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Oh, what a disaster.
First of all, saving Sarah was an absolute shitshow. They hadn't made it far from the castle before she turned on him, betrayed him - and then, minutes afterward, she bailed while he was unconscious. Alfred is sure, of course, that he knows where she has gone...and it's where he's going too, trudging weakly through the snow, hunger gnawing at his gut and the sunrise threatening the horizon.
It's with a cringe that he comes to the door the castle he had only just fleed...hesitating for a minute, two minutes, three before his knees threatening to give out spurs him on.
He knocks on the door to Castle Krolock, whimpering, barely able to close his mouth around his new fangs.
"...Oh, I hope they don't leave me out here...please, someone hear me...."
First of all, saving Sarah was an absolute shitshow. They hadn't made it far from the castle before she turned on him, betrayed him - and then, minutes afterward, she bailed while he was unconscious. Alfred is sure, of course, that he knows where she has gone...and it's where he's going too, trudging weakly through the snow, hunger gnawing at his gut and the sunrise threatening the horizon.
It's with a cringe that he comes to the door the castle he had only just fleed...hesitating for a minute, two minutes, three before his knees threatening to give out spurs him on.
He knocks on the door to Castle Krolock, whimpering, barely able to close his mouth around his new fangs.
"...Oh, I hope they don't leave me out here...please, someone hear me...."
It had been some time since he had stumbled through the door of the castle. Weeks, maybe, though time sort of feels like it no longer applies to him.
It had been nerve-wracking for a long time, learning from Herbert. Slowly but surely, he has learned how to start navigating this new existence, has gotten used to slinking through the halls in the dark without jumping at every shadow (only some of them).
And Herbert has been...so patient. Kind. Sweet. There's a bit of a temper in there, sure, but even with those flashes, he has still been gentler with Alfred than anyone he had known since his own mother.
That means a lot. And so, Alfred got an idea, a small way to repay him. For a couple of weeks, he disappears here and there, sneaking around, staring just a little harder at Herbert when he's around. Keeping secrets.
Until today, when he can't any more.
Tapping on Herbert's bedroom door, he struggles to contain himself, stuffing his hands behind his back to hide how much they're trembling.
"Herbert?"
It had been nerve-wracking for a long time, learning from Herbert. Slowly but surely, he has learned how to start navigating this new existence, has gotten used to slinking through the halls in the dark without jumping at every shadow (only some of them).
And Herbert has been...so patient. Kind. Sweet. There's a bit of a temper in there, sure, but even with those flashes, he has still been gentler with Alfred than anyone he had known since his own mother.
That means a lot. And so, Alfred got an idea, a small way to repay him. For a couple of weeks, he disappears here and there, sneaking around, staring just a little harder at Herbert when he's around. Keeping secrets.
Until today, when he can't any more.
Tapping on Herbert's bedroom door, he struggles to contain himself, stuffing his hands behind his back to hide how much they're trembling.
"Herbert?"
It's not long after arrival - just a few days - that Alfred finally starts to get a little bit more bold in the Castle. Herbert is out hunting, a task that he doesn't quite have the stomach for just yet, and restlessness creeps up on him all too quickly. He lives here now, he knows that, and it's time that he gets used to where things are.
So that's why he is now, trembling faintly, eyes very wide, wandering the halls alone, trying his best not to make a sound.
Until he is startled by a rat scurrying past underfoot, and backs into a suit of armor, which topples - he whips around (wow, he...he's pretty sure he wasn't that fast before?), catching most of it, but the sword still hits the ground with a thunderous clatter, skidding across the floor.
"Oops-"
So that's why he is now, trembling faintly, eyes very wide, wandering the halls alone, trying his best not to make a sound.
Until he is startled by a rat scurrying past underfoot, and backs into a suit of armor, which topples - he whips around (wow, he...he's pretty sure he wasn't that fast before?), catching most of it, but the sword still hits the ground with a thunderous clatter, skidding across the floor.
"Oops-"
"Okay - okay. It's going to be fine. It's going to be fine!"
Alfred snaps the book in his hands shut, setting it aside on the little shelf he had by now filled in his room. It's been about a month now, a month of days almost entirely spent at Herbert's side. They had kissed by now, so many times...time has eroded most of the initial anxiety he felt at the vampire's touch, and he has learned not to flinch away from it, even to take comfort in it.
