Hector (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
defieddracula) wrote2018-11-04 12:01 pm
defieddracula) wrote2018-11-04 12:01 pm
ONE | No Rest for the Wicked
[Locked to Isaac]
[Hector rolled onto his side, staring wearily at the slivers of moonlight creeping around the edges of the loft's curtained window. He hadn't missed these sleepless nights.
His limbs were leaden, and the demons' whispers had been distant or nonexistent, oddly enough, yet his thoughts still turned like gears in a well-oiled clockwork. Unlike spring and summer, winter came swiftly in the mountains. He'd done much to prepare and had so much more to tend before the snow and bitter cold herded game into the valleys, froze the nearby streams, and choked virtually all vegetation in the region. He needed to finish building his greenhouse and charm it against the cold. There were seeds to be gathered and sown, plants to preserve, and miscellaneous supplies to be bought in town. Wood to chop. Hunting and fishing to be done...
He scrubbed his dry, burning eyes. By the time the snows fell, he'd have many more sleepless nights, and none of them would be so quiet. He rarely worked his magic nowadays. Hunting and bartering and minor construction, those he could easily manage on his own, but if he wanted the greenhouse finished -- and to withstand the winter -- he needed his powers. He'd deal with the unfortunate, but necessary consequences.
Gideon shifted on the ground floor below, the corpsey's skeletal joints clicking and creaking as it readied its sword; demonic energy crashed over Hector. Rosaly's pendant stung his chest, and he drew it from inside his woolen shirt. He didn't need to follow his familiar's gaze into the rafters to know they had a visitor.
All at once, his thoughts shifted from surviving winter to wondering why Isaac had come unannounced at such a late hour. And what he was doing on the roof, of all places.
Swinging his robe around his shoulders, he motioned for Gideon to open the door and descended the ladder.]
[Hector rolled onto his side, staring wearily at the slivers of moonlight creeping around the edges of the loft's curtained window. He hadn't missed these sleepless nights.
His limbs were leaden, and the demons' whispers had been distant or nonexistent, oddly enough, yet his thoughts still turned like gears in a well-oiled clockwork. Unlike spring and summer, winter came swiftly in the mountains. He'd done much to prepare and had so much more to tend before the snow and bitter cold herded game into the valleys, froze the nearby streams, and choked virtually all vegetation in the region. He needed to finish building his greenhouse and charm it against the cold. There were seeds to be gathered and sown, plants to preserve, and miscellaneous supplies to be bought in town. Wood to chop. Hunting and fishing to be done...
He scrubbed his dry, burning eyes. By the time the snows fell, he'd have many more sleepless nights, and none of them would be so quiet. He rarely worked his magic nowadays. Hunting and bartering and minor construction, those he could easily manage on his own, but if he wanted the greenhouse finished -- and to withstand the winter -- he needed his powers. He'd deal with the unfortunate, but necessary consequences.
Gideon shifted on the ground floor below, the corpsey's skeletal joints clicking and creaking as it readied its sword; demonic energy crashed over Hector. Rosaly's pendant stung his chest, and he drew it from inside his woolen shirt. He didn't need to follow his familiar's gaze into the rafters to know they had a visitor.
All at once, his thoughts shifted from surviving winter to wondering why Isaac had come unannounced at such a late hour. And what he was doing on the roof, of all places.
Swinging his robe around his shoulders, he motioned for Gideon to open the door and descended the ladder.]
no subject
Hector's always good for a bowl of soup, if nothing else.
It's been long enough since he's visited him that he finds himself surprised - faintly - by the prickling hum of a magic barrier surrounding the home that thwarts any temptations he had of showing himself in. He can't help smirking wryly at that. It takes the fun out of surprise appearances but it was a hopeful sign too, a sign that Hector wasn't so softened - blunted - by peace and a creeping sense of security that he had become complacent.
It's not long before Isaac rolls his eyes and tires of waiting to be noticed from his perch up on the roof. So he touches down gracefully, and knocks - hard - for the first time in a very long time, vaguely amused by the crackling of magic through the leather of his gloves.]
no subject
Static jolts up his arm as he eases the door open. Hector's throat tightens as good and bad memories crash over him, guilt and grief like cold fingers curled around his heart. Fortunately, beating them back is almost instinctive at this point.
