Природа шипов ( Nature of thorns)

[Schingiuire]

Название: Природа шипов ( Nature of thorns)
Оригинал: www.diary.ru/~Schingiuire/p116264519.htm
Автор: Schingiuire
Переводчик: Dafna536
Бета перевода: Melissa
E-mail переводчика: [email protected]
Рейтинг: G
Жанр: Romance, Fluff
Персонажи: Дракула (Алукард), Абрахам ван Хелсинг
Содержание: "Мне довелось прочесть одну любопытную книгу, в которой автор сравнивал людей с растениями, утверждая, что каждому человеку можно приписать такое, которое будет соответствовать характеру...."
Примечание автора: Фик написан по заказу для Alex ( aka Dafna536). Она просила меня написать флафф и это самое близкое к флаффу, что у меня получилось.

Дракула переступил дверной порог и настороженно посмотрел в глубину раскинувшегося перед ним сада в поисках малейшего признака человеческого присутствия. Не почуяв ничего подозрительного, он ступил на вымощенную камнем тропинку, что вела сквозь лабиринт цветов и деревьев. Редко случалось ему покидать стены особняка, и в такие моменты, насколько это представлялось возможным, он старался избегать Абрахама и остальных обитателей дома. Плавно, словно зыбкая тень, он скользил призраком меж цветущих растений и дурманящих ароматов весны.

Сад, прилегающий к особняку, больше походил на лес: высокая стена зарослей надежно отгораживала его от остального мира. Полная луна, висевшая высоко в небе, освещала все вокруг мягким светом. Дракула замер, любуясь красотой одного из распустившихся ночных растений, и протянул руку, чтобы осторожно, лишь кончиками пальцев, коснуться лепестков.

― Они прекрасны, не правда ли? — раздался за его спиной глубокий низкий голос.

По телу вампира пробежал холодок. Пятнадцать почти свежих ран, нанесенных серебряным кнутом и не заживших до сих пор, заныли: случившаяся вечером словесная стычка с Абрахамом закончилась крайне жестоким наказанием.

― Прекрасны, ― покорно согласился немертвый, давно уже оставивший бесплодные попытки угадать, каким образом смертному удавалось обманывать его чутьё. Он мог только догадываться, что это часть магии, которую Абрахам использовал в своих экспериментах над ним.

Ван Хелсинг подошел ближе и остановился рядом с ним. Дракула застыл, почувствовав вес человеческой руки на своем плече, и, отдернув ладонь от цветка, спрятал ее в складках лабораторной робы, похожей на монашеское облачение. Одежда была сделана из плотной, ткани, которой обычно накрывали объекты исследований, когда заканчивали с ними работать.

Абрахам слегка сжал плечо вампира и убрал руку. Отвернувшись, он засунул руки в карманы и зашагал дальше, вглубь сада.

И тогда Дракула почувствовал это: невидимую нить между ними, словно натянутый поводок, который он ощущал еще со времени последней, безумной серии опытов в подвалах особняка. Он так и не понял, почему вдруг его ноги, словно по собственной воле, понесли его вслед за человеком, мучившим его вот уже почти два года. Однако Абрахам никогда не удосуживался объяснять суть своих экспериментов, а потому любой результат оказывался сюрпризом — вампир чувствовал себя лабораторной крысой, которой нужно найти кусочек сыра в лабиринте. Тряхнув головой и отогнав навязчивое видение, он почувствовал, как прохладный ночной ветер перебирает его волосы и колышет подол робы.

Возможно, это всего лишь всходы медленно растущего уважения к Абрахаму заставили вампира двинуться за бредущим по тропинке смертным вглубь сада. Ван Хелсинг же, казалось, не замечал следующей за ним тени, бесшумно ступающей босыми ногами по песчаной дорожке. Но вот он остановился у каменной скамьи и присел, скрестив руки на груди и, по всей видимости, пребывая в глубокой задумчивости. Дракула некоторое время стоял в нерешительности, из темноты наблюдая за хозяином, но, наконец, подошел ближе и скользнул на сидение рядом. Настороженный и готовый в любой момент сорваться с места, он постарался сесть в некотором отдалении от человека, на безопасном расстоянии.

― Мне довелось прочесть одну любопытную книгу, в которой автор сравнивал людей с растениями, утверждая, что каждому человеку можно приписать такое, которое будет соответствовать характеру, — Абрахам замолчал и, наклонив голову, задумчиво улыбнулся луне. — Такая странная книга — я просто не мог ее бросить, не дочитав до конца. И провел несколько ночей, размышляя, каким бы растением я мог быть. Но, думаю, в конце концов, понял.

Дракула приподнял тонкую бровь, гадая, кто из них двоих более безумен. Справедливо рассудив, что Хозяин, пребывающий в столь странном расположении духа, не опасен, он закинул ногу на ногу, устраиваясь поудобнее.

― И что же, ― прошелестел голос вампира, ― это оказалось за растение?

― Кактус, ― хмыкнув, ответил Абрахам.

Немертвый моргнул, узкие губы растянулись в усмешке.

― Едва ли лестное сравнение.

Абрахам рассмеялся, опустив руки.

― Да, пожалуй. Но я размышлял об этом не раз. Я выстраиваю вокруг себя непроницаемую стену, так же, как и кактус из своих колючек. Никто не отваживается приблизиться ко мне. — Он пожал плечами. — Я защищаю лишь себя, не заботясь об остальных, всегда ищу личной выгоды и наказываю любого, кто осмеливается проявить заботу ко мне. Тех же, кто восхищается мной, держу на расстоянии. Редко предпринимаю попытки привлечь к себе людей, а если и делаю это, то всегда прячась за стеной колючек и шипов.

Он окинул Дракулу внимательным оценивающим взглядом.

―Ты же, Граф, роза…

Вампир наклонил голову, удивленно приподнимая брови.

― Роза? Что заставило Вас так решить?

― … потому что, ― продолжил Абрахам, ― прячешь острые шипы за яркой зеленью листьев. Твоя красота привлекает всех, кому случается пройти мимо. Но ты обманываешь их, маня ближе, приглашая сорвать бутон,― Абрахам наклонился к вампиру, обхватывая его подбородок пальцами и приподнимая его. Глаза Дракулы расширились, когда он встретился глазами с человеком, взгляд которого будто проникал в самые глубины его прогнившей души.― И когда кто-то все-таки осмеливается протянуть руку за цветком, твои шипы причиняют ему страдания, ранят и крадут кровь. Но, даже испытав боль и предательство, люди все равно, раз за разом пытаются похитить твой цветок.

Дракула не пошевелился, даже когда палец Абрахама мазнул его по губам и погладил по щеке.

― Но я из тех людей, что позволяют розе расти и не пытаются сорвать её. Цветок живет дольше, а шипы не ранят меня.

Усмехнувшись, Абрахам встал, его рука скользнула по лицу вампира и прошлась по густым угольно-черным прядям.

Немертвый сидел неподвижно еще некоторое время после того, как Абрахам ушел. Его кожа была холодна, как и ночной воздух, за исключением лица, где человек прикоснулся к нему. Вдруг вампир поднялся и подошел к кусту кактуса. Присев, он осторожно, чтобы не задеть колючки, погладил пальцем упругую зелень.

― Как видишь, не всех ты можешь удержать на расстоянии, — промурлыкал он с довольной усмешкой.

@темы: Abraham/Alucard, Short Stories, Dracula

---

Sing Fair Raven, Nevermore: Chapter One

[Schingiuire]

Title: Sing Fair Raven, Nevermore: Chapter One

Beta: Jacob

Pairing: None

Rating: T

Genre: Angst, Horror

Summary: Dracula's fall into darkness, lured by the words of a demon.

Warnings: Occult

Author's note: Additional chapters of this story will be posted on twistedfeathers.com. Updates for this story are done on the first of every month.



Age. It was the one enemy no man, prince or beggar, could defeat. Age robbed man of his strength, his power, and his mind. As cleaver kings aged, their people would begin to seek out younger leaders. As tactical generals age, their soldiers begin to wonder if their minds are really up for the task of leading them into battle.

Some do not believe age to be such an enemy. To be aged meant one was wise to the ways of men, and cleaver enough to live long and become aged. It was a terrible, unfair deal for man. For this wisdom, age took life and energy as its price. Man does not have a choice if they wish to make this deal, unless man wished to be old and foolish and dead before their time.

Death. It is the ultimate price, the ultimate foe of man. Man may use sorcery to cheat age, but death could not be escaped. Death rode faster on his pale horse than man could run. All men bowed to death, unless a Deal with immortals could be made. Dracula bowed to none, feared none. He would not be defeated by age, and he had found a way to escape it.

The dark prince stood at his window, looking out over the hill-blocked view of the horizon. Wrinkled, skeletal fingers brushed over a map laid out across a table for him. It detailed the movements of an invading army, one that was moving much faster than he had anticipated. It had wiped out every village and camp, farm and settlement that it’s path crossed.

“They’ve moved into the lands then?” Dracula’s dark voice penetrated the stillness of the room. Several candles burned, but did not completely chase away the pressure in the air, the pressure of the darkness.