A few times, these cuddle sessions had gotten a little more heated, bodies winding together, but each time had ended the same way; Alfred stammering an apology, Herbert being sweet and patient about it, and then Alfred bringing himself off thinking about it when he had the privacy. Part of his hesitance is, of course, the fact that he had never been with another man before. Hell, he has never been with ANYONE before.
So he resolved to do the only thing he could think to.
Research.
Sighing to himself, he looks at the row of books on the shelf he just slipped the tome onto - romance novels, dissertations on the nature of sexual health...even a copy of the Kama Sutra he had had to shove behind his back when the Count had found him flushed and staring into the pages in the library. He's still nervous, still not sure what he's really doing...but it's time. He wants to try. He wants it to be special. Because there's something he...really needs to tell Herbert.
He leans against his closed door in the hallway to wait, trying his absolute best to look dashing, but feeling more than a little silly inside. Alfred needn't worry, mind you - he's dressed himself handsomely for this, wearing a deep crimson brocade tailcoat, tight black breeches, and oxblood red boots with a bit of a heel (He had read somewhere that heels accentuate one's rear end, and...well, he knows Herbert enjoys his.)
Doesn't stop his palms from being a bit clammy, though, or his throat from feeling dry. If he had a pulse anymore, it would be a mile a minute.
"You can do this, Alfred," he asserts to himself, furrowing his brow.
Alfred snaps the book in his hands shut, setting it aside on the little shelf he had by now filled in his room. It's been about a month now, a month of days almost entirely spent at Herbert's side. They had kissed by now, so many times...time has eroded most of the initial anxiety he felt at the vampire's touch, and he has learned not to flinch away from it, even to take comfort in it.
A few times, these cuddle sessions had gotten a little more heated, bodies winding together, but each time had ended the same way; Alfred stammering an apology, Herbert being sweet and patient about it, and then Alfred bringing himself off thinking about it when he had the privacy. Part of his hesitance is, of course, the fact that he had never been with another man before. Hell, he has never been with ANYONE before.
So he resolved to do the only thing he could think to.
Research.
Sighing to himself, he looks at the row of books on the shelf he just slipped the tome onto - romance novels, dissertations on the nature of sexual health...even a copy of the Kama Sutra he had had to shove behind his back when the Count had found him flushed and staring into the pages in the library. He's still nervous, still not sure what he's really doing...but it's time. He wants to try. He wants it to be special. Because there's something he...really needs to tell Herbert.
He leans against his closed door in the hallway to wait, trying his absolute best to look dashing, but feeling more than a little silly inside. Alfred needn't worry, mind you - he's dressed himself handsomely for this, wearing a deep crimson brocade tailcoat, tight black breeches, and oxblood red boots with a bit of a heel (He had read somewhere that heels accentuate one's rear end, and...well, he knows Herbert enjoys his.)
Doesn't stop his palms from being a bit clammy, though, or his throat from feeling dry. If he had a pulse anymore, it would be a mile a minute.
"You can do this, Alfred," he asserts to himself, furrowing his brow.
Unlike everything else so far, this is something Alfred knows how to do, and that has him in a very good mood.
He's gathered up a basket of supplies from storerooms - scrap fabric, thread, ribbon, even a couple of what he believes must be Herbert's old shirts discarded for tears and bloodstains tucked away for what may well have been decades in crates. Likely they were set aside as unsalvageable, but...no, they are fine, they have gorgeous lace, they can be saved.
The way he knocks at Herbert's door is markedly chipper, an upbeat tapping. He's even humming, usually strained voice rising and falling in a clear tone from the back of his throat.
Finally, he gets to teach the older vampire something.
He's gathered up a basket of supplies from storerooms - scrap fabric, thread, ribbon, even a couple of what he believes must be Herbert's old shirts discarded for tears and bloodstains tucked away for what may well have been decades in crates. Likely they were set aside as unsalvageable, but...no, they are fine, they have gorgeous lace, they can be saved.
The way he knocks at Herbert's door is markedly chipper, an upbeat tapping. He's even humming, usually strained voice rising and falling in a clear tone from the back of his throat.
Finally, he gets to teach the older vampire something.
For a few nights in a row, Alfred has been very busy rummaging through the storerooms. He's gathered bags of decoration, more colorful candles, bits of dried fruit potpourri to repurpose - like a man possessed, he has toiled, and all for one reason:
Christmas is coming, and the Krolocks have indicated that they have no idea about it. And that just won't do.