He feels more than hears Gideon tense behind him, and he stills it with a thought, gaze never leaving Isaac's. His expression is schooled, but there's no masking the sleepy rasp in his voice.] A fine night for a hunt, if somewhat cold. [He nods at the wolf slung over his shoulder.] What brings you to me after...after all this time?
no subject
Despite his daydreams of slitting that pale throat wide having faded into the past, gone but unforgotten, the spirit of competition has never left him - and there's some satisfaction to be had in knowing his presence has either disturbed Hector's sleep or is keeping him from it. He doubts he finds much rest anyway given the nature of their magic and the demons that have made a place for themselves in the corners of their minds. Though, sleepless shadows aside, Hector looks just as he remembers him, just as he appears in his dreams, more pretty - obnoxiously, hauntingly so - than he has any right to be for someone who once commanded half of Dracula's army.
Whether he commanded their respect at all is a different story.]
Oh good... [his breath plumes] ...up at last. It took you long enough.
[One corner of his mouth goes up.]
I thought I would come to see whether you have improved your defenses at all since last we met... and your efforts to keep me at bay have not gone unnoticed. [He slants him a knowing look from the corner of his eye.]
no subject
Forgive me, then. If I roused myself at every noise at my door, I would never sleep. [A convenient, and smoothly delivered half-truth, that. Gideon and Cain were perfectly capable of dispatching ordinary threats, but Hector would have been at the door no matter who knocked or clawed at it. Even if that weren't the case, he wouldn't insult Isaac by neglecting to personally greet him.
Between the wolf and time of night, he doesn't buy Isaac's reason for the visit. The seals - thin veins of blackened, glassy stone laid into the foundations and between roof joists - aren't new either. Still, without the curse, he doesn't waste breath on voicing that. Doesn't risk starting a fight before they're so much as standing in the same room.
Instead, he allows himself a faint smile. If his seals protect his home from other another forgemaster, they'll protect it from virtually anything else. ] Your concern flatters me. Until now, I had been certain that no one cared for my living here.
no subject
He doesn't care much for Hector's take on his motivations. But he doesn't deny it either, finding it easier to let it go without a fuss. Admitting to worry would be easier, anyway, than admitting to loneliness, to that desperate, yearning hurt in his bones that keeps him up at night and pushes him to explore every possible, worthwhile use of his time and the magic he refuses to surrender.]
As they shouldn't. [He answers, without missing a beat.] Is it not peace that you've been wanting? [There's an almost-sneering curl to his lip as he says it that speaks to how well he's been managing without a strong sense of purpose to guide him. What's a warrior, in the end, without a war to fight?]
no subject
Yet occasionally, his heart still grows weak and the devils still whisper. On sleepless nights or amid his monastic chores, he dares wondering if his new life is as fulfilling as he once promised himself. Hunt this, harvest that. Barter here, repair and craft there...without Rosaly, it's tempting to feel like he's merely traded one monotony for another.
For his own sake, he decides to change the subject. He isn't ready to discuss such deeply personal things.]
If you require a place to rest... [He steps back from the door somewhat, the dagger a comforting weight in his pocket even as he assures himself that Rosaly would want peace between them.]
no subject
It may surprise you --
[Isaac begins, stepping into the narrow space Hector's made for him and looking around, as if already making considerations for redecoration]
--that I do not in fact dwell in the woods like a beast. However, as I have found my way here, I will partake of your wine if you are of mind to be a proper host. [He shifts the weight of the wolf draped over his shoulder, his gaze flitting to Hector's wary devil.] ...You do seem to be wanting of sharper company.
[No, Hector probably wants sleep, more than anything else. But he had every other night for that.]
no subject
The door closed, Hector kneels by the hearth and breathes life back into the dwindling the embers, adds fresh wood from the metal box beside it.] Gideon shall fetch the wine. As well as dress your charge, if you desire.
[Gideon twitches its bony head toward Hector, the closest thing it knows to an objection, but resists no further. Hector levels it a dark glare as he rises and dusts his hands on his legs.] At times, perhaps. 'Tis rather difficult to hold a conversation with things that cannot speak.
no subject
Perhaps. [He repeats, snorting at such a loaded non-answer just begging to be picked apart. He pauses a moment to pick off a few clumps of fur sticking to his blood-damp cloak and flick them off his fingers before he drags the nearest chair out for himself with a screech of its legs and sprawls in it. Always so quick to make himself right at home.
He pulls in a breath and sighs it out, considering Hector with a smirking sense of accomplishment as if he built the place and everything in it with his own hands.]
