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What a pain in the ass. What a big, fucking, pissed-to-shit pain in the ass.
A crick in the neck here, a pang in the small of his back there, an unwelcome swirling in his gut, and a pounding headache from the night before combined made a very grumpy and generally irritable Trevor Belmont... and boy, did he know it. He was more than certain that his companions —companions? No, prophetically-mandated acquaintances, if he even considered them that— knew it too, which is why they both left him to 'watch the wagon' while they nosed around the area, got some supplies, or did whatever the fuck they said they were going to do. He'd have already forgotten what they'd told him along those lines, but at least he remembered that they'd be back... later. Fuck.
Well, it was only right that he'd have a shitty attitude come dawn, given the shitty beer from a shitty inn by a shitty village in the shitty backwater region of Wallachia but God for-fucking-bid that he expresses that in any way, right?
Trevor groaned as the pounding on one side of his head intensified, pressing a broad palm to his temple as he furrowed his brows. The boards underneath him creaked as he shoved himself into a sitting position, the cloak that he had pulled over his head earlier sliding off his body and exposing him to the chill in the air. The drool plastered on his face from the night before had turned into nasty grime that he could feel peeling around his scruff and skin. Trevor sniffed and winced as stray threads of light streamed through the cover of the wagon and hit his squinted eyes, an ambling hand feeling around for his waterskin while he smacked his dry lips.
When he reached for where he was sure he left it, however, instead of the familiar worn leather waterskin, the tips of his fingers brushed against something soft like down. Upon the wispy contact, a large portion of him jolted awake, tired eyes widening slightly as he shifted his body towards the strange thing. Through the bleary mindfog and the little light he had, Trevor spied a little bundle of gray fur tucked between a sack of clothing and a small wooden box.
"Now what in the hell is this?"
His throat croaked as the little mutter breathed its way through his mouth, a small spark of curiosity not quite piercing through his shitty disposition, but making itself known regardless. At first glance, it was too small for most smaller creatures of the night, especially their younger spawn. At a closer look, the bundle moved up and down ever-so-slightly, slowly and in the throes of sleep. It seems to be alive, so it's not some sort of undead creature either.
... alright then.
Cautiously, Trevor prodded a forefinger at the furry pile, feeling a gentle warmth radiating from a normal-enough squishy body. He traced the same finger over the pointy tuffs of fur, catching on the familiar cartilage of a pointed ear.
Oh. Oh no.
He saw something shift within the bundle even as his hand pulled away, his inquisitive ministrations stirring up the little thing enough to unfurl its limbs in a tiny but no less relieving stretch. A small whiskered head perked up as eyes larger than they had any right to be blinked before a squeaky yawn left its tiny pink mouth.
Despite himself, a small twisted feeling pulled at the strained strings of his heart before he yanked it back down. No use for things like that. None at all.
A frustrated groan left his mouth as he watched the kitten rouse itself from its sleep, its gray head swiveling around as its little legs confidently stumbled onto the sack right next to it. When did a kitten get in here? Why did it choose this wagon to crash in? And how did he not notice it come in at any point in time last night?
A particularly brutal throbbing on the side of his forehead had Trevor cringing his eyes shut and screwballing his facial features, providing at least a temporary pause as well as a damning answer to the volley of questions. Right, right, water first, kitten after. After a little more groping around, his hand finally found the elusive waterskin, a pang of relief coursing through him as he pulled off the cork and the liquid seeped into the driest parts of his mouth and gurgled its way down his parched throat. His fists trembled as he squeezed the waterskin until not even a droplet dribbled out of the opening.
Satiated enough, he turned his head back to the little kitten, who had by now planted its small claws into the fabric, clinging on for dear life as its tiny body wobbled precariously on the folds and rolls. A squeak of a meow left the kitten's mouth as it valiantly tried to pull itself forward even as its claws snagged on the gaps in the sack. When its body tilted to one side more than he would have liked, however, Trevor found that his large hand instinctively reached for the kitten before he could so much as think about it. In comparison to his scar-dotted digits, the kitten was small enough of size to curl up comfortably in one hand, never mind scooped up into his open palms.
That very image flashed briefly in his mind's eye, and as much as he would be loathe to admit it, he could feel the shell he had built in his heart begin to fracture. This was a younger kitten, entirely too young to be left on its own to fend for itself, and that desperately needed its mother, but if it was here...
Another small, but no less shrill battlecry cut through his train of thought, the gray bundle of tenaciousness freeing its claws from the sack, only to tumble tummy-first onto his reflexive outstretched hand. Its little gray body squirmed as its gangly limbs and whip-like tail flailed about, its meows as loud a verbal protest it could muster in his hold.
He tried to hold the kitten as gently as he could as it squirmed, the little thing clambering over his fingers and almost falling out of his hand before he awkwardly swapped his other hand to keep it steady and safe. His throat bobbed as the twisty feeling in his chest came back stronger now, choking up his voice and strangling his windpipe as he violently fought the urge to coo at the thing.
Nope. No point in doing all that. None. Even if the kitten was virtually defenseless, completely helpless, and hardly looked like it could survive another night all on its own. Even if its little meows and tiny face looked fucking adorable— but the point still stands! It was no use!
"You stop that," Trevor ordered with as much authority as he could muster, "You stop that right now."
The kitten paid him no such heed as it continued its Sisyphus-esque trek across his hands, even as its movements became slower. Eventually, the man was able to somewhat secure the kitten in one hand, its chest quickly rising and falling from the exertion of its pointless feat as it hung from his palm. Carefully, Trevor raised the kitten to his face, for a closer look at it. Bleary amber eyes blinked tiredly at him as its little pink nose sniffed and its whiskers twitched, its tongue flicking lazily. Its claws had retracted into its paws, a careful hand turning one of them to find perfectly pink pads underneath the fur. With a sense of apology, Trevor turned the kitten over, finding the same for the other paw pads. It —she, Trevor supposed— seemed too tired to put up much a fight, only making a small delighted sound when one of his fingers brushed the underside of her chin.