Now, while Herbert is hunting, he has come outside as well...and walking far enough away that he will not scare away any prey, he has found a large, full, beautiful tree. It's going to be perfect, and he knows it - he WANTS it to be perfect. He has his coat off, his sleeves rolled up, and he is thankful that he doesn't feel the cold so much anymore as he brings the axe hard into the bottom of the thick trunk, over and over again.
It's one of those moments, no doubt, where he looks effortlessly handsome, almost rugged - grunting softly with exertion, muscles engaged with every swing.
He's not really thinking about that, though. He has work to do.
Christmas is coming, and the Krolocks have indicated that they have no idea about it. And that just won't do.
Now, while Herbert is hunting, he has come outside as well...and walking far enough away that he will not scare away any prey, he has found a large, full, beautiful tree. It's going to be perfect, and he knows it - he WANTS it to be perfect. He has his coat off, his sleeves rolled up, and he is thankful that he doesn't feel the cold so much anymore as he brings the axe hard into the bottom of the thick trunk, over and over again.
It's one of those moments, no doubt, where he looks effortlessly handsome, almost rugged - grunting softly with exertion, muscles engaged with every swing.
He's not really thinking about that, though. He has work to do.
Something is wrong.
After all these months at the castle, it had seemed like Alfred was settling well into his new life. His powers had emerged, he was more used to his senses...even his demeanor had grown just a little bolder with familiarity.
But for the last week or two, something has been...different. He's been quiet, a little withdrawn, keeping himself busy with some sort of note taking and research. He hasn't told anyone what he is doing or why...but it's not unusual for the young man to get entrenched in projects.
What is unusual is the way he doesn't greet anyone as he rises from the casket in the evening, the glassy, vacant look in his eyes (less blue than they should be?) as he staggers off to his room without a word.
There is, shortly after, a strange sound from behind his closed door. A heavy thud of a body striking ground, a short, strangled scream...and then a chilling, deep animal snarl. Alfred is on the ground, shirt half undone, body wracked with spasms as he slinks around on all fours.
If Herbert looks in, it's immediately evident that sweet little Alfred isn't home - save for a murmur in the back of his head.
Help...me....
Something is very, very wrong.
After all these months at the castle, it had seemed like Alfred was settling well into his new life. His powers had emerged, he was more used to his senses...even his demeanor had grown just a little bolder with familiarity.
But for the last week or two, something has been...different. He's been quiet, a little withdrawn, keeping himself busy with some sort of note taking and research. He hasn't told anyone what he is doing or why...but it's not unusual for the young man to get entrenched in projects.
What is unusual is the way he doesn't greet anyone as he rises from the casket in the evening, the glassy, vacant look in his eyes (less blue than they should be?) as he staggers off to his room without a word.
There is, shortly after, a strange sound from behind his closed door. A heavy thud of a body striking ground, a short, strangled scream...and then a chilling, deep animal snarl. Alfred is on the ground, shirt half undone, body wracked with spasms as he slinks around on all fours.
If Herbert looks in, it's immediately evident that sweet little Alfred isn't home - save for a murmur in the back of his head.
Help...me....
Something is very, very wrong.
Edited 2021-12-21 19:29 (UTC)
The air is still, now that much of the world has gone to rest. In the distance, the flock bleat only occasionally, faintly in their enclosures, largely done with their milling about. The chores are done, the sun has dropped away below the horizon, and the sound of the night insects has come to say hello. He smiles, looking out into the darkened sky.
It's become his favorite time of the day, even if he's a bit tired from his day of work.
Solin sits beneath the huge, gnarled tree at the edge of his field, one foot tucked up and under the other in a half cross-legged position. With scuffed, well-practiced fingers, he fixes more wool from his basket to the working end of the yarn on his drop spindle, twisting the fibers before letting the top-like wooden device fall and wind the wool down into yarn.
It's peaceful, spinning here, the night wind tousling his warm brown hair while he waits in what has become Their Place. He had loved this tree his whole life, but never more than he does these days.
Or rather, these nights.
That's been an adjustment, but one he's been more than willing to make.
It's become his favorite time of the day, even if he's a bit tired from his day of work.
Solin sits beneath the huge, gnarled tree at the edge of his field, one foot tucked up and under the other in a half cross-legged position. With scuffed, well-practiced fingers, he fixes more wool from his basket to the working end of the yarn on his drop spindle, twisting the fibers before letting the top-like wooden device fall and wind the wool down into yarn.
