#niightsymphony

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.

haha, well. nothing...?

i guess the answer is a LITTLE more complicated than that, though, and as usual it comes with the caveat that it REALLY depends on the sort of dynamics he's found himself wound up in. he'll match anyone's freak so if someone would burn down the world for his sake he'd burn down the world for theirs, but generally speaking ...

i mean, he is not really the "burn the world down" type even for people and things he really loves. he's not even really much of a "protector", because he doesn't think he's capable of actually protecting anyone more than he's capable of fighting alongside them... and he likes the world. he'd do a lot of things for something he cared about but burning the world down is not one of them.

EXCEPT. rather than being willing to go to any lengths to PROTECT somehing, he's selfish enough to do it to achieve something that would otherwise be impossible. when he thinks he's found a way out of his contract with 44, he's prepared to light everything else he's ever worked for on fire just to have a shot at getting free. and then it doesn't work, and that pretty much spoils any future chances of him carving a path of destruction towards any goal.

but, yeah, generally speaking he's too self-motivated to do something like that, since he likes the whole world and most things in it a lot.

src.

1. what’s a small writing quirk you have that no one would notice unless you told them? ( src. / accepting. )

i think the nature of writing quirks is usually such that the person who HAS them doesn't really notice them, and it's infinitely harder to gauge what someone else doesn't know about you, but i'll try my best. ~

i tend to use interjections a lot, especially to begin statements. like, "well," "actually," "even so," and stuff like that. and i have a massive propensity for really plainly outlining my characters' internal thoughts, which i'm trying to tone down a little bit because it can seem excessive. like, there's a lot of outright stating - "they thought one thing, but they said another" in pretty much as many words.

11. what’s your biggest muse-killer?

well, this one's my own fault, but ultimately my biggest muse-killer tends to be getting replies from particular threads i'm not actually very invested in.

i have a really hard time letting a thread drop while continuing to write my OTHER threads, and since i write chronologically most of the time i'll sometimes agree to a thread i actually don't really love the idea of. then i'll have to reply to it, and it makes all my thoughts about a muse kind of shrivel on contact, because i don't want to write that thread but also don't want to stop writing with that PERSON, you know?

aside from that ... i guess when i start plotting with a person and they make a lot of assumptions about what my muses are like and what they would do, it makes me not want to use that muse at all anymore, even if they're someone i like. but it's really difficult for me to actually lose my muse over an external event otherwise.

23. do you keep “secret” headcanons just for yourself?

it depends on the muse and also on what you'd define as a secret, but yes...?

i think mostly that fact is owed to me just feeling very awkward talking about headcanons, at times. it's not like i come up with things i intentionally keep secret, i just don't tend to post things very often when i do think of them. like, if i was asked what headcanons i had for a particular muse or a particular topic, i'd be able to answer because i have a lot of answers ready ... but i don't know how to gather the confidence to just post about them apropos of nothing. hahaha.

‘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.