#just so impossible to imagine the bredth of that experience

[stormofdefiance]

An incredibly lazy wee doodle of barn swallows since I'm struggling to sleep and going back to my teenage ritual of drawing birds far too late into the night. Where I live, it will soon be time for the swallows to leave and make their bi-annual 8000 mile migration all the way to South Africa. Summer goes with them, and already my late North European nights seem to be turning dark so soon. A couple of months ago the night would just be a muted blue until dawn would crack with a skylark's song at 3am, and from now it will just be a couple of months until the black sets in before the afternoon ends.

It genuinely makes me want to cry thinking about these matchbox sized little beings throwing themselves into that endless blue all in pursuit of airborne insects, those small bodies making their way over the widening, waterless Sahara, that 40 day excursion that, by mid-October, will be over. How long a journey that seems, how short for a being smaller than my hand.

I'll miss them as much as I'll miss the sun until my late-March birthday comes along again and the spring sky is briefly interrupted by their sudden return, their tumbling bodies celebrating the world waking up again, back - somehow, dare I project a sense of sentiment, remembering - to the very same nests they'd left behind just months ago.

[nonplayer-character]

Castlevania

Trevor’s watching flames dance in the fire pit like women in flowing silks, swaying this way and then that, predictable but mystifying. Trevor’s thinking about Sypha and Alucard who are, even now, watching him in concern from across the way. His eyes flicker to them, catch Sypha’s, and then return to the fire.

“Cut it out,” he mutters. Clutching his bandaged arm to his bleeding chest. He’s not self-conscious, specifically, but he hates the attention. Hates the way they look at him, their mouths a hair’s bredth from letting slip the questions so clearly on their tongues.

“I wish that you would let me clean them,” says Alucard, annoyed. “I’ve told you before, cleaning a wound is the difference between an arm today and none tomorrow.”

“It’ll be fine,” says Trevor, “it’s not like this is the first time I’ve been shredded by monster claws.”

“Nor the last, I’m sure,” says Alucard, the annoyance steadfast, “but that’s not a very good reason to refuse help.”

“Especially because you have us now,” Sypha interjects, “we have each other.”

Trevor doesn’t look up because he doesn’t want to see the sincerity in either of them. He’s not interested in the soft places within their hearts they’ve allowed him access to.

Trevor wouldn’t choose himself, and he’s never really trusted hanyone who said they would.

It’s a hard life and it’s impossible to believe anyone would stumble into his asking for so little and giving so much. What has Trevor ever really done to deserve their care? Help kill Alucard’s father; take Sypha from her people. No one who gets wrapped up with Trevor Belmont ever comes out the other side on top.

Alucard sighs and before Trevor can place why, the other man is beside him, extracting his arm from where he is cradling it, protective. It’s not as painful as Trevor anticipates when Alucard pulls it away.

“Fuck off, Alucard,” Trevor says, but even with the earnest effort he’s making, he couldn’t break Alucard’s grip if he wanted. Sometimes he forgets how dangerous the man is. He makes himself so non threatening, hoping the world will believe him.

Sypha’s on his other side a moment later with a little kit of herbs and dried plants Alucard insists they keep with them when they travel.

“Classy,” says Alucard.

“You don’t have to want help, Trevor,” says Sypha, she’s being uncharacteristically gentle with him and perhaps it is because he’d nearly been maimed earlier, but Trevor feels uncomfortably comfortable between them. Embarrassed and ashamed to want them. “But you are going to grin and bear it.”

“I don’t know why you bother,” Trevor says, and it’s gruffly said but comes out more as an admission than anything. Sypha and Alucard exchange a glance and Alucard responds:

“Do you honestly believe, after all this time together, that we wouldn’t care for your well being?”

With so pointed a statement and so little room to deny, Trevor almost feels stupid for admitting that’s exactly what he believes.

“You might be the dumbest man alive,” Sypha laughs.

“It’s hard to imagine there’s anyone that doesn’t want you dead when everyone you’ve met since you were eight has,” Trevor says. “Excuse me for using a lifetime of experience to form an assumption.”

“I just thought you knew us better than that,” Sypha tells him, her laughter lost in the seriousness of Trevor’s response. She and Alucard are rubbing ointments into his cuts and it hurts like hell, but their hands are gentle.

“He does,” says Alucard, he catches Trevor’s attention and hold’s his eye contact all the while, “he’s just afraid to feel as if he belongs anywhere.”

“I don’t,” says Trevor, “that’s exactly what not having a home means.”

“Of course you do,” Alucard responds, as if speaking to a particularly confused child, “you belong right here, between us. And have for some time.”

Sypha hums in agreement, her fingers light on his injuries. Their words heavy in his mind. The flames flicker and sputter and swirl.

“Let us care about you,” Sypha says, “it’s time.”

Idk man I just wanted to write some dialog for the disaster trio