Tell me... [Pausing, he looks around the place a second time, nothing the finer details of Hector's handiwork.] ...is this truly all that you dreamed of and more? ...A bucolic, inoffensive life spent picking flowers and making preserves?
no subject
Yet for all his coarseness appearance, that man had been grateful for Hector's care. Respectful of his house and belongings. Hector exhales slowly, sweeping his irritation under the proverbial rug. He and Isaac have done far worse to each other. This isn't worth adding to the list.
Gideon grabs the wolf and tromps into one of the two adjacent rooms. Hector watches it go.] Truthfully, I had imagined Rosaly would be picking the flowers and making the preserves. She was far better at both. [At her name, tears prick the corners of his still-burning eyes, but he blinks them away and crosses his arms. Not now, he tells himself. Not before him.] That is neither here, nor there. 'Tis not a perfect life, but I prefer it to my previous one. If nothing else, the nights are quieter.
no subject
Hector's silence bears down with all the crushing weight of an accusation. But he hates it less than he does the fact that Hector never seems to act on the grief churning inside him. Just stews in it when Isaac's so sure that some tucked-away, primal part of him is still shaking with a need for vengeance, to crunch cartilage and bone and wet his knuckles in his blood, spreading his pain to him. Though maybe that's exactly why Hector works to keep the peace. Because violence is too easy a punishment for the life he's taken away. Too fair. Because cruised and battered flesh would heal but the heart, it seems, the never does.
Isaac's smile drains from his face. He forgets about Gideon, the carcass, the wine. None of it matters but them and this moment as the air thickens around him, feeling like a storm about to break.]
If there is something you are meaning to say, then say it and be done with it.
no subject
To him, it had been statement of fact, not emotion. Not a still-veiled desire for vengeance and bloodshed. He studies Isaac through surprised eyes, but with his words long said and gone, now twisted up in their past with all their other sins and regrets, he sees his mistake and knows the suspicions undoubtedly tearing through Isaac's mind.
In Isaac's place, he'd be thinking them, too.] Isaac, I meant no offense. I merely sought to answer you truthfully. You deserve that much.
[The cabin's steadily warming air clings to him like a fever sweat, and suddenly, braving the night barefooted and wearing little more than his woolen robe seems like the smartest idea he's had in weeks.
But he's nothing if not stubborn. He digs in his heels, swallows hard, and continues.] What has been done has been done. She is gone. No measure of vengeance will ever bring her back, and I...it has taken time, but I have made my peace with that.
no subject
Hector - so civil, seemingly defanged and declawed - can do all he wants to smooth over Isaac's nerves, but the damage has been done a long time ago, Isaac's fragile sense of trust something they've both worked to destroy. And to a man who's only ever really lived by the principle of an eye for an eye, it's difficult to imagine finding any measure of satisfaction, if not closure, outside of that vicious cycle. Had Hector killed Julia, had her bound and burned at the stake, he knows in his heart - what's left of it - that he couldn't have ever offered him the same forgiveness.]
...Well. It may come as a relief to you to learn that I have decided I shall soon be leaving Valachia. [He says, after a long moment.] There is nothing for me here but pain.
[He watches Hector unblinking, quietly gauging his reaction. Quietly strangling any faint, quivering hope that Hector might leave with him on a whim. He wouldn't. He's comfortable here; settled.
Isaac looks away, his eyes going soft, unfocused.]
...Look after Julia, won't you?
no subject
And yet...
They're two sides of the same coin. No distance, be it one mountain, two, or the vast emptiness of an entire ocean, could ever change that. Their connection may weaken, perhaps, but never totally disappear. Hector tries and fails to ignore the hollow ache building in his chest. The softening in those pale eyes reminds him that no matter how fiercely Isaac denies it, no matter how tightly he binds it or deeply he buries it, some humanity remains in him. That he's entrusting him with that last scrap of humanity? Hector knows the significance of that.
He heaves a heavy sigh. Something always lurks beneath those knee-jerk reactions, and dammit, he always has to seek it out.
There's a subtle hitch to his voice when he composes himself enough to answer, though he doesn't truly know it's from fatigue, the impending loss, or both. Doesn't want to know.] I understand. She will remain safe and well, I promise. [Behind him, the fire hisses and spits.] 'Tis not my place to ask, but have you told her?
no subject
That's fine.
His grip relaxes. A slow thaw.]
No. [He says, into the silence.]
[Julia's life had been fraught with pain as much as theirs - and how could it not, born saddled with powers beyond her understanding amid a flurry of moral panic? He can't profess to understand what it was like for her to lose him not to death but to darkness, slowly, helplessly, like watching some degenerative disease eat him away, consume him entirely. She's only just begun to find peace up in those mountains after the castle fell and far be it from him to ruin that too, coming for her like a heart attack. It's for her own good, he's told himself, keeps telling himself. It's better that way.