“Yes, Prince.” The guard stood at attention, his armor glinting slightly in the candle light. Even he could feel the tension, the heat and stillness before battle. The night promised something wicked and dark before the sun would rise again.

“Leave me. Ready the army.”

“But…Prince, they are thousands. There is but a few hundred of us left.”

Dracula whirled from his place at the window, sword instantly in his hand. Even in his old age, he was an intimidating figure. Dressed in imposing armor, red cape swirling around him, and graying locks of dark hair falling well past his shoulders in soft waves, framing a pair of gleaming green eyes that sparkled with anger. The soldier’s face fell as he found himself looking down the glinting blade of his leader.

“Did I not just give you an order? Are you questioning me?” The Prince’s dark eyes narrowed in anger, a sneer across his lips. They all doubted him, he knew. They called him mad, believed him insane with his defeat and hatred. They thought him weak from age.

“N..No, my Prince!” The guard backed up, raising his hands slightly. “I’ll gather our men at once!” He backed from the room, bowing low as he exited.

Dracula sheathed his sword, striding forward to shut and bar the door behind his guard. Once the bolt was secure, he turned to make his way back to the window. The hills blocked his view, but he knew they were there, they were coming. Soon, they would top the hill, rage through the village, and attack his stronghold. The Turks had finally cornered him, but he would not go without a fight. There were at least a hundred prisoners in the dungeons, if not more. A small forest of impaled bodies may hinder the attack, stall it from shock, but not stop the invasion completely.

“You are worried?”

Dracula turned quickly at the sound behind him, a hand upon his sword as the temperature of the air dropped several degrees. Before him stood a child, no more than four or five. This had happened several times in the past few days. Once he was alone, the child would come to him, bringing promises and spurring his hopes. His eyes narrowed at the child, roving over the soft golden curls, over the tattered clothing. He had still not been able to determine the gender of the creature.

“You’ve lied to me,” Dracula stated, tightening his grip upon the sword. “They still come. My enemies still live, and they are coming here to kill me. They wish to steal what little life I have left.”

“Ahh. Perhaps a better phrasing would have been acceptable?”

Dracula turned his back upon the child, ignoring its sinister voice. He exchanged the sight for the scene outside his window.

“I only have a few years left. Already my muscles ache, and I find I am not as strong as I once was.”

The sun was setting, painting the sky with bright pinks and purples. Sunset had always been his favorite time. With the night came peace, and ease of mind. It was also the best time of attack, when the enemy was asleep or drunk upon their liquor. The mists that rose from the ground at night offered perfect cover.

“You want your strength back, yes?” The child asked.

Dracula tensed when he felt the thing grip his cape, tugging at it as if the child wanted him to pick it up. Even if it were a true child, he would push it to the side. Such gentleness was not in his nature. It was beginning again. The same offers every night. Offers of power, life eternal, and strength.

“Yes. I do. Not only strength. I want a life that will never end. I want my youth returned,” Dracula whispered, closing his eyes. He could not bear the thought of this being his last sunset.

“What would you give?”

The Prince turned to the child, flinching and fighting the urge to back up a step when he found himself inches from his own face. It was mocking him. The thing was mocking him with his own haggard form. Never had it shifted form like this before.

“What would you ask? We have danced around this for days, Creature. I have naught but a few hours, and you wish to play games with me! Tell me what you want!”

Dracula drew his sword, lashing out at the thing that had taken his form. It mocked him, grinning and holding out its frail hands as the sword tore through its form like ones hand through smoke or shadow.

“Your obedience.”

He had not been prepared for this, and backed up, dropping his sword as he hissed, gripping at a sudden pain in his chest. It was a pain that had been bothering him for months, another sign of his life’s end. How could this creature ask such a powerful thing from him? Dracula bowed to no one! Though, if he did not agree, he would not live long enough to brag.

“Very well,” the Prince growled, straightening and staring into his own cat green eyes. “I’d agree to your terms, Creature. With my own as well.”

The mock form tilted its head to the side, a maddening grin never faltering.

“Oh? And what would these be, Tsepesh? Voievod. What else could you want when I already offer you such a generous gift?”

Dracula ignored this comment, clenching his fists.

“I want to destroy the sultan. And I want to kill my brother with my own hands. You will not deny me this.”

Vengeance was a powerful force. It, along side with sorrow and hatred at his ageing and uselessness. Already his men thought him crazy, and there were murmurs among them that he was not strong enough to lead them any more. Soon they would turn upon him, most likely tonight. Several of the men had already turned against him. Charging out to face the Turks was suicide. And not only this; there were spies among his ranks.

“Ahh. Granted. Your obedience will grant you this, with everlasting life.”

Obedience. This creature was demanding he relinquish his freedom. It was an undertone, a reading between the lines. Demanding obedience was nothing more than demanding a slave.

“Why? Why have you chosen me?”

The false Dracula laughed, backing up a step and sweeping a hand before his face. Instantly the features reversed in time, aging backwards until he was young again, dark eyes bright with life, and hair deep ebony. Dracula gasped, gritting his teeth at yet another mockery.

“Chosen you? But Voievod, I did not choose you, you have chosen me. Your anger and hatred so great, I could not help but tilt my ear to your call. I offer you a chance to get what you want, and you will help me get what I want. Such a simple offer, I cannot see why you doubt me. You fear losing your strength? I can make you so strong, you will tear through the armies of your enemies as if those men were made of nothing but smoke and ash.”

Dracula fought to keep from stepping back as the young mockery reached out, running the tips of its fingers over his face. The flesh was so cold, it seemed to suck the very heat from his body like the deep winter chill. He found himself shaking, though not so much from the chill, but the sudden knowledge, the sudden understanding of how much power this being actually possessed.

“You despise the ache of your bones? I can cure this, and make it so pain is nothing to you. You wish to defeat age? I will make you immortal. And what is this?”

The creature lashed out, gripping Dracula’s jaw, causing him to cry out, and forcing his head back, shoving him against the wall.

“You detest humanity? How quaint. When I am finished, humanity will be your prey. Is my offer not good enough for you Prince?”

Dracula kept his eyes open, though narrowed darkly at the being. This was a position he had placed many into, and he did not enjoy the switch. The creature’s offer continued to thrum through his mind. Would it truly be so easy? With such power as was being offered, he could easily escape this creature. Obedience would only be mandatory for a short time. He knew he could worm his way out of almost any situation. Such was his gift.

“What are the terms? Every offer has a bad side. I wish to know that I will be giving up for this power,” he answered, finally gaining his wits and shoving his younger self from him.

The creature chuckled, now taking on the Prince’s own voice. Dracula watched his ageless image elegantly turn from him, sweeping an arm toward the window.

“Sunlight will be barred from you. Maybe forever, maybe not. The metal that bought Jesus’ life will be poison to you. God is your enemy, fear Him.”

This did not seem so difficult. Hardly a price at all. God had turned his back on him years ago.

A loud banging at the door stole Dracula from his thoughts, and he blinked to find the room empty. He growled, moving to snatch his sword from where it had landed upon the floor, and strode to the door. Throwing the bolt back and shoving the door open, he narrowed his eyes at his guard.

“You have interrupted something very important. For your life, this had better be worth disturbing me,” he hissed.

The guard paled, but made a quick, jumpy gesture at the empty hallway behind him.

“It’s your brother. He has come demanding your presence. I know you wished to stay undisturbed, but I felt this important enough…” The guard trailed off at the grin that had spread across his leader’s face.

“Ahh! Radu the Handsome! I told him what would happen the last time he would come here…” Dracula turned to the guard, his eyes narrowing again.

“You must think me for a fool. Treachery and lies are things I will not tolerate!” His voice was a low hiss, but the emotion and fierceness behind each word carried as if he had screamed them to the heavens. The guard had no chance to defend himself as Dracula’s sword flew in his hand, slashing over the unprotected flesh of his throat.

He did not even have a chance to call out a warning. Their plot had been discovered, or perhaps Dracula had known all along. Mesmerized by the life seeping from the guard’s neck, Vlad found himself hesitating a moment, then smiling and stepping over the bloodied mess to the hallway.

Yes, he had known of this plot for days. The creature had told him of it. At first he had not believed it, but events soon told the truth, especially now. It had told him his own troops had been infiltrated by spies, and that on this night, his brother would seek to speak to him. They would get him alone in a room, cut off from his allies, and slaughter him.

What fools they were, to think he could be outsmarted. Dracula grinned to himself, moving through the hallways in slow stride. These were the final moments. The air was thicker in this level of the castle. The halls deserted, speaking of the coming terror of the invading Turkish army.

He stopped at the chapel, lowering his head and frowning. It was a habit of his, to pray before battle. Even after God had betrayed him, it was done just for looks to the others. The creature had said God was his enemy. God had turned His back on him years ago. Why was he to continue following a being that had no care for him? Dracula turned, feeling as if he had reached a final point of no return. This was indeed the end. He continued through the hall, finally reaching the main hall.

Pushing the doors open, Dracula smiled to see his brother, surrounded by several Turkish guards. Radu was several years younger than he, and had thus retained much of his beauty and strength. Again life was mocking him, mocking his frailty as a human. Frailty that would not last much longer.

