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anncanta · 4 years

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Horses of Carfax Abbey

Fandom: Dracula (2020)

Characters: Count Dracula, Agatha Van Helsing

Relationship: Dracula/Agatha

Rating: Teen and up audiences

Warnings: None

My thanks to my reader Lanovh94 for making me think about this.

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The clock in the living room chimed melodiously at noon.

Closing the glass door that protects the dial, Agatha took a step back and checked the chronometer on the chain she held in her hands.

That's right, she noted with satisfaction.

A large mahogany grandfather clock with an exquisite copper dial was delivered yesterday morning, but only now Agatha has the opportunity to set the correct time on it and check how fine-tuned the delicate internal mechanism is.

This Scottish antique clock by Joseph Taylor was chased by Agatha for probably two months. Maybe a little less. In any case, when, after a long search, she finally bought them at auction, intercepting at the last moment from the owner of a hosiery factory in the West End, the owners of all the antique shops in London (not to mention the sellers) knew her by sight.

Taking another step back, Agatha glanced at her acquisition. It was beautiful.

‘Agatha, return my pocket watch!’ a demanding voice from the hallway made her flinch and turn around sharply. Clicking on the silver cover, she hid the chronometer behind her back.

‘Why did you decide that I have them?’ she asked Dracula who appeared at the door in the most innocent tone possible.

‘By the method of exclusion,’ Dracula went up to her and, hugging Agatha with one hand around her waist, with the other pulled out the desired object from her palm. ‘The housekeeper does not understand anything about it, the coachman considers it a pointless trinket, and the maid is afraid of it.

‘I’m the only one left,’ Agatha admitted, following the watch with her eyes.

Dracula nodded silently.

‘Finally, perfect exactly?’ he asked, hiding the watch in his waistcoat pocket.

Agatha turned in the direction he was pointing.

‘I hope so,’ she drawled thoughtfully. ‘I thought yours was in a hurry,’ she added absently.

‘On the contrary, it is falling behind,’ Dracula laughed, pulling her towards him. ‘This is my peculiarity, I would say – my style.’

Agatha smiled, running her fingers over the velvet fabric of his vest.

It has been a little over a year since both of them set foot on the English coast, and they lived together for about the same time.

After Peter, Olgaren and the captain had left Demeter, which had lost half of the crew and all the passengers, Agatha sat in Dracula's cabin for a long time, until the sun began to sink into the horizon. She could not say what exactly delayed her – the desire to postpone the moment of the explosion, or simply the tiredness that had accumulated over the long days. It must be both.

In any case, she did not reach the hold.

Dracula intercepted her on the way, and before Agatha had time to recover from surprise at the fact that he survived, fear for the lives of people whom she tried to save from him at the cost of her own life, and an incomprehensible relief – all together – she found herself on deck in the midst of a hideous quarrel, screaming curses and crying.

Dracula later told her that he did not remember the last time he was so angry. ‘Suicide, seriously?’ he growled at her, as if, having conceived such a plan, she encroached on his personal self-esteem. ‘Double murder is better,’ Agatha hissed, looking at the flashes of fury in his dark eyes.

Somehow they managed not to sink the ship and get to the shore, after which Dracula, without saying a word, stopped the first cab that came across in the port, shoved Agatha into it, and sat down behind. They spent all the way to the count's London house in silence, and when they were in place, Dracula, having paid the cabman, dragged Agatha into the living room and, sitting in front of him on the sofa, said:

‘I'll be honest and won't hide anything from you. You saw who I am and you know me. I will always be like this, more or less. But I want you to stay with me. If for this I have to feed on... rats,’ without looking, he caught the animal running by (Agatha asked herself how long the house had not cleaned) and, after looking meticulously, let it go; the rat instantly disappeared in one of the dark corners, ‘then I ask you one thing: promise, that over time my menu will improve. I don't care how.’

He came close to her.

‘Promise.’

Agatha remembered that she was so amazed that for a couple of minutes she could only sit, looking at him and blinking silently. She didn't even really know what she finally answered. It probably meant agreement, otherwise, she wouldn't be here now.

A year and three months have passed since that day, and during this time Agatha managed to learn many things, some of which she never wanted to learn, the other, as it seemed to her at first, would haunt her in nightmares until the end of her life, and the third, although not become a discovery, still did not stop surprising her.

The danger posed by the sun and the cross, as it turned out almost immediately, was nothing more than a fiction – another legend about vampires, in which Dracula believed so long ago that he himself did not remember what for and why. It scattered like dust from old ceilings when they, examining the house, climbed into the attic, and the roof that had not been repaired for years collapsed on them. Agatha remembered how, lying on the floor, covered with debris, they looked up at the rays falling through the holes in the ceiling, gently caressing them, and how they whispered at the same time: ‘It should be the same with the cross.’

And so it turned out.

Much more effort was needed in order to solve the problem of vampire hunger. After sequentially going through several options and making sure that the blood of mammals close to humans in their physiology was the most suitable for Dracula, Agatha conducted a series of experiments and, discarding goats, sheep, pigs, and cows, settled on horses.

Dracula added a large stable to the west of the house and ordered ten thoroughbred riding horses from Yorkshire. And since Dracula needed food, although daily, but in small quantities, after a couple of months, in order to save noble animals from the blues and inactivity, Dracula began to put them on the races. As a result, his capital doubled in a short period of time, and after another three months, having looked through the settlement books, he called his attorney and acquired a stud farm in the suburbs of London.

Agatha looked at it all with a mixture of surprise and curiosity. At first, out of habit, it seemed to her that Dracula was having fun, striving, as he once told her, to learn to live among civilized people and study them properly, before tying a napkin and picking up a fork and knife. However, days, weeks and months passed, and nothing changed: Dracula was kind, led an active social life, went to libraries and theaters and rode horseback, in the evenings he went to the laboratory, which he equipped in the house at the request of Agatha, in order to give her a couple of ideas regarding the properties of horse blood and the similarity of its taste and the effect of influencing to him with human one and, in general, did nothing else.

Agatha tried to convince herself that the count lived for four hundred years, waiting for a convenient opportunity to enter the civilized world and that another two months meant nothing to him at all, but every day it became more and more difficult to believe it. And she had less and less desire to do it.

Agatha perfectly remembered the evening when it disappeared completely.

She was sitting in the living room and writing something in her diary – a new experiment with horse blood was in full swing, there was a lot of data and a theoretical basis, but the formulas did not agree. Deciding to take a short break, she put aside her notes and began to clean the dull nib. Agatha did not know what was the reason – whether the knife was not sharp enough, or the hand lost its dexterity from fatigue, but even before she could understand what exactly was happening, the blade proportioned the skin of her right hand and got stuck at the base of her fingers.

Agatha spent a moment looking at the scarlet streak of blood that stood out in her palm before a long shadow covered the chair in which she was sitting.

Looking up, she saw Dracula standing in front of her.

For a second, nothing happened. As if spellbound, they watched the blood dripping from her hand. Agatha wiggled her fingers to test. Finally reaching consciousness, a raw pain swirled in her hand.

Without looking, pulling up the second chair standing to the side, Dracula sank into it and, taking Agatha with one hand by the forearm, pulled out a knife. Then he took out a handkerchief and, wiping off the fresh drops that had come through, tore a flap from the sleeve of her shirt, and quickly bandaged her palm.

He did all this in silence, without looking at Agatha, and only when finished he raised his head and leaned back. His pupils were bloodshot, but he himself was absolutely imperturbable. Letting go of Agatha's hand, he went to the fireplace and threw the dirty cloth into the fire. The fabric hissed, cringing in the flames.

‘Tomorrow, samples of the second negative will come,’ said Dracula, glancing into the opened diary of Agatha, thrown on the sofa, ‘you can check the calculations,’ and, turning around, left the room.

Agatha sat for several minutes, listening to his steps, and then got up, climbed the stairs, went to the door of his bedroom and knocked. And he opened.

… ‘There will be guests in the evening,’ said Dracula, distracting Agatha from her memories. ‘Two stud breeders from Australia and a professor from Cambridge.’

Agatha raised an eyebrow questioningly.

‘He has ideas on how to improve the breed,’ Dracula shrugged. ‘He is unsociable and usually does not go anywhere. I promised him dinner in a pleasant company and access to a reprinted version of On the Origin of Species. I had to somehow lure him. We met several times in Cambridge, but apparently too briefly. I invited him to participate in the experiment, even offered a small stake, but he refused. I hope today I will be able to persuade him.’

Agatha sighed. She knew well what it meant to ‘persuade’ in Dracula's language.

Dracula handled business with the same careless ease and a certain mocking touch that were inherent in him when dealing with people in general. Not that he disliked or disdained them: watching him day after day, Agatha came to the conclusion that it was just convenient for him – as if, not being able to eat them, he nibbled them with words and a look, held some time in his teeth and let go.

‘The hunting instinct is not going anywhere,’ Dracula smiled in response to her remarks after another visit to another salon or to a party, on which behind him, like on a battlefield covered with black velvet and silk dresses, there were glades of silent condemnation and bloody spots of flaming cheeks.

What a truly warm relationship he had, was the one with the horses. Which at first puzzled Agatha. ‘You drink their blood,’ she said hesitantly when Dracula asked her what exactly she thought was strange about it. He gave her a long look, and, muttering something like ‘who would speak of it’, took her hand and led her into the stable.

There Agatha witnessed one of the most incredible things in her entire life.

She knew that Dracula can communicate with animals, can control wolves and bats if desired, and is able to establish contact with most mammals.

But it was more than contact, communication, or control. Standing in the stable doorway, Agatha watched as he opened the corral and, clasping the head of Lissa, a young mare that Dracula was one of the first to acquire, stood for a long time, pressing his cheek to the smooth skin, smiling and whispering something before embracing becomes stronger, – and after five minutes he opens his hands and, gratefully patting the horse on the withers, leaves the corral.

Agatha never thought it could be so... beautiful. Then she did not dare to ask, but later could not resist.

‘Do you hypnotize them? Fool? What are you doing?

Dracula smiled as if he was waiting for this question.

‘Horses are stronger and tougher than humans. The portion of blood that will cost you a serious illness or put an adult young man to bed is almost imperceptible for a horse. I had never tried drinking their blood before and therefore did not know how sharply and deeply they react to contact. Amazing animals.’

‘But they can't like it!’

‘They like closeness,’ Dracula said thoughtfully, ‘and they are incredibly generous.’

Yes, and also sincere and discerning. Resistant to Dracula's charm, they seem to have loved him for no reason.

During the time that they lived together, Agatha managed to find out that Dracula had two types of charm. The first is the very vampire charm that was written about in books and legends warned about. It was powerful, bright, and beating on the spot. It reminded Agatha of the scent of flowers that appeared in early spring in Holland – hyacinths. Thick, heavy, enveloping odor. Among the peasants, there were stories that if you fall asleep in a tightly closed room, in which there is a bouquet of hyacinths, you may not wake up.

Dracula used his vampire charm mostly for entertainment, or when he wanted to quickly get what he needed. He lavished it generously at balls and appointments, signing contracts with business partners, on walks and social events such as theater premieres and horse races, while sparing no one.

Once they were at the performance of the famous opera diva who came to London on tour, either from France or from Germany, – Agatha did not remember, – and after the performance, Dracula invited Agatha to go into the diva`s dressing room, – ‘to express our admiration for the singer,’ as he said... Agatha agreed, not suspecting a catch. The performance was really beautiful, the diva sang magically, and there was nothing surprising in the desire to personally pay tribute to her talent.

So they did, and everything went well until Dracula – the very kindness and the embodiment of secular courtesy – asked the diva if she would be an encore. Diva replied that, alas, she would not, as she was tired and would like to go home as soon as possible.

And then it turned on. Vampire charm. In vain the unfortunate singer babbled something about how exhausted after the performance she was, – when dark eyes flashed and a soft smile lit up the cramped dressing room, the diva's fate was decided. Hearing the words spoken in an intimate tone about how much his companion loves opera and how happy she will be to hear such a delightful performance again, the singer turned around and silently wandered onto the stage.

Agatha did not speak to Dracula after that for three days. She hated violence in any form.

But there was also another charm, the one that Agatha remembered from Demeter, the same, probably, that made her believe in a cozy living room and soft conversation at chess – more than vampire illusions and drug intoxication.

Agatha called it ‘a charm for his own’, and if she quickly learned to resist the charm of a vampire, and soon completely lost the interest, then she was powerless against this one.

Dracula looked at ‘his’ people with a gentle warm look and smiled with a cheerful, almost boyish smile. It was physically impossible to deny him anything when he was like that, which he shamelessly used during quarrels.

He did not ask, did not demand, and did not scandal. Did not push and did not try to confuse. He just smiled and said: ‘As you say, dragostea*.’

‘Better vampire charm,’ Agatha moaned and vowed to buy a bell so that she could inform him in advance and without words that he had crossed the line.

...Agatha pulled away from Dracula and, smiling, went to the sofa.

‘The poor professor deserves a second chance,’ she said, leaning back.

‘I gave him everything possible,’ Dracula answered, ‘he missed them.’

‘So maybe we should just leave him alone?’

‘No, I need him.’

Agatha waved her hand. It was useless to argue. All she could do for the Cambridge pundit was to arrange for a good dinner and a relaxed, friendly atmosphere at this very dinner. All the rest was, alas, beyond her power.

The clock struck a quarter to one. Agatha thought idly that she should go to the kitchen and discuss the menu with the housekeeper. And let her cook the steaks with blood, she decided vengefully.

***

Professor Theodore Clifferson was a great scientist and no less an idiot. A combination that Agatha did not believe existed until today. But after spending three hours at the table with the aforementioned professor, she had to admit that sometimes intelligence and learning are depressingly different things.

When the door finally closed behind the venerable merchants and the Cambridge celebrity, and it became possible to remove the kind smile from her face and give vent to the irritation that had pursued her all evening, Agatha wandered into the living room and, groaning with relief, fell on the sofa.

‘Why didn't you warn me?’ she asked Dracula, who came in after her.