It's peaceful, spinning here, the night wind tousling his warm brown hair while he waits in what has become Their Place. He had loved this tree his whole life, but never more than he does these days.
Or rather, these nights.
That's been an adjustment, but one he's been more than willing to make.
There's nothing quite like the fun of waking up on Christmas morning - except, perhaps, the joy of waking up Christmas evening, practically springing out of the casket (with a passing kiss to Herbert) to rush ahead and get things all ready.
It's going to be perfect - he just hopes everyone else enjoys it as much as he does.
By the time the others arrive in the living room, Alfred has already stoked a warm fire in the hearth, lit up some candles, and is gleefully tucking the last wrapped box under the tree. The mistletoe pinned up in the doorways hangs cheerfully, and the room smells of fresh pine, of festivity.
"Merry Christmas," he chirps upon approach, beaming like a little schoolboy.
It's going to be perfect - he just hopes everyone else enjoys it as much as he does.
By the time the others arrive in the living room, Alfred has already stoked a warm fire in the hearth, lit up some candles, and is gleefully tucking the last wrapped box under the tree. The mistletoe pinned up in the doorways hangs cheerfully, and the room smells of fresh pine, of festivity.
"Merry Christmas," he chirps upon approach, beaming like a little schoolboy.
With Alfred having been here for a little while now, and with his... relationship with Herbert, well. Georg thinks it's about time they had a discussion. Especially if Alfred is going to keep staying here, and continues his relationship with Herbert.
So Georg gathers a few select books from the library -- both on the romantic side and more on the sexual side -- and goes to knock on Alfred's door.
So Georg gathers a few select books from the library -- both on the romantic side and more on the sexual side -- and goes to knock on Alfred's door.
It takes...a little while before Alfred even stirs. Fortunately, the incident had begun immediately upon waking, so the threat of sunrise has hours to go before a retreat to the crypt must be taken, allowing plenty of space for the couple of hours before the young vampire groans, weakly, from the bed. His eyes flutter open, finally the right shade of blue once more, however bleary they may be; when he tries to move, he's met with the creak of ropes.
Trying to get his wits back about him, his eyelids flutter, pupils struggling to focus on anything or anyone at all in the room as he croaks words from a hoarse throat.
"...Mnh...wh-what...why am I...?"
He's still weak from the ordeal, and when he tugs at the restraints again, it's half-hearted, dazed. At least it's clearly Alfred again, not the lost creature who had taken residence hours before.
Trying to get his wits back about him, his eyelids flutter, pupils struggling to focus on anything or anyone at all in the room as he croaks words from a hoarse throat.
"...Mnh...wh-what...why am I...?"
He's still weak from the ordeal, and when he tugs at the restraints again, it's half-hearted, dazed. At least it's clearly Alfred again, not the lost creature who had taken residence hours before.
Edited 2022-01-05 07:21 (UTC)
It's been a pleasant night for Alfred - Herbert has gone out to hunt, and the younger vampire has decided to see to some of the laundry in the meantime. Koukol deserves a break now and again, after all, and it has never quite been comfortable for Alfred to be waited upon.
Neatly folded in his arms are a number of Georg's shirts and pants, mended and cleaned - he's pretty sure that Koukol had said the Count was outside, and so he doesn't knock on the door to his room before throwing it open, humming a bit to himself -
And then stopping short.
Oh.
The...Count is not outside.
"O-oh-!"
Neatly folded in his arms are a number of Georg's shirts and pants, mended and cleaned - he's pretty sure that Koukol had said the Count was outside, and so he doesn't knock on the door to his room before throwing it open, humming a bit to himself -
And then stopping short.
Oh.
The...Count is not outside.
"O-oh-!"
"It's just - I know it's time. Right? It feels like time. To me. But...but is it too fast? It's only been a year."
Alfred's voice is timid but distinct in the dark - an unexpected sound in the graveyard, lit by the waning light of the moon. It isn't the first time he's come out here, but usually he isn't caught in the act, sitting on the ground, leaning upon and talking to Solin's headstone.
"I know I should trust myself here, but...but this is big. I'm afraid to mess it up."
He tilts his head back, shutting his eyes and basking in the night as he thinks.
"What should I do? And what do I even say to Georg?"
Alfred's voice is timid but distinct in the dark - an unexpected sound in the graveyard, lit by the waning light of the moon. It isn't the first time he's come out here, but usually he isn't caught in the act, sitting on the ground, leaning upon and talking to Solin's headstone.