“Brother!” Radu smiled, coming toward him. Dracula allowed himself to be embraced, and hugged his brother back, stepping back from him with a smile.

“You’ve ridden ahead of your army? I suppose to offer me a final chance at surrender?”

The look in his brother’s eyes told all, and the Prince shook his head, frowning.

“I will not. You should have known this before coming. Now you have wasted a trip. I told you the last time I let you go, that I would kill you the next time we meet. And now you test my patience.”

“Brother, you are a fool to continue this! You will be killed, regardless of your threats against me. We both know this; I can see your strain. Why not end it now? Surrender.”

“Radu, do you take me for such a fool? I will not surrender. I know not the meaning of such a word!”

Radu sighed, backing up from his brother and shaking a head. Vlad had always been stubborn. Perhaps it was why he was so successful, but his luck was running out, and fast. Age was taking a toll on him, and his mind was probably failing as well.

“Then I have no choice but to force you. I will not let you pay the price of your men’s lives for your foolishness.”

Each guessing the other’s move, both brothers drew their swords, facing each other down. The guards around them seemed to multiply to Dracula’s eyes. They came from the shadows where he could not perceive them earlier. There must have been at least twenty or more. They formed a circle around the brothers, drawing their weapons. There would be no escape from this situation.

Dracula laughed, lunging for Radu. Their swords clashed again and again. Both dancing around each other like lions protecting pride territory. A move, taught to them by their father, cost him his life. It was a fake. Radu moved to swing at his legs. When Vlad lowered his sword to parry the blow, Radu arched his motion upward in an instant, slashing across his brother’s chest and throwing his backward him backwards with the blow.

The Prince cried out as the metal cut through his armor, but his cry was silenced when Radu lunged forward to bury his blade deep into Dracula’s chest. Blood gathered in his mouth, lining his lips and dripping from his chin. The moment had come, now was the time to make his choice. A dull clatter reached his ears, his sword slipping from his grasp.

“Forgive me, Brother,” Radu whispered, but the look in his eyes was of malice and hatred. The words were hollow, reflecting nothing.

“May Lucifer claim your soul,” he growled lower, kicking his brother from his sword. More truth to the words than he knew.

This time Dracula did not cry out, only grunting as he hit the floor. He could feel his blood, his warmth, leaking from his chest. Even the forms of his brother and the guards above him were fading.

“I accept. You have my obedience,” Dracula whispered, closing his eyes.

Radu laughed as he watched the life leave his brother.

“Fool, now is a good time to accept surrender! As if it would have done you any good to begin with!”

Spitting upon the corpse, he gestured to his men for the doorway.

“Let us claim this land in the name of the Sultan!”

Their cheers drowned out the whispered voice of a small child huddling in the shadows, unseen by all.

“I will await you the next sunset, Voievod.”

@темы: Hellsing, Dracula

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Nature of Thorns

[Schingiuire]

Title: Nature of Thorns

Beta: Jacob

Pairing: Alucard, Abraham

Rating: T

Genre: Romance, Fluff

Summary: request from Alex. Short somewhat-fluff between Abraham and Dracula.

Author's note: Alex asked me for fluff and this is the best I could do. Written to the song Time Killer.


Dracula stepped cautiously from the doorway, his eyes scanning the gardens before him, searching for any sign of human life. Sensing nothing, the vampire moved onto the cobblestone path that wove through the maze of flowers and trees. Rarely did he leave the manor, avoiding Abraham and the other house staff as much as possible. He moved fluidly as shadow, a ghost walking among blooming flowers and the sweet smells of spring.

The garden was almost a forest, with a high wall of shrubs boxing it in from the rest of the world. The moon was full and high, sending it’s glowing light down onto the small haven. Dracula paused to admire a night blossoming flower, reaching out with a scared hand to brush his fingers over the petals.

“Marvelous isn’t it?” a soft, deep voice inquired from behind.

A chill swept through the vampire’s body, tingling at the fifteen, still relatively fresh trails of silver wounds that patterned across his back. He was still healing from the earlier afternoon’s verbal fight turned punishment with Abraham.

“It is,” Dracula replied softly, having long since given up how the human managed to evade his senses. He believed it was part of the magic Abraham had been experimenting with on him. He tensed, feeling the weight of the human’s hand resting on his shoulder as Abraham moved to stand beside him. Dracula pulled his hand away from the flower, tucking it with his other beneath the heavy laboratory cloth he had wrapped around him like a monk’s robe. It was made of a thick material, and was often used by Abraham to cover bloodied subjects when he was working.

Abraham gave the vampire’s shoulder a soft squeeze, then moved past him, advancing through the garden’s maze with his hands in his pockets. The night was warm, Dracula noticed, and Abraham was without the coat he normally donned.

He felt it then, the unseen chord that stretched between them like a taught leash. He had felt it ever since the last session of madness in the lowers. Abraham never explained his workings, and everything was a surprise, or some kind of scientific test like a rat with cheese in a maze. The vampire shook his head, feeling a cool, night breeze blow through his hair and ruffle the sheet of cloth he draped about himself. He wasn’t sure why, but his legs began to move of their own accord, following after this man who had brutalized him for nearly two years.

Perhaps it was due to the seeds of slowly growing respect for Abraham, but Dracula followed as Abraham moved through the garden, admiring the flowers and the stars. The human never seemed to notice the shadow that trailed after him, moving silently upon bare feet across the pathway. Abraham seated himself upon a stone bench, crossing his arms as he seemed deep in thought, staring at the plants. Dracula stood, almost unsure as he watched, his hair blowing about his face. Finally, he continued forward, sliding to sit beside Abraham upon the stone, but being careful to maintain distance. He sat slightly bent away from Abraham, tense and prepared to move away quickly if needed.

“I once read an interesting novel, comparing men to plants. That any man could be described as a plant by his personality and actions.” Abraham paused after the sentence, tilting his head back to smile up to the moon. “It was such a strange book, I could not help but finish it. I have spent many nights sitting here and wondering what kind of plant I would be, and I think I have finally realized it.”

Dracula raised one sleek eyebrow, wondering which of them was more mad. He crossed his legs, adjusting his position to sit more relaxed, judging Abraham to be in too strange a mood to be dangerous. “And what,” he offered in a hiss of a voice. “Would that be?”

“A cacti,” Abraham replied with a chuckle.

The vampire blinked, his thin lips tightening as he smirked. “Hardly a flattering plant.”

Abraham laughed, letting his hands fall to rest on his thighs. “Yes, truly. But I have thought about it often. I surround myself with very obvious defenses, like the thorns of a cacti. No one dares come near me, I protect only myself and no others, always looking out for only myself. I punish anyone who tries to care for me, and those who wish to admire me, do so from a distance. Rarely do I offer anything to attract people, and if I do, it is always hidden behind a wall of thorns and spines.”

He looked over to Dracula, eyes relaxed and observant. “You, Count, are a rose.”

The vampire tilted his head, both eyebrows now raised. “Am I? And why do you say that?”

“Because,” Abraham continued, sounding almost as if he did not even hear the vampire’s words. “You hide your thorns beneath a bush of bright leaves. You produce a great flower to attract the attention of anyone who walks by. You trick and tease them closer, offering the flower to be picked, making all near you envious of your beauty.”

He reached out then, cupping Dracula’s cheek in his hand. The vampire tensed, eyes widening slightly as Abraham’s eyes bored into his, reading the decayed soul beneath. “And when someone dares reach out to take that beauty, your thorns prick them, stealing their blood and giving them pain. Even then, even after that pain and betrayal dealt, people will still try to steal the flower.”

Dracula did not move, even as Abraham’s thumb brushed over his lips and cheek. “But I am of the type to let the rose flower stay upon it’s plant. It lasts longer, and I will not be pricked.”

Chuckling, Abraham stood, letting his hand flow from the vampire’s face to brush through the wild strands of ebony hair. Dracula remained where he was, long after Abraham had left. He felt a chill through his entire body, all except for a point of burning where Abraham had brushed his face. Defiantly, the vampire rose, approaching the hulking form of the cacti. He crouched, reaching out, and careful to avoid the thorns, brushed his fingers over the thick plant.

“I suppose you cannot keep everyone out,” he mused to himself with a smirk.

@темы: Hellsing, Abraham/Alucard, Abraham, Short Stories, Dracula

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My Website

[Schingiuire]

I've opened a website containing all my fiction. There, all of my fiction will be posted, and rarely posted anywhere else. While I will post short stories here on the blog once in a while, most of my work will be found on my site. I will use this blog to post my thoughts, ideas, the rejected chapters/scenes, and anything else. I will announce if I have a new fiction available.

Please visit and enjoy my site!

My site!

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Я открываю новый, собственный сайт, на котором будет размещено все мое творчество. Я буду выкладывать там все свои новые фики, возможно изредка буду размещать некоторые из них также на других ресурсах. Здесь же буду постить кое-какие короткие истории, свои мысли, идеи, и забракованные главы/сцены, ну и всякое разное. О публикации новых работ на своем сайте я обязательно буду объявлять здесь.

Добро пожаловать на мой сайт!