‘About what?’ he sank down beside her and pulled her to him.

‘How can you know so much and be such a cretin?’ Agatha continued without listening to him.

‘A common story,’ Dracula chuckled. ‘You look from the point of view of someone who, for the sake of knowledge, was forced to fight the circumstances and mine them like gold,’ he said. ‘And your inquiring mind cannot imagine someone who, from his youth, having access to the fruits of progress, does not realize their value. And worse – to whom they are not useful.’

Agatha covered her face with her hands and shook her head.

‘I want to forget this.’

Dracula buried his fingers in her hair and sat for several minutes, fingering the thick strands.

‘Forget this or what he said at the end?’ he asked quietly.

Agatha, leaning back in his arms, straightened.

‘What did he…’

‘Agatha.’

She knew that look too well. Freeing herself from his embrace, she sat up straight, as if in a theology lesson. Come on, she never visited them. Although it might have been worth it. At least, she would have learned – if not to quote freely from the holy book, than to look calm and confident, when she had not a penny neither the first nor the second.

Damn Clifferson.

‘Dracula, you shouldn't, really…’ Agatha began.

He sighed.

‘I thought so. Should I say it myself, or, as before, do you perfectly understand where you are?’

Agatha shivered at the reminder. But he was right – the situations in which it sounded were too similar. And something had to be done about it.

She tried to smile.

‘Of course, I know. But that hasn't... Look, he's just a stupid boy. Saw something and said tactlessness.’

Well, if you could call it that. Agatha briefly thought that the dinner was already as unpleasant as it could, so that...

‘Clifferson said that you and I are lucky,’ Dracula said slowly, ‘since our age is not too different. And that means,’ he added in the deep silence, ‘we are not threatened to live the rest of our lives in separation, without another who has left this mortal world.’

Well, Agatha thought. Well, he said it. It will no longer be possible to pretend that what the unlucky professor blurted out does not exist or none of them heard him.

Turning away from Dracula, she began to look at the copper dial of the clock, which she was winding in the morning.

Time. Over the past year, she and Dracula were absorbed in settling in the new world, taking care of the house, experimenting, in the end, each other, so much that they forgot about time.

Anyway, she forgot. She hadn't thought about it at all. Looking at Dracula again, Agatha suddenly realized that she would not believe for anything, that he hadn`t.

‘I'm forty-two,’ she said quietly. ‘And if I'm lucky, I'll live long enough to bore you terribly.’

He was silent.

‘And even when I... When you live with people, time does not drag on as long as when you spend it alone,’ Agatha felt how with every step the ground beneath her becomes less reliable. ‘When it is filled with events... and meetings…’

Dracula still didn't say a word.

‘In fifty years, I will be…’ she made another attempt, in an almost inaudible voice, knowing perfectly well that it made no sense.

In fifty years, a decrepit old woman will be with him, but he will remain as young, no older than the same forty-five or fifty.

Pulling herself together, she finally looked into his eyes.

‘Sorry,’ she said in response to the silent gaze that met her, and, quickly getting up from her seat, left.

When Dracula went up after her into the bedroom, he pretended to believe her awkward attempts to pretend to be asleep, and Agatha spent the time until dawn, staring into the darkness, trying to figure out how to be and what to do next.

‘How could I forget that you are a vampire?’ having entered the next morning without knocking into the parlor and resting her palms on the table at which Dracula was sitting, she asked.

Dracula looked up from the settlement book, in which he was writing something.

‘Yes, that's my omission,’ he said, leaning back in his chair.

Agatha looked at him for a minute, then turned on her heels and left the parlor.

They did not see each other for the next two days. Early on Saturday morning, Dracula went out of town to choose a place for a new stud farm, warning her through the housekeeper that he would not return earlier than Monday evening, and Agatha, not knowing whether to enjoy the unexpected respite, or be angry with him, considered it best switch to something else, and completely immersed in experiments.

‘Why is your face black?’ were the first words that returned Dracula greeted her with. He stood at the door of the laboratory and surveyed the surroundings with curiosity. To tell the truth, a lot has changed here since he visited it three days ago: then there were many more whole flasks and jars and less broken glass on the floor.

‘When heated to the boiling point, horse blood explodes,’ Agatha said calmly and carefully placed the test tube she was holding in a tripod.

Dracula nodded and, looking out the door, took out a scoop and a broom and began sweeping soot, stone dust, and debris that covered the floor in the middle of the room.

Armed with a rag and a jug of water, Agatha joined him in cleaning the table and chairs from the burning.

‘I'm not angry about your silence,’ she said after about half an hour, distracted from polishing the gas burner. ‘I understand that the problem is not that this question has no answer.’

Dracula looked up. They both knew very well that the problem was that the answer was too obvious.

‘You know it can't be my decision,’ he said.

‘I know,’ Agatha nodded. ‘Give me time,’ she added after a short pause and began scrubbing the alembic.

***

‘Sir, I swear I would never…’

‘Remove your pockets.’

Agatha glanced into the living room.

Dracula stood by the fireplace with his back to her, in front of him was a terrified coachman, drawn to the line.

‘It's a mistake, sir. I beg you…’

‘It was a mistake to keep the silver cigarette case in the dresser. However, so was hiring you,’ Dracula's voice was cold and indifferent. ‘By returning it voluntarily, you will save time for all of us.’

‘I…’

Dracula tilted his head.

‘It's in your right pocket. Next to old tissue paper, dirty silk ribbon, and flakes of tobacco.’

The coachman hiccupped and recoiled.

‘How…’

Dracula held out his hand.

‘It rustles deafeningly,’ he said, taking the cigarette case from the coachman's shaking hand. ‘If you are attracted by the career of a pickpocket, then first learn not to stomp like an elephant when you take someone else's, and not to rattle with loot. You will come in the evening for the calculation,’ he finished, gesturing to let go of the unfortunate man.

Dropping his shoulders, the coachman nodded and went to the door.

‘Vampire hearing,’ Agatha said, letting the unlucky thief pass and entering the room. ‘Strongly interferes with maintaining faith in people.’

‘Those who had the one,’ Dracula smiled. He put the cigarette case on the mantelpiece and turned to Agatha. ‘Looking for the benefits of being a vampire?’ he asked innocently.

‘I'm conducting surveillance,’ Agatha said.

She went to the fireplace and looked at the cigarette case.

‘You knew he stole it because you heard it rub against the lining of his pocket.’

Dracula rubbed the bridge of his nose.

‘He dragged around with it for a week. He had been looking for someone to sell it for so long that I could hardly resist not offering myself as a buyer, just to get rid of this annoying sound.’

Agatha walked around one of the armchairs by the fireplace and stood in front of Dracula.

‘Have you been waiting for his nerves to break down and he confesses, or for the right occasion when you can show me once again the benefits of being a vampire?’

‘How can you,’ Dracula was sincerely offended.

Agatha grinned and sank into a chair.

‘Okay, what else?’ Decently folded her hands on her knees, she asked.

Dracula shrugged.

‘You know all this. After all, you've been watching me for a year. I'm sure you wrote it down and sorted it into categories in those notebooks of yours.’ He nodded at Agatha’s diary on the table. ‘It is unlikely that I can add something else.’

‘Okay, then let's go over the main points,’ Agatha nodded, without changing her pose.

Dracula smiled.

‘You are strong and enduring, you have an increased ability to heal wounds, you can stay awake for weeks and understand some animals.’ She paused. ‘You can control some of them. You can climb walls and send fog.’ Noticing his approving nod, Agatha continued: ‘Let's add to this the ability to keenly smell and hypersensitive hearing…’

‘...tirelessness in bed...’

‘Um, did you notice that I fall asleep in the middle?..’ Agatha got up and walked over to him.

Dracula smiled again.

‘I'm working on it,’ he said, hugging her.

Agatha was silent for a moment and turned away.

‘Is it normal? I mean, how... how right is that?’ absentmindedly running her hand over his shoulder, she said.

‘What exactly?’ Dracula asked.

Agatha frowned and rubbed her forehead thoughtfully.

‘The world works the way it works, for a reason,’ she said slowly. ‘All living beings die, replacing each other. How natural is it to be immortal?’

She lifted her head and looked at Dracula.

‘Vampires are mortal,’ he said. ‘Agatha, the time when I offered you eternal life is over,’ he added after a short pause. ‘But it’s obvious that I would rather live long before I’m ready to face death. I do not know how much this is against nature, but I still have not heard of heavenly thunder punishing parrots, sequoias, and turtles.’

‘Oh my God,’ Agatha laughed. ‘Of the above, I know only sequoias. And then according to the pictures.’

‘And the parrots?’

‘Are they centenarians?’

Dracula shook his head.

‘The oldest ones are four hundred years old. Turtles can live twice as long. Ask Clifferson about sequoias, but as far as I remember, their exact age cannot be determined.’

Agatha grimaced, demonstrating her attitude to the need to learn something from Clifferson.

‘I will not become immortal,’ she said, summing up, ‘but I will lose the ability to eat human food, sleep at night, and breathe.’

‘A matter of habit,’ Dracula shrugged.

‘But I will learn to understand bats.’

‘What scope for your work on small rodents and nocturnal insects!’

Agatha sighed.

‘Are you kidding?’

‘Yes, I am.’

She nodded.

Everything is the same as before.

‘Decide yourself.’

***

‘Please, try to be more restrained in the future,’ Agatha said with a sad smile, holding out an envelope to the boy standing in front of her. The young man nodded, drooping guiltily, cautiously, as if afraid that his touch would burn her, took the envelope from her hands, and, saying goodbye, left the room.

For a minute Agatha looked at the door that closed behind him, and then she also left the parlor and went into the living room.

She managed to persuade Dracula to give the coachman decent recommendations, and a couple of weeks after the unpleasant incident, Agatha found a good place for the guy. Dracula watched all this with restrained skepticism, but remained silent and did not interfere. Agatha suspected that he had threatened the poor coachman with some terrible punishment – the boy was in too much haste to leave their house. But in the end, even she was forced to admit that he got off easy.

In the living room, on the sofa with a book, sat Dracula. When she appeared, he moved, making a place next to him.

Approaching, Agatha climbed onto the sofa with her legs and leaned back, resting her head on his lap. Several minutes passed in silence, broken only by the measured ticking of the grandfather clock.

‘Will it be like with Harker?’ Agatha asked. ‘Will you break my neck and sit down to wait for me to wake up?’

‘God, Agatha, no, of course,’ Dracula put down the book. He looked shocked. ‘Where did you get that?’

‘The first thing that comes to mind. I mean,’ she said, looking sideways at him, ‘the most obvious and simplest.’

‘Didn't you say that you would beat the barbarism out of me?’

She looked up at him.

‘Is that when you burned a five hundred pound electric kettle? I was on edge.’

‘I noticed.’

He brushed a lock of hair from her face.

‘How could you think that I…’

Agatha shrugged.

‘It must somehow... I mean, if in order to turn a person you need…’

‘No damage. This is out of the question,’ Dracula said in an unchallengeable tone.

Agatha looked at him thoughtfully.

‘There are other ways,’ she said, scratching her nose. ‘Strangulation, various poisons. Drowning…’

Dracula bent down and, choking with laughter, buried in her shoulder.

‘Agatha,’ he moaned, ‘your imagination is really scary.’

‘I'm trying to solve the problem,’ Agatha said. ‘That's what the smart do,’ she teased.

‘The smart ones like to complicate things,’ said Dracula, straightening up and looking at her. ‘The most obvious is not always the simplest. Why, of all imaginable and inconceivable ways, did not the most humane one come to your mind?’ He rolled his eyes at her puzzled gaze. ‘Which one of us is the prince of darkness and the lord of shadows?’

‘No one encroaches on your laurels,’ Agatha grinned. ‘Wait. You want to say…’

Dracula bent down again and brushed his lips lightly over hers.

‘My love, you forgot that a vampire's kiss can be very long.’

***

The fabric was red and the earth was red. Heavy woolen floors flowed like a scarlet stream over the horse's white rump, crumpled from above, and ended in a silver fox collar. The rider's long hair was messed and matted with blood, and crimson dawn caked in his wide-open eyes.

Bending down and grabbing the horse by the neck, the rider rushed forward, as if not making out the road, through the black and red forest, in a straight line, to the ancient castle, frozen on the rock.

Bursting into the courtyard, the rider stood up sharply, pulled on the reins. Dismounting, he threw them to the frightened horseman who ran up, unfastened an oblong large sack from the saddle. He walked with a quick step through the gate, dragging his load along the ground. In the great hall, he stopped and threw the sack on the floor in front of him. He raised his head and brushed the dirty, wet strands from his forehead.

‘I said he would be here before sunrise,’ he turned to someone sitting in a dark corner.

‘Is it really him?’ asked from the darkness.

Pulling a knife from his belt, the rider bent down to the sack and cut the thick cloth, soaked and hardened in the frost.

A pale human face appeared in the narrow gap.

‘I said I’ll deliver him,’ the rider said again, put the knife back in his belt and left, not looking neither at the one he was talking to nor at the dead man lying on the floor.

...

Two thick long candles were barely enough to light the middle of the room. Hands were aching from the cold, and he felt as if Transylvanian soil was poured into his eyes. The younger heir to the old Count Dracul raised up, turned several times, on one side, on the other, and finally lay on his back, his meaningless gaze resting on the carved canopy above him.

There are no younger heirs. Neither for princes and kings from distant lands, nor for Wallachian rulers. From ancient times the eldest sons inherit the ruler who has died in peace or fallen on the battlefield. But what if both the ruler himself and his firstborn left God's world in one day? From the elder brother, if he has no male descendants, the younger takes power. The one that survived.

The heir moved his head and gritted his teeth. God knows he did not seek this power, he did not want to. In vain the courtiers grinned in disbelief, clinked their tongues, suspecting treason, the squad whispered in vain when they brought them, father and brother, on a narrow sleigh – without a drop of blood on expensive clothes and without a single paint on their faces. In vain the brother's widow sobbed loudly, rushing in the yard like a thin hungry bird, in vain screaming and howling – you did not keep him safe, you did not rescue him. In vain she threatened to curse.