"I know I should trust myself here, but...but this is big. I'm afraid to mess it up."
He tilts his head back, shutting his eyes and basking in the night as he thinks.
"What should I do? And what do I even say to Georg?"
Herbert is sitting at his vanity after a bath one evening, still in his robe, carefully brushing out his hair. And singing to himself as he does so. A simple little tune he's been humming to himself for centuries, but that may sound very familiar to Alfred.
Edited 2022-01-23 23:57 (UTC)
Well, it had taken him quite some time, but in the end it was worth it. Mostly because he hadn't filed his nails in, well. Centuries. And remembering the proper technique had taken him a moment. But he very much wants to do this for Alfred, and so for at least tonight, his nails are all perfectly short and rounded off.
(He probably hadn't needed to do both hands, but it had bothered him, having them be uneven.)
So he strides into Alfred's room unannounced, holding out his hands for inspection. "Look what I've done for you, mon cheri. I hope you can set aside some time for it tonight, because it took me ages to get them like this."
(He probably hadn't needed to do both hands, but it had bothered him, having them be uneven.)
So he strides into Alfred's room unannounced, holding out his hands for inspection. "Look what I've done for you, mon cheri. I hope you can set aside some time for it tonight, because it took me ages to get them like this."
It's been a couple of weeks since Alfred was turned, and he is...well, he's not used to it, exactly, but for the most part, he's made his peace with a lot of his new life. The Castle isn't quite as scary as it first seemed, and the Krolocks have been very sweet, very patient with him. Sometimes his chest aches for a glimpse of sunlight, or the ability to eat...well, anything but blood. But overall, he feels like that's the worst of it, those little things.
Or so he had thought.
On one of his exploratory walks through the halls to search storerooms for things for his bedroom, he finds himself turning a corner and facing what looks like a huge wooden picture frame. Approaching it, brows furrowed, he wonders at it, looking at the dark image inside under the glass. It's...the room behind him.
When he reaches out to touch it, the very old glass cracks beneath his finger, and his heart drops as realization sinks claws into his spine.
It's a mirror.
For a moment, he stands there, silent, frozen in horror...and then he SCREAMS, louder than he has since he has arrived, a sound of pure anguish and terror as his knees give and he crumples to the dusty floor, palm sliding down the glass and slicing open on the crack he had caused. His blood is on the outside of the glass, but isn't reflected inside it.
He's not there. He's gone.
And so he cries, loud, pent-up sobs finally twisting from behind where they had been bottled up.
Or so he had thought.
On one of his exploratory walks through the halls to search storerooms for things for his bedroom, he finds himself turning a corner and facing what looks like a huge wooden picture frame. Approaching it, brows furrowed, he wonders at it, looking at the dark image inside under the glass. It's...the room behind him.
When he reaches out to touch it, the very old glass cracks beneath his finger, and his heart drops as realization sinks claws into his spine.
It's a mirror.
For a moment, he stands there, silent, frozen in horror...and then he SCREAMS, louder than he has since he has arrived, a sound of pure anguish and terror as his knees give and he crumples to the dusty floor, palm sliding down the glass and slicing open on the crack he had caused. His blood is on the outside of the glass, but isn't reflected inside it.
He's not there. He's gone.
And so he cries, loud, pent-up sobs finally twisting from behind where they had been bottled up.
Edited 2022-01-31 00:11 (UTC)
Freedom.
It's something that the Krolocks have been so fervent about telling Alfred that he has, something that he's still getting the hang of. There are many things about himself that he's still learning, still getting to know the person he really is under all the years of hiding himself away.
It's taken him a long time, in that regard, to get to where he is now. His long fingers wind in the laces of the crimson corset he's got wrapped around his torso, pulling it tight, tighter...and he groans softly at the feeling. He LIKES it, he likes the way he feels standing there in the middle of his room, wearing lace stockings, four-inch heels, lacy briefs that struggle to contain him.
The moment is intended to be something done quietly, privately...that is, until he stumbles on the heels, falling to the floor with an undignified yelp.
It's something that the Krolocks have been so fervent about telling Alfred that he has, something that he's still getting the hang of. There are many things about himself that he's still learning, still getting to know the person he really is under all the years of hiding himself away.
It's taken him a long time, in that regard, to get to where he is now. His long fingers wind in the laces of the crimson corset he's got wrapped around his torso, pulling it tight, tighter...and he groans softly at the feeling. He LIKES it, he likes the way he feels standing there in the middle of his room, wearing lace stockings, four-inch heels, lacy briefs that struggle to contain him.