Quietly surprised, he gently scratched the same spot, eliciting the sound again as the kitten eagerly leaned into the touch with her eyes blissfully closed and her body almost completely relaxed. A soft smile unknowingly and involuntarily creeped onto his face as he continued to scratch the spot, one finger becoming two as he moved slowly around until he found a particularly good spot just behind the nape of her neck. The same sounds became small pleased purrs as his fingers delicately stroked in a slow pattern down her back.
Before he could comprehend what he was doing, he had set the small kitten into the crook of his elbow as his arm rested against his chest, the precious kitten nuzzling against his forearm as she continued to purr in time with his fingers stroking her back. When the kitten stretched out its forepaws to try and inch herself up, he found himself leaning back and using his free hand to gently push her along until she had made herself comfortable once again in the warmer place between his neck and shoulder. Trevor could feel her purrs reverberate from the side of his neck and through the rest of his body as his heartbeat kept in soothing time.
A part of him did try to snap him out of this, of course, but by now, it would seem to me, you, and everyone else who would have seen the sight for themselves, that indeed Trevor Belmont, of the House of Belmont, who had not lost a single fight to man nor beast, had been completely and utterly defeated by the tiny little kitten tucked between his neck and shoulder that had finally fallen back asleep, reduced to nothing but a melted puddle of sweet and sappy softness.
...Oh, fuck him.
Fuck him soundly.
Despite the chill of the winter air that nipped at the tips of his pointed ears, Alucard found that doing a 'patrol' of the nearby forest was far more preferable than the very irritating, very smelly, and very hungover company he had hardly stood to accost himself with that early in the morning.
His scholarly companion had thought to do the same before him, claiming that she was to acquire some goods and essentials before they hit the road again. He lamented the fact that he had not thought of that excuse first —as unwise as it may have been at the moment— but picking off any stray night creatures that was still lurking about around the area was as good of an explanation as any... especially given the current state of the so-called 'hunter'. To his own credit though, he did deal with a few devilish-looking whelps that were prowling through the thin treeline, but they did not present nearly the levels of danger that would be befitting of hunting them down in the woods.
Alucard's longsword gleamed as the light reflecting off of the silvery metal, little glimmers scattered across the pure white snow when he shifted the sword in his grip. He allowed himself a brief moment of quiet wonder at the sight before he let the sword slip from his hand and turn itself around before noiselessly sliding into its sheath. A wisp of mist left his mouth as he breathed out a small sigh.
There wasn't any more use in lingering, so he ought to make his way back to the wagon, then.
The crunch of the fallen snow from the night before accompanied him as Alucard made his way towards the edge of the woods and into the open space, the wagon tucked equidistantly between it and the town that lay beyond it. As the wagon got closer, faint and indistinct noises hardly comprehensible reached his ears. A moment more, and the unintelligible mess of sound became two distinct sources. Puzzled, Alucard quickened his pace, a twinge of unease squirming underneath his stony exterior. The faint and shallow beats of his heart had steadily increased in both time and power as the now recognizable voice of the Belmont grew louder with his approach. At the twitch of one gloved finger, his longsword would be unsheathed and then promptly take care of the problem should the need arise, but surely, surely it was not a mistake to leave the Belmont alone—
"Hey now, watch the eyes. I need those."
Oh? That was... new.
The vampire lingered a dozen or so feet from the wagon proper, his boots planted in a rare show of indecision as he tried to reconcile what he had just heard. For you see, Belmont has certain tones that can make themselves known depending largely on his general mood. He would not claim to be any sort of expert, but during the brief time Alucard had been with him already, some tones in his voice were quite apparent, notably: snarky, sullen, slurred, or strangled— that last one only came out when he was pressed on something, mostly by the third of their little triumvirate. This one, however... this one was different and uniquely alien. If he tried to describe it, it would almost be... fond? But it couldn't be, and heaven forbid he ever imply that in front of the man.
"Och. Nasty little daggers on you."
His eyes widened in either quiet horror or guilty fascination. Christ alive, 'fond' could almost be an understatement. Alucard did not think that Belmont was capable of that much open... affection. His nose scrunched up at that. 'Affectionate' and 'Belmont' could hardly be put in the same conversation let alone the same sentence, and if that wasn't enough, he could also hear a small, but distinct meow of a kitten in reply.
As interesting as it was that the hunter seemed to have a soft spot for smaller animals, where the hell did a kitten even come from?
Alucard took a quiet step, allowing the slightest use of his magic in order to keep his feet just off the ground; he wouldn't deny that he was at least curious if not that he would like to see the once-in-a-lifetime sighting for himself. With another few steps, however, the low mutterings came to an abrupt stop, Alucard barely suppressing the urge to click his tongue against his teeth as his feet landed softly on the snowy ground. Oh, well.
When Alucard finally shoved his head through the opening of the wagon, he found Belmont propped up against the back of the wagon, one arm slung over the lip of the wagon box and the other absentmindedly flicking one of his small knives in the other hand. His legs and feet lay rather comfortably underneath his cloak, his expression betraying absolutely nothing as the man looked remarkably bored, especially for someone coddling a kitten just a few moments before.
"Are you civil, or are you going to threaten to garotte me with your whip again, Belmont?" Alucard asked coolly as he pulled himself up and slid into the wagon proper.
The man hardly deigned to reply with a grunt, let alone with anything verbal, his eyes not moving from the knife flipping between his fingers. So he was going to play the sullen Belmont, then. Fine. Two can play that game.
"Many thanks." Alucard replied sardonically as he sat down on the nearest crate from the entrance, the furthest away from Belmont as he could be.
A few minutes of tense silence followed, only broken by the occasional swish of the knife in Belmont's hands and at the moment, no sign of the kitten. His eyes scanned the inside of the wagon, his nose filled with the scent of Belmont as well as a newer scent of fur and fluff. Wherever this kitten was, it had not gone far.