He did not wish death to either his father or his brother. Never wanted to become a ruler. Perhaps that is why he was not touched by the piercing words of the courtiers, or the cries of his daughter-in-law, or the sidelong glances of the squad. Standing motionless next to the sleigh, he silently looked at the gathered soldiers and household, did not say anything, only wrapped himself in a warm cloak. And only when the wrong old steps were tapping on the stone slabs of the yard, did he turn around.

Old Count Dracul, a patriarch of eighty-seven years of age, dressed in a light marching cape over a simple linen shirt, slowly walked over to the sleigh and sat down beside it. With long fingers, white and hard as a January crust, he stroked the dead faces. Raised his head to the gray sky. Said, addressing the younger:

‘Bring me the murderer.’

The younger nodded.

He did it all, he did it, – the young Count Dracula got up and ran his hand over his face damp with sweat. It took five hours to search, three of which the heir spent on horseback, racing to the border, hurrying to catch up the defector who had surrendered the lord and his son to Turkish spies, and who was about to join the foreign troops. Almost drove father's stallion. Intercepted, managed.

The light from the candle flickered, swept as if alarmed by a sharp gust of wind. Dracula looked around and lay back on the pillows. What a strange night. It feels like there is something, moving in the corner... As if sitting in silence and looking, waiting for the moment when...

‘What's wrong, young heir, not sleeping? Do ya not satisfied with the blood of the enemy?’ a voice, deaf and raspy, rang out very close to him.

Dracula jumped up and backed away.

‘What scared you, noble master? Why don't you meet a guest?’ squeaked mockingly from the shadows. ‘Or are you afraid to look?’

Dracula turned in the direction from which the voice was heard.

A thin, tall man with an unhealthy blush on his sunken cheeks emerged from the thick darkness that began two spans from the bed.

‘Why are you silent, master?’ he asked Dracula, who stared at him in horror. ‘Why don’t you offer a glass, why don’t you invite me to the table?’

Without waiting for an answer, the man stepped forward and stopped at the very edge of the bed.

‘It can't be. I killed you,’ said Dracula.

‘That's right, you did,’ the man bared his teeth and opened the tattered, worn-out sheepskin coat he was wearing. A scarlet slit crossed the shirt underneath from throat to groin. The man lowered his head and, touching the cut, plunged a knotted finger into it. ‘It hurts,’ with a barely audible smack, removing his finger from the wound, he said thoughtfully, ‘it hurts, but you can live.’

Dracula felt sick.

‘How did you manage...’ He straightened up in bed and reached for his belt for a knife.

‘Take your time,’ the man rushed forward, grabbing Dracula's raised hand. His fingers were inhumanly strong and cold as ice. ‘We`ll have all night.’

‘What are you?’ Dracula, recoiling, whispered with his lips, already knowing the answer.

‘I am Grigor Vostritsa, Grigor-The-Traitor, Grigor, whom your gullible dad warmed on his chest, and the crazy grandpa ordered to catch and feed the mad dogs,’ the man replied, grinning. ‘Grigor, who missed the spoil, and came for it. And what a feast it will be...’

Long, sharp teeth gleamed in the candlelight.

Dracula screamed.

...

‘Dracula! Wake up! Dracula! Come on, wake up, it's just a dream!’

Agatha struggled to shake Dracula, who was rushing about in unconsciousness. Not needing to sleep in the usual sense of the word, at night he plunged into a semblance of numbness, which helped him not so much to restore physical strength as to give rest to his mind. This state was in every way similar to a human dream, with the exception that it was more difficult to end it.

Agatha moved closer to Dracula. He looked even paler than usual, shivering and whispering something in Romanian.

Sitting on the bed, Agatha took a deep breath. The sounds made by Dracula were not loud enough to wake her up. But after what happened on Demeter, already here, in London, Agatha sometimes began to sink into his dreams.

Most often they were just scraps of images and vague impressions – reminiscent of flat shadows on a gray stone wall. They were short and blurry, and after them, in the morning Agatha got up with a headache, a feeling of loneliness, and dull melancholy.

Today, for the first time, the dream was so real and clear.

‘Dracula! Wake up, Dracula!’ Agatha tried again.

Dracula groaned and reached for her without opening his eyes.

Agatha bent down and ran a hand over his sweaty chest. Gently stroked, sliding from shoulder to stomach and back, lingering to the left, where the heart was silent, softly touched his cheek. As if alarmed even more by this short caress, Dracula got up and sat up in bed.

For a while, he simply sat without moving, in the light of the moon falling from the window.

Agatha was silent, not daring to turn to him again.

Dracula winced and took a deep breath, and then suddenly opened his eyes and looked at her.

There was such pain in his eyes that it stabbed inside her.

Without a word, she stirred and, sitting down on his lap, hugged him tightly.

‘Everything is fine, everything will pass,’ she whispered, ‘everything will pass, it's just a dream. This is a dream. This is a dream, you killed him,’ she said, kissing his hot forehead and cheeks, ‘you won, he's gone.’

She was saying something else, snuggling up to him and feeling how the nightgown was getting wet from the heat, putting herself under the hands and lips that were taking possession of her – for the first time so strongly, furiously – and so unexpectedly good.

When the splash of pleasure dies down and she opens her eyes, the moon seems higher – the light floods the room, leaving no corner untouched. Agatha looks at Dracula, who is holding her with both hands, and just sits for a couple of seconds, admiring his tired, peaceful face.

The rest is seen as natural as spontaneous. Slightly pulling back, Agatha pushes aside the collar of her shirt, throwing her hair back and exposing her shoulder.

‘Come on. I'm not afraid,’ she says, moving closer to him again and screwing up.

For several long minutes, nothing happens at all.

Opening her eyes, Agatha stares blankly at Dracula. He sits motionless and looks at her, smiling openly and tenderly.

‘No, Agatha,’ he says. ‘Not today. Not this way.’

***

‘You're avoiding me?’

Agatha met Dracula at the entrance to the living room and stopped, blocking his path.

‘Where did you get it?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it's all because we haven't seen each other since last week.’ Agatha shrugged.

‘I have a lot to do,’ Dracula tried to walk past her into the room, but Agatha did not budge.

‘You leave home in the morning when I’m still asleep, and you come back after midnight,’ she said. ‘If you come at all. On Tuesday and Wednesday, you were not here, although the carriage did not leave the gate and all the horses remained in the stable.’

Dracula took a deep breath.

‘If I wanted to lead a secret life, I should have chosen someone not so observant,’ he said with a short smile.

‘At least,’ stepping aside, Agatha nevertheless cleared the passage.

After following Dracula into the living room and sitting next to him on the sofa, she was silent for a while.

‘I don’t believe it’s because of what happened that night,’ she said quietly at last. Lowering her eyes, she absentmindedly smoothed the folds of the dress. ‘You and I knew worse times, and I saw you in a much more unsightly light. If now...’

‘Agatha.’ She raised her eyes and met his gaze. ‘You know that's not true,’ he said.

‘I know,’ she sighed. ‘And I also know that you never lied to me or hid anything from me. Even on the Demeter.’ She waved off when she saw the protesting expression on his face. ‘You didn’t deceive me – all I needed to know about what was happening was in front of my eyes. I just didn't get it right away. Which, of course, doesn't make your behavior acceptable,’ she said immediately. And added: ‘You drank my blood and made me a favorite dessert, but you did not lie to me.’

Dracula was silent.

‘You were honest, although you fed on me, and took me to the ship against my will,’ Agatha continued. ‘That is why your behavior seems all the more strange to me... now when I said ‘yes’.’

Still silently, Dracula leaned back on the sofa. His lips were tightly compressed, and his eyebrows were furrowed, as if for a long time he had been trying to solve a problem that turned out to be too difficult, and could not bring himself to stop thinking about it.

Agatha regarded him thoughtfully.

‘Maybe…’ she began slowly, ‘maybe this is the whole point? That I agreed?’

Dracula turned his head and looked at her amazedly.

‘Count Dracula, the Wallachian ruler,’ said Agatha, ‘cannot choose the daughter of a merchant from a distant province as a life partner. Which has neither a title, nor a suitable name, nor a sufficiently well-born family.’ She looked straight at Dracula. ‘The laws of blood are harsh and unbreakable.’

‘Agatha,’ it was clear from his look that her suggestion took him by surprise, ‘Agatha, I have been living with you for over a year.’

‘It's one thing to live together, sharing leisure and bed, and even going out by the arm, and quite another,’ she smiled, ‘to enter into a relationship under the hand of the clan and under the coat of arms of the dragon. You could reject me when I become a vampire,’ Agatha said, not allowing him to object, ‘reject, as soon as I would bore you – but it was not accidentally that you called those you turned brides. Obligated to you with a new life – no matter how terrible and gloomy it might be – they have become part of your family. As I would. And even you wouldn't be able to change that. Wherever I went and wherever I lived my indefinitely long centuries, I would forever remain Dracula's companion, recognized and accepted by him.’

The silence that followed her words was long, but contrary to her expectations, it did not seem depressing. For a couple of minutes, Dracula just sat, still frowning and unconsciously rubbing the ring on his ring finger.

‘Four hundred years ago I was baptized in Orthodoxy,’ he said thoughtfully.

‘What?’ Agatha did not understand. She leaned back slightly and eyed him suspiciously.

‘I presume, you are a Catholic,’ Dracula continued, as if he hadn’t heard her. ‘It is unlikely that we will be married under this condition, so, apparently, I will have to convert to Catholicism.’

Agatha looked at him in amazement.

‘Why not me – to Orthodoxy?’ she asked blankly.

‘Because considering what you just told me, it would be offensive to me.’

They looked at each other for several seconds until Agatha turned away, covering her face with her hands.

‘Am I making up nonsense?’ muttered, feeling him hug her.

‘You're too smart,’ Dracula smiled, kissing the top of her head. ‘I should have taken this into account when I suggested to you... I should have talked about it with you right away. Everything you said’ he pulled away and looked at her ‘is absolutely reasonable and absolutely real. Except that has nothing to do with you and me.’ He brushed the hair from her cheek and added: ‘I have not been a Wallachian ruler for a long time, Agatha. Not in the sense in which you described it. And even if I were still a sovereign medieval seigneur, I would be free to choose a wife to my liking. I would have offered you my hand and heart a year ago,’ he said when he saw Agatha trying to protest, ‘if I thought it meant anything to you.’

Agatha averted her eyes.

‘I thought... I thought after I agreed...’

‘I suddenly realized with all clarity how you would humiliate my good name,’ Dracula laughed. ‘This is perhaps the best thing that I have heard about myself in four hundred years.’

‘But still...’ Agatha did not stop.

‘You were right,’ Dracula interrupted. ‘That night I realized for the first time that it was serious. And I wondered if I really want this for you?’

‘You told me...’

‘Agatha,’ he said, burying his fingers in her hair, ‘it's a long life, Agatha. A life in which values, people, traditions, and customs change. The future and the present, as before, become the past. Only now you don't go with them. Others leave – relatives and acquaintances, faithful servants, and old friends. Not all of them you can take with you. And sometimes you just have to look after them. It hurts, Agatha.’

He fell silent again. Raising her hand, Agatha ran her fingers over his cheek. ‘You will be with me,’ she wanted to tell, but she held back. They both knew perfectly well what a world closed for two could turn into over the years.

Unexpectedly to herself, she laughed.

‘Changing faith can be easier than coming to terms with yourself,’ she said in response to his questioning look. ‘But if trees and birds can,’ Agatha added, remembering their conversation with Dracula about longevity, ‘then I can too.’

He looked at her uneasily and incredulously, and it was like their first evening in this house.

‘And you know what else?’ Agatha said. She hesitated. ‘I want to ask you: do not create any illusions by doing this. I want to know what's going on. I go for it with open eyes, and I want it to apply to everything.’

Dracula smiled and covered her fingers over his face.

‘As you wish,’ he replied.

***

November 15, 1898, Times

‘We are pleased to announce that on November 15 of this year in London, at Carfax Abbey, the wedding of Count Vlad Dracula and Miss Agatha Van Helsing took place.’

Agatha put the newspaper down on the dressing table and cast a thoughtful look at the ring on her hand. A thin strip of gold glittering in the twilight of the room seemed like a spark on the surface of the calm sea. Agatha chuckled shortly. A sea that she never intended to enter. It was not only about her past as a nun – her stay in the convent was short and rather forced than chosen at the call of her heart. Marriage as it was just never seemed attractive to her – or useful from any side.

She was distracted from the contemplation of the wedding ring and, straightening, began to remove the hairpins from her hair. Agatha hated complicated hairstyles, but for a sophisticated lady, especially in her current status, a wedding hairstyle was a must. Agatha sighed. It was already good that they managed to avoid a magnificent celebration, limiting themselves to a modest wedding in a local chapel.

The door to the room creaked softly as it opened and closed again.

Freed from bobby pins and hairpins, the hair fell to the shoulders in a heavy wave. Agatha looked in the mirror.

‘I look like a witch from old fairy tales,’ she said, turning in her chair, lifting her head and looking at Dracula standing in front of her. ‘Who appeared without an invitation to the royal palace.’

Dracula smiled.

‘Witches usually have a much more interesting past than the daughters of foresters and crown princesses.’

‘Maybe,’ Agatha agreed. ‘Did you let the servants go?’ she asked, getting up.

‘Gave them leave until next Wednesday.’

‘So long?’ Agatha, approached the bed and began to unfasten the hooks on the dress, anxiously turned around.

‘I think it will take less time,’ Dracula came over and freed a lock of red hair stuck in one of the fasteners. ‘Still, it’ll be better if you and I will be alone in the next week and we don’t have to look back at the door.’

Agatha nodded. Her fingers returned to the hooks and laces. Having straightened with them, she shrugged her shoulders, and the dress slid to her feet.

She did not see Dracula, but she knew for sure that he was watching her. Stepping over the dress, she straightened the lace shirt on her chest and, walking slowly to the bed, climbed onto it.