The moment is intended to be something done quietly, privately...that is, until he stumbles on the heels, falling to the floor with an undignified yelp.
One year.
It has been one year since Alfred was turned, one year since he had fled the castle a human and had returned a vampire. A year of this new life after death, living with the Krolocks, falling in love with the night and the family he had found in it. Now he finds himself standing in his room, excited and terrified in equal parts.
The Midnight Ball is tonight. And he has something very important to do.
He's taken great pains to get ready, moreso than ever - scrubbed and perfumed, painted delicately with skilled makeup (he really will have to do something for Magda later to thank her), meticulously dressed and styled in a suit he had tailored specifically for the occasion, all rich blacks and golds and crimsons. Beneath all the layers, a corset is laced tight, cutting his figure sharper and giving him just a bit more confidence. He's going to need it tonight, he's going to need all the help he can get.
Wishing he could see how he looks in a mirror, he takes a long, deep breath to steady himself, letting it out in a slow hiss...then, pocketing a little box from the top of his vanity, he moves down the halls, heading to Herbert's room with the clack-clack-clack of his heeled boots echoing on the way.
He's nervous. He's obviously nervous, but he can write that off as being the anniversary of all that had happened. A part truth.
He knocks, the little box feeling heavy in his inner pocket.
It has been one year since Alfred was turned, one year since he had fled the castle a human and had returned a vampire. A year of this new life after death, living with the Krolocks, falling in love with the night and the family he had found in it. Now he finds himself standing in his room, excited and terrified in equal parts.
The Midnight Ball is tonight. And he has something very important to do.
He's taken great pains to get ready, moreso than ever - scrubbed and perfumed, painted delicately with skilled makeup (he really will have to do something for Magda later to thank her), meticulously dressed and styled in a suit he had tailored specifically for the occasion, all rich blacks and golds and crimsons. Beneath all the layers, a corset is laced tight, cutting his figure sharper and giving him just a bit more confidence. He's going to need it tonight, he's going to need all the help he can get.
Wishing he could see how he looks in a mirror, he takes a long, deep breath to steady himself, letting it out in a slow hiss...then, pocketing a little box from the top of his vanity, he moves down the halls, heading to Herbert's room with the clack-clack-clack of his heeled boots echoing on the way.
He's nervous. He's obviously nervous, but he can write that off as being the anniversary of all that had happened. A part truth.
He knocks, the little box feeling heavy in his inner pocket.
Georg is... nervous. If his heart could beat, it would be hammering out of his chest. He'd clipped a bouquet of roses from his garden; gorgeous deep red blooms, fading to black around the edges of the petals. He'd taken the time and care to remove each and every thorn, so Alfred was in no danger of pricking his fingers. He'd even asked Herbert for one of his hair ribbons to tie around the stems, who had gladly handed one over when he heard what it was for.
Now all that's left is to actually give them to Alfred.
He takes a deep, unnecessary breath and knocks on Alfred's door.
Now all that's left is to actually give them to Alfred.
He takes a deep, unnecessary breath and knocks on Alfred's door.
Sarah smooths her hands over her new dress, giving a little twirl. Feeling like a princess. No, like a countess. Which is what she is, now, isn't she? Or she ought to be, being the eternal bride of a count. He does so love spoiling her with clothes and things for her bath, and she couldn't be more delighted at the attention and the presents.
Right now, Georg is off somewhere. Herbert (ugh, she so strongly dislikes her -- stepson, she supposes) said he was in the graveyard, and Sarah shouldn't bother him there. So she's taking the time to explore the castle a little more, wandering from room to room. Occasionally twirling to make the skirt of her dress fan out in a very satisfactory way.
Right now, Georg is off somewhere. Herbert (ugh, she so strongly dislikes her -- stepson, she supposes) said he was in the graveyard, and Sarah shouldn't bother him there. So she's taking the time to explore the castle a little more, wandering from room to room. Occasionally twirling to make the skirt of her dress fan out in a very satisfactory way.
It's a terrible night out. Storming like mad, rain pounding against the windows, lightning every few seconds. Georg is grateful to have a roof over his head, on a night like this. Adela had gone to tuck their young son, Herbert into bed and try to get him to sleep. The poor child hates thunderstorms, and Georg had to read him an extra story to get him to agree to go to bed.