"Good hunting?"
Alucard blinked as he turned his head to the man across from him, "Hm?"
Belmont deftly flipped his knife one last time and slipped it into its sheath on his chest with one smooth movement of his middle and forefinger, sighing through his nose before he said again, "The patrol."
Yes, of course, that patrol. Surely, he knew that it could hardly be considered a patrol... but if this was his attempt at a somewhat neutral conversation, then Alucard supposed that he should meet it for the time being.
"It went well," he answered, "Only a few stragglers, likely from Gresit."
Belmont hummed in what was either confirmation or acceptance, "Seems like that'd be the case. Smells like it too."
"I beg your pardon?" Alucard said more quickly than he intended, Belmont looking for all intents and purposes confused by what he had just said.
"Huh? What'd mean by that?" Belmont asked gruffly.
"What did I— are you implying that I smell?" Alucard said incredulously before a single condescending chuckle left his mouth, "Your audacity is incredible, if not lacking of any self-awareness, Belmont."
"What? No!" the other man huffed as he crossed his arms and gave him a pointed look, "I can smell them on you."
"And— what?" Alucard halted, his head cocking to the side ever so slightly, "The night creatures?"
"Yes, God, the night creatures," Belmont said as he rolled his eyes, muttering, "And even so, I wasn't the one sitting in a bloody coffin for a year."
Alucard could feel the slightest heat rise from the back of his neck, "And yet, I don't reek like a pigsty next to a dingy tavern."
"Bullshit, I bathed yesterday," Belmont said defensively, as his jaw locked into a frown.
"Clearly not well enough if I can still smell it," Alucard snapped back.
"Well, not everyone has your freakish sense of smell," Belmont quipped as his voice rose ever so slightly.
"Says the one who claims he can smell demons," the vampire said, leering, "Is that another one of your unholy quirks from your family, Belmont?"
"It's kinda fucking hard to ignore the smoke and brimstone whenever they die," Belmont drawled with a tongue of steel, "But I suppose you wouldn't know that, given your kinship with them, vampire."
"Pray tell, what do I smell like then?" Alucard said slowly and deliberately, his teeth showing from a thin smile that he knew would get him going, as if he wasn't raring to go himself.
Belmont grinned grimly as he enunciated every single word in reply, "Like a stale, old pile of horse-"
Belmont's voice suddenly cut itself off as a tiny sound muffled from underneath the fur part of his cloak pierced the tension, Alucard giving the other man a pointed look.
"What on earth," Alucard asked slowly as his golden eyes pierced into icy blue, "Was that?"
"Well, what do you think?" the man flippantly replied, "A kitten, obviously."
"My fucking God, Belmont," Alucard said with a groan as he pinched the bridge of his nose with gloved fingers, "Please, no more bullshit. Why is it in our wagon?"
The man's face went through a couple of motions, seeking an explanation, excuse, or some other nonsense before settling for resignation, "Don't know. Couldn't tell you."
He spoke the truth, but Alucard refused to believe it, "You don't know? How do you not know how or even notice that a kitten managed to get in in the middle of the night? What were you even doing?"
To his credit, any protest that he could have made died as his lips pressed flatly shut. He seemed to know that much, at least.
"Ah, yes," Alucard sneered, "You were drunk."
"As if you weren't keeping watch either," Belmont's frown deepening as he growled accusingly, "And wouldn't you have had had a better time spotting her?"
Her. It was a her. The word was almost enough to make him put his head in his hands.
"So what were you doing?" Belmont continued, "Brooding? Plotting? Scheming perhaps?"
"Careful, Belmont," the vampire warned, his voice deceptively light.
"Or what, vampire?" the other man said with a dangerous whisper, spitting the last word with barely contained anger, "You'll disembowel me and decorate the wagon with my guts?"
A cold, dark laugh left Alucard before he hissed, "You're absolutely unbelievable, Belmont. Completely and utterly-"
A louder, much more noticeable meow cut through the air, Alucard wincing and Belmont looking down at the folds in the white fur of the cloak. By now, the white fur shifted slightly before revealing the small head and big amber eyes of a gray kitten. At the sight of its limbs crawling up and out of the folds, it was almost as if the fight and tension from moments before had completely left the other man. A muttered apology to the kitten —the kitten— leaving his lips in a whisper, and Alucard could do nothing but stare with his mouth slightly parted in a state not dissimilar to shock.
Good God, it was so much worse than he thought.
At times, despite her better nature, Sypha Belnades had regrets.
Two of those current, and quite taxing, regrets took the form of giant sacks of foodstuffs hoisted over each shoulder and held by each arm. She couldn't help each small grunt with every step forward nor the puffs of mist barreling out of her mouth with every greedy breath she took as she took another heavy, but cautious step forward. She had narrowly avoided slipping on no less than three deceptive patches of muddy ice and the snow slush on the muddy road didn't help with the numbness in her toes, not to mention that her arms were starting to ache in a way that would not bode well for her the next day. The worst part, however, was the light sheen of sweat that had since chilled on the back of her neck, sending near-involuntary shivers through her whenever a slim finger of icy cold slid its way down her back.
If at least one of them couldn't accompany her for the sake of her admittedly deep-seated —and almost desperate— need for any company she could get, then surely they could have offered to come and take this heavy burden from her...
...and so there lay the most poignant regret of going into the town by herself to begin with.
It was bad enough that the only shopkeeper in the small town seemed skeptical enough even when she managed to pull up the sacks, but the passerby that didn't outright ignore her or veer clear of her direction instead looked upon her with an almost patronizing sense of pity. Her indignant determination, however stoked, would unfortunately serve lacking as a source of any real physical fortitude or genuine upper body strength, and even then she found it quite hard to think about anything else beyond the twin tasks that now began to dig deeper into her shoulders.
By now, though, she had made some significant progress as she had finally left the town behind and only had to cross some of the more precarious parts of the muddy road in order to make it to the wagon that she could see in front of her. The sight itself was like a sole lighthouse is to sea-faring folks looking to weigh anchor, or perhaps like a light in a window is to a wayward sojourner seeking refuge and shelter, but it served as fuel to her spirit regardless. Ice, snow, and chill be damned, she will make it to the wagon with the goods and she will absolutely tear her comrades a new one for making her do it in the first place!
Sypha's cheeks flushed with both exertion and exasperation as she steadily trudged on, stepping as carefully yet quickly as she could even as she felt her toes going numb properly. A warm, but shaky buzz began to accompany the aches and strain in her arms as the tender soreness where the sacks slapped against her back intensified. When she got closer, however, a din that had steadily became a mainstay over her brief time with her companions momentarily stalled her colded feet and pushed through the pounding blood in her ears.
"... do about this? And..."
"...like I said..."
Judging by the fact that their voices seemed to get louder whether she was getting closer or not, it seemed to be an actual argument as opposed to their usual bouts of verbal sparring. There was not so much regret as there was irritation, except with the particularly strong and pungent taste that was as strong as it was when it drove her to her current predicament. If she could have, she would have heaved a heavy sigh. For the love of all things good in this world, she hadn't even been gone for that long!
"...no way to guarantee that..."
"I know that, but just..."
A deep and profound weariness grappled with her better sense as she bit down on her tongue before a spew of curses could leave her mouth. Words ought not to be used violently if it could be helped, but it was getting harder not to with every other instant she spent in their company... especially from a certain hunter. But oddly enough, where she would have heard a fever pitch of barbs and insults, it became deathly quiet before a clearly uttered:
"Don't do that."
The delivery of that tone alone was more than enough to push through the final stretch of muddy road and shuffle through the few inches of fresh new snow, more than ready to dump the sacks on the edge of the wagon and have her hands free. Hopefully it wouldn't have to get to that point, but if their first encounter with each other was of any prior indication, it got close enough.
The muscles in her arms almost gave as the lip of the wagon bench came within dropping distance, the chill of the air clashing with Sypha's waning stamina as her lungs eked out the last of their strength to carry her over the threshold. With hardly a breath to spare, she somehow managed to throw the sacks onto the wooden surface, the noise enough to unceremoniously announce her presence as well as cut off any further bickering that came from inside the wagon.
Good. She needed the break before she'd tear a pound of flesh from each of them.
Sweet, blessed relief sweeter than honey rushed through Sypha's body as her arms hung limply at her sides, her upper body hunched over despite herself as she fought to catch her breath. Squinted eyes gazed down at reddened skin at the tips of her fingers and the blotchy flush that she felt on her face and surely covered the rest of her body. A deep exhale left her as the burden finally left her proper despite the throbbing she already felt setting in, but a moment later, a prickly cold dragged itself down her back, eliciting an involuntary shiver underneath her skin.
The short locks of red hair bounced as Sypha uncurled herself and turned around to a shuffling noise behind her. She watched through narrowed eyelids as her vampire companion easily maneuvered the two sacks of foodstuffs into his arms from where they sat on the edge of the wagon. His golden amber briefly met her sky blue in a quick glance as he turned to set them into the wagon proper, his face betraying nothing else but the briefest hint of guilt.
A moment after, he pulled himself out somewhat and effortlessly swung his body over and out of the wagon, landing softly on his leather-clad feet with hardly a sound besides the crackle of snow underneath him. Most times, such fluid movement and near-boundless strength served him well as a part of their unit, but the aches setting in Sypha's upper body found it vexing to watch.
"Welcome back, Sypha," Alucard said with one gloved hand over chest, one interesting habit she noticed from their time together, "I am glad to see that your outing was as successful as my own, if not moreso."
No thanks to you! her muscles in her arms wanted to scream, seeing as they did not currently possess the strength to wrap themselves around his throat. Before it could morph into something uglier, Sypha replied with a clipped, "Quite, although I could say that it also left me rather tired. But seeing as you seem to be just fine, I'm sure that you will be more than able to steer the wagon in my stead for the day."
Alucard's eyebrows raised ever so slightly, his lips opening slightly before settling into a flat line, perhaps wisely, "... very well."
"Now," Sypha said as she rested her tender arms as best as she could into her lightly folded arms, "If you don't mind explaining what the issue is?"
A beat passed as the vampire's eyes darted back and forth in a rather uncharacteristic show of deliberation before a small sigh exhaled from his nose, "I believe that it would be easier if you saw the sight for yourself."
The sight, he said, like it was something unholy that had haunted him. Well, what haven't they seen of their third already? While he had an excellent competence and mastery when it came to his weapons, observations, hunting monsters, and getting a read on his surroundings, he also had a more bleak outlook on life than your average townsfolk in these times, a terrible attitude that the drinking certainly didn't help, and a general penchant for pissing people off— if not by virtue of how he carried himself, then by what came out of his mouth.
Scarily enough, this state may just have been him as he was for quite some time, but any concern voiced over that was promptly shrugged off, ignored, or entirely dismissed, usually as he was walking away to presumably brood over it or shoving himself into a corner of the wagon to do much of the same. So the man may be coming off of a spontaneous bender spurred on by who-even-knows-what-inner-demons and be terribly hung over about it, but surely he couldn't be in as much more of a sorry state as he was when he was sober. Hopefully.
"Really, Alucard." Sypha said rather flatly as she looked him in the face, "Has he somehow not sobered up at all?"
"No," he replied, sounding the slightest bit unnerved, "It's worse."
Sweet Jesus, if he wasn't the son of Dracula, she'd think he was a part of a theater troupe.
Set on what had the vampire as out of sorts as he was, she gritted her teeth as she not-so-gracefully pulled and heaved herself up and into the wagon proper.
Trevor was going to kill him.
Not quickly, either, no. He was going to suffer first and he was going to suffer for a very, very long time before he begged for the sweet release of death. Maybe he'd use his knives, or perhaps his whip somehow, but he was going to know pain before his spirit crawled back to whatever hell awaits his kind.
With that being said, the fangy bastard was damn lucky that Patches had decided that she would much rather have her pets nestled in his arm than be anywhere else.
He stared unfocused through the gap in the wagon ahead of him, his ears registering the voices of his companions but not hearing them. His fingers gentle strokes down the kitten's back and the soft warmth of her little body were the only things that he could actively feel over the quickened thump of his heart, the shallow breaths of his lungs and the blood rushing through his veins.
God, what the fuck was wrong with him?
By now, he should be well on his way to proper sobriety. Hell, he almost felt moreso that he was than he thought he would, given how he hardly recalled the night before. But the near-genuine homicidal intent usually wasn't a part of the package.
A meow of complaint from Patches loosened the arm that he didn't know he had tensed that much, his eyes broken from the fog and flicking down to the little kitten. He grimaced in apology, his eyelids squeezing shut as a deep exhale jettisoned out of his mouth.
Right. The damned bloodsucker had threatened her. That made some sense, then, given what he was and how Trevor trusted him about as far as he could toss him. It'd be more than the average man, but it certainly wouldn't inspire any confidence in him. Ordained companion or not, you do not simply try to take Patches and assume that your hand would not come off for it.
And all of that for what, the name? 'You named it? Seriously, Belmont?' And so fucking what if he did? It wasn't like he hadn't given monikers to other cats in the past, whether it was when he was tucked in alleys with them, hunkering in hay bales alongside them, or resting in a cot at an inn with one or two if he was particularly lucky. He could only get by with 'hey you' or 'cat' for so long, even as he would always have to leave them behind when he drifted on.
That damned pang in his chest tugged at his heart again, twisting in a way that wasn't unfamiliar to something choking his throat. So no, it was not a good idea to think about that right now, especially with the way that Patches gave a short purr against his arm as she wriggled around.
"Oh."
His eyes shot up from the kitten and onto an increasing familiar face that had sat themselves near to the other side of the wagon, and Good fucking Lord was it someone he was not in the mood to hear or put up with. With nowhere else he wanted to look, Trevor's eyes inevitably fell back onto Patches, who had now somehow flipped herself onto her back, leaving her belly exposed.
When Trevor made to scratch at it, however, the kitten suddenly clasped all four of her limbs around his hand, little claws sinking lightly into his skin as her teeth playfully gnawed at his index finger and despite himself, a small laugh left his mouth.
"I am beginning to see what Alucard may have meant."
Even as he scraggled his hand and his fingers in play, he lifted his pupils just enough to see her through his shaggy bangs.
"By what?"
The statement wasn't meant to come out as harshly as it did, but the narrowed eyes more or less confirmed that it did anyway. The damage was done, and there was hardly a point in fixing it, but before the bitterness of the interaction could settle in fully, a sharper claw than he had expected sunk deeper into one of his fingers.
He hissed, sighing before he said, rather deliberately, "What did he mean?"
"He seemed half-convinced that you had completely lost your mind," Sypha said casually, "And while that is a stretch, I get what he was saying now."
"Well, whatever he thinks it was," Trevor replied, "It's bullshit. The real fresh and steamy kind."
"Right." Sypha drawled as she rolled her eyes, scooting all the more closer to him, "Your knack for waxing words to excrement aside, who is this cute thing?"
Trevor's first instinct was to lean away from her, but whether by her sheer force of personality or the genuine curiosity in her face, he tentatively allowed her to get closer, "A kitten, clearly."
"Well I knew that much, Belmont," she said, a small smile lighting up her flushed face, "Oh, look at them! So tiny."
Patches noticed Sypha's approach and wriggled in Trevor's grip, straining her body as far as she could as her nose twitched with the curiosity of one that was still young. The Speaker reached one tentative finger towards the kitten, holding it there as she sniffed at it once, twice, then promptly tried to smush herself into it. He looked down at Patches as she squirmed around in his one hand, a quiet war tugging his heart this way and that way.
"Can I..." Sypha asked, unusual in both her hesitance and her carefulness of approaching the kitten.
He looked down at Patches as she squirmed around in his one hand, a quiet war tugging his heart this way and that way. After a moment more, he released a slow, measured sigh that he had held before shifting his hand around to cup Patches up into it fully.
"Careful," he said before he could shove the warning down as well as the emotion that it was marinated in.
Either mercifully leaving it be or too focused on the kitten to care, she gently scratched Patches underneath her chin, a satisfied chirp rumbling through her small body. A small paw reached out and patted at her palm, the man reluctantly letting the kitten crawl into Sypha's open hand, the wobbly, but determined movement eliciting a surprised giggle from the Speaker.
"Now how did a small thing like you end up in this wagon, I wonder," she murmured as one hand became two with Patches cradled in them, "And all by yourself!"
"Hmm, yes. You do have to wonder, don't you."
The crisp, cool voice was muffled through the tarp, but sounded no less irritated and perturbed than it already was. That is, if Trevor cared.
Before he could so much as open his mouth, however, Sypha loudly declared, "Don't you even start it."
"Wh- but I didn't even say anything!" Trevor sputtered as the protest flew from his lips.
"Neither of you," she enunciated with every syllable as much of an admonition as a warning, "The kitten certainly doesn't need it."
They both heard an audible sigh from outside the tarp, followed by the wood of the wagon creaking as Alucard ducked and stepped inside, sitting a noticeable distance away from the two of them with one leg crossed over the other and his gloved fingers laced together in his lap.
"So then," the vampire spoke, addressing the Speaker, "I suppose you've succumbed to this cat's whims as well?"
"What do you mean by that?" Sypha asked, a sudden yelp leaving her as the kitten almost crawled out of her hands, "It's just a kitten, Alucard."
"And that's precisely the point that merits this present conversation," he coolly replied, "It is just a kitten, and it doesn't have any business being here."
"You do have a point," Sypha agreed as she lifted one hand to give the kitten something to climb to, "But it doesn't warrant all that much, don't you think?"
A poignant noise of exasperation left his nose, eyebrows pinching themselves together as he asked, "So what exactly do we plan on doing about it? It's not like we have much more pressing things to deal with... such as the entirety of Wallachia, if not the world aside."
His voice didn't grow in volume as it did in hardness, continuing, "The more time we spend squabbling over this, the more people that are cut down by my father's hordes and needlessly slaughtered when they could have been saved. We do not have time for this when there are lives at stake."
Trevor clenched his jaw as his Adam's apple bobbed, holding the vampire's stare, "I know."
It was almost as if the prick didn't hear him, "We can't keep a cat with us, Belmont. If it doesn't somehow die by exposure to the elements, then some God-forsaken hellspawn's either going to make a meal out of it or slice it to bloody ribbons, and that's not even taking into account how we're going to feed it."
"Her." Trevor said quietly, not taking his eyes off of him, "The kitten's a her, not an it."
"Right." Cold golden orbs met equally icy glacial blue as Alucard drawled rather sardonically, "So what are we going to do with her, Belmont?"
"Alucard."
The hunter didn't need to turn to see her face as he could picture that particular warning of complete lambastment if not hear the threat of it in her voice, and this wasn't even directed at him for once; but he lowered his eyes anyway.
"But Sypha-"
Nope. Absolutely not. Not doing this. It was one thing if he got into it with one of them, that was expected. But they weren't about to get into it with each other, not when a perfectly good sack-of-shit fuckup was right there for that very reason. He knew that much.
"Okay, okay, stop, hold on..."
Both of his companions stopped and turned to him, the kitten even stopping its squirming momentarily at the sound of his voice. Trevor almost bristled under their collective and undivided attention, inhaling, then exhaling his apprehension before he spoke.
"I fucked up, so I'll take care of this, alright?" he said simply, holding out one hand for Patches to crawl onto, "I'll go into town and find a place for Patches, and then we can go along our merry way to the Hold so that we can try and kill Dracula. Okay? Okay. Fantastic. I'll be on my way, then."
The instant that Patches managed to more-or-less collapse into his hand, he lifted then tucked her into the inside of his collared tunic, using his other hand to grab his cloak from the floor before haphazardly throwing it over his shoulder.
Trevor had already pulled on one of his boots by the time Sypha blurted, "Patches?"
"Yep," he grunted as he shoved his foot into the other boot, "You guys should prepare the wagon. We'll be gone before long."
At that moment, a rather pitiful noise left Patches as she lay against him, freshly tuckered out from her play and attention. The sound sent a pang of sadness into his heart that he didn't have the will to suppress; he knew well enough what that squeak meant.
Patches had managed to nibble on some of the jerky that he had earlier, but the little she had eaten surely wasn't enough for a kitten, let alone a growing one. She was bound to get hungry again soon, but there was little to be had that would be fitting for her in the wagon anyway.
"I'm sorry," he found himself saying almost absentmindedly as he lifted one finger towards his tunic and scratched her lightly behind the ears.
But he meant it, truly. He couldn't even be enough of a host to provide her with some food for her trouble, but he supposed that given his track record, this shouldn't be much of a surprise. He made for terrible company, after all.
"Wait."
He froze halfway to getting up onto his feet properly, turning to the vampire who made the utterance.
"Do you think she can have solids?" Alucard asked, the bastard's face unreadable beyond a strange, thoughtful look in his eyes, If so..."
The vampire's voice drifted off as he began to search for something, pulling out a water skin-esque thing before tossing it towards Sypha. The Speaker caught it in the air with ease and both men could sense the shift in the air when gentle traces of magical heat hit their exposed skin as her hands warmed up the filled skin and the contents within it.
"I think gruel should do the trick..." Alucard said as he watched her hands ripple ever so slightly with potent power, "There's not too much to chew."
"That works," Trevor replied, looking at the vampire directly, "Well enough for this, at least."
The two of them shared an odd glance as feelings of varying degrees were exchanged before settling for a truce of sorts, at least until the next time.
Once she had deemed it warm enough, the magic dissipated and she unscrewed the skin, saying, "Hold out your hands."
At his hesitance, she added, "I only warmed it a little bit. It shouldn't be hot enough to feel as much, let alone burn. Trust me."
After a beat or two, the man shifted himself to where he was sat on the floor of the wagon and gently scooping out the kitten, setting her into his lap and obediently cupping his hands.
The whitish substance was exactly the consistency and heat that she had said it would be, fat drops of it leaking through the gaps in between his hands and fingers, but the consistency keeping enough of it in place for more than a few bites.
Patches' nose twitched hungrily as she practically scrambled towards his cupped hands, sniffing eagerly at the mush as she dipped her tentative tongue into it. The three of them watched hopefully as she smacked her mouth repeatedly, tasting and inspecting the food before she threw herself headlong into it, finding it more than suitable. Trevor couldn't help the chuckle that left him at the sight of the gruel dripping off her whiskers, a surprised laugh joining his own when the kitten tried to eat it straight out of the skin that Sypha was going to pour into his hands again. The hairs on the back of his neck instinctively stood up on their ends as the vampire silently slid next to him, careful not to make any contact with him as he settled in.
Eventually, the kitten stopped scrapping her sandpaper tongue against the tough skin of his palms, satiated and finally satisfied. Her amber eyes blinked blearily as she smacked her lips, her little tongue cleaning around her nose and mouth as a curled paw rubbed against her whiskers.
Ignoring the way the stickiness felt against his hands, Trevor made to scoop up the kitten but was stopped with a silent white handkerchief draped in a gloved hand.
"Here." Alucard inclined, his eyes going from the kitten to the hunter, "If you don't mind."
He hummed contemplatively before he exhaled and warned, "Be careful."
"Of course," he replied rather earnestly, "She will be in good hands."
Trevor leaned back slightly as Alucard carefully slid his free hand underneath her and then slowly lifted her to him, the kitten either too tired or too full to attempt any sort of resistance. The hunter took the handkerchief, wiping off as much of the remnants of gruel as he could while he watched the vampire and the kitten out of the corner of his eye.
By now, Alucard had the kitten in both gloved hands, holding her up to his face as he stared at her little body.
"For someone as little as yourself," the man mused as Patches blinked back at him, a small meow leaving her mouth as she raised a lazy paw towards a lock of his hair, "You have caused us a great deal of trouble..."
Patches meowed again as she managed to snag a golden hair or two with one of her paws, the vampire huffed a quiet chuckle, "But I suppose that you're not quite so bad."
Silently, but with no small amount of mirth, Trevor watched as the other man brought her closer to his face, only to jump in surprise as a paw managed to swat the tip of his nose.
"Never mind," Alucard deadpanned as he leveled a half-hearted glare at her, "You are the absolute worst."
"I did tell you to be careful," Trevor said with a slash of a shit-eating grin, "She likes long dangly things."
"And you didn't think to say that before handing her to me, Belmont?" Alucard groused as he handed the kitten to Sypha, who couldn't help but laugh at the sight of incredulous bewilderment that lingered in his expressions.
"Don't be like that," Sypha said as she cooed at the kitten that now rested on her chest, "She just wanted to play with you."
The vampire tsked as he caught the now-soiled handkerchief that was tossed into the air in front of him, noting how the kitten's eyes stared straight at it, her black pupils widening with every passing second. With a sudden burst of energy, she started to scramble down Sypha's blue robes, the woman uttering a small cry of alarm as the kitten slid off of her knee and hopped down to the ground before bounding towards the handkerchief that dangled between Alucard's fingers.
Her tiny claws clacked against the wooden floorboards as she scrambled towards the vampire, her little body crouching down and her tail swishing back and forth as her big eyes didn't move from the white cloth. Tentatively, Alucard lowered the handkerchief down, and pulled it straight back up the instant she tried to leap for it.
Undeterred, Patches swung her body back around and jumped up into the air, only for Alucard to raise the handkerchief even higher before bringing it back towards the ground.
"Shake it around a little bit," Trevor said, "She'll like that."
Alucard regarded him with a single raised eyebrow before doing what he suggested, his eyes widening slightly as he watched the kitten's head whipped around wildly with her agape mouth in the perfect picture of flurried excitement. So delighted was he at the sight, that he missed the moment that Patches leapt up into the air and her front claws sunk into the silk, snags becoming tiny scratching noises as her weight dragged them farther down.
"Ah," he said, clicking his tongue even as his face betrayed no such disappointment, "I have nothing to stitch it up with."
He let go of the handkerchief and let the kitten claw and tear at it even as it draped over most of her body, chuckling as he playfully chided her squirming form, "Now look at what you've done to me, Patches. I've no handkerchief anymore because of you. What do I do now, hm? You've ruined me."
The kitten, now thoroughly under and tangled within the swiftly tattering cloth paid him no mind as she gave an energized caterwaul and her limbs and tail batted around underneath the material.
The three of them can't help but laugh together at that reply, any lingering unease and tension dissipating like mist.
The sun was well on its way to its zenith in the sky, and one could feel the weak warmth that came with it as they were out and about. The squelch of slushy mud underneath Trevor's boots accompanied the biting chill that managed to worm its way into any crevice not completely covered up. This, however, was almost nothing compared to the growing numbness that sat heavy at the bottom of his chest.
It was inevitable that she had to be left behind, but it never got any easier to do.
Underneath the furred part of his cloak and his tunic, Patches shivered as a cold breeze whisked by, her meows of protest muffled but nonetheless warranted.
"I know, I know," the man muttered, "Hold on just a bit longer."
With any luck, there would be a nursing mother with kittens around the her age in the nearby town. More often than not, he found himself surprised at the places that cats could propagate as long as they had some semblance of dry shelter and the promise of food, even in the sorry town that lay just ahead of him.
Trevor kept his head down as he crossed into the threshold of the town proper, noting the men and women trudging and shuffling along on the muddied pathways. Momentary glances at their faces painted a miserable picture that only served to be more common in recent days; bone-deep exhaustion, numbing resignation, and the last scrap of hope that could be robbed by one more death, one more tragedy, one more fire, or one more monster in the night. People like this were less likely to take note of the passing drifter, but the more you lingered, the higher chance of someone noticing you and an altercation taking place.
Breathing a sigh of mist, he peeked around him to ensure no one had any eyes on him and then quietly tucked himself into the corner in the alley between a general storefront and the tavern he had dragged himself out of the night before. As his senses adjusted to the dank dimness of wood and stone and the smell of stale beer and even staler piss, his ears picked up a familiar sound that he expected to hear perhaps a few minutes into his search.
"Well..." he said to himself as his feet carried him to the source: a decrepit crate that had long since fallen into dilapidation with wood pieces scattered about or hinging on by a few tethers. A thoroughly dirtied burlap sheet had been tossed over it, small peppered holes well-worn into the tough fibers. Trevor crouched down to the lip of the crate and gently lifted the sheet away, revealing quite the precious sight.
Tucked into one dark corner of the crate was a cat tucked into an abandoned bedsheet with her four kittens, all in various states of bundled sleep. All of the kittens looked to be of Patches' size, ears flicking, mouths yawning, or limbs moving as they dreamed. Among the cuddle pile, there was one pitch black one with a splotch of white on its face, a cream-colored one with reddish spots splashed on its back, a tortoiseshell one that was bigger than its siblings and made good use of its bulk to tuck into its mother's side, and the last one sporting a similar shade gray that Patches had along with some white socks on its paws.
The mother cat, however, was Patches' spitting image, or rather what Patches would look like once she grew up. Her body was curled around her kittens, a long gray tail flicking up briefly in the movements of sleep and pink paw pads on the bottoms of her paws.
What used to be an occasional squirming against his chest became a desperate flurry of meowing and movement, Patches crawling out of his tunic and poking her head out towards the crate.
"Is this your family, Patches?" he asked as he scooped her out of his tunic and held her body in his hand.
The following meow and the fervored movement was not only confirmation, but enough noise for the mother cat to blink her large amber eyes open. She gave a great yawn as she observed the man that had disturbed her so, unmoving, but wary nonetheless, but at the sight of Patches in his hand, the mother cat carefully got up and stepped around her slumbering kittens. Trevor held Patches out to her, the kitten going still and quiet as the mother cat sniffed at her. After a moment more of investigation, the mother cat reached over with her mouth and grabbed Patches by the nape of her neck.
He watched as the mother cat carried her kitten back into the crate and tucked herself back into the corner, sitting Patches right next to her and holding her down as she began what would likely be the long process of cleaning her up. Whether it was out of childish protest or simply reuniting with her mother, Patches let out a series of squeaky noises as she was assailed with her rough tongue, much to her siblings' irked consternation as more than one of them tried to shove their heads deeper into the cuddle pile to drown her out.
A weak laugh was choked off by the growing lump in his throat, the undeniable sadness poking and prodding his heart. Before he could let it linger any longer, he pulled the tattered handkerchief out of his tunic and left it on the edge of the threshold of the crate, letting the burlap fall again and getting back up and turning the corner to where he came in from. Some debris picked up and flew around him with the sudden movement, his hand angrily brushing it away from his face and off of his cloak, when one of his fingers caught a small hole in the deep red fabric.
Funny that that was there, because it wasn't the last time he remembered. He grabbed at the part of the cloak with a few fingers, spotting a series of holes in a pattern not entirely unfamiliar to him in recent times. Trevor turned back to the crate, then at the building it sat against, and finally pinched the bridge of his nose.
They could never know about this. They'd kill him for it.
He wasn't even mad about the holes in his cloak as much as why they were there to begin with; those things shouldn't have connected that well nor made any real sense, but it's not like anyone else would know if it did.
He just thought that he was so drunk that night that he chalked up half of him feeling that much more unbalanced to the shitty beer.
Trevor walked straight back up to that crate because no one was there to tell him not to and gradually peeled back the burlap once again, saying in a voice low enough to be considered quiet, "Patches, you had no business hitching a ride on my cloak while I was drunk off my arse."
Patches, who had more or less settled back into the pile like she hadn't left, tiredly meowed as her mother licked behind her ears, dismissing the matter as if she didn't cause it.
"Don't you even start! You're lucky I brought you back with me, or you'd be frozen half to death, or worse, eaten by fucking hellspawn in the middle of the night!" he said, strained as if he wasn't talking to a kitten who didn't know what he was talking about and likely wouldn't have cared if she did.
A deeper meow came from her mother's mouth, the cat briefly pausing her licking and blinking at Trevor, almost as if in agreement.
"See? I'm right. Listen to your mother, Patches." Trevor scolded as he looked down at the bundle of kittens, "You probably scared her half to death with your shenanigans. And think about your siblings, too!"
One of those said siblings, the big tortoiseshell who had snatched the remains of the handkerchief and snuggled with it, meowed pitifully before nodding off again.
Trevor turned his head towards the mother cat, saying to her, "You really have your work cut out for you, don't you. Can't be easy with five of them."
Another deep meow from the mother cat said as much.
"You," he said, pointing one index finger at Patches, "Are fucking lucky that you're so fucking cute and so fucking adorable, 'cause if you weren't..."
He stopped, letting the sentence trail off as his finger fell. Well that wasn't fair. He'd been with plenty of genuinely scraggly, pissy, and downright feral cats, but a cat was a cat, and there wasn't much else about that.
"Well, I'd be mad at you if you weren't a kitten. Or a cat. Or any other animal, really. Except goats. Fucking hate goats..."
He sighed, looking at Patches, her siblings, and her mother in this broken, busted shit crate, next to a shit tavern, that was in a shit town, that that sat smack-dab in the middle of a shit country. In another life, another time, perhaps another circumstance, he'd have taken them all. But life was not fair, time was dwindling, and the circumstances were far from ideal; such was the sorry state of this world.
"God..." Trevor groaned, dragging his free hand down his face, "Just... be good, okay? Be good."
Patches, finally freed from her mother's intense cleaning, stumbled clumsily over her siblings and clambered over towards his hand. He let her rub her head and wind her body against his fingers. The man gently stroked her little body once, twice, then gave her one affectionate rub for each ear.
"Well, that's a promise then. You gotta keep it, now. And don't cling onto stranger's cloaks, alright? Most of them aren't as nice as me."
The rumbling purr from the kitten shouldn't have torn up his insides as much as it did.
Before he could try to muster up the will to go, Patches seemed to take the initiative for him. She gave his palm one last butt of her head before making to crawl back towards the warmth and care of her family, curling up in the midst of them. As he lowered the burlap fabric one last time, he caught her amber eyes blinking slowly at him before they fell closed.
The flap of the material felt final as he got up, feeling his vertebrae pop and crack as his muscles ached. Lifting his head back, his eyes found the patch of sky blue and misty white that wasn't obscured by the buildings, heaving a great sigh to whoever was up there or whatever happened to hear him. One step followed another, and soon he was out of the alley and making his way out of the town and back towards his companions.
A part of him was heavy, as it always was with things like this, but another part of him that kept the picture of those slowly blinking eyes felt that he had done at least one thing right.