Slightly closing her eyes, she watches as Dracula locks the bedroom door, extinguishes the lamps one by one, leaving only the candle at the head of the bed to burn, and, going up to the bed, reaches for a silk scarf tied with an elegant knot around his neck.

Once next to her, he sits down behind and, holding Agatha to him, runs his palms over her hands. His fingers stop at the shoulders, freeze as if in thought, grasp the shock of hair that has been scattered down her back, and lift it up.

A slow, long kiss on the back of her head makes her arch and bite her lip. For a few seconds, Dracula does not move, and then he kisses her again and sinks lower, his hands slide forward, to the buttons of the shirt, lower the thin fabric from her shoulders.

Closing her eyes, Agatha completely surrenders to her feelings. From fleeting touches, the body burns and melts, filling from the inside with a silent ringing, opening and dissolving, almost disappearing, until it gathers again at one point to the left, where the neck passes into the shoulder.

...Soft darkness surrounded her from all sides. There was absolutely nothing frightening about it: Agatha stirred and tried to turn her head rather out of curiosity.

‘Don't resist,’ Dracula's voice rang through her head. And a second later – a chuckle. ‘You'll like it.’

***

The awakening was... sharp. And in a completely literal sense. Smells, sounds, colors were sharp. From the world hanging over Agatha, details seemed to appear and emerge at once.

Dust particles on the dark red velvet curtain of the bed. A scent of fresh varnish rising from a parquet floor painted three weeks ago. Spiky sheets that scratch the body with the skin of an ancient beast. Electric discharges from the back of the head and lost in the thick of long hair.

Agatha closed her eyes. The raging sea of spots of color disappeared and was replaced by a thin squeak.

‘When will the convulsions begin?’ Agatha asked into space without opening her eyes. Her own voice sounded low and hoarse, heavy in her ears.

‘So you want to try?’

Agatha opened her eyes. Dracula's pale face bent over her. A mosquito hovered carefree beside his right cheek.

‘Not that I wanted,’ Agatha said slowly, shifting her gaze from the mosquito to Dracula. ‘I just thought it was part of the process.’

‘Apparently, not always,’ Dracula held out his hand and helped her to rise and sit, leaning on the pillows. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Loud,’ Agatha muttered, wincing.

‘It's okay,’ Dracula leaned away and reached out to the side. ‘You are hungry?’ asked. Agatha lowered her eyes to the crystal glass that appeared in his hand. The dark scarlet liquid in it looked unusually tempting.

‘I don’t know,’ Agatha said barely audibly and looked at Dracula in dismay. ‘I can't,’ she blurted out and closed her eyes, once again dazed by the sound of her voice.

‘Agatha, this is not human blood,’ Dracula reminded her gently. ‘And if you're not ready, we can still wait. It's just that the sooner you satisfy your first hunger, the less strong and uncontrollable it will be later.’

Agatha nodded silently.

Swallowing shortly, she stretched out her hand to the glass – and immediately leaned back, groaning exhaustedly.

‘Agatha?’ Dracula asked worriedly.

‘So many... so many things,’ she said, shaking her head and licking her lips.

Dracula put his hand on her forehead. The rough skin of the palm felt like a touch of stiff paper, but it was cool and soothing.

‘You’ll get used to it,’ Dracula said quietly. ‘In the beginning, it is always like that.’

Agatha could not resist a skeptical smile.

‘It has advantages,’ Dracula whispered conspiratorially, bending over slightly. ‘And a lot.’

‘I remember,’ Agatha snorted. ‘The ability to hear rats scratching under the floor, to catch negligent coachmen...’ Hot lips, catching her earlobe, silenced her. ‘Give me a little time,’ she said with an effort, ‘maybe I can find more.’

He laughed.

Agatha turned and looked again at the glass on the nightstand.

‘Lissa?’ she asked.

‘No,’ Dracula shook his head.

‘Are you afraid that I will find out your secrets with her?’ Agatha teased him. She climbed higher on the pillows and made herself comfortable. The first shock receded, and the deafening world gradually became just unusually bright and clear.

‘Too much information confuses newbies,’ smiled Dracula. ‘Besides, Lissa is active and willful. Her blood may excite you unnecessarily. This is Richard, a stallion from Angola, who arrived four weeks ago. Gentle and meek like a sleeping child.’

Agatha reached for the glass. She held it in her hand for a moment, staring at the dark liquid inside. Then she raised it to her lips and took a quick sip.

Nothing happened, and the curtain of the bed did not collapse on her head. It felt as if she had taken a sip of old thick wine. The metallic flavor confused her at first, but the further she drank, the more acutely she became aware of her hunger and the satisfaction of being able to satisfy it. A piercing blue sky, humid winds, and a light rustle of hot sand were felt in the shades of taste.

Having drained the glass to the end, Agatha put it back on the nightstand and licked her lips thoughtfully. Neither the taste, nor the sight, nor the smell of blood made her lose her mind, which she most feared. Perhaps, she mused, the insanity of many newly turned vampires was not caused by the craving for blood as such, but rather a consequence of the ‘return’ and the wave of impressions and feelings that attacked them.

Suddenly the silence of the room was broken by a sharp, persistent rustle. Like someone... Agatha turned quickly towards the sound and saw a large rat crawling across the floor.

Agatha squinted at Dracula. He gazed at her in silence, without a shadow of a smile, but his nostrils fluttered in a very familiar way.

‘You will not get it,’ she said.

* Dragostea (Romanian) – love.

#dracula 2020 #bbc dracula #count dracula #agatha van helsing #dragatha #geth #drama #romance

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thebeautyofdisorder · 5 years

Text

The Undone & The Divine (BBC Dracula) - Chapter 7

A/N: Okay, here is the next chapter finally. Nothing quite so... explicit as last chapter, but fun none the less. A lot of conversation/exposition, and Zoe may or may not be inadvertently sciencing her way into a crossover opportunity that I won’t take, but she does have a mind of her own, that one. Drac does a bit of grumpy pining.

Pairing: Dracula & Agatha/Zoe, Dracula/OFC

Rating: M, for blood, language, mercenaries with guns, and direct references to sexual acts performed in the last chapter.

Chapters 1-2 Here - Chapter 3 Here - Chapter 4 Here - Chapter 5 Here - Chapter 6 Here

Can be found on AO3 - Right HERE - or enjoy below the cut

“I don’t think she’s coming, sire.”

Dracula looked up from where he’d been absently staring off into the abyss - granted the abyss did look an awful lot like his front door, to meet the infuriatingly attentive gaze of Frank Renfield, as he stirred his tea, and pretended to peruse the morning paper.

“I’m sorry?” It was less of a question of clarification, and more a second chance to remedy his daring presumption, though apparently this did not occur to the lawyer at all.

“Dr. Helsing. I think she’s far more stubborn than even you give her credit for.”

“What exactly gives you the idea that I’m waiting for anyone, much less her?” he challenged, quirking a brow at his rather unwelcome company. He had asked for daily updates on his current investments, true, but it wasn’t necessarily his intention to have the man pop up at random hours of the morning to do so. Just because he could be a morning person now certainly didn’t mean that he actually wanted to be.

“I’ve never seen you so disinterested in sustenance when it’s right in front of you, unless she’s involved, of course.”

The vampire was very tempted to rip the knowing smile right from his skull, but barely managed to restrain himself out of sheer disinterest at working to find another malleable Londoner to do his business. Picking up his sadly cooled breakfast, he drained the glass simply out of spite and sat it back down with a force just shy from shattering it.

“I don’t pay you to psychoanalyze me, Frank,” he warned, barely concealed with a charming edge of fondness that came off even more menacing than any blatant threat, as he stood to his full height and paced over to the window.

The lawyer paled. “Yes, master.”

“What’s my schedule for this evening?”

“I believe you indicated you were finishing off your first experiment tonight, Count. The painter.”

“Ah. Yes,” he confirmed, even as he proceeded to juggle his mobile phone between his hands distractedly, mind somewhere else entirely. “I might...hold off on that for another week. Can’t be too hasty...I really don’t want anymore failures on my hands. And perhaps we should really begin to encourage the writing of wills in this process… When is that ‘natural burial’ movement going to be ‘en vogue’ over here, you think?”

“In a city this size? Hard to say…” Frank winced, seeming to fall silent far longer than necessary to think about it, and Dracula was really beginning to regret meddling with his mental faculties so much. It did, however, shut him up long enough for him to send a text to the woman he'd just been accused of thinking about.

HAVE YOU RECONSIDERED JOINING ME FOR DINNER?

After three minutes of silence, Dracula scowled and refocused on Renfield's babbling, which had taken back up after his initial, blissful silence. Something about 'death positivity' which brought a brief smirk to his lips. Just when he thought humanity had lost its sense of reality entirely.

You text like my grandfather.

The Count grinned in partial triumph. Partial because while she'd certainly replied, she didn't seem nearly as outraged as he'd dearly hoped. Would have to remedy that. Very soon.

BUSY?

Very busy. How did you get my number?

HUNGRY? 🍷

No.

LIAR.

Show off.

Renfield had the audacity to clear his throat.

-----

Peaking into the disheveled mass of books, vials, and files that had become the current state of Zoe Van Helsing’s office, Bloxham at first mistook it for empty. The lights were dimmed, and the chair behind the desk was not only lacking in an occupant, but instead was serving as an unsteady shelf for what looked to be a hundred-year-old phonograph.

“The sign specifically said ‘do not disturb’, didn’t it?”

Dr. Bloxham spun around suddenly, placing a hand to her chest in shock as her eyes adjusted to the far corner of the room, where a small pseudo lab seemed to be occupying the back corner. Zoe was standing still as a statue, frozen in the midst of studying a vial of a thick red substance by shining a black light through it. She stayed frozen.

“Jesus, Zoe you scared the shit out of me,” she remarked at first. “And actually it says ‘danger: enter at your own risk’ but it was so bloody dark in here I thought you’d gone home.”

“All the same, get out. I’m busy,” Zoe murmured tightly, and her colleague frowned, making no motion to leave as of yet.

“Zoe...you haven’t been coming to meetings, nor have you really spoken to anyone in a week. Is everything...alright?”

“Fine. Just dandy. Now get out, please.”

“Sarcasm, much? I’m just...worried.”

Zoe still hadn’t moved. In fact, she was forcing herself to stay rooted to the spot, or she wasn’t entirely certain what she would do. A sudden shuffling outside the door, however, pulled her away from her steely focus and her eyes shot up with inhuman speed to the door where a crack of light cut through the carpet.

“Who else is with you?” Zoe asked, eyes shooting towards the other woman directly for the first time since she’d entered.

Bloxham swallowed audibly, eyes darting quickly away to avoid eye contact.

“Look, our sponsor has been sending inquiries about this...situation, and we need to provide him with answers. I thought if I could get a glimpse of your research, we could figure out what it is you’re doing and give a proper update…"

“Dr. Bloxham… Kate I really need you to go. My research is mine and until it’s complete, I have no interest in sharing it,” Zoe stated firmly.

Dr. Bloxham advanced forward a step. “But Zoe-”

Zoe’s grip on the vial in her hand tightened and the glass gave a warning crackle that froze the shorter woman in her place.

“Leave!” The words came out in nothing short of a growl, and had the exact opposite effect on the situation that she’d intended or hoped.

The door swung the rest of the way open with a deafening bang and two large men with guns came in behind Dr. Bloxham, only halting their approach at the raise of her hand.

“That won’t be necessary boys, thank you,” she stated with carefully practiced calm, even though Zoe could hear the thrumming of her pulse hitting an anxious high speed. She forced her fingers, which had flexed into something resembling claws, to relax, though her spine stiffened further. Would guns hurt her? Maybe, maybe not but it would certainly lead to a load of inconvenience even if they didn’t - more so if they didn’t, she decided.

Ignoring the intrusion completely, even as they seemed to stand down, Zoe addressed Bloxham directly. “Is this really where you’re going with this? I’m not an animal, Dr. Bloxham. In fact, I’m doing everything in my power to avoid that outcome, and would like to continue to do it in peace.”

She slammed the glass beaker down and against better judgement beckoned her reluctant colleague forward.

“Come. Look.”

She hesitated, but gesturing a casual hand back at the men at her back, she approached Zoe, who distinctly moved out of the way entirely.

“What am I looking at?”

“Just a basic five-senses test, Doctor, what do they tell you?”

Kate leant down at eye level with the beaker, perusing it, picking it up and shifting the substance around, taking a whiff of it.

“It smells, looks, and behaves like blood. De-fibrillated, if I had to guess - from who or what I don’t know.”

Zoe looked minutely pleased, though was still almost robot stiff as she handed a folder over to her.

“It’s a protein and nutrient compound. I'm running a few...tests to see if I can find a supplemental vampiric food source. The information is all there."

Bloxham took the folder with a glance of astonished intrigue, and greedily began to look over the contents, forgetting about her intimidation tactics. Momentarily, at least.

"Could this actually work?"

"To keep them alive...yes, potentially. Or to ward off the cravings and reduce the need to result in homicide, at the least. As for the grander implications… I don't know."

"You need a subject."

"I am the subject."

The other doctor nodded briefly, biting her lip and pacing back towards the desk, folder still in her hands.

"You think he's infecting others?'

"I know he is," Zoe scoffed, the distance between them making it somewhat easier to function. To breathe, however much she still could.

"And have you run any trials yet?"

"With a couple more tweaks, I was planning to start this evening."

Bloxham gestured with her eyes toward the phonograph, and the exceedingly out of place stack of various religious texts and mythos.

"These?"

"Doing some updates on my great grandfather's research. None of which is replaceable, ergo my want for privacy."

She nodded, understanding but not commenting. It was one of the things Zoe always appreciated about her - she never spoke without thinking first.

"I would like you to run this as an official experiment in the lab, if only for the sake of an external eye. First hand trials are never 100% accurate - we both know that. You can't afford to miss something. If you feel...unsafe with the others, we can isolate you where you can still be observed - at your discretion, of course. And all of your private research will remain that way, you have my word."

