak Romanian outside of the country, at least -- willingly, with the ease of a native speaker. Trevor blinks, visibly startled, but replies carefully, "S-ar putea să fiu puțin ruginită. E mai bine decât francezul meu."

The words feel strange in his mouth, heavier than he remembers them being. It really has been some time since he's spoken it much.

"Sună bine."

It feels... natural to speak it. Despite how many years around the Germans, Adrian doesn't have their accent, and he is familiar with all three languages. Yet, there is an anxiety in him, that he knows this but doesn't know why.

"Belmont isn't very Romanian."

His gaze flickers to Adrian's face once the vampire switches back to English. He won't comment on it, really, but there's something -- softer, then, about the way he speaks. He smiles, something more genuine that just touches the corners of his lips.

"Well. My family went to Romania from France, a few generations back." Retrospectively, probably a poor move. Things hadn't exactly gone well for them there.

"Well. At least you have any knowledge of your family," he says a little wryly -- or rather tries to sound as such.

"I suppose I've asked you a fair amount of questions, but I doubt I have anything interesting to tell you. But you can ask, if you want."

"It doesn't matter much if you know about your family when they're dead, if you ask me."

He -- sounds less wry than Adrian, but at least he's trying to move on from that downer of a statement quickly. Trevor nudges the vampire with his knee -- more intentionally, this time -- and chuckles.

"Well, we could always just get drunk." He's only half-joking. He doesn't expect Adrian to to carry on a conversation about himself that's guided by questions he asks, especially when he's already put his foot in his mouth once (that's a difference between this Trevor and the usual one).

"I wouldn't know. I suppose I can't miss something if I don't remember it."

Though he does pity Trevor a little, he is a little envious as well. He doesn't remember even being a child. He only remembers the labs, the tasks, the tests -- maybe his entire life was always Millennium. That's what it feels like, anyway.

The nudge makes him jerk slightly, then he's absently rubbing his fingers over the pages of his book.

"I've never done that either. Though I think I prefer the wine," he remarks. "Well. I know why the Wild Geese are here. How did you join them, though? That, I do not know."

Trevor knows that's probably not true -- that you can miss something you don't remember, surely -- but he doesn't want to dwell too far on that. There's that jerk again with the nudge of his knee, and this time he's close enough that he doesn't bother to suppress the urge to reach forward and touch Adrian's hand, callused fingers against the back of his hand.

"Mm. I'm sure there's some wine kicking around here," he points out, but then Adrian's asking him about the Wild Geese, and ...

"Oh, that one's easy. Pip's grandfather bailed me out of jail."

It's-- not actually bad. He notices, first of all, that Trevor's hands are very warm and a bit rough. Adrian's always hated being jerked around and pulled to different places in the various labs he'd been in, but that's not how Trevor touches him, not like he's an object.

"Probably," he says, unable to hide at all the blush creeping onto his face. Alucard often drinks wine, so there is probably some in storage.

"Terribly generous of him."

"Well, it turns out that he believed my story about beating the shit out of a bunch of locals because they were cultists."

He spots the blush creeping up onto Adrian's face and it only spurs his desire to continue the attention. He lets his thumb brush over the inside of Adrian's wrist, careful.

"We could find some wine, somewhere that's a little ... quieter." More private.

Any attention he has to Trevor's origin with the rest of the mercenaries quickly flees his mind. The contact is almost tender and it's-- tempting, yet also frightening in a way. He isn't certain what to do, exactly, but he likes it.

"I have my own room?" he offers tentatively.

"Then I'll be back shortly." Trevor leans in, chancing a light peck to the vampire's cheek before he heads back into storage.

As suspected, a quick glance into the storage area produces a bottle of red wine -- Trevor brings it back out into the common area, complete with glasses.

He has some tact. He's not going to suggest Alucard drink an entire bottle of wine to himself after he's polished off two beer in short succession, both because it's contrary to his own plans and because it seems -- a bit presumptuous, anyway.

