#trevcard

These are probably my favorite keychain designs — Trevor Belmont and Alucard from Castlevania! I drew them last year (link in bio).

[Media] that has the plot revolving around [ship]: *[ship]'s doomed from the start, condemned to tragedy*

«Eat shit and die.»

Trevor isn’t the sharpest crayon in the box

–

Ko-Fi

With a brief delay to collect the rest of the Speakers, the trio were once more on the move, leaving behind the ruins of Gresit.  As the dangers of night hoards were still very much a possibility, Trevor called a halt two miles from the city.  The Speakers huddled together near a small, fitful fire; Sypha leaning half-asleep against her grandfather as he stroked her hand.

Trevor let a brief smile at that.  But reality intruded with Alucard at his shoulder.  

“You should have that looked at.”

Trevor followed the vampire’s finger to the tear in his arm, blood already caked and thick.  He hadn’t strained much but he knew the instant he exerted, the skin would rip anew, staining his already ruined shirt.  He made a face and dug through one of his pouches, pulling out an old undershirt.  He tore it with teeth and knife and fashioned a crude dressing, grunting as he tied it tight.

“Happy?”

Alucard lifted an eyebrow.  “You are an impossible creature.”

“I try.”  Trevor walked a short distance from the fire and clambered into a tree, choosing its lowest branch to perch on.  Legs dangling, he pulled his whip free as well as a small tied jar.

Watching him, Alucard’s nose wrinkled.  “Sheep’s fat?”

Not looking up as he scooped a thick glob, he nodded, smearing it into his whip.  “Need to reward the old girl for taking strips of your hide.”  He grinned as he met Alucard’s eyes, the vampire’s mouth sour.  Repetition allowed him to work the fat deep into the old leather while still meeting Alucard’s gaze.  “She’s not lasted this many years by luck.”

The end of the whip dangled past the branch and Alucard reached up, touching its frayed cords with a gloved hand.  “Why a whip?”

“Why not?”

Alucard chuckled.  “I suppose that is also fair.”  He toyed with one cord, eyeing Trevor.  “It seems more work than necessary.  What if a Belmont hadn’t the skill?”

Trevor resisted the urge to yank the whip’s end from Alucard’s grasp like a petulant child.  “It’s happened,” he admitted.

Frankly, when young, he’d thought for certain he’d be one of the failures.  He could still remember the first time he’d worked with the whip.  His leg lashed, bleeding profusely; hands ripped by the rasp of leather.  Sunup to sundown he’d tried desperately to make Vampire Killer listen to him; she’d denied him, striking his skin or the dirt until his father had cuffed him and stormed off with her.  He’d cried for hours, hiding from his father as his mother helped wash the wounds.  Certain he’d never hold the weapon in a way to honor his line.

He pressed more fat into the braid with one hand, glancing at his other.  Palms hard and scrabbed from years of use.  The swords had been easy in comparison.  The whip and its finer movements had been a hard-won struggle.  Even now, his finger still burned from guiding it to side-strike Alucard.  Though, the reward of driving the vampire to earth made it worth the lingering ache.

Alucard still watched him and Trevor scowled.  “This isn’t that interesting to you, I’d imagine.”

The vampire dropped his hand finally, peering up at Trevor in almost warmth.  “It has killed many before me; I find it fascinating that a strip of leather can become so legendary, so quickly.”  He turned his gaze to the dozing Speakers.  

“Thank the priests for that,” Trevor admitted.  The whip itself would have been a nuisance and nothing more.  Had a priest friendly with Leon Belmont not consecrated it, she’d still be used to drive horses instead of end demons.  He pulled out a cloth from another pouch, replacing it with the sheep’s fat and smoothed away the excess until she shone again.  Content now, Vampire Killer once more hung in a loose coil at his hip and Trevor leaned over with elbows on his knees, frowning at the man below him.

“Show’s over, Vampire.”

Alucard’s eyebrow lifted again.  “Is it?  I suppose that depends on what I was watching.”  He turned and walked away, opposite Trevor until he was swallowed by the shadows ringing their hasty camp.

Trevor blinked at the comment and swore, leaning back in his perch.

“Bloody vampires,” he muttered, arms folded.  He sighed at the rumble of soft snores and set his gaze on the bare woods around them.  He drew up one leg and rested his arm across his knee, wondering if the three of them truly could end Dracula.  Or if this was just a foolhardy quest by desperate souls.

He had no regrets about agreeing to work with Sypha and Alucard.  More that he wasn’t certain where to begin.  Dracula’s castle could shift and warp in accordance to its master’s wishes.  If Dracula knew they hunted for him, would he simply remain elusive?  Or, would he welcome the fight?

Trevor propped his chin on his arm, watching scraps of cloud drift over the moon.  I know of something.  It might work.  If it’s still there.  As he’d told the Speakers, his family had long carried information through the histories.  Starting with his ancestor Leon.  Priceless items of knowledge and weaponry.  Some of it now lost due to the church’s influence.  But, the more esoteric and dangerous were hidden away safe; hopefully.