Son of Dracula

Knock. Knock. Knock.

"Um—hellooooo?"

It's close to evening when Laura finally—finally!—finds herself on the steps of the large and looming castle her parents have only told her about in little snippets of stories. She carries almost nothing with her except for a large bag, clutched now in both hands in front of her, containing a few changes of clothes.

Both of her parents had been happy to see her off into the world at large, to experience it by herself—her mother moreso than her father, who she knows has every reason not to want to see her go. She only feels bad that she'd told the smallest of lies to them. I don't really know where I want to go, she'd said. I guess I'll just see where I end up!

But Laura had been curious about the big brother her parents had tried their very hardest to avoid mentioning ever since the first time her mother had properly sat her down and told her about him, so she's spent the last few strange and delightful months listening in on any rumor about a dhampir—about yea-high (a height she could barely reach even on her toes), very blond hair, very talented—she could manage to overhear.

And it's led here here—to a castle now inhabited by a great many people, but most especially the locally famous dhampir the people call Alucard.

She raises a hand to knock once again when the door swings open before her, revealing a cascading blond head of hair that reaches all the way down to the middle of his back. And, looking down at her, there's a face that looks familiar to Laura, because until very recently she'd seen it almost every single day in the face of her mother.

"Hello!" she repeats, a little startled. "Wow, I didn't think about what I'd say when I actually met you! Uhh—are you Adrian Țepeș?"

That's not a very good first question; this has to be him. Laura's only been face-to-face with almost-definitely her brother for a few seconds, and she already wishes she could start over from the beginning. It's not like her to feel so nervous meeting people—but maybe it's different because he's family, and because she's already promised herself not to step too far away from her parents' wishes by actually telling him that.

Sypha had remained-- And Trevor had returned, somehow surviving his clash with death. The people who mattered most in his life were with him-- And he was surrounded by people who did not fear him for what he was. For what his father was.

It was a life that he had never expected himself to live-- But he had no reason to complain. In many ways, it was almost perfect. ... If only it had not taken the death of his mother and father to reach this point.

... If only he had not been forced to see the abomination that Saint Germaine had tried to create with them. That image will remained burned in his mind, alongside many others. His mother upon the pyre. The moment he killed his father. The night that he was forced to kill Sumi and Taka, and everything that had led up to that very moment.

But things had calmed down significantly in the past few years. Several homes had been built around the castle-- People went in and out of the Belmont Hold to peek at the knowledge within. And, throughout the day, Adrian found himself enjoying the additional company that the people of Belmont provided-- And, as routine would have it, once night began to set the people would return home to be with their families.

Adrian would busy himself inside the walls of the castle, and all would be peaceful. Nothing had been so foolish as to attempt to attack the village-- And anything that might be lurking beyond the walls would eventually be cleared out by himself, Sypha, and Trevor. ... Or, perhaps, the brave villagers who had chosen to dedicate themselves to such a task. It all depended on the day, really.

Nonetheless, it was quiet-- until the quiet was disturbed by the sound of knocking upon the outer doors of the castle. It's an odd sound, if only because it is one that Adrian rarely hears. Most who need his presence simply let themselves in, calling for his attention because they know that he will hear them. Just as he hears the knock the first time. How curious.

His movement is naturally quick-- Though there is no rush to reach the door, as the knocking does not sound urgent. He is able to reach it just as his visitor raises her hand to knock once more-- A young girl.

She appears to be no older than sixteen-- But he knows immediately that that may not be entirely accurate. His heightened senses tell him plenty before she even begins to speak. She is the child of a human and a vampire, much like himself. It would seem that he is not quite as alone in the world as he had once believed.

"... Hello." The greeting comes out slowly. Uncertain. But there is no hostility on either side of the threshold, and his expression softens as she questions his identity. "Yes, that is I."