My site!

@темы: Twisted Feathers, Me

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Погребальный костер для Феникса

[Schingiuire]

Название: Погребальный костер для Феникса (PHOENIX PHYRE)
Оригинал: www.diary.ru/~Schingiuire/p114315581.htm
Автор: Schingiuire
Переводчик: Dafna536
Бета перевода: Melissa
E-mail переводчика: [email protected]
Рейтинг: PG-13
Жанр: Angst
Персонажи: Дракула (Алукард), Абрахам ван Хелсинг
Содержание: Одна из версий пленения Дракулы.
Примечание автора: Это фик, над которым я работала больше года. Надеюсь вам понравится. Phoenix phyre - это игра слов, слово phyre - вымышленное, оно созвучно с fire (огонь) и в то же время дублирует написание Phoenix.

Сколько людей в этом мире почитали за трусость отступление с поля боя? Какое-то время это было частью представлений о мужественности: коль ты показал спину врагу, то не стоишь звания мужчины, ты трус. А ведь встречались и те, кто полагал, что сражаться «умом» — значит сражаться «грязно». Возможно, поэтому жизнь этих людей редко была долгой: безрассудно бросаясь в атаку, они неизменно проигрывали, кладя свои жизни на алтарь мужественности.

Дракула же всегда рассматривал отступление как тактический ход, а вовсе не как признак страха. Он никогда не считал себя трусом, хотя враги часто осыпали его оскорблениями вслед, когда он приказывал своим войскам отступить, полагая, что это даст ему преимущество в сражении. Ни разу, тем не менее, не встречал он врага, знакомого с подобными приемами и столь искусного в их использовании, как этот человек, Абрахам ван Хелсинг. Попытка носферату бежать из Англии к своему горному замку, где он надеялся восстановиться, а затем вернуться уже готовым к встрече с охотниками, оказалась неудачной. Абрахам последовал за ним и сюда, не давая ему передышки и возможности собраться с силами.

В надежде заманить охотника и его немногочисленную группу на свою территорию, а затем уничтожить, Дракула вынужден был изменить планы. Но Абрахам оказался неглуп. Остановив преследование, он обосновался в ближайшей деревне и обратил ее жителей, этих жалких людишек, что служили немертвому пищей, против него. Не то чтобы раньше они были союзниками, но деревня и вампир всегда существовали в гармонии. Между ними имелось некое подобие соглашения: Дракула обязывался защищать их, а они предлагали ему в качестве еды неугодных общине: нежеланных детей, калек и преступников. К тому же всегда хватало дураков, что забредали в лес после захода солнца, и тех, кто осмеливался выступить против него.

Теперь они объединились на стороне Абрахама, сплотив силы против вампира, и территория вокруг замка стала чрезвычайно опасной. По всему лесу горели костры: охотники уничтожали волков, отстреливая их и сжигая тела. Дракула стоял внутри своей крепости, наблюдая сквозь узкие бойницы, как его дети воют от боли и страха. Стаи бежали через горы. Он позволил им уйти. Эта земля была потеряна — настало время отступать снова и в очередной раз собирать силы.

Он предал огню всё в замке. Медленно продвигаясь с горящим факелом по залам холодного жилища, что некогда служило ему домом, он поджигал занавески, мебель и всё, что так или иначе могло гореть. Чертовы охотники выследили его, загнали в угол, и вампир полагал, что этой ночью либо на рассвете они проникнут в замок. Дракула хотел быть уверен, что, когда они придут, найдут здесь лишь пепел. Двигаясь с нижних этажей вверх, он постарался сделать так, чтобы охотникам не представилось возможности приобрести трофей или осквернить что-то из его вещей. Лишь прах останется от его прошлой жизни да чернеющий остов самого замка: крепкие каменные стены стерпят любой огонь.

Как только все было закончено, вампир отвернулся от огня и выпрыгнул в окно. В самом деле, Абрахам был прав, он — не более чем реликвия древнего зла, пережиток прошлого. Стиснув зубы в попытке отогнать крамольные мысли, Дракула плыл по воздуху, словно бесплотный дух, глядя на пламя, пожирающее его замок.

Не останется ничего, что связывало бы его с этим местом, все равно он хотел оставить эту жизнь позади. Слишком уж утомительным было существование в глухой горной провинции, где жизнью людей правили традиции и суеверия. Местные умели сражаться с ним: вешали чеснок над дверями и окнами, сажали волчью ягоду вокруг своих домов и всегда носили с собой кресты. Но представители так называемой «цивилизации» не слышали о подобных вещах, а если и слышали, относились к ним с пренебрежением. Они полагали, что предания о вампирах, оборотнях и призраках — сказки для маленьких детей и деревенщин, что живут вдали от их городов. А потому Дракула хотел привести свое племя в самый центр цивилизации за легкой добычей, чтобы научить людей снова бояться темноты. В городах, не беспокоясь ни о чем, он мог питаться хоть каждую ночь.

Обжигающий ветер трепал полы его плаща, отблески пламени становились ослепляющими. Дракула бросил прощальный взгляд на горящий замок, развернулся, отталкиваясь от воздуха, словно от воды, и вдруг увидел всадников, несущихся галопом сквозь деревья. Всего четырёх: Абрахам, конечно, не смог убедить жителей деревни атаковать вампира в открытую посреди ночи, те были не настолько глупы. Носферату скользнул во тьму и, надежно укрытый клубами дыма, полетел дальше, злорадствуя, что сбил со следа Абрахама и его псов. Он ускользнул, оставив человека рвать волосы от досады.

Наконец-то он ощущал себя свободным. Дракула еще сам не знал, куда направится теперь: на свете было множество городов, помимо Лондона. Везде, где люди собирались тысячами, старые традиции были давно забыты.

Вампир медленно спланировал к земле, зная, что деревья и тени прикроют его бегство там, где не будет дыма, поднимающегося в небо. Но рев пламени и крики людей, что охотились за волками, оглушили его, и он не заметил приближающихся охотников, так же как не услышал щелчка взведенного арбалета и свиста стрелы, прорезавшей воздух, а затем и его плоть.

Он взревел от боли в унисон с волками, хоть его вопль и был гораздо менее человеческим, чем вой животных. Вампир чувствовал, как наконечник стрелы разрывает его внутренности, раскрываясь внутри груди и цепляясь за ребра, словно рыболовный крючок. Дракула резко развернулся — рубиновые глаза зажглись яростным пламенем, когда он встретился взглядом со своим заклятым врагом, Абрахамом ван Хелсингом, чьи внутренности он хотел бы развесить по деревьям вместо новогодних украшений. Стрела снова рванула спину, когда вампир попытался сдвинуться с места, но теперь он заметил тонкий прочный трос, соединяющий его с человеком.

Умно ли держать поводок дикого зверя? Ведь ничто не помешает тому укусить руку смельчака, веревка способна предотвратить бегство, но не нападение.

Гнев во взгляде вампира сменился ликованием: взяв в руки связывающий их трос, Абрахам сам выбрал себе смерть. Припав к земле, Дракула бросился на охотника, но в этот момент из темноты вылетела еще одна стрела. Удар вонзившейся ему в бок стрелы был так силён, что носферату отбросило от цели в сторону, а Абрахам оказался достаточно ловок, чтобы увернуться.

Дракула зарычал, когда вторая стрела раскрылась, цепляясь за ребра. Ослепленный ненавистью к Абрахаму, горя желанием уничтожить его, Дракула упустил из виду его спутников. Восстановив равновесие, он увидел, как остальные трое охотников выходят на поляну. Стоя в центре кольца в развевающемся черном плаще, он переводил полный ненависти взгляд с одного своего преследователя на другого.

Крепко взявшись за второй трос, Куинси медленно переступал, следя за движениями вампира и стараясь держаться на одной линии с Абрахамом, чтобы не дать немертвому возможности дотянуться до одного из них.

— Ты попался, Повелитель нежити, — голос Абрахама с явно заметным голландским акцентом разнесся в ночи. — Ложись на землю и веди себя тихо. Мы быстро окончим твое существование, демон.

— Какие высокомерные речи из уст человека, едва научившегося управляться с новой игрушкой! — зарычал Дракула, хватая один из тросов.

Глаза Абрахама сузились, когда он почувствовал, как вампир дернул его к себе. Он вскинул руку с зажатым в ней револьвером.

— На этот раз тебе не удастся сбежать, Граф, — услышал вампир шипение Хелсинга перед тем, как звук выстрела прогремел в воздухе.

Дракулу отбросило назад. Куинси, державший трос, быстро отступил к деревьям, чтобы обернуть тот вокруг одного из них, Абрахам сделал то же самое. Передав конец привязи одному из товарищей, Хелсинг приблизился к содрогающемуся монстру. Вампир стиснул зубы, кожей ощущая ауру силы и несокрушимой воли, что окружала человека.

— Серебро, — прохрипел он, сжимая рану на груди, и поднял взгляд на смертного.

— И где же легендарная сила короля нежити, чудовища, даже среди ему подобных? Ты умрешь на этом холодном снегу, и даже твоя родная земля откажется принять тебя. Завтра ты уже не проснешься, чтобы забрать чью-то жизнь — твое тело превратится в прах, его навсегда смешают с грязью и пылью этой земли. Да, эти леса станут проклятыми, но это ничтожная плата за твою смерть.

Абрахам вытянул из ножен сверкающий серебряный меч. Лунный свет, отраженный от лезвия, бросал блики на лицо вампира.

Дракула зарычал, хрипло, со свистом, пытаясь выпрямиться, но серебряная пуля в груди отняла остатки его воли.

С натужным смехом вампир в последний раз попробовал встать, но повалился на колени перед Абрахамом.

— Думаешь, ты победил? Я воскресну и приду за тобой. Можешь праздновать этой ночью, — прошипел он, — но остаток жизни ты проведешь, оглядываясь через плечо в ожидании моего возвращения, гадая, не я ли причина смертей вокруг. Своим предсмертным дыханием я прокляну твою жизнь, ван Хелсинг, и обреку тебя на существование в страхе.

Абрахам медленно опустил меч. Кончик лезвия уперся в грудь вампира.

— Я так не думаю, демон. Да, я вижу теперь, что тебя непросто уничтожить. Но я найду способ. Придет время, и ты ответишь за все свои преступления, — коротким взмахом меча он рассек глотку вампира, окрасив снег под ногами темной кровью.

Зажав рукой рану, Дракула тяжело повалился на грязный снег.

— Джонатан, мне нужен гроб! — крикнул Абрахам. — Он вернется с нами, и я сделаю так, что он никогда уже не сможет вернуться к прежней жизни.

@темы: Abraham/Alucard, Short Stories, Dracula

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Leashed Darkness V1 - Unfinished Draft of Chapter 14

[Schingiuire]

Title: Leashed Darkness V1 - Unfinished Draft of Chapter 14

Author's note: This is the unfinished draft to the first Leashed Darkness's chapter 14. It will not be finished, and it is highly unlikely the first Leashed will ever be finished. I am sorry but I do not feel the first story anymore, and it is torture to force yourself to do something you do not feel. If I were to force myself to finish this story it would be nothing but trash because my spirit would not be in it. However, I do give you this, the unfinished draft to what would have been the next chapter. Enjoy




house arrest


Seward could feel a chill in the air the moment he stepped out of his carriage. A fog had descended over the road about half a mile from the manor, and now he could see that this was the epicentre of it. It was no natural fog, for when he breathed it in, there was a stale smell of decay in the vapours. Seward half expected to be tripping over weeks old corpses through Abraham's lawn. The cab driver already had his horses moving before the doctor could turn around and pay him. Seward blinked as he watched the driver toss his luggage from the rack as the horses were already racing away from this place of terror. He could hear their ragged, terrified breath and suppressed a shudder.

Who could blame the man? Individuals who had not dealt with supernatural beasts could hardly be blamed for feeling fear. Seward himself had encountered one of the most powerful, and survived, and he still could feel a cold, animal terror rising in his chest, threatening to choke his breathing and send him yelling after the cab to take him away from this cursed place.

It was nearly a month ago he had received a telegram from Arthur Godalming suggesting something seriously wrong. Abraham had sent him a letter that had a few troubling statements about the sinister occupant Abraham had vowed to command and control. Statements which may have hinted that Dracula was slowly slipping free through a hole Abraham could not identify. The telegram had begged Seward to investigate, as Abraham had not replied to any letters since.

Looking around the lawn of the estate, Seward was silently wondering if he should have passed the visit back to Arthur, but Abraham was a very dear friend. Even more than that, Abraham was his mentor. Seward took his first cautious step over the cobble stone walk, his lungs seeming to strain to breathe the noxious fog. He was not sure without crouching to look, but the grass seemed dead. Furrowing his brow and turning in a slow circle, Seward noted that there didn't seem to be any life on the estate at all. Where were the guards, the dogs, any of the number of people that moved on their duties here? The trees, plants, grass, everything seemed dead. Not a bird song, nor chirp of an insect broke the air. Seward felt as if he had walked into a proverbial tomb.

Steeling his resolve, Seward approached the large door to the manor, lifting a hand to rap against the wood with his knuckles. Even before the echo faded, he felt as if a presence had turned it's attention to his existence. Moments before he had been about as important as a gnat around a giant's eye, but now he was disturbing this presence.

Clearing his throat and deciding finally that he could distract himself no longer. Something was very wrong here, and whatever it was, it could not bode well for Abraham. Seward let himself into the manor, some instinctive force suppressing his urge to call out for Abraham, or really any other living being. As he shut the door behind him, Seward swore he saw a shadow shift, moving in a way it was not meant to. Though, when he turned, there was nothing there, which set him even more one edge.

Seward strode through the empty building, noting the layer of dust that covered everything. If he had not known otherwise, he would have guessed this place to have been long abandoned. As he made his way up the steps, Seward contemplated reasoning for the sudden state of Abraham's home. Part of him very well knew the reason, Dracula. But for something this drastic to happen, the beast would have to be free of Abraham's hold. If that were true, Seward himself would be dead as he was quite sure Dracula would end the lives of those who brought his downfall the moment he had the chance.

He was shocked out of his thoughts as he reached the top of the stairs. A withered corpse sat with it's back against the wall, eyeless sockets staring up at the ceiling, mouth hanging open from the muscles going slack at death. Seward felt a sick feeling swimming in his gut, as if an eel were twisting wildly to get free of his insides.

“Gods,” he whispered to himself, now more keenly aware of the presence that he could feel watching him. The hair on the back of his neck lifted, and he then sprinted down the hallway, passing yet another corpse, withered as if it had been dead in the desert for months. “Abraham!” he yelled, slamming his shoulder against the door of his mentor's office, a blast of stagnate air hitting him in the face.

And there he lay, the great Abraham, monster slayer, crumpled against the side of his desk as if he were a boxer having lost a great fight. Seward called out his name again, rushing to the side of his friend and feeling an almost choking happiness to find the man still alive, though very weak.

“Abraham, my friend. Come on, I'll get you out of here,” he promised, whispering to the still form, hoping to rouse Abraham. Abraham shifted slightly and Seward whispered a silent prayer as he hooked an arm under his friend and tried to help him stand.

He cried out in sudden shock as Abraham's arm hooked around his throat, spinning him and slamming him into the desk. Seward tried to push himself away, and just barely missed a blow from Abraham's fist that would have either crushed his skull or knocked him out.

“What's wrong?” Seward cried, breathless as he jumped away from Abraham. The man's skin was deathly pale, but he had felt a heartbeat. Abraham turned to him, moving fluidly and settling his blue eyes upon Seward.

But there was something very wrong with his eyes. Blue as they were, there was a red glow to them, and strange red streams in his eyes, as if someone were bleeding into crystal waters. “My God,” Seward gasped. “What happened to you, Abraham?” He took another step back, his heart hammering in his chest.

Ghostly words spoken in a deep, sinister voice rose behind him. “To toy with the dead, one should be prepared to join their ranks.” The final word was bitten off with a dark hiss, and Seward turned, half expecting to be faced with a forked tongued demon. But only Dracula stood there, proud and tall, appearing for all the world as if he had just stepped out of a fifteenth century battlefield.

“Why dear Seward,” Abraham spoke up, his voice a verbal mix of both his true voice and the sinister deep voice of the demon. “You appear to have seen a ghost.”

“A ghost yes,” Dracula chuckled, his subtly curling hair falling over one side of his face. “Because he will not walk much longer, not in this world. Behold!” the demon suddenly barked, eyes bright with dancing hellfire. “You have arrived for the human monster's final moments! It won't be long now,” he chortled.

“What have you done to him, monster?” Seward spoke up, gathering his courage. Dracula could not be fought with fear, and certainly not when Abraham appeared to be in his grasp.

“Done to him?” the vampire parroted, raising an eyebrow and tilting his head to the side. An armoured hand lifted, brushing over the slight facial hair that covered his chin and upper lip. “A vexing question,” he chuckled. “What have I ever done to him?”

Dracula clasped his hands behind his back, slowly approaching Seward with a narrowed visage. “You ask what I have done to him. Have you any idea what he has done to me?”

Seward held his ground, turning slowly to keep the vampire in his vision as it walked in a slow, predatory circle around him. “But that does not matter any longer,” Dracula paused, waving a hand in dismissal of his own question. “He is mine now. My little puppet. But you, Dr. Seward. I am just a bit more fond of you. So I will give you a sporting chance. Leave now, and get your sad little band together. Let us see if you can take me a second time, without the help of this monster here.”

Dracula moved behind Abraham, brushing the back of his armoured fingers over the man's unshaven cheek. “You're draining the life out of everything here,” Seward suddenly realised. “Sucking it up through the fog.” It was a statement, not a question, for there really was no other answer to why everything was dead without any sign of struggle. And it even more explained the decayed smell of the very air.

The vampire chuckled, a deep, wicked sound. “Yes,” he replied. “But not everything. This occult seal scarred onto my flesh will not let me drain this one, not like the others,” Dracula moved around Abraham again, dragging his fingers over the human's clothed chest. “I have to try a different way. But the end result is still the same.”

He turned on a heel, leering saber teeth at Seward, his eyes flecked with yellow. “Why are you not running?” he suddenly asked, one eyebrow raising slightly. “I gave you your chance, and I will not offer again.”

“Abraham will be accompanying me,” Seward stated bluntly to the vampire's face,forcefully working to still his hammering heart. Dracula would only become excited by the sound and smells of fear, he needed to win control over this situation. As far as he could tell, Dracula was still under Abraham's control, though Abraham himself was under Dracula's control. It was a vicious circle that kept either of them from doing anything.

“Oho?” Dracula straightened himself, looking down at Seward with an eerily mirthful expression. “You will be taking him with you then? And what if he does not wish to go? He enjoys my company so much, I doubt he will ever leave,” Dracula barked a laugh, his eyes flashing, elliptical pupils contracting to narrow in at Seward.

“You cannot stop me,” Seward challenged, crushing a shudder that threatened to wrack his body at the sudden flash of violence that revealed itself in Dracula's eyes.

Seward narrowed his own eyes as Dracula raised an arm, long black talons lengthening from the tips of his armoured fingers. “My offer has now expired,” the vampire hissed, his arm arching back to strike at him. Abraham's hand lunged out, snatching Dracula by the wrist.

“Down boy,” he rasped, his face hard, with nothing suggesting his earlier insanity.

The vampire looked at him with wide eyes, the look of one who was not believing what he was seeing. Abraham shoved the vampire to the side, Dracula not resisting him at all as he was shoved. Seward stepped forward as Abraham suddenly staggered nearly falling.

“Get me out of here,” he whispered in a weak voice at Seward, who happily obliged, helping his friend along the hallways, avoiding the various corpses as much as he could. The cab was long gone, and Seward doubted there were any horses alive in the stables. Seeing no other option, he pulled Abraham along, whispering little phrases of encouragement until they were well beyond the gates of the manor. As they reached the road, Seward turned to look over his shoulder through the now thinning mist and allowed a shudder as he could distinctly make out a figure standing tall and proud, almost like a macabre gargoyle, at the gates to the Hellsing estate.

Part Two

The thunderous crack of Abraham's fist meeting the wall made them all jump. “How dare that beast test me? How dear that scum kill everything on my estate? Men, women, animals, plants, everything was dead, I could feel it. Alucard was seeping through my mind, trying to break the seal by controlling me!”

“Please calm down, Professor,” a young nurse urged, moving quickly around the bed to take Abraham's arm and lead him back to lie down. “If you stress yourself out too much you will not have the energy for anything.”

Abraham hissed something that Seward could not quite catch. “I'll grind the fiend's brain to paste for this,” he snapped, ignoring the odd look he garnered from the nurse, who checked his pulse then slipped out of the room.

Seward watched her go, waiting for a moment before turning back to Abraham. It had taken a few days, but the doctor was good as new now, at least for the most part. He certainly had his temper back. Ever since his mind had come back around he had been cursing Alucard's name.

The guest room of his house was not much, but Seward felt that Abraham was comfortable enough here, at least until he regained strength enough to put down the vampire.

“Abraham, this seems a bit more than just a simple rebellion. When I stepped out of the carriage, there was a cold evil in the air.”

Abraham brushed a hand over his face, letting out a sigh. Seward could see his weary muscles relax as he was confronted with a dark truth. “It was madness,” the Hellsing replied after a few moments. “He has finally gone mad. I think he may have attacked the seal from various points simultaneously. The only loophole he could find was through my mind, and so he took that option. I had been feeling ill for several days before everything was lost.”

Seward nodded, a deep frown over his features. “Dracula is a monster, cold and true. I think it is best to treat him like a monster, and not like the pet you have been trying to make him. Monsters cannot be tamed, they must be caged, or at least put on a chain with a decent run.”

His fellow looked up for a moment, the ice blue eyes narrowed in contemplation. “You expect me to forgive his behaviour because he is what he is?”

“No,” Seward shook his head quickly. “I did not say he could not be trained, but he cannot be tamed. You cannot beat the instincts out of a wolf. But rather, point those instincts in the direction you wish him to expend his energy.”

@темы: Rejected Drafts, Alucard, Abraham, Leashed Darkness

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Leashed Darkness V2 - Rejected Chapter 2 Draft

[Schingiuire]

Title: Leashed Darkness V2 - REJECTED Chapter 2 DRAFT

Author's Note: This is an unfinished draft of Leashed Darkness's chapter 2 that was a rejected idea of mine. I decided to take another path with this chapter but Alex convinced me to post all my rejected drafts and things I would just delete here in the Diary. Please do enjoy, but understand that this is not a part of the Leashed Darkness story, nor is this draft finished or will ever be.



Hellsing Files
Portfolio: Arthur Helsing

Gender: Male

Age: 13 years

Physical Markings: None

Country of Birth: Holland (Netherlands)

Current Residence: England

Profession: Student

Defining Characteristics: Born as the second son to Abraham Van Helsing, Arthur always felt as if he was never was able to live up to his father's expectations or his brother, William's, example.


Chapter Two: My Father's Son

“Love and fear. Everything the father of a family says must inspire one or the other.” ~Joseph Joubert


Arthur's eyes were as cold blue as his father's, but held a certain spark of mischief. He could never get his hair to behave quite right. Often he tried to slick it back like his father's, but traits of his mother's curled hair made many locks wish to follow their own pattern and stick out in random directions. Only thirteen, Arthur felt a bitterness in life no boy his age should deal with, but he buried the memory of William and that event so long ago and concentrated only upon the future and growing up to be what his father wanted him to be, so that he might make the man proud.

Arthur shivered as he stood before the one door his father had passed over during the tour. This was the entrance to the lowers, the basement as Abraham had described it. Cool air brushed over his bare feet as he stood in his night clothes, staring at the door. The old wooden door seemed to course and pulsate with a red aura, and the boy hunched his back, rubbing his hands nervously along his arms. There was something unnatural down there, something he knew he should stay away from but his curiosity was driving him forward. Curiosity and maybe something else not even part of his mind, a foreign hand pushing him forward just beyond his awareness.

Breathing slowly through his nose, Arthur looked over his shoulder, checking the hallway behind him. He was sure his parents were sleeping, and none of the small staff stirred this late at night. Settling his mind, he bit his bottom lip and reached out, gripping the cold metal handle in his hand and twisting, pushing the door forward. The hinges he was sure would screech or make some earth shattering sound only whispered open as if they had been well oiled. Finding this odd, but relieved that no sound would bring the house, and his father, crashing down on him, Arthur stepped into the darkness, squinting his eyes to try to make out shapes.

There were steps ahead, leading down into more darkness, but he wrapped his hands around himself and took a soft step forward. His bare feet made no sound, and for a moment Arthur felt a thrill at sneaking about completely unheard in the night. He imagined himself possessed by some great thief hero from his story books. The thrill was overwhelmed by a sudden blow of deep fear. As he reached the bottom of the steps the air suddenly seemed to become thick, and Arthur swore there was a fog or mist creeping over the floor. A red mist. But he blinked, brushing a hand quickly over his eyes and it was gone, only the darkness surrounding him.

He shivered again, catching his breath to keep loud gasps from giving himself away. He felt it, the great evil that rested here. It wasn't like the evil of children's books or the plays. This evil was not amusing or entertaining, it did not promise a good side or a stupid move that would bring it's downfall. This was the evil preached by the church. Arthur felt the sudden sicking feeling that perhaps there was a demon here, a hell beast that had escaped the sulfur pits and had now made it's lair in the lower rooms of his family's new home.

For a fleeting moment, Arthur considered turning back and waking his father to tell of this sudden find. But there was a whisper in his mind, whether his own thoughts or the pressings of another, he couldn't tell. It was pushing him onward again. Not quite against his will, his feet moved forward again and he found himself turning at intersections of hallways in the maze of stone. The air became thicker with each step and turn, the very stone seeming to pulsate before his eyes with raw, dark power.

Then, at rounding yet another corner, Arthur stopped as he saw light ahead, and heard voices. One of them he was quite sure to be Abraham's. The other he could not place, it was soft, purring almost, like the throaty vocals of some great cat.

OoOoO

“When are you planning to drop this ridiculous form,” Abraham's voice called from across the room where he stood, lighting a torch from the flame of his lantern.

The vampire's hiss at the sudden flair of light broke the seductive persona it had been displaying. Abraham turned, blowing out his lantern and setting it near the door, raising an eyebrow at the Count. Or Countess at the moment. It appeared that his wards, or the creature's weakened state from starvation, had effectively stopped Dracula's destructive power, and kept it from escaping the bonds. However, it did not stop the vampire from changing it's shape.

The previous visit he had left Dracula a battered appearing barbarian warlord. Pale skin the shade of a corpse, clad in ripped noble's clothing. His hair had been a thick, black mane which was wavy, falling well past his shoulder blades and ending in soft curls. The creature's face was twisted with malice and hatred then, scruffy facial hair in the form of a mustache and a bit of a beard framed his mouth. Tall and well muscled, Dracula had been the very picture of a warlord, a monster, and to the people of civilized England, a barbarian.

But now, the Count appeared nothing of the sort. The power to change form seemed to extend to the very clothing the beast wore. The ripped cloth was no more, replaced by a robe of nearly transparent white cotton which hung loose and bunched at the waist revealing long, feminine legs held cruelly by the chains. Bare arms twisted over the monster's head appeared frail in the thick bindings. The skin was the color of fresh milk mixed with honey, red lips twisted now into a soft smirk, parted only slightly to show white teeth, but not enough to show their points. The creature's face was still lean, but now sporting the finer bones of a female. High arched, dark eyebrows were raised at Abraham's roving eyes, and she tossed her head back in a gesture of spirit. Her black hair was still the same wave of Dracula's, the tips curling softly as it pooled over the floor around her where she sat bound.

“Why would I change this form when you are so obviously enjoying it?” she purred. The damn monster had even altered it's voice to give even the Greek goddesses competition. The vampire twisted it's head to the side, pressing it's cheek into the soft skin of it's arm. “Is that not what the captor does? Enjoy his new prize?”

Abraham narrowed his eyes, feeling the feathery soft caresses over his thoughts, the fingers of Dracula's mind attempting to enter his own. He pushed the beast out of his mind, slamming the doors tightly shut.

“I suppose I should have expected this from you,” Abraham replied, gritting his teeth and fighting the heat building his his body. He looked at the vampire, refusing to think 'she' and keeping the label of 'it' attached to the creature. This was no woman, nor a man. Abraham doubted that Dracula even had a gender, not anymore. What sat chained before him was nothing less than a true demon, a creation of Shaitan. This was what demons did, they seduced, made deals that went badly for those they dealt with, and ended lives only to bathe in the blood and chaos.

Dracula chuckled, a soft sound that reminded Abraham of summer breezes toying with wind chimes. A strange, placid feeling took hold in his gut, his eyes meeting the crimson gaze of the vampire. “Expected what? I am only given you what you have asked for. Did you not say I was your prize?”

Abraham felt compelled to move at those words, to reach forward and twist his fist into the inky waves of hair, twist the creature's head back to bare it's throat. He could see it play out in his mind's eye. His free hand ripping away the pointless cotton covering to reveal soft flesh, his for the taking. He felt swallowed up in those eyes, drawn forward to act on the mental fantasy.

The sudden image of Elizabeth's face shattered the dream, her eyes filled with life and sanity, joy glowing from her face. He shook his head, blinking as he found himself straddling the vampire as Dracula leaned forward, straining against the chains with the previously hidden shark teeth now in full view within a gaping, hellish mouth aimed at his throat.

The Count was no longer a beautiful woman, the feminine features twisted into a monstrosity only the Devil could have cursed the Earth with. Fingers curled, sporting long black, curving claws. They spasmed and pulled in the bindings holding the vampire's wrists to no avail. The face was almost entirely mouth, stretched unnaturally, nearly ear to ear, and impossibly wide.

Abraham let out a cry, falling back away from the vicious snap of teeth. A fog still gripped his mind, and he could not quite fumble a rational for the situation. Instead, he clawed his way across the floor, to a bag he had brought down with him. Fingers shaking as he worked open the ties, he pulled free a wooden stake, and turned, now on his feet, to stride across the room and slam the spire of wood, spear point first into the vampire's open jaws.

Dracula grunted as the point drove into the back of his mouth, and his eyes widened when Abraham lifted a mallet in his free hand. The vampire struggled then, slamming his teeth down onto the wood, hoping to break it. But blessed oak would not easily snap with a simple bite. The first blow drove the point into the muscle at the back of his throat and filled his mouth with blood and splinters from his teeth ripping at the wood.

The second blow pierced the spinal chord, which did not affect the vampire's movement, as it struggled all the more, a screech erupting from its lungs. The third strike pushed the stake point through the back of his neck, blunting the spear wood over the stone wall.

Abraham stepped back, panting as he watched the vampire writhe, slamming it's head against the wall as if to jerk the wood from it's mouth. Jaws worked the teeth into a sawing motion, though even if it worked would not pull the part of the stake piercing it's mouth out of the wound. Abraham backed up a step, lifting his free hand to his face in an effort to get control back through his body. The fog in his mind had vanished with the first strike to the stake, so he concluded that Dracula had found a way into his mind somehow, despite his defenses.

He looked up at a sudden secession of Dracula's thrashing to see the vampire grinning gape mouthed around the stake, and to hear a soft sound behind him. Whirling about, Abraham's eyes widened then narrowed in anger as they fell upon Arthur standing in the doorway, one foot forward as if he had been in the process of rushing forward. Abraham could only guess the boy had been hiding by the door and had seen Dracula try to kill him, and in blind fear, had rushed forward to his aid. And he had seen the whole scene.

Abraham became acutely aware that he was covered in sprays of blood, with, in Arthur's eyes, a woman chained to the wall who he had probably just murdered.

“Arthur,” he started to say, but the boy turned and fled before he could get out much else. Abraham cursed, gritting his teeth. The wheezing chuckle behind him only added fuel to the fire of his anger, and with a roar, Abraham turned, slamming the mallet into the side of the vampire's head, again, and again, and again.

Dracula never stopped laughing, it seemed the harder Abraham hit, the louder the vampire laughed, until it echoed off the stone and through Abraham's mind as he tossed the mallet to the floor and stormed from the cell in a cold sweat and dark anger.

OoOoO

Arthur locked the door behind him as he fled into his room, the grisly image still in perfect clarity before him. That room had been the source of the evil that filled the lowers, but had it been the helpless woman, or his own father?

He sat heavily on the edge of his bed, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes as his mind tried to work out everything he had seen. There had been the woman chained like a prisoner. His father talked to her like he would to men who killed their children. But for a moment, it appeared as if his father would take advantage of the woman. What would mother think?

Arthur fought tears, shaking his head. But the woman had changed then, almost like an animal. Or maybe that was just his mind twisting things beyond what they really were. What had happened next was beyond what he could understand. Abraham, his father, a saint to so many people, had killed her in such a brutal manor that she had still been alive and crying out when he had fled.

Maybe she was still down there, suffering in a pain no human should have to endure.

The knock at his door frightened him out of his thoughts, and Arthur looked up, eyes wide as he stared at the wood.

“Arthur,” his father's voice sounded behind the door, soft but commanding. “We need to talk.”

“No,” Arthur whispered in reply. “We don't need to talk. You just killed someone. What did that woman ever do to anyone to deserve that?”

A heavy sigh sounded beyond the door, and Arthur slowly stood and approached it. He unlocked the door carefully and pulled it open, looking up at his father still splattered with flecks of blood. Arthur felt himself go sick for a moment, but breathed quickly through his mouth to stifle it.

“That was no woman,” Abraham stated. “It was a demon in the guise of a woman.”

Arthur backed away from the doorway, eyes watching his father carefully then moving to flick over bloodstained clothing. “Do demons bleed like women?”

Abraham frowned, shaking his head. “It's complicated. I told you to stay out of the lowers. And do not tell your mother,” he added with a soft growl. “I do not want her getting hurt.”

The boy shook his head, unsure of what kind of hurt he did not want his mother coming to. “I won't say anything,” Arthur promised quietly, then backed away from his father as the man reached out to put a hand on his shoulder.

Abraham frowned when Arthur retreated from his contact, and sighed, turning away and shaking his head. “It was no woman, Arthur. It was a vampire.”

With those words Abraham retreated, rubbing his forehead.

OoOoO

Dracula spat out the last of the wood as his body forced the object from the wound as it healed.

@темы: Fiction, Abraham, Leashed Darkness V2, Rejected Drafts, Arthur, Alucard

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Author's Corner (Уголок автора)

[Schingiuire]

Hello everyone!
I was advised to write a little about me post where you could all ask me questions if you like.
My name is Schingiuire (Sss-chin-jeeeooo-ire It's a Romanian word for torture). I've been writing Hellsing fanfiction for about three or four years now. I suppose I am mostly known by a fiction called Leashed Darkness, which I am also currently rewriting. I live in the state of Georgia in the United States, own five dogs, one cat, a lot of rabbits and chickens, and a lot of parrots. I'm 21, and enjoy reading, writing, and various other fun things. I have very poor health but never let that get in the way of what I enjoy doing. I enjoy realism in fantasy and go to great lengths to make my stories as 'real' as possible for the reader.

In this entry you can ask me any questions about myself, my work, and my opinion. I love answering questions and you may ask them in Russian if you like. A friend is translating for me so that I may read and respond to you all.
_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Всем привет!
Мне посоветовали написать немного о себе, создать пост, где каждый мог бы задать мне интересующие вопросы.
Меня зовут Schingiuire ( по-румынски это слово означает "пытка" и читается примерно как "Схчинъюйре"). Я пишу фанфикшен по Хеллсингу уже почти четыре года. Полагаю, что наиболее известное и популярное мое произведение это "Тьма на поводке". И этот фик я в сейчас переделываю (прим. переводчика - к данному моменту уже опубликована первая глава новой версии "Тьма на поводке" - Version 2 на FF. net) Живу я в Штате Джорджия в США, и являюсь счастливым хозяином пяти собак, кошки, множества кроликов, кур и попугаев. Мне 21 год . Люблю читать, писать фикшен, и помимо этого у меня множество других интересных увлечений. У меня очень плохое здоровье, но я никогда не позволяю этому факту мешать мне заниматься тем, что мне нравится. Я люблю реализм в фикшене и временами пишу чрезвычайно долго, так как стараюсь сделать фики максимально приближенными к реальности.

В данной записи вы можете задавать мне любые вопросы: обо мне, о моем творчестве, о моих взглядах на тот или иной вопрос. Я люблю отвечать на вопросы.

Вы можете писать комментарии на русском, если вам так удобнее, моя подруга переведет их для меня, так, чтобы я могла их прочесть и ответить каждому из вас.

@темы: Questions/Answers, Me

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Phoenix Phyre

[Schingiuire]

Title: PHOENIX PHYRE

Beta: Alex

Pairing: Alucard, Abraham

Rating: PG-13

Genre: Angst

Summary: One of my many daydreams of Dracula's capture

Warnings: Violence

Author's note: My first post here. This is a ficlette I've worked on for nearly a year. I hope you all enjoy. The word in the title, phyre, is an English toying with the word Fire. In English 'PH' makes the 'F' sound, and 'Y' sometimes makes the 'I' sound. So in English, Phyre is read as Fire.

Story:

How many men of the world viewed retreat as cowardice? It was some part of manhood in many cultures, that if one ever turned his back on a fight then he was a coward, less than human. Perhaps it was why those men rarely lived so long, charging blindly into a fight they would surely lose, all for the sake of manhood. These were also the same individuals that believed that to fight with one's head was fighting 'dirty.'

Dracula had always viewed retreat as a tactic, not an act of fright. Never had he viewed himself as a coward, though the enemy long shouted the word at him as he ordered his armies to flee into ground he deemed more worthy and to his advantage for battle. However, never had he faced an enemy that knew these tactics, and used their minds as a weapon as this human, Abraham Van Helsing, had done. The vampire's attempt to flee England for his mountain home was successful. He had hoped to recuperate there then return more fully prepared to face hunters in other countries. But Abraham had followed him. The human did not wish to give him time to breathe and gather himself. Dracula had then rethought his plan, hoping to lead this hunter and his little band into his own territory and thus crush him.

But Abraham was a clever man. He had stopped his pursuit at the village, and there turned the low life humans, his food, against him. It was not as if they were allied with him to begin with, but the village and the vampire had always lived in something of a harmony. Some sort of strange covenant in which Dracula would protect them, and they would be his food source by offering him those that were unwanted in their society such as deformed children and criminals. And then there was always the fools that wandered the forest after the sun fell, or those that dared band against him.

Now Abraham had them on his side, rallied them against him and thus made the area very dangerous for the vampire. Fires burned all through the forest where bands of men hunted the wolves, shooting them then burning the bodies. Dracula stood within his castle fortress, watching from a tower window as his children howled their pain and dismay. The packs scattered through the mountains. He let them go. This area was lost, it was time to retreat again and gather his forces once more.

He had set everything aflame. Moving slowly through what was once his home, Dracula carried a torch, laying it against the curtains, furniture, anything and everything that would burn. The damned hunters had tracked him this far, backed him into a corner and he expected them to come this night or next daybreak. The vampire had decided to make quite sure that they would find nothing but ash. Working his way from the bottom up, Dracula made sure nothing would be left for them to scrap or salvage. Nothing would be left from his life here but the skeletal remains of the castle itself, for stone would not burn.

Once the deed was complete, the vampire turned away from the fire, leaping from the nearest window and floating upon the air like a specter. And indeed, according to Abraham he was a figment of the past. A relic of ancient evils. Gritting his teeth against these blasphemous thoughts, Dracula watched his old home burn.

There would be nothing to hold him to this place, he had wanted to leave this life behind in any case. Tired as he was of the life in the rural mountains, where superstition and supernatural ruled human lives. The people from these places knew how to combat him, knew to hang garlic at their windows and doors, to plant wolfsbane around their houses and carry crosses with them everywhere. But the humans who lived in so called 'civilization' did not know these things, or if they did, mocked them. They thought to believe in such silly things as ghosts, vampires, werewolves and other such beasts was for young children or those who lived in the mountains away from their cities. And so Dracula had hoped to bring his kind into those very cities, to teach man to once again fear the dark, and of course, for an easy meal, for he could drink nightly in those cities and never have a worry.

His cape fluttered around him upon the wind. Dracula twisted upon the air almost as if he were swimming, turning to see horses galloping through the trees. Surely Abraham could not convince the villagers to blindly attack a vampire in the dead of night. His people were no such fools.

The growing flames burned his eyes with it's light, and so Dracula bid his old home a final farewell, riding the air back from the castle and concealing himself in the smoke. Darkness was his element, and the vampire king felt sure he could slip away and leave Abraham scratching his head. Even Dracula did not know where he would end up, but there were other cities besides England. Wherever man gathered in quantity, the old ways were forgotten.

Dracula felt himself freed, felt he had escaped the tracking of the hunter Abraham and his dogs. He let himself slowly levitate toward the ground, knowing the trees and shadows would hide his escape as the smoke rose toward the sky. The roar of the fire and shouts of men around him as they hunted his wolves thrummed through his ears. And so he was not aware of the hunters closing in, nor did he hear the snap of a crossbow and the whistle of the bolt as it cut through the air, and then through his flesh.

His howl of pain joined those of his wolves, though his was far more inhuman than even that of the animals. The tip of the bolt felt as if it had fanned out inside of him, like some sort of grappling hook. Dracula turned, his ruby eyes bright with fury as they settled upon the steadfast blue of his sworn enemy, Abraham Helsing. The bolt tugged at his back when he moved, and only then did Dracula see the thin, but sturdy cable that led from him to the man who's innards he wished to decorate among the trees.

Is it ever a wise choice to hold the leash of a wild beast? There is nothing to prevent it from biting the hand that holds it, the rope only prevents it from fleeing, not fighting.

Dracula's look of anger twisted into one of smug glee. For holding that cable, Abraham could not hope to avoid him. The vampire king crouched, kicking off from the ground to leap at Abraham as another bolt whistled from the darkness to strike him in the side. The force threw him off his target, and Abraham was quick enough to dance to the side.

The vampire snarled, the new bolt having fanned open around his ribs, making sure it had a strong hold. Having had tunnel vision for only Abraham, and his mind only on killing the human, Dracula had missed the other hunters. Gathering himself to his feet, the vampire looked around, eyes narrowed to dangerous slits as he watched the three other humans come into view. Quincy had a firm hold on the second cable, moving slowly, sidestepping so he would stand across from Abraham and Dracula would be unable to lunge at either of them.

The vampire stood, black cape flowing around him as his eyes moved from one hunter to the other.

“You are catched, Vampire King,” Abraham's accented voice bellowed through the night. “Lie back and be still. We will end your life quickly, demon.”

“Such arrogant talk from a human with his new toy,” Dracula growled, reaching up to grip one of the cables.

Abraham's eyes narrowed as he saw the vampire draw up, and lifted his free hand, a pistol held easily in it's grasp.

“You will not escape this night, Count,” Helsing's hiss penetrated the air just before the sharp retort of the pistol echoed from the trees.

Dracula staggered back, Quincy keeping hold of his end of the cable, backing up to brace it around a tree as Abraham did the same. Leaving his post to one of his fellows, Abraham approached the quivering form of the monster. Dracula gritted his teeth, feeling strength and power flowing from him at a startling rate.

“Silver,” the vampire groaned, clutching at his chest with one hand as his eyes leveled upon Abraham.

“This is the power of the mighty vampire king, a demon even among the vampires themselves? You will die on these frozen grounds where even your homeland will reject you. On the morrow eve, you will not wake to take another life. Your dust will mix with the grime and dirt of this land forever. These will become a tainted woods, a price to buy your death.”

Abraham slipped a hand to his waist, pulling free a shining silver sword, it's sharpened blade catching the moonlight and reflecting it onto the vampire's face.

Dracula growled, a wheezing sound, as he struggled to stay upright, the silver bullet buried in his body bleeding his will to a husk.

With a forced laugh, the vampire staggered a final time, falling to his knees before Abraham. “You think you win? I will return from any death. Celebrate your night, but spend the rest of your lives looking over your shoulders, wondering when I'll return, wondering if the death near you is my cause. I will curse you with my dieing breath, Helsing. You will live in plague and fear!”

Abraham slowly lowered the sword, placing the point at the vampire's chest. “I think not, demon. No, you cannot be so easily killed now. But I will find a way. In the mean time, you will learn to repent for your crimes.” He arched his arm back, slashing Dracula across the throat and spraying the snow with blood.

Dracula choked, one hand lifting to press against the wound as he swayed, falling onto his side to be pillowed in stained snow.

“Ready the coffin, Jonathan,” Abraham called across the clearing. “He will be returning with us, and never know this life again.”

@темы: Hellsing, Abraham/Alucard, Abraham, Short Story, Dracula