Zoe pursed her lips into a thin line, weighing her options. Who was she kidding, she didn't have options. She had partial control or none at all; a glass box or an autopsy table. This was a negotiation of surrender.

"All right. Fine."

-----

“...The second son of Vlad II became ruler of Wallachia in 1436, leading to one of the bloodiest but most successful reigns in Romanian history simply by fearful reputation alone. Drakula as he was often called, in his day simply in honor of his father meaning 'Son of the Dragon'. Now it just adds to his legend, since 'Dracul' in modern Romanian more accurately translates to Devil. A very literal interpretation of dying a hero or living long enough to see yourself becoming The Villain ™ …"

Kat skimmed the notes for at least the fifth time, mindlessly chewing her nail polish off her thumb in a manic, nervous habit she thought she'd squashed at 16. She hadn't made it to class that morning - hell, she didn't even hear her alarm. It had blared for three hours before her mind swam its way back to consciousness.

He'd been gone when she awoke finally, the mid-morning sun streaming harshly through her curtains. He left her a note, written in comically perfect cursive on the back of a concert flyer, with his mobile number scrawled across the top, laid on her bedside table atop the book he'd brought her.

I had to run for a meeting early. Enjoy the book. - D

P.S. I did try to fix your shelf, though I do believe I owe you a new lamp.

Her cheeks were still burning hotter than her coffee as she later sat down to email her professor, claiming sudden illness and begging a forward of his notes. Luckily he was a pretty laid back type or it would have been twice as humiliating to think she was effectively calling in due to being fucked into oblivion.

She'd barely recalled being conscious after, though she knew she had been. Though the memory of laughing off the wall-pounding complaints of her next door neighbor was swimming interchangeably with the images of her very bizarre dream. At least she'd assumed it was a dream - men sprouting fangs was clearly her orgasm-delirious brain reacting to last week's ill-timed Buffy marathon and too many re-readings of Legends of the Carpathians. It had to be.

That was her logic anyway, up until she looked at herself in the floor length mirror after jumping in the shower, and found herself marveling there far too long. She wasn't one to complain about a hickey or two, but her fingers trailed the jagged white indentation of teeth at the juncture of her neck and shoulder - a pale slash interrupting the bruised flesh - and shivered. Red, stripe-like lines trailed the length of her legs and hips, unfaded and tangible. There was even still a red gash-like mark on her shoulder where the strap of her camisole had dug into her flesh as he ripped it like it was made of crepe paper.

Her mind returned to those notes, lingering on the name 'Drakula' far too long without coming up with a real reason to be so concerned. It could be an ancestor or a weird inside joke of an alias she had missed. For all she knew of Romanian customs it could be a fairly common name there now.

"Impaled by Vlad the Impaler...ridiculous," she joked, half audibly to herself

"I quite like the sound of that."

A bonafide squeak of surprise rose out of her throat, though she didn't have the time to be humiliated as the tall shadow of the man himself showed up in the mirror behind her, taking up the whole of her bedroom door frame.

"Apologies, it was unlocked. I did knock to be fair, but I can see why you didn't hear." His eyes were locked on her body still dripping from the shower, a towel barely clasped around to cover the important bits.

Kat quickly caught her breath, forcing a chuckle. "No, it's...alright. I was just trying to...go over my notes," she excused, gesturing to where her laptop sat open on the desk in the corner.

"Didn't make it out of bed this morning," She shot him a look of playful accusation, before turning back to the mirror, already dismissing her earlier fears now that she was seeing him in broad daylight for the first time. He was definitely not a big pile of dust, or if he was he was the most attractive one she'd ever seen.

He made a show of wincing. "I suppose that was my fault." He paced forward, meeting her eyes through their reflections as he approached, tracing a finger down the side of her neck and over her shoulder, skimming the harsh redness. "This definitely was."

Her breath stuttered audibly and she felt her lower muscles clench almost painfully just at the barest reminder of his presence.

"Yeah...you… go a bit feral, don't you?" She breathed, fingers tracing her legs as well.

"You do make a lovely canvas." He smirked lightly, but other than meeting her reflection's gaze, he looked away from the mirror entirely, and brushed his lips over the bite mark as he turned away.

Well, he certainly has a reflection, she couldn't help but muse as she remembered to breathe, watching his backside as he paced over to the laptop casually.

"I see you're onto the 15th century."

"Yes… family of yours?" She prodded with mild curiosity, as she adjusted the towel.

He was silent for a moment , as though debating just how directly to answer.

"Something like that," he seemed to settle with, and despite lifting a curious brow she didn't pry. Something in his eyes brooked no reproach, as funny as that felt to think.

"I unfortunately need to be going again," he added before she could think of any further inquiry, or pounce on him again as she was half wont to do.

"I mainly just came to replace your lamp," he said, stepping back to the hall and pulling up a bag he had left on the floor, offering it to her.

She couldn't help but laugh as she took it from him.. "Why thank you."

Not that she could ever look at the bloody thing again without remembering knocking it onto the floor to smash into pieces as he pounded her into next week. Though judging from the demonic glint in his eyes as he pressed an otherwise chaste kiss to her knuckles in farewell, that was exactly what he'd intended.

----

She felt him before she saw him. It was both refreshing and annoying that he couldn't sneak up on her anymore, even if it just meant a few more minutes of blissful ignorance before he intruded on her evening.

"You shouldn't be here."

He was even more annoyed by it if the disgruntled sigh was anything to go by. He remained at a distance in the shadows nonetheless.

"Neither should you, Zoe," Dracula warned in a tone that was so low, it was almost genuine in its concern. "I know what you're doing, at least in part, and while the effort is admirable it's not going to work."

"And how would you know?" She snapped, frustration lacing her words as she tried desperately to keep her eyes on the screen in front of her. "Have you ever even tried not killing anyone? Of course not, because you enjoy it too much. You're a monster and that's how you like it." She slammed a few keys with audible force.

Dracula scoffed, approaching from the shadows with an affronted air. "What do you call what I've been doing?! I would think you'd appreciate the gesture."

Her eyes narrowed, incredulous confusion colored by exasperation. "I'm sorry, are saying you attempting not to murder half of London is supposed to impress me?"

"Yes, of course."

At that she couldn't help but laugh, for probably the first time in months, though it contained plenty of Agatha's sardonic mirth as well.

"You really are a 500 year old infant, aren't you?"

His lips formed into an exaggerated pout, barely masking his amusement. "Is that what she's said about me?"

"Among many other things, yes," Zoe confirmed dryly, standing to her feet. They both knew he was speaking of Agatha, though whether he knew about the letters she wasn't sure, nor did she want to bring it up. Not yet.

"And what about the girl who's throat you almost ripped out last night? Or did you? Was that out of spite or just the chance to show off?"

"She's perfectly fine. Actually I would say I improved her night immensely ." The lascivious tone was blatant and twice as irritating as he leaned over the desk towards her.

Her nostrils flared as the breath expelled through his words lingered between them, smelling of blood.

"You're revolting." She despised that the words came out in a gasp.

"And deep down, you enjoy it."

"Like I enjoyed cancer."

He smirked, though there was a bitter edge of impatience to it.

"They're going to try to kill you, you know. And you don't have the strength to fight it."

"Then I suppose I'll die," she dismissed, just to irritate him. In truth it was something she was concerned with as well, but the last thing she wanted was for him to know it

He scowled briefly though it manifested as more of a snarl, pulling a hip flask from his pocket and placing it on the desk between them. An offering, given in silence.

Zoe barely looked at it. "And which one of your conquests did that come from?"

"Leading hematologist in London - willingly donated in a sterile, medical setting - very much alive and happily at home with his idiotic family as we speak. If and when you could use the boost - or the expertise."

"Not necessary," she ground out, doing her best to ignore its presence entirely. Not to mention the implication he was even offering assistance in his selfish, convoluted way, despite his opposition to her plan.

Dracula could have opened it and left her with no choice, but he didn't. Instead, he straightened to his full height and met her eyes again with a sigh as he made his way back towards the door. Where he’d actually gotten in without notice, she had no idea, and she’d rather not think about it..

"Good luck, Dr. Helsing," he bade her farewell, unable to resist adding sardonically: "You'll need it."

----

Sooo... Zoe’s kind of trying to invent True Blood, and I’m a whore for Drac being a suck up (no pun intended). This is going to get...interesting.

Tag List: @break-free-killer-queen @mephdcosplay @charlesdances @punk-courtesan @crowley-needs-a-hug @hoefordarkness @bellamortislife @malkaviangirl @imagineandimagine @chelsfic @my-fanfic-library @mymagicsuitcase @littlemessyjessi @desperatefrenchwriter @crazytxgradstudent @ginevra-weasley @iloveclaesbang @mr-kisskiss-bangbang @carydorse @hyacinth-meadow @vampiregirl1797 @dreamerkim @gatissed @alhoyin @girlonfireice @dracula-s-bride @festering-queen @jangleprojet @ss9slb

#bbc dracula #dracula bbc #dracula 2020 #dracula #claes bang #agatha van helsing #zoe van helsing #my writing #the undone & the divine

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Best Horror Movies Streaming on HBO Max

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Editor’s Note: This post is updated monthly. Bookmark this page and come back every month to see the new horror movies on HBO Max.

Updated for October 2020

What ever would we do without horror?

So much of our daily life is built around logic and known, verifiable facts, and for some, the rest of the time must be supplemented with comforting reassurances that everything is going to be alright. Well if the last year has taught us anything… that’s not the case. Perhaps this is why horror hounds know the best way to face abstract fears is to confront them head on… and preferably with a screen in the way.

So, with Halloween around the corner, we figured it’s time to get in touch with our illogical, terrified animal brain. That’s where horror and horror movies in particular come in. Gathered here are the best horror movies on HBO Max for your scaring needs.

Alien

“In space, no one can hear you scream,” the tagline for Ridley Scott’s 1979 sci-fi/horror epic promised. Well maybe they should have screened this thing in space because I’m sure all that audiences in theaters did was scream.

Alien has since evolved into a heady, science fiction franchise that has stretched out for decades. The original film, however, is a small-scale, terrifyingly claustrophobic thriller.

Altered States

What if you could tap into the vast swaths of the brain you never use? What if you did and didn’t like what we found? And what if it was an absolute psychedelic rush of a cinematic experience?

All three questions are answered in their own way during Ken Russell’s Altered States, a wild sci-fi thriller. In the film, William Hurt stars as a psychologist who begins experimenting with taking hallucinatory drugs while in a sensory depravation tank.

Yes, he manages to expand his consciousness; he also begins to expand his physical body as it transforms beneath his skin. Or does it? Well that’s yet another good question…

An American Werewolf in London

Arguably the definitive werewolf movie, John Landis’ 1981 horror masterpiece has the single greatest on-screen lycanthropic transformation in movie history… and that’s only one of its appeals.

Peppered with loving references to the werewolf movies that came before it and a few legitimate laughs to go along with the scares, An American Werewolf in London is remarkably knowing and self-aware, without ever flirting with parody.

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Not enough can be said about Rick Baker’s practical effects, which extend beyond the aforementioned on-screen transformation and into one of the most gruesome depictions of a werewolf attack aftermath you’re ever likely to see. A classic of the era, it still can get under the skin whenever Griffin Dunne’s mutilated corpse rises from the grave to warn his friend to “beware the moon.”

The Brood

I bet you never thought placenta could look so tasty, but when Samantha Eggar’s Nola Carveth licks her newborn clean you’ll be craving seconds within the hour. She brings feline intuition to female troubles. We get it. Having a new baby can be scary. Having a brood is terrifying. Feminine power is the most horrifying of all for male directors used to being in control.

David Cronenberg takes couples therapy one step too far in his 1979 psychological body-horror film, The Brood. When it came out critics called it reprehensible trash, but it is the writer-director’s most traditional horror story. Oliver Reed plays with mental illness like Bill Sikes played with the kids as Hal Raglan, the psychotherapist treating the ex-wife of Frank Carveth (Art Hindle). The film starts slow, unfolding its drama through cuts and bruises.

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Cronenberg unintentionally modifies the body of the Kramer vs. Kramer story in The Brood, but the murderous munchkins at the external womb of the film want a little more than undercooked French toast.

Carnival of Souls

Carnival of Souls may be the most unlikely of chillers to appear in the Criterion Collection. Hailing from the great state of Kansas and helmed by commercial director Herk Harvey, who was looking for his big break in features, there is something hand-crafted about the whole affair. There’s also something unmistakably eerie.

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The story is fairly basic campfire boilerplate, following a woman (Candace Hilligoss) who survives a car crash but is then haunted by the sound of music and visions of the ghoulish dead–beckoning her toward a decrepit carnival abandoned some years earlier–and the acting can leave something to be desired. But the dreadful dreamlike atmosphere is irresistible.

With a strong sense of fatalism and inescapable doom, the film takes an almost melodic and disinterested gait as it stalks its heroine to her inevitable end, presenting images of the walking dead that linger in the mind long after the credits roll.

The Curse of Frankenstein

Hammer is probably best remembered now for its series of Christopher Lee-starring Dracula movies. Yet its oddball Frankenstein franchise deserves recognition too. While Hammer’s efforts certainly pale in comparison to the Frankenstein movies produced by Universal Pictures in the 1930s and ’40s, the Hammer ones remain distinctly unique. Whereas the Creature was the star of the earlier films, so much so the studio kept changing the actor beneath the Jack Pierce makeup after Boris Karloff got fed up three movies in, the not-so-good doctor leads the Hammer alternatives.

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Indeed, between bouts of playing the almost sickeningly pious Abraham Van Helsing, Peter Cushing portrayed a perverse and dastardly Victor Frankenstein at Hammer, and it all begins with The Curse of Frankenstein. It isn’t necessarily the best movie in the series, but it introduces us to Cushing’s cruel scientist, played here as less mad than malevolent.

It also features Christopher Lee in wonderfully grotesque monster makeup. This is the film where Hammer began forming an identity that would become infamous in the realm of horror.