"Ready to go? Unless you've changed your mind."

Oh.

Adrian doesn't even have a chance to react more than feeling his face burning. Which is ridiculous, he thinks he's had to deal with so much worse than this, being flirted with and now kissed on the face, but as soon as Trevor is gone he is definitely shoving his face into his book cover.

This is definitely not what Alucard probably had suggested for him, but he doesn't get the idea that he'd care either, wherever it goes. Even if it's-- nothing. And Adrian genuinely doesn't know.

He very nearly snaps his book in half when he hears Trevor, his head jerking up.

"No, it's fine." Adrian stands up stiffly and hurries by Trevor to take lead, heading toward the elevator.

Trevor thinks briefly about making a comment about the fragility of the spines of books, but he really has no fucking idea about that kind of thing -- so he keeps his mouth shut about it.

He does note the stiffness with which the vampire walks, though, the general caginess to his entire demeanor. It's something he's been trying to work himself around, to not be too rude about, but it's a little difficult given how flustered he's feeling, too. A vampire from Romania wasn't unheard of, but ... something about it felt odd. He pushes that thought down with a shake of his head, following Adrian to the elevator and leaning against the wall with what he hopes looks like practiced ease while they wait for the lift.

There's no attempt for conversation from Adrian. When the lift is ready, he slips inside, waiting for Trevor before he presses for the lower levels.

He's never had his own room before, not really. There would be cells, sometimes he had a crate, but never anywhere private. And it feels... strange to invite someone into it. Someone that isn't Alucard, Seras, or Walter. Not that Integra can't go where she pleases either, but she's usually quite respectful.

When the doors open again, Adrian murmurs, "This way." He's brushing by Trevor, giving him a glance before he's heading down the dark, stone hallway.

There are no windows down here, safely dark for any creature of the night. He turns down the hallway, then opens one of the doors.

The room inside is sparse, as one might expect. A humble collection of books on a quaint desk, two chairs, and a coffin. It certainly is very private.

Even just that light brush against him is enough to confirm to Trevor that the reckless action of following one of Hellsing's damned vampires downstairs is actually not a bad idea.

He shouldn't be surprised that Adrian's room is sparse, without windows -- or even that it has a coffin in it, honestly -- but he is, for some odd reason. The desk is, at least, close enough that he can easily deposit the bottle of wine and the two glasses down on the top of it, letting his gaze flick to Adrian's face curiously.

He's interested to see how he'll act now that he's on his 'home turf', so to speak, so he gives him a little space before he offers, "Should I get you a glass?"

Finally setting his now crooked book onto the desk, he glances over to Trevor and gives him a considerate look. The man isn't unattractive, and he knows he's already decided that; he's scruffy, bit of a ruffian, but he isn't unpleasant either.

"Yes, please," Adrian requests, shrugging off his coat to drape over a chair. "I'd apologize for not having much in my room, but I presume you understand my circumstances enough."

Trevor just shrugs his shoulders. He lives a mercenary's life, which means that most of the things that he owns he can pack up within a matter of minutes and crate off to whatever part of the world he's being sent to next.

He gives the book a pointed look, but fixes a glass of wine for Adrian without further comment. He stands to pass the glass to the vampire, taking the opportunity to again brush his hand against Adrian's. Again, it's soft -- careful, even. If Millennium had punished him for doing anything wrong, it was entirely possible that any sort of touch made him skittish. Maybe that's what all the flinching had been about, earlier.

There's a brief pause at the contact. This time, he doesn't jerk, but he does look at the hand warily before he takes the glass. Unfortunately, he reacts much the same toward others, halfway expecting to be tricked or harmed for doing something untoward. But he tries to remind himself that he isn't there anymore.

And in his way, Trevor is charming.

"Thank you," he murmurs, appreciating the wine and its taste much better than the beer Trevor had been drinking. Slowly, he settles more, then hesitantly touches the ends of Trevor's fingers.

"Sit with me?"

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject