Waiting for the count's return
Mar 23, 2014 16:58:24 GMT -5
Post by Sarah on Mar 23, 2014 16:58:24 GMT -5
Sarah was in the bathtub.
Not an especially big surprise.
Currently she was cleaning her feet with oil and a pumice stone, thinking about which of her forty-seven red-toned nail polishes to paint her toes with. Eternity was exhausting. So much time, and the compulsion to look pretty the whole time! In that she and Herbert were very much alike. She did not actually despise Herbert, as much as it often looked like it. Occasionally, they were even friendly. They had taken some time ago to doing readings for each other with tarot cards and a form of divination they invented specifically for vampires that related to blood patterns, as they did not drink tea. She and Herbert had in fact come to terms with each other very early on, when Herbert had started occasionally sharing his food with her. Krolock fed his son but did no such kindness for any other vampires; Herbert wasn't allowed out. Sarah reciprocated Herbert's generosity herself sometimes, but she did not have Krolock's strength or his power of coercion.
"Why would you do this? Why not hog it all?" she asked him early on.
"Oh, if you don't eat, you get all decayed and shrivelled and starving," he'd said with an easy shrug, pulling his hair over one shoulder and looping it around his hand. "And then your mind goes. Since that boy didn't come back with you, you're the only person around here to talk to except for vati."
The graf was not a particularly communicative sort, expressing his love for his son largely in the fact that he kept him around possessively and protectively, and Sarah had understood this. She had grown accustomed to her own father-enforced isolation, but she'd understood the longing to leave and to find someone. Alfred had been a suggestion of that for the both of them, but his horror at vampirehood had led her to quickly make her choice and return to the castle, choosing security and stability (and she'd assumed a source of food; this had not been the case, but Sarah was so good at hunting she'd become a folkloric figure long after the deaths of those who had known her) over adventure.
It wasn't only the desire to have Krolock's attention, when he gave it, to herself, that had led her to encourage Herbert to go to the States when he wanted to go. She had contemplated leaving with him, even.
But unlike Herbert, the lucky fool, she had no safety net should she fail. Had she written Krolock pleadingly as Herbert had, Krolock would not have come running. He would probably not even have wired her any money. This sudden reminder of how much Herbert mattered, and how little she did, had soured her mood, even enough to make her uninterested in spending much time with Herbert. Besides, he had a boyfriend now. Perhaps the years had changed her, but she didn't really envy him that. The boy was quite like Alfred, which she supposed only made things a little more sour. She would never admit even to herself that she regretted her choice. For all she knew Alfred went mad with starvation or found himself the wrong end of a stake with better hunters than he'd been years and years ago, and she was glad to have not met such an end with him. But she knew how seventy years with Krolock went now, and she assumed another seventy would be exactly the same.
She'd tried earlier today to repair things. Another seventy years with the graf could be tolerated if she could rely on Herbert's occasional interest - she was contemplating letting him on her secret business plans, her secret stock investments and hidden bank account, and if not that she figured his interests were enough like hers that they could shop or make dancing plans later. But oh of course the moment his father stepped out of the building he had to collapse back against his sofa and blink and grasp at the air. Herbert's fits unnerved her horribly, and she'd run out of the room. A while into her bath she heard the harpsicord tinkle. He probably didn't even know he'd had a fit, but the day was ruined as far as she was concerned.
Downstairs, she heard the heavy sound of a door opening, then shutting. She knew immediately from the slowness of it that it was Krolock returning, not Herbert leaving. Hastily she unplugged the tub and got out, drying herself and then donning a robe, much more tightly knotted than Herbert's tended to be, and exited to confront Krolock in the downstairs hall.
Not an especially big surprise.
Currently she was cleaning her feet with oil and a pumice stone, thinking about which of her forty-seven red-toned nail polishes to paint her toes with. Eternity was exhausting. So much time, and the compulsion to look pretty the whole time! In that she and Herbert were very much alike. She did not actually despise Herbert, as much as it often looked like it. Occasionally, they were even friendly. They had taken some time ago to doing readings for each other with tarot cards and a form of divination they invented specifically for vampires that related to blood patterns, as they did not drink tea. She and Herbert had in fact come to terms with each other very early on, when Herbert had started occasionally sharing his food with her. Krolock fed his son but did no such kindness for any other vampires; Herbert wasn't allowed out. Sarah reciprocated Herbert's generosity herself sometimes, but she did not have Krolock's strength or his power of coercion.
"Why would you do this? Why not hog it all?" she asked him early on.
"Oh, if you don't eat, you get all decayed and shrivelled and starving," he'd said with an easy shrug, pulling his hair over one shoulder and looping it around his hand. "And then your mind goes. Since that boy didn't come back with you, you're the only person around here to talk to except for vati."
The graf was not a particularly communicative sort, expressing his love for his son largely in the fact that he kept him around possessively and protectively, and Sarah had understood this. She had grown accustomed to her own father-enforced isolation, but she'd understood the longing to leave and to find someone. Alfred had been a suggestion of that for the both of them, but his horror at vampirehood had led her to quickly make her choice and return to the castle, choosing security and stability (and she'd assumed a source of food; this had not been the case, but Sarah was so good at hunting she'd become a folkloric figure long after the deaths of those who had known her) over adventure.
It wasn't only the desire to have Krolock's attention, when he gave it, to herself, that had led her to encourage Herbert to go to the States when he wanted to go. She had contemplated leaving with him, even.
But unlike Herbert, the lucky fool, she had no safety net should she fail. Had she written Krolock pleadingly as Herbert had, Krolock would not have come running. He would probably not even have wired her any money. This sudden reminder of how much Herbert mattered, and how little she did, had soured her mood, even enough to make her uninterested in spending much time with Herbert. Besides, he had a boyfriend now. Perhaps the years had changed her, but she didn't really envy him that. The boy was quite like Alfred, which she supposed only made things a little more sour. She would never admit even to herself that she regretted her choice. For all she knew Alfred went mad with starvation or found himself the wrong end of a stake with better hunters than he'd been years and years ago, and she was glad to have not met such an end with him. But she knew how seventy years with Krolock went now, and she assumed another seventy would be exactly the same.
She'd tried earlier today to repair things. Another seventy years with the graf could be tolerated if she could rely on Herbert's occasional interest - she was contemplating letting him on her secret business plans, her secret stock investments and hidden bank account, and if not that she figured his interests were enough like hers that they could shop or make dancing plans later. But oh of course the moment his father stepped out of the building he had to collapse back against his sofa and blink and grasp at the air. Herbert's fits unnerved her horribly, and she'd run out of the room. A while into her bath she heard the harpsicord tinkle. He probably didn't even know he'd had a fit, but the day was ruined as far as she was concerned.
Downstairs, she heard the heavy sound of a door opening, then shutting. She knew immediately from the slowness of it that it was Krolock returning, not Herbert leaving. Hastily she unplugged the tub and got out, drying herself and then donning a robe, much more tightly knotted than Herbert's tended to be, and exited to confront Krolock in the downstairs hall.