The Conjuring 2

Making an effective, truly spooky mainstream horror film is hard enough. But The Conjuring franchise really nailed things out of the gate with a sequel that is every bit as fun and terrifying as the original.

Patrick Wilson and Vera Farmiga return as paranormal investigators Ed and Lorraine Warren in The Conjuring 2. This time the Warrens head to Great Britain to attend to the Hodgson family, dealing with some poltergeist problems in their Enfield home. The source of the Enfield haunting’s activity contains some of the most disturbing and terrifying visuals in the entire Conjuring franchise and helped to set up a (sadly pretty bad) spinoff sequel in The Nun.

Doctor Sleep

Let’s be up front about this: Doctor Sleep is not The Shining. For some that fact will make this sequel’s existence unforgivable. Yet there is a stoic beauty and creepy despair just waiting to be experienced by those willing to accept Doctor Sleep on its own terms.

Directed by one of the genre’s modern masters, Mike Flanagan, the movie had the unenviable task of combining one of King’s most disappointing texts with the opposing sensibilities of Stanley Kubrick’s singular The Shining adaptation.

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And yet, the result is an effective thriller about lifelong regrets and trauma personified by the ghostly specters of the Overlook Hotel. But they’re far from the only horrors here. Rebecca Ferguson is absolutely chilling as the smiling villain Rose the Hat, and the scene where she and other literal energy vampires descend upon young Jacob Tremblay is the stuff of nightmares. Genuinely, it’s a scene you won’t forget, for better or worse….

Dracula Has Risen from the Grave

Hammer Films’ fourth Dracula movie, and third to star the ever reluctant Christopher Lee, is by some fans’ account the most entertaining one. While it lacks the polish and ultimate respectability of Lee’s first outing as the vampire, Horror of Dracula (which you can read more about below), just as it is missing the invaluable Peter Cushing, Dracula Has Risen from the Grave arrived in 1968 at the crossroads of Hammer’s pulpy aesthetic. Their films had not yet devolved into exploitative shlock as they would a few years later, but the censors seemingly were throwing up their hands and allowing for the studio’s vampires to be meaner, bloodier, and sexier.

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In this particular romp, Dracula has indeed risen from the grave (yes, again!) because of the good intentions of one German monsignor (Rupert Davies). The religious leader is in central Europe to save souls, but the local denizens of a village won’t go to a church caught in the shadow of Castle Dracula. So the priest exorcises the structure, oblivious that his sidekick is also accidentally dripping blood into the mouth of Dracula’s corpse down the river. Boom he’s back!

And yet, our fair Count can’t enter his home anymore. So for revenge, Dracula follows the monsignor to his house and lays eyes on the patriarch’s comely young niece (Veronica Carlson). You can probably figure out the rest.

Eraserhead

“In Heaven, everything is fine,” sings the Lady in the Radiator in Eraserhead. “You’ve got your good things, and I’ve got mine.”

You may get something short of paradise, but the insular world David Lynch created for his 1977 experimental existential horror film is a land of mundane wonders, commonplace mysteries, and extremely awkward dinner conversations. Lynch’s first feature film is surrealistic, expressionistic, and musically comic. The minor key score and jarring black and white images bring half-lives to the industrial backdrop and exquisite squalor. At its heart though, Eraserhead is poignant, sad, and ultimately relatable on a universal level.

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Jack Nance’s Henry Spencer is the spiky-haired everyman. He works hard at his job, cares deeply for his deformed, mutant child, and is desperate to please his extended family. Lynch lays a comedy of manners in a rude, crude city. The film is an assault on the senses, and it might take a little while for the viewer’s brains to adjust to the images on the screen; it is a different reality, and not an entirely inviting one, but stick with it. Once you’re in with the in-laws, you’re home free. When you make it to the end, you can tell your friends you watched all of Eraserhead. When they ask you what it’s about, you can tell them you saw it.

Eyes Without a Face

“I’ve done so much wrong to perform this miracle,” Doctor Génessier (Pierre Brasseur) confesses in the 1960 horror film Eyes Without a Face. But he says it in French, making it all so much more poignant, allowing it to underscore everything director and co-writer Georges Franju did right. We feel for the respectable plastic surgeon forced to do monstrous things. But the monster behind the title character is his young daughter Christiane (Édith Scob). She spends the majority of the film behind a mask, even more featureless than the unpainted plastic Captain Kirk kid’s costume Michael Myers wore in Halloween. The first time we see her face though, the shock wears off quickly and we are more moved than terrified.

Like Val Lewton films, the horror comes from the desolate black-and-white atmosphere, shrouding the claustrophobic suspense in German Expressionism. Maurice Jarre’s score evokes a Gothic carnival as much as a mad scientist’s laboratory. After his daughter’s face is hideously disfigured in an accident, Dr. Génessier becomes obsessed with trying to restore it. We aren’t shown much, until we’re shown too much. We see his heterograft surgical procedure in real time. A woman’s face is slowly flayed from the muscle. The graphic scenes pack more of a visceral shock after all the encroaching dread.

Godzilla

As the original and by far still the best Godzilla movie ever produced, this 1954 classic (originally titled Gojira), is one of the many great Showa Era classics that the Criterion Collection and HBO Max are making readily available to American audiences. And if you want to watch one that is actually scary, look no further.

In this original uncut Japanese form, the movie’s genuine dread of nuclear devastation, as well as nightly air raids, less than 10 years since World War II ended in several mushroom clouds, is overwhelming. Tapping into the real cultural anxiety of a nation left marred by the memory of its dead, as well as the recent incident of a fishing crew being contaminated by unannounced hydrogen bomb testing at Bikini Atoll, Godzilla encapsulates terror for the atomic age in a giant lizard.

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And unlike the sequels there is nothing cuddly or amusing about this original Kaiju with its scarred body and legion of tumors. This is the one Godzilla movie to play it straight, and it still plays today.

Horror of Dracula

Replacing Bela Lugosi as Dracula was not easily done in 1958. It’s still not easily done now. Which makes the fact that Christopher Lee turned Bram Stoker’s vampire into his own screen legend in Horror of Dracula all the more remarkable. Filmed in vivid color by director Terence Fisher, Horror of Dracula brought gushing bright red to the movie vampire, which up until then had been mostly relegated to black and white shadows.

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With its penchant for gore and heaving bosoms, Horror of Dracula set the template for what became Hammer Film Productions’ singular brand of horror iconography, but it’s also done rather tastefully the first time out here, not least of all because of Lee bring this aggressively cold-blooded version of Stoker’s monster to life. It’s all business with this guy.

Conversely, Abraham Van Helsing was never more dashing than when played by Peter Cushing in this movie. The film turned both into genre stars, and paved the way for a career of doing this dance time and again.

The Invisible Man

After years of false starts and failed attempts at resurrecting the classic Universal Monsters, Universal Pictures finally figured out how to make it work: They called Blumhouse Productions.

Yep, Jason Blum’s home for micro-budgeted modern horror worked wonders alongside writer-director Leigh Whannell in updating the classic 1933 James Whale movie, and the H.G. Wells novel on which it is based, for the 21st century.

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Turning the story of a man who masters invisibility into a horrific experience told from the vantage of the woman trying to escape his toxic violence, The Invisible Man becomes a disquieting allegory for the #MeToo era. It also is a devastating showcase for Elisabeth Moss who is compelling as Cecilia, the abused and gaslighted woman that barely found the will to escape, yet will now have to discover more strength since everyone around her shrugs off the idea of her dead ex coming back as an invisible man…

Lifeforce

Most assuredly a horror movie for a very acquired taste, there are few who would call Tobe Hooper’s career-destroying Lifeforce a good movie. There probably aren’t even many who would call it a fun movie. But for those with a singular taste for batshit pulp run amok, Lifeforce needs to be seen to be believed: Naked French vampire girls from outer space! Hordes of extras as zombies marauding through downtown London! Lush Henry Mancini music over special effects way outside of Cannon Films’ budget!!! Patrick Stewart as an authority figure possessed by said naked French space vampire, trying to seduce an astronaut via makeout sessions?!

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… What is this movie? Why does it exist? We don’t know, but we’re probably more glad it does than the people who made it.

Magic

As much a psychological case study as as a traditional horror movie, for those who like their terror rooted in humanity, Magic may be the creepiest iteration of the “killer doll” subgenre since this is about the man who thinks his dummy is alive. Starring Anthony Hopkins before he was Hannibal, or had a “Sir” in front of his name, Magic is the brain child of William Goldman, who adapted his own novel into this movie before he’d go on to do the same for The Princess Bride (as well as adapt Stephen King’s Misery), but after he’d already written Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid and Marathon Man.

In the film, Hopkins stars as Corky, a down on his luck ventriloquist who tries to get his life together by tracking down his high school sweetheart (Ann-Margret). She’ll soon probably wish he didn’t bother once she realizes Corky believes his ventriloquist dummy Fats really is magic… and is determined to get him to act on the most heinous of impulses.

The Most Dangerous Game

Before King Kong, Merian C. Cooper and Ernest B. Schoedsack released The Most Dangerous Game, one of the all-time great pulp movies, based on a short story by Richard Connell. This classic has influenced everything from Predator to The Running Man, The Hunger Games to Ready or Not.

It’s the story of a big game hunter who shipwrecks on a remote island with an eccentric Russian Count who escaped the Bolshevik Revolution (Leslie Banks). The wayward noble now drinks, studies, and charms his apparently frequent array of unannounced guests, including two other survivors from a previous (suspicious) wreck. The film quickly boils down to a mad rich man determined to hunt his guests as prey across the island for the ultimate thrill.

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Man hunting man, man lusting after woman in a queasy pre-Code fashion, this is a primal throwback to adventure yarns of the 19th century, which were still relatively recent in 1932. Shot simultaneously with King Kong, this is 63 brisk minutes of excitement, dread, and delicious overacting. Let the games begin.

Night of the Living Dead

“They’re coming to get you, Barbara!”

The zombie movie that more or less invented our modern understanding of what a zombie movie is, there is little new that can be said about George A. Romero’s original guts and brains classic, Night of the Living Dead. Shot in black and white and on almost no budget, the film reimagined zombies as a horde of ravenous flesh-eaters, as opposed to a lowly servant of the damned and enchanted.

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Still visually striking in black and white, perhaps the key reason to go back to the zombie movie that started it all is due to how tragically potent its central conflict from 1968 remains: When strangers are forced to join forces and barricade in a farmhouse to survive a zombie invasion, the wealthy white businessman is constantly at odds with the young Black man in the group, to the point of drawing weapons…

Ready or Not

The surprise horror joy of 2019, Ready or Not was a wicked breath of fresh air from the creative team Radio Silence. With a star-making lead turn by Samara Weaving, the movie is essentially a reworking of The Most Dangerous Game where a bride is being hunted by her groom’s entire wedding party on the night of their nuptials.

It’s a nutty premise that has a delicious (and broad) satirical subtext about the indulgences and eccentricities of the rich, as the would-be extended family of Grace (Weaving) is only pursuing her because they’re convinced a grandfather made a deal with the Devil for their wealth–and to keep it they must step on those beneath them every generation. Well step, shoot, stab, and ritualistically sacrifice in this cruelest game of hide and seek ever. Come for the gonzo high-concept and stay for the supremely satisfying ending.

Sisters

One of the scariest things about the 1972 psychological thriller Sisters is the subliminal sounds of bones creaking and muscles readjusting during the slasher scenes. Margot Kidder plays both title characters: conjoined twins, French Canadian model Danielle Breton and asylum-committed Dominique Blanchion, who had been surgically separated. Director Brian De Palma puts the movie together like a feature-long presentation of the shower scene in Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho. The camera lingers over bodies, bloodied or pristine, mobile or prone, with fetishistic glee before instilling the crime scenes in the mind’s eye. He allows longtime Hitchcock composer Bernard Herrmann to assault the ear.

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Movies

Best Horror Movies on Amazon Prime Right Now

By Alec Bojalad and 3 others

De Palma was inspired by a photograph of Masha and Dasha Krivoshlyapova, Russian conjoined twins with seemingly polarized temperaments. There may be no deeper bond than blood, which the film has plenty of, but the real alter ego comes from splitscreen compositions and an outside intruder. The voyeuristic delight culminates in a surgical dream sequence with freaks, geeks, a giant, and dwarves. Nothing is as it seems and an out-of-order telephone is a triggering reminder.

Jordan Peele’s debut feature Get Out was a near instant horror classic so anticipation was high for his follow-up. Thanks to an excellent script, Peele’s deep appreciation of pop culture, and some stellar performances, Us mostly lived up to the hype.

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The film tells the story of the Wilson family from Santa Cruz. After a seemingly normal trip to a summer home and the beach, Adelaide (Lupita Nyong’o), Gabe (Winston Duke) and their two kids are confronted by their own doppelgangers, are weird, barely verbal, and wearing red. But then Adelaide is not terribly surprised given her own personal childhood traumas. And that’s only the beginning of the horror at play. Fittingly, Us feels like a feature length Twilight Zone concept done right.

Vampyr

A nigh silent picture, Vampyr came at a point of transition for its director Carl Th. Dreyer. The Danish filmmaker, who often worked in Germany and France at this time, was making only his second “talkie” when he mounted this vampire opus. That might be why the movie is largely absent of dialogue. The plot, which focuses on a young man journeying to a village that is under the thrall of a vampire, owes much to Bram Stoker’s Dracula as well as F.W. Murnau’s Nosferatu from some years earlier.

Yet there horror fans should seek Vampyr out, if for no other reason than the stunning visuals and cinematography. Alternating between German Expressionist influences in its use to shadows to unsettling images crafted in naturalistic light, such as a boatman carrying an ominous scythe, this a a classic of mood and atmosphere. Better still is when they combine, such as when the scythe comes back to bedevil a woman sleeping, trapping us all in her nightmare. Even if its narrative has been told better, before and after, there’s a reason this movie’s iconography lingers nearly a century later.

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dweemeister · 7 years

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Movie Odyssey Retrospective

Dracula (1931 English-language version)

The 1920s had been an ideal breeding ground for horror films in the West. As cinematic technology improved and daring directors unleashed their magic on nitrate film, audiences found themselves terrorized by titles like Nosferatu (1922, Germany), The Phantom of the Opera (1925), and The Unknown (1927). With the introduction of synchronized sound, it was only a matter of time before someone took the genre to the talkies. Tod Browning (frequent collaborator with Lon Chaney, Sr., including The Unknown) would be that director, and the first horror masterpiece after the silent era would be Dracula, based on the 1924 stage play Dracula (itself based on the classic Bram Stoker novel of the same name). Universal Studios – a major studio but not yet considered in the same class of Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, Paramount, 20th Century Fox, and Warner Bros. at that time – had been considered specialists in horror and further burnished that reputation here. Hungarian-American Béla Lugosi became an overnight sensation, and since 1931 he has always been associated with black flowing capes, a badass accent, and blood-sucking.

Before a brief synopsis, it should be noted that there is a Spanish-language version of this film, Drácula, directed by George Melford and starring Carlos Villarías as the title character. That film, also released by Universal, came at a time when – during the early years of synchronized sound movies – studios frequently released non-English language versions of their movies (almost always European languages like French, German, Hungarian, Italian, Swedish; a burgeoning, but bankruptcy-prone market for films catering to the United States’ numerous ethnicities existed, too). Thought lost to time, Drácula resurfaced in the 1970s and has been restored for public consumption. A third version – a silent film – was released to theaters that had not updated their technology yet. As should be obvious, this write-up on Dracula will be on the English-language version with synchronized sound.

On Walpurgis Night somewhere in the Carpathian Mountains of Transylvania (present-day Romania), Englishman Renfield (Dwight Frye) is traveling by carriage to reach his client, Count Dracula’s (Lugosi) estate. Count Dracula has expressed his interest in an abbey outside of London. Villagers, warning of the spirit of Nosferatu, are fearful that the Count is a vampire, but Renfield dismisses those concerns. Renfield arrives at the castle, stunned at the immensity of the place and the appearance of a cloaked, slick-haired figure gracefully, slowly making his way down an immense, cobwebbed staircase. After bidding Renfield welcome, something can be heard howling outside.

“Listen to them. Children of the night. What music they make.”

Renfield becomes Dracula’s first victim and servant – groveling, maniacal, and violent – as the plot shifts to England and characters like Professor Van Helsing (Edward Van Sloan), sanitarium Dr. Seward (Herbert Bunston), his daughter Mina (Helen Chandler), Mina’s fiancée John Harker (David Manners), and Mina’s friend Lucy Weston (Frances Dade) begin investigating their newest acquaintance.

As the vampire Count Orlok in Nosferatu (itself an unauthorized version of Dracula), Max Schreck relied on his physical acting and makeup to frighten audiences. As Count Dracula in this film, Lugosi has a powerful weapon not afforded to Schreck: the sound of his voice. Born in 1882, Lugosi, having appeared in 1927 as Count Dracula in the stage play this movie is based on, arrived in the United States from Hungary in 1920. In that interim, Lugosi became fluent in English (this is disputed, but even if he had to learn his lines phonetically, the results were worth it) yet retained a thick Hungarian accent that prevented him from having a more prolific, diverse movie career. Nevertheless, in Dracula, his dialogue delivery – deliberate, deceptive, sometimes pausing for no apparent reason near the end of sentences – is incredible. Where Schreck’s Orlok angled for removing any semblance of humanity, Lugosi’s Dracula (which, on the basis of subsequent cultural references, has become the preferred prototype on which to create a vampiric character) is sophisticated, in touch with his humanity, all while retaining a threatening sexuality – “I never drink… wine,” he says. To put that in terms of a scenario, meeting Lugosi’s Dracula for dinner in any place outside of his castle might leave you charmed by the Count and just comfortable enough to eat and drink in his presence. That is, until Dracula feeds on you.

Universal did not see Lugosi as their first-choice Dracula; instead, that went to the senior Lon Chaney (1924′s He Who Gets Slapped, The Phantom of the Opera). Chaney died prior to production and, despite Universal’s preference for Paul Muni, relented when Lugosi lobbied relentlessly and said he was willing to accept an exiguous salary of $3,500 (~$56,000 in 2017′s USD). Lugosi declared bankruptcy the year after the film’s release. Having turned down the title role in Frankenstein (1931), Lugosi plodded through years of typecasting as suave horror villains and a British ban on horror films in the mid-1930s. He never became as established a movie star as fellow Universal Monsters star Boris Karloff, and played Count Dracula only twice – the second time in Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein (1948).

Alongside a bevy of forgettable performers, only one other actor stands out. That is Dwight Frye (who would also play Fritz in Frankenstein later that year) as the realtor-turned-slave Renfield. His performance, nowadays, might be dismissed as a relic of the worst of silent-era filmmaking that seems anachronistic even in 1931, but it works. Whether Frye swings into entertaining campiness or unmitigated insanity, he serves the film wonderfully. With eyes wide, veins pulsing from his neck, and not giving a shit about what people think of his behavior, Frye’s Renfield is unpredictable, unstable, and possesses an unsettling laugh – it is not the stereotypical villainous belly/diaphragm laugh – halfway between a sneer and a chuckle. It is not exactly something you want to hear in the darkness.

Director Tod Browning – an expert in horror films – assembles a team of craftspersons of envying pedigree. Production designers Herman Rosse and John Hoffman and art director Charles D. Hall (1930′s All Quiet on the Western Front, Frankenstein) outdo themselves with Dracula’s castle. It is everything you want from a decrepit fortress – cobwebs (one eighteen-foot spiderweb was created by rubber cement shot out of a rotary machine gun), an enormous fireplace (one fire made so much noise that the primitive microphones then being used picked up that sound rather than the dialogue; production halted as the fire winded down) ruined windows and columns, and tangled vines intruding from the outside. The enormity of the set lands with chilling impact, assisted with the costume design by Ed Ware and Vera West and cinematography by Karl Freund (1927′s Metropolis, 1937′s The Good Earth, I Love Lucy) inspired by German expressionism – a silent film-era movement which emphasized exaggerated geometries, shadows, and high-contrast lights and darks. Freund’s camera is often static but, unlike many films the early 1930s, slowly floats across the set when needed. This creates an impending sense of terror, lending Dracula a thick atmosphere that has kept it watchable even though the movie itself may no longer be scary to most. However, this focus on the production design is mostly abandoned after twenty-five minutes as Dracula finds himself in London. Lugosi and Frye’s performances grab the film by the scruff, and further solidified themselves into Hollywood lore.

The sets themselves impressed Universal’s art department and directorial contractees so much that they remained standing for at least a decade longer for subsequent films for the studio; the finale of Sherlock Holmes and the Voice of Terror (1942) holding its finale within what used to be Dracula’s walls, for example. These same sets also appeared in the Spanish-language Drácula –when the English-language production completed its shooting during the daytime, the Spanish-language production commenced at night using much of the same resources. The cast and crew of the Spanish-language production might even have had an advantage, as they had access to the English-language Dracula’s dailies/rushes (raw, unedited footage of the day’s shooting on a movie), to tinker with their own performances and handiwork.

Other than Tchaikovsky’s most famous theme from his ballet Swan Lake playing over the opening credits and a brief snippet of Wagner and Schubert, there is zero music in Dracula. In scenes as Dracula is approaching someone with ill intentions, this increases the dread. In transition scenes where the audience is reading the text of some publication or when characters are traveling, this might not work with impatient viewers. This almost-complete lack of music is because – with synchronized sound introduced just four years earlier – filmmakers believed that movie audiences could not accept music in a film unless there was a source of music within the film (diegetic music; one of those instances is when an orchestral performance is featured in Dracula). Considering that silent films were never truly silent – movie theaters during the time had resident musicians (typically pianists, organists, or small ensembles) – and that movie music has become a genre all its own, that idea might seem quaint to modern audiences. Watch enough post-Jazz Singer 1920s and early 1930s movies and one will notice that lack of music is widespread.

In other aural developments, depending on the quality of the print that you watch, a crackling image noise may be heard throughout the film. That is due to the age of the film print and the quality of the sound recording available in 1931; the newest restorations of Dracula should minimize the sound.

Though a relic of early Hollywood horror, it is a film energized by a star-making performance from Lugosi, which has since altered audience conceptions of what a vampire looks like, talks like, moves like. Okay, we never see Dracula’s blood-sucking fangs, but credit Lugosi, Browning, and screenwriter Garrett Fort for devising a character that is essentially the origin of anything that even references vampirism.

Dracula shows its age as it approaches its ninetieth anniversary. Wooden acting from almost all of the supporting cast, its rough editing, and pacing issues may not be accommodating for those accustomed to older movies and are watching the film without knowing the limits of cinematic technology in 1931 (again, Dracula may have terrified viewers upon release, but it is no longer “scary” in the modern sense). It is an essential piece of the horror genre, as well as cinema. The dedication to which those behind the camera applied to this film is remarkable, diffusing a frightful feeling that could only have been produced in its own time.

My rating: 9/10

^ Based on my personal imdb rating. My interpretation of that ratings system can be found here.

This is the tenth Movie Odyssey Retrospective. Movie Odyssey Retrospectives are write-ups on films I had seen in their entirety before this blog’s creation or films I failed to give a full-length write-up to following the blog’s creation. Previous Retrospectives include A Boy Named Charlie Brown (1969), Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone (2001), and The Wizard of Oz (1939).

#Dracula #Tod Browning #Bela Lugosi #Helen Chandler #David Manners #Dwight Frye #Edward Van Sloan #Herbert Bunston #Frances Dade #Carla Laemmle #Garrett Fort #Karl Freund #Charles D. Hall #Herman Rosse #John Hoffman #Ed Ware #Vera West #TCM #My Movie Odyssey

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ktbensondc · 5 years

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A Pocket Guide to Analyzing Films by Robert Spadoni - CHAPTER 3

MISE-EN-SCÈNE

Mise-en-scène is ‘everything in front of the camera’ and in Spadoni’s opinion, splits into four main categories: setting, costume and makeup, lighting, and staging.

The mise-en-scène transforms the space that is filmed. Before the transformation this space is called profilmic space. Profilmic space is the ‘visual raw material a camera takes in and turns into mise-en-scène’. Spadoni remarks that in the modern day, many, more mainstream, films will not have profilmic space as new spaces are created and even modified on computers.

Moreover, an element in a film can be more or less enhanced through ‘stylization’. This can be understood as the ‘other side of the coin of “realistic”’ although stylization is not completely how a film element differs from ‘”reality”’. Spadoni offers that stylization may push an element in film outside the bounds ‘to which we might expect the element to conform’ (or as the audience understands the element from daily experiences). Therefore, stylization is ‘a matter of perception’ moreso than to objectively measure this element against its real-life counterpart. Spadoni gives the following example:

And yet, while the standards of judgement will be subjective, most would agree that Fred Flintstone’s prehistoric car is more stylized than the Batmobile (pick your version) and that the Batmobile is more stylized than a Toyota Prius.

SETTING

The setting is the ‘physical environment wherein a film’s action takes place’. This can be split into two pairs: Location and Studio Filming, and Stylized and Unstylized settings.

On Location: This is using an existing location somewhere in the world. This can be associated with ‘notions of realism’. It is more common in low budget films unless the location is difficult to get to, thus can be associated with big budget films too.

Studio Filming: This is where the setting is built, either in a studio - ‘wholly or in part’ - or on a computer.

Stylized and Unstylized: How much a setting is stylized is dependent on the degree to which it ‘meets our expectations based on our sense of such a place in the real world’. Built settings can look ‘indistinguishable’ from found ones, and found settings can ‘appear strange and unusual’ depending on the way it is filmed.

PROPS

A prop is ‘an object that serves some function within the narrative’. Props can also be motifs.

COSTUME AND MAKEUP

Unstylized costumes would aim to match the real-life counterparts they are based off of as closely as possible. A period drama would typically aim for unstylized costumes. However, Spadoni points out that particular costumes, his example is a uniform, may adapt a quality from an original real-life version that has not been adapted in other films of the same period, therefore making the uniform appear stylized. Stylization is therefore subjective.

Costumes that have no real life reference are still stylized but the degree to how much is subjective to the viewer. Rather than comparing the costumes the real life counterpart, viewers would instead compare the costumes between films of a similar genre or subject (futuristic films set in space, for example). One costume from one film may be less stylized than another costume from a different film.

Costume and makeup can also play into motif and so, provide ‘clues’ to a character’s ‘nature or psychology’ and may also ‘contribute in striking or subtle ways to a shot’s composition’. Costumes can also act as a disguise, hiding a character’s true intentions and beliefs rather than hinting to the audience who they are.

LIGHTING

Lighting can be diegetic, nondiegetic, or both. Spadoni offers the example of shadows to explain how lighting can be used in the mise-en-scène as shadows can be used for ‘expressive purposes’ such as suggesting the character’s interior state, or foreshadowing events. Bram Stoker’s Dracula uses shadow at the start of the movie to heavily hint to the audience that the Count is not normal, or good, and reinforces a creepy atmosphere.

Two kinds of shadows:

An attached shadow is a ‘shadow cast by something onto itself because it’s not fully illuminated’. For example, noses ‘cast attached shadows’ on faces. This kind of shadow ‘helps to make objects appear more three dimensional’.

A cast shadow ‘results when something is placed between an object and a light source such that a shadow of that something - tree branches, a person - falls on the object’.

Lighting Quality and Direction

Lighting quality can be understood as ‘hard and even harsh’ with shadows being ‘sharp-edged’ under this ‘intense’ lighting, or lighting can be ‘more diffuse’. This means the shadows are softer and the contrast (’the amount of difference between an image’s darkest and lightest tones’) has decreased.

Lighting direction can be understood by looking at the direction in which the shadow is falling. A ‘less flattering’ angle is bottom lighting otherwise known as underlighting and is typically used in horror films. The light comes from below and can ‘cast grotesque shadows on faces and walls’. Lighting from above is called top lighting.