He steps aside, holding the door open so that she may enter the castle. It has been restored, for the most part-- Blood finally cleaned from the floors, damage done in the midst of battle repaired... It has become more of a home, once again. Just as it had been when Adrian was a child.

dead letter : a letter that is undeliverable and unreturnable, typically one with an incorrect address.

what’s a small writing quirk you have that no one would notice unless you told them?

have you ever accidentally given a muse a trait from yourself without realizing it?

what’s the weirdest real-life inspiration you’ve ever used for a muse or scene?

do you write your drafts in order or jump around?

what’s a song you’ve overplayed while writing but still love?

what’s your “comfort trope” that you always fall back on?

do you ever write replies in your head while away from your device?

what’s a piece of advice you’d give to your past self as a roleplayer?

what’s the most unhinged late-night idea you’ve ever actually written?

do you have a go-to “warm up” activity before writing?

what’s your biggest muse-killer?

have you ever completely rewritten a reply before posting it?

do you tend to write long or short replies without thinking about it?

what’s a detail you always try to slip into your writing?

do you prefer writing in silence or with background noise?

what’s the most emotionally intense thread you’ve ever written?

do you keep old drafts/threads or delete them?

what’s your weirdest ritual for getting into the zone?

have you ever made a playlist for a single scene?

what’s the most surprising compliment you’ve gotten about your writing?

do you have a muse you’ve never shown publicly?

what’s a piece of media that permanently changed how you write?

do you keep “secret” headcanons just for yourself?

have you ever written a reply you didn’t like but posted anyway?

‘come in. i won’t harm you.’ (src.)

It'll probably be empty.

That was what Occtis had been told, asking tentatively but firmly where he might be able to find the medicinal supplies at Castle Torch and recieving directions to the infirmary. The storeroom attached to it, he had been told, would probably be empty.

That's why he pauses in his stride when he's greeted instead with a head of long, platinum-blond hair. That, and the first few moments of utter panic, wherein Occtis sees nothing but the color and wonders which member of his family would have been bold enough to come directly here.

But the man sorting through herbs isn't someone he recognizes, and he looks in Occtis's direction, splitting directly through his now-blank exterior and says only two short sentences.

Come in. I won’t harm you.

"Sorry," Occtis says habitually, taking that step further into the dim storeroom. He glances down at the herbs in the man's hands, then back up at him. "They told me nobody would be here."

Another flick of the eyes to the herbs, then to the contents of the room as a whole—not an especially impressive stock. Which makes sense; the Barrowguard might have more need than many for basic medical treatment, but they're not doctors or healers by nature. It's likely that the medic he'd met on the way in is one of very few on staff at Castle Torch, with just enough expertise to care for the people here in times of need.

... In many ways, Adrian could be considered one of the things that they were to protect the world against. After all, his father was an infamous man who made his home deep within the darkness. ... But it was his mother who had encouraged him to venture out into the world. Into the light that lay beyond where he had spent his childhood. Castle Torch was only the first stop on his travels across the lands of Araman.

He knew that his mother would be proud, choosing to stop for a cause that would benefit the people. He held knowledge of the Eternal Night that these brave men and women could benefit from-- As well as other bits of general knowledge, such as what would be most important to keep stocked within the Barrowguard's medicinal supplies.

He was not a doctor-- not like his mother. But he knew enough. More than the average person, he had come to realize quite quickly.

So, even though the medicine stores tended to stay unoccupied, it was not uncommon for Adrian to find himself within. Counting, sorting-- determining what should be purchased or gathered on the next outing from the castle. He kept a well-maintained list of what was within these stores-- And he could only hope that someone else would take up the mantle once he decided that it was time for him to leave this place behind.

Though his attention was entirely on the herbs before him, he had heard the approaching footsteps long before they came to the door-- And so, when the young man entered, he was not startled or surprised. ... The same could not be said for that young man, however. There was no heartbeat to be heard-- But the anxiety that exuded from him was still palpable.

"It usually is," Adrian responds, his voice level. "But I make it a habit to keep up with the stock myself."

He pauses, taking a moment to observe the young man that stands before him-- Just as he had noted moments earlier, he can hear no heartbeat from the young man. His skin is gaunt with a pallor that one only sees amongst the dead. It is odd, but he does not find it inherently alarming.

Immortal Sentences, Vol. 7

(Sentences for immortal muses. Adjust phrasing where needed)

"Tell me something, will you? How old are you?"

"Are you dead?"

"If you never face down death, you'll never glimpse what's on the other side."

"You'll all be dead soon enough."

"You've built yourself a graveyard here."

"Live as long as I have and you'll come to understand that it's not the years that count - it's the distance you travel."

"What am I without you? We've been together for so long."

"Death doesn't seem an option for you."

"No man can outlive entropy."

"Some of the things you have told me sound like wonders, yet you yourself do not seem to wonder at them."

"I thought if a man could live forever, he would grow wiser - but that isn't true, is it?"

"I have always been here, as I always will be."

"You are mistaking me for human."

"Do you think you can stand me for another century?"

"This place is rotting with the past."

"It has been more than 300 years. You are looking well."

"Not dead, then?"

"I'm tired of living."

"Only my body survived, and barely that."

"Time, as you well know, is a relative consideration."

"That's my job; to live forever."

"I am not what you think I am."

"What's the good of immortality if there aren't any kicks or excitement?"

"I knew you 500 years ago, and I'll know you 500 years from now."

"We're old ghosts, you and I. You'd think the world would have had enough of us by now."

"Most folk are lucky enough to leave their past behind them, or take a bullet before it catches up to them."

"I am not modern. I am ancient."

"What are you doing here? I thought you were dead!"

"You're disappointed I'm still alive, aren't you?"

"You said "you people". Is that because you don't think you're one of us?"

"You were supposed to die centuries ago, yet here you are."

"You're lucky you don't share my curse."

"I told you we'd meet again."

"I feel safe here. It's as if time were dead."

"There is little of you that can still be called human, isn't there?"

"I think you're more afraid of dying than you put on."

"Why must things change?"

Questioning Sentences, Vol. 58

(Questioning sentences from various sources to ask all kinds of muses. Adjust phrasing where needed)

"Would you rather I lied?"

"You don't seriously expect me to believe this?"

"What do I owe this unexpected displeasure?"

"When were you going to tell me? Did you think people weren't going to notice?"

"Don't you, just for once in your life, want to be taken care of?"

"How do you know all this stuff?"

"Did you not see the warnings I left?"

"I've gone out of my way to help you, and this is the way you repay me?"

"I didn't make a fool of myself, did I?"

"How many more drinks is it going to take before you tell me what this is all about?"

"You're no good. You think she deserves you?"

"Do you have a bad feeling about this?"

"Am I going insane, or is that really suspicious?"

"Is your dad still angry with you?"

"Do you take pleasure in sweeping things under the carpet, or do you just look as if you do?"

"Would you mind terribly if I got back to my investigation?"

"Are you questioning my methods?"

"Are you going to call this in?"

"She's trusting you all day with her baby?"

"So what's your excuse? Corruption? Cowardice? Or just plain idiocy?"

"Is there anything you don't do for money?"

"So, this is you enjoying a break from work?"

"You're new here, aren't you?"

"What good is faith when it is a lie?"

"Why are the hot ones always so crazy?"

"I thought you were some kind of rebel?"

"You're not a vegetarian, right?"

"Are you working with me?"

"One question: are you in, or are you out?"

"What if something else is going on? Some other agenda we don't know about?"

"Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?"

"Would you meet my parents?"

"How many languages do you speak?"

"Is this conversation actually useful?"

"Can't you feel anything?"

a selection of headcanon questions inspired by key bones in the human body.

skull.   what memories/thoughts do they guard the most from others ?

cheekbone. what makes them smile ?

mandible / jawbone. what are they incapable of saying out loud ?

teeth. what lasting mark do they leave on others ?

hyoid / neck. who taught them to speak up, or stay silent ?

clavicle / collarbone. who/what do they lean on when they're vulnerable ?

scapula / shoulderblade. what burden do they carry on their back ?

sternum. what makes their heart pound hardest ?

ribcage. who/what are they trying to protect ?

humerus. do they use humour as a shield or a weapon ? what from/to ?

radius. who/what do they reach for first in a crisis ?

ulna. who stands by them no matter what ?

carpals. what small habits do they have ?

metacarpals. do they ask for help or clench their fists and bear it ?

phalanges. what is their relationship with touch ?

spine. when do they lose their backbone, what scares them ?

pelvis. what future or legacy are they afraid/excited to be responsible for ?

sacrum. what sacrifices have they made ?

coccyx / tailbone. what outdated beliefs do they still carry, if any ?

femur. what drives them forward ?

patella / kneecap. how compliant/obedient are they, who will they kneel for ?

tibia. who/what keeps them moving forward ?

fibula. do they ever feel overlooked ?

tarsals. what past mistakes stick with them with every step they take ?