But the truth is that it's just easier to disappear than look at her and face the destruction he's wrought. And worse is that she'd never have the heart to turn him away, even after everything. Worse is that he knows she could still tell him she loved him, that she could still make a place for him in her home and serve him breakfast and they'd sit and eat together like normal people do, but that all he'd ever see is the strain on the edges of her smile, real or imagined. The doubt creeping into her eyes.
Darkness has touched them and they could never be the same again.]
She grieved my loss once before -- and that is enough.
[To Hector's vow, he says nothing; doesn't look up. Just takes it in realizing it might be the first time he's believed Hector, really believed him, in a very long time. But he has to.]
no subject
It's by no means fair, in Hector's eyes. Julia deserves closure far more than he does. She hadn't hunted Isaac like some foul beast. She hadn't fallen prey to the curse as he, Isaac, and countless others throughout Vallachia had.
Fair or not, he knows it isn't his place to interfere, argue, or field some pathetic attempt to change Isaac's mind. Times for such things have long since passed, if they'd ever existed at all. It doesn't matter if he fully understands Isaac's motivations, only that he remains faithful to his wishes. Doing so will never right the wrongs between them, but what more can he do? What more would be be willing to do?
So without a hitch, Hector does what he's done since he was a child desperately seeking to placate his parents, since he was a young man slashing his way to power and authority in the castle - lock away his feelings and all their cursed influence.
He nods and turns away to warm his now-cold hands, watches the flames dance just out of reach. He and Julia haven't discussed magic much. He can only guess at the extent of her powers, how attuned she may be to their own.] She may sense your disappearance. Should she ask, what would you have me tell her?
no subject
But Hector knows him too. And that shouldn't come as any surprise.
Sitting there, Isaac becomes aware of how quiet it has become, in the spaces between the snap and sputter of the fire. It's like the world is watching, holding its breath.
His throat moves.]
To live.
[Isaac says.
It hangs heavy, like a sentence passed.]
...Tell her to forget me and to find happiness she has been long denied. 'tis time she stands free from under the shadow of the curse.
[She could; he knows she can. And just like he knows she'd grieve his memory, sobbing in the hush of that little house on the mountains, he knows that when weeks bled into months and months into years, when the edge of that pain would soften, dullen, and her dreams of him grew fewer and further between, she'd wake up someday realizing that she could smile again and not feel as guilty. She could look out her window at dawn and remembers she sees the glittering beauty in it and that everything that is is as it should be.]
no subject
Barring some unfortunate magical accident or a particularly nasty blow to the head, Hector knows he can't forget Isaac, can't forget the comfort of their tense alliance in the castle or the mutual hatred and pain that later seethed between them. Julia, though? Family, for good or ill, is forever. Hector's mother would always be his mother, and his father his father; however sorely he wishes otherwise, no amount of neglect or physical, verbal, or emotional abuse would ever change that.
Julia and Isaac would always be siblings. She will grieve his loss - even Hector will grieve it, in his own way - yet she will never forget him. Her love for him won't allow it.
The fire might as well have been magicked, for its heat seemed to die long before reaching Hector's hands. He flexes his fingers before burying them in his robe's pockets, only to find his knife, a shard of too-cold and too-sharp steel. He casts his weary gaze over his shoulder, searching Isaac's face for explanations he knows, but will never hear. Born of false, distorted perceptions they may be, they're ones Hector intimately understands. Still believes, at times.
Family or not, no one associated with he and Isaac could prosper for long. Devil Forgemasters wrought death and destruction, and with or without the curse, that was all they were good for. That was all they'd ever be good for.
No isolation or outside influence would erase that. However sorely he wishes otherwise.]
It shall be done. [A few heartbeats worth of silence, broken by the thud of footfalls as Gideon finally moves to fetch wine from the cellar.] If I may, where will you go? Somewhere warm, I trust?
isaac does america
There was always some pleasure to be had whenever Hector stood his ground and showed his teeth; that's the Hector he's always liked best. But that Hector also knows his place when it counts is not unappreciated, either. He doesn't want to argue about what's best for Julia, much less about his own choices when life, at points, had stripped him of that freedom. His mind's made and Hector understands. Or he accepts, if he doesn't, and that's the best possible outcome he could hope for.
The question - and the sound of Gideon's heavy footfall - pulls him out of his own head and he remembers, suddenly, about the wine he has yet to be served.]
...Aside from hell itself, you mean? [He smiles wryly, there and gone.] That would depend on what it is the world has to offer me. Although I have heard rumours of new lands far to the West. [He absently chews a nail through his glove as he stares into the fire, thinking.]
no subject
Or perhaps it had simply been his now-habitual urge to flee from adversity and discomfort. Vallachia had both in spades. For he and Isaac especially.
Rationality won out, in the end, the hardships he'd known were not exclusive to Vallachia. He'd find them elsewhere. Isaac will too, he thinks, though doesn't dare say it. Here, at least, he knows the land and its people, what they're capable of and how to combat or cope with them.] 'Tis quite the journey, or so I imagine. I would not willingly embark on such a voyage. [Crammed with strangers in the dark, dank, damned holds of a ship, the close air choked with all manners of disease and stench. It reminds him of the castle dungeons. Devil forgemasters would have alternative means of transportation, of course, but ordinary humans and the animals packed in with them? He wouldn't wish their suffering on anyone.
Not anymore, anyway.
The thud-creak-thud creak of Gideon ascending from the cellar stirs him from his thoughts. The familiar emerges from the next room bearing a newly opened bottle in one hand and two crystal goblets in the other, all of which look frightfully fragile in its massive, bony hands. Hector nods his thanks as he had in the castle, not caring that such gestures are, and always would be, meaningless to his creations.] Much remained in the abandoned castle. [He fills the glasses and offers one to Isaac.] So the bottle is yours to take, if you so choose. I still do not care much for wine.
no subject
There's no toast or salute, no mawkish sentimentality. Not the send-off he needs, but the one he deserves. Soon it'll be his turn to try and outrun his past in search of something better, and it doesn't matter that he has little faith in finding it. If there is nothing better, then he'll settle for different. New faces, a new world and all its trappings, all its pleasures and disappointments.
He licks away the faint red film bearding his lip, eying Hector over the rim of his glass.]
Yes, I'd imagine you'd prefer something far more bland and tasteless. ...Your loss. [He adds, in lieu of a proper thank you, before going for another swallow. Trying not to count how many it'd take before he's left with an empty glass and nothing to do.]
no subject
Part of him is surprised surprised Isaac accepted the wine, let alone risked that cautious first sip. Given and Isaac's alchemical expertise and recalling all that has and hasn't passed between them, all the pain and betrayal wrought by their hands and those of strangers, he isn't sure he'd have done the same. Had he done so out of trust? Indifference and hopelessness? Hector doesn't squander time or energy trying to decide as he takes a sip of his own. He doubts he'll ever know. Or deserve to know, for that matter.
He allows himself a smirk as he lowers his glass - a thin, fleeting thing, but a smirk nonetheless.] 'Tis far easier to detect poison in the bland and tasteless, is it not? [A slight pause, another sip before setting his glass on the mantle and wedging another log into the pile in the fireplace.] Truthfully, I expected you to leave Vallachia soon after you recovered.
no subject
'twould have been for the best. [He lets that hang in the air in place of an explanation, staring into his a glass a while.] ...I suppose I could not resent you for wishing it, if you did.
[But there's no 'if', in Isaac's mind. Not after he was left behind, left struggling to find the will to live more than anything else.] Regardless... [he idly swirls the stem] 'better late than never at all', I believe the humans are fond of saying.
no subject
For Julia, for familiarity, for the sake of protecting one's hard-won home or hunting grounds, why he'd stayed doesn't matter. In another time and place, discerning such motives would've greatly interested Hector, if only because he might one day need to twist them into leverage or use them to guess what Isaac's next move might be. Doing so now is merely conversational fodder and for creating memories, intangible keepsakes that neither human nor devil could wrest from him.
Now, though, with Hector running on fumes and this being their first peaceful interaction since lifting the curse, he decides that descrying such things was too delicate a task. So he lets them slip away like water down glass.
Fire flickers sharp and swift and scarlet across his glass as he retrieves it. ] Perhaps, though I was always more fond of 'better safe than sorry,' myself.
[Discreetly, he glances into the room where Gideon had taken the wolf. His great granite butcher's block is out of view, but by the relative quiet, he knows the beast will be fully dressed and packed soon. Only Cain butchers game more swiftly.] Had I wished you gone, you would have known long ago, I assure you. Without the curse, I saw no reason we could not coexist peacefully. Julia surely would not want us at each other's throats again.