Backlighting comes from behind and ‘commonly serves two purposes’. The first of which can make figures ‘glow in glamorous fashion’ which can give them a saintly appearance. The second, which Spadoni remarks is more evident, particularly because it is more important, in black and white films, ‘helps separate figures from backgrounds’. This can sometimes be called edge lighting as it helps the audience pick out the figures easier and quicker. Silhouette lighting is when the figure is completely in shadow.

Lighting in Classical Hollywood Cinema

Classical Hollywood Cinema is a film style that ‘characterizes’ modern mainstream narrative films. Backlighting in this style combines with two other kinds known as the three-point lighting system. First is backlight, the second is key light which is ‘a shot’s main lighting source’. This light is ‘usually motivated’ by a diegetic source, even if ‘it’s not the actual source of the lighting we see’. The third is fill light, which ‘softens the shadows’ created by the key light. This will create a ‘generally more flattering look’ for faces.

There are two kinds to the three-pont lighting system.

High-key lighting is ‘relatively even, tends to be bright, and minimizes shadows’.

Low-key lighting provides ‘little or no fill light, increases contrast, and results in darker and crisper shadows’.

Spadoni states that different genres are associated with different setups. For example, comedies and musicals will use high-key lighting,whereas horrors and thrillers and film noirs will use low-key lighting. However, this is not a fixed rule on film,

Lighting can also ‘exhibit varying degrees’ of stylization.

STAGING

Staging is ‘what the figures in front of the camera do’. Two ways to understand staging is through acting and performance and how the figures combine with other elements in the mise-en-scène to form patterns on screen.

Acting and Performance

According to Spadoni, acting is difficult to analyse because ‘we lack the terminology’ to describe what exactly particular actors in particular films are doing in comparison to other actors in other genres of film. However, Spadoni assures that through stylization, some sort of understanding can be formed. For example, in a comedy, actions may become over-the-top because ‘no one expects’ it to look ‘real’ since the intention is to be funny. In a drama, the actions may well be toned down and a lot more subtle. In a drama, the acting may be less stylized than in a comedy, but how realistic either are, is up to the individual viewer.

Therefore, Spadoni states, to interpret acting, is to base it on the individual viewer’s ‘common sense’ of what is transpiring on screen.

Shifting Patterns on the Screen

Another part of acting is the actor’s positions and movements in front of the camera, and how a three-dimensional space is directed as though it is two-dimensional. Spadoni remarks that staging is a ‘delicate and underappreciated cinematic art’. A film that ‘relies less heavily on editing will rely more on staging’ to control its ‘narrational flow and aesthetic appearance’. Staging (as well as editing) ‘provides means to guide viewers’.

Deep-space staging is when a setting has significant depth and utilises it.

Through movement, figures can draw attention to themselves, but they can also draw attention by staying still in an environment that is always moving. The eye can also be drawn to a figure who turns to face the audience or moves closer to the camera. Figures who turn their back to the camera encourage the viewer to look somewhere else, or draw us to them depending on the moment.

Aperture framing is how ‘windows, doors, and other enclosing shapes embedded in the mise-en-scène section off portions of the frame’. Placing or moving a figure into one of these ‘visual pockets’ will ‘draw the eye to it’. This type of framing has other purposes too.

Staging can also be more or less stylized.

#pocket guide #film theory #mise en scene

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springfallendeer · 7 years

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Castlevania: Ayala - Meeting Trevor (1)

I wrote this a few days ago but wanted to wait to post it. Ayala meeting Trevor Belmont, as per part of the little side AU on this blog.

A soft sigh of annoyance escaped him as he examined the scenery which lay before him. For once, he was at a loss for what to do and where to go. Typically, he would just pick a direction and start walking. The unfortunate truth of this circumstance being that this was not a situation that was typical to his daily life. Or at least, it had not been a common aspect of his life for quite a while. For the first time in a long time, he had companions who were supposed to be traveling with him. They were all supposed to sit and discuss where it was that they were supposed to go, and when. For the first time in a long time, he was supposed to be making some sort of a plan; and he was supposed to be a part of a team. The issue was that he had taken a few actions which in turn resulted in him being separated from his companions. The forests of Wallachia housed an array of hidden dangers and secrets.

Dracula’s hoards happened to be just one of these many secrets. They had happened across a small army of Blue-Fangs. The demons had immediately set out to deal with them; and they had retaliated in turn. Better to take out a handful of the beasts now so as to prevent them from being able to harm more innocent people in the future. They had been successful in their attempts. From what he could gather, none of those demons had succeeded at escaping their demise. Unfortunately, accidents could happen at any time. He was going to blame Sypha, as well as himself, for what had happened. The long and short of it? Sypha had attempted to take advantage of the environment, in hopes of killing the demon off faster. Walls of ice to trap the demons, whitewater rapids to hopefully smother anything that fell into the river that was between them. Her plan had been a good one; but it had been poorly executed all the same.

In the midst of the fray, he had been dragged into the rapids by one of the Blue Fangs. He had been a little to close to the river in the midst of the brawl. The monstrosities had taken advantage of the environment just as well as he and his companions had been. The beast that had grabbed him had fallen into the water at some point; but he could rest assured of the fact that it was dead. Strong as they were, being cut to pieces tended to kill them easily enough. The beast had been dying the very moment that it had rushed from the water to grab him. He could call it a last-ditch effort on the part of the demon. Grabbing hold of him with its one remaining arm to drag him into the rapids in hopes of making him drown. The monster had been little more than a maimed chest and head by the time it grabbed him. It probably died long before he had managed to work his way free of the rapids; but by then, he had been carried miles away from the scene.

Vampire Killer had proven to be an effective means of escaping the water. Honestly he was glad to be able to say that he had gotten out of the rapids without suffering more than a few scrapes and bruises. The demon had been smart, by any account. There were a dozen ways to figure out how to counteract the assault of a monster; but he had his limits where mother nature came into play. Caught in that powerful current and fighting to keep his head above water, he had been reduced to nothing more than a man attempting to keep himself from drowning. Like a rat trapped in the sewer; he could do nothing but struggle for his life and hope that he could make it. The best of men could die at the hands of the environment. He would do well to learn from this incident, and try to prevent the situation from repeating itself in the future. Albeit, that was a lesson to be studied at a later date.

As of now, what he needed to do was try to figure out how he was going to get back to his group. Obviously he would need to follow the river; he was sure that they would be doing the same and trusting that it would lead to him. The current issue was the elements. Night would arrive soon, and he could not afford to be caught out here alone. The addition being that once the sun went down, the chill would come; and if he couldn’t at least find a means of keeping warm, he would not survive the night. His clothes were soaking wet and weight twice as much as they normally did. As an added metaphorical kick to his testicles, his coin pouch had been lost in the fray. Likely swept away by the current to be found by some idle traveler who might happen across it. So he was stone cold sober, soaked to the bone with bloody water, and sore from having been tossed around in the river like a fallen log.

So in blunt terms, he was not happy. An annoyed groan escaped him as he attempted to wring out the abundance of water that happened to be so desperate to cling to his clothing. No matter what he did, he would not be able to dry off before night fell. His best option at this point was to try and find some semblance of shelter so that he could build a fire. That would at least help him keep warm and hopefully be what it took to make sure his clothes were dry by morning. If he was lucky, Sypha and Alucard would be only a short walk away by the time he was able to go looking for them.

“God spits in my general direction again.” He grumbled, peeling off his wet cloak so that he would at least be able to get the extra weight off of his shoulders. Normally, the attire did well at keeping him warm and comfortable; right now, with it soaking wet, all it managed to do was remind him of how incredibly cold the surrounding air was.

“Gettin’ pissed off at him probably wont make him less likely to spit at you in the future.” The voice called out to him before he could even become aware of a new presence nearby. He could blame the rapids for that. The noise created by the rushing water easily overpowered any sort of noise that might be made by a set of approaching feet. Out of instinct, he reached for his whip as he spiraled around to look for the source of the voice; his cloak was thrust upon the soggy land in the process. Great; in addition to it already being wet, now it was dirty. So he would have to wash it off before trying it out. To say that he was at least a little confused to find the head of an elk poking out from within the woodland, would likely be an understatement. Not only did it convince him that it had been the elk that had spoken to him; even if only for a moment; but he could not help but be stunned at the size of it.

“If I were the typical hunter, you’d be quite the prize.” He commented, watching as the oversized animal calmly stepped out from within the wood so that it could approach the rapids. This allowed him to see the source of the voice. A rather small woman sat contently in a saddle upon the elk’s back; she had initially been relatively hidden from his view. There had been a tree between them until the beast moved towards the river. While he could not hear it thanks to the rapids, he could guess that the woman had managed to hear what he said; she seemed to laugh at it.

“Me, or the Elk?” She called out, raising her voice so that he would be able to hear her over the sound of the rapids. Admittedly her humor managed to coax a smile onto his lips; even if only slightly. Yes he was still pissed off about his current predicament, but there appeared to be a silver lining to her presence. She appeared to have adequate supplies for keeping herself comfortable. He could probably bribe her into giving him some help for the night. Just a blanket would be fine, if that was all she could afford to offer. He was at least going to try and hope that he wasn’t completely up this creek without a paddle.

“Obviously the animal. That’s the biggest buck I’ve ever seen.” He stated, attempting to add some humor to the situation. Considering his predicament, it would be better for him if he could put her in a good mood. Or at least help her maintain the good humor that she appeared to be in. He watched as the Elk lowered their head for the sake of drinking from the river. Thankfully the rapids had returned to their natural white color. The demon blood had been washed away sometime ago, so it was not as though the animal were about to drink the remains of the unholy.

“Yeah, he’s a big’n.” She woman stated, giving her mount an affectionate pat on the shoulder as they raised their head. From there, the elk took a few steps back, before turning to face the man slightly. “Buck aside; it appears you’ve taken a bit of a dip in the river.” She commented, having already taken note of his disheveled state. A bitter laugh escaped him at this as he reached to run his fingers through his soaked hair. Of course it was obvious that he had fallen into the water. No doubt it would be even more obvious that he had been carried by the rapids once he chanced his body an inspection. He didn’t drown, but that did not mean that he managed to avoid being thrown against whatever rocks were found in the river.

“Yes, and to be blunt I’m already starting to freeze. Might I be able to trouble you for a blanket? Something to keep warm for the night?” He admitted to his issue and offered an immediate inquiry, not wanting to be stuck in these damp clothes for longer than needed. He could not hear it, but she appeared to laugh again as she nudged her mount in the sides with her heels.

“Blanket wont do you much good if you go and get it wet.” She retorted, remaining oddly calm as the elk approached him. The animal came to stand beside him, so that he was right next to the woman which rode upon its back. “Its been lookin’ like it might snow, so just a blanket wont keep you from freezin’ out here. I’ll let you borrow some covers and share my fire if you help me set up camp. Fair trade?” She went on to give him an offer that he would be stupid to refuse. As much as he hated the situation, she was right. It may very well snow tonight, and no fire would keep him alive if he happened to be trapped out here naked or in wet clothes. The air alone would freeze him alive.

“I’d be asking for death if I refused the offer, now wouldn’t I?” He retorted, offering an idle shrug. Only then did he decide to remove his fingers from his whip. At this point it was clear that the little woman was not here to do him any harm. Or so he could hope. His family crest was out in the open for her to see at this point; so she either had no idea what the crest represented, or she knew but did not care, or she knew but planned on killing him while his guard was down. Considering her small size, even if the last of these potential options was her intended goal, he would be fine. After all, he was Trevor Belmont; and he had never lost a fight to man nor beast. Though, admittedly this oversized elk may very well prove to be a bit of a challenge if they happened to get aggressive. Considering the visible scarring on the animals neck and shoulders, he could guess that it was no stranger to fighting.

“Grab the cape and climb up then. We’ll find a suitable spot to set up camp, then we can see about getting you dry.” She stated, offering him her hand so that she could help him climb upon the back of her mount. At first, he contemplated turning down the offered hand. Not because he felt he could go without it, but because he believed that he might somehow pull her off of her mount if he allowed her to help him climb up. Albeit, he decided against it for fear of unintentionally insulting her. Currently he needed her help, so it would be best to keep her in a charitable mood. At least until he was warm enough to be fine if his typical attitude happened to piss her off later in the night. He hummed a bit to himself as he retrieved his soiled cloak and tossed it over his shoulder. Might as well ignore the mud for the time being. He would be better off worrying about the mess after he had established that he was not going to freeze his sack solid tonight. Besides, he had gotten dirty before.

“Sorry if I get you wet.” He commented, taking the woman’s hand and allowing her to help him climb onto her mount. This time, he was able to hear as she laughed at his statements; probably because now he was so much closer to her.

“Its just water. Nothin’ I haven’t dealt with before.” She mused, waiting for him to settle down behind her before she began to pull at the reins. The elk shook their head ever so slightly and offered a snort; their heated breath formed a faint mist in the air, as a means of portraying the fact that the night chill was fast approaching. “Hold tight so you don’t fall off. Buck can get a bit jumpy once the sun starts to set.” She stated, offering the man some fairly earnest advice. A faint huff worked past his lips as he awkwardly wrapped his arms around her smaller frame. She already said that she didn’t care if she got wet. No harm in letting this unexpected savior share in his misery. He felt her shift ever so slightly as she gently kicked her mount in the sides, urging them to start walking. A quick tug at the reins and the elk turned to make their way back into the woods. They would be better off finding a secluded area to camp out for the night, so as to not draw the attention of any demons. Albeit, chances were that the monsters would find them anyway. He would at least be content to know that he would have a better chance of enduring the battle if he was not freezing his arse off in the cold.

So in a way, he may very well be saving this woman’s life by accompanying her. She might have been set up for travel and camping, but one small blade and an overgrown elk would not be a suitable means of defense if a group of demons managed to find her. At least he would wind up paying off his debt early if there was a fight to be had tonight. After all, it was better to have it that way, than to be stuck owing this little lady a favor.

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