He's putting the books back into place in the library when he hears something, faintly, behind the thunder. The bell ringing for the door. Good god, who could be out at this hour of the night, with a storm like this?
Georg hurries to the door and opens it, ushering the person in without a second thought. "Come in, come in, please. You shouldn't be out in this weather."
He's putting the books back into place in the library when he hears something, faintly, behind the thunder. The bell ringing for the door. Good god, who could be out at this hour of the night, with a storm like this?
Georg hurries to the door and opens it, ushering the person in without a second thought. "Come in, come in, please. You shouldn't be out in this weather."
Big crowds...aren't much Solin's favorite.
He's a quiet sort of man, and the bustle of a formal party isn't generally his style. His nights are more often spent spinning or weaving, quietly, by himself where he can be comfortable and unbothered. Sometimes, though...sometimes he feels a little lonely.
Maybe that's what made him get himself cleaned up, put on a decent suit and his nicest silk shawl, and come to the castle. He'd seen the Von Krolocks about town - a nice family, they seemed, generous and dazzling. Most of the party is people from the village anyway, people who aren't used to this, either. Still, it's overwhelming...and so there he stands, on the edge of the dancefloor, holding a glass of wine he hasn't taken a drink from yet.
When someone meets his eye, he smiles, polite and sweet...but any women who ask him to dance are gently turned down.
He sighs a little, watching the people on the dancefloor whirl around.
He's a quiet sort of man, and the bustle of a formal party isn't generally his style. His nights are more often spent spinning or weaving, quietly, by himself where he can be comfortable and unbothered. Sometimes, though...sometimes he feels a little lonely.
Maybe that's what made him get himself cleaned up, put on a decent suit and his nicest silk shawl, and come to the castle. He'd seen the Von Krolocks about town - a nice family, they seemed, generous and dazzling. Most of the party is people from the village anyway, people who aren't used to this, either. Still, it's overwhelming...and so there he stands, on the edge of the dancefloor, holding a glass of wine he hasn't taken a drink from yet.
When someone meets his eye, he smiles, polite and sweet...but any women who ask him to dance are gently turned down.
He sighs a little, watching the people on the dancefloor whirl around.
It's finally done. It had taken him a month or so to gather all the materials and move everything into the room (with the help of Koukol and Herbert). It's complete, now. A huge table for measuring and cutting fabrics. And speaking of fabrics, there are all manner of them leaning against the wall. Most in colours that Alfred would wear, a few things that Herbert would wear.
On the table are several baskets. One filled with ribbon and trim, on filled with all colours of thread, one filled with pincushions and needles and thimbles and whatever Alfred might need to sew by hand. But only if he wants to, since there is a modern sewing machine all set up and ready to be used on a second table. There are yardsticks and tape measures -- Georg had pestered the poor tailor in town for any suggestions as to what the room should have.
And now he's standing in front of the room with Alfred, his hands covering Alfred's eyes. "Promise not to peek until I tell you to?"
On the table are several baskets. One filled with ribbon and trim, on filled with all colours of thread, one filled with pincushions and needles and thimbles and whatever Alfred might need to sew by hand. But only if he wants to, since there is a modern sewing machine all set up and ready to be used on a second table. There are yardsticks and tape measures -- Georg had pestered the poor tailor in town for any suggestions as to what the room should have.
And now he's standing in front of the room with Alfred, his hands covering Alfred's eyes. "Promise not to peek until I tell you to?"
"Oh...oh dear."
Alfred frowns to himself, turning over the pants he has laid out across the sewing table. "Oh, I - I did this backwards, didn't I?"
He had been working on this for hours now, painstakingly working his way down the seam he's been trying to let out...but now that he's near the end, the fabrics clearly don't match up. He sighs, gesturing to Herbert calmly -
"Engel - could you hand me the seam ripper?"
Alfred frowns to himself, turning over the pants he has laid out across the sewing table. "Oh, I - I did this backwards, didn't I?"
He had been working on this for hours now, painstakingly working his way down the seam he's been trying to let out...but now that he's near the end, the fabrics clearly don't match up. He sighs, gesturing to Herbert calmly -
"Engel - could you hand me the seam ripper?"
It had been a cloudy night. The moon seemed hidden from view, not a star to be seen in the sky. Herbert hadn't really thought of it, carefully practicing his embroidery on the hoop Alfred had given him. Just a simple pattern; a flower with a stem and some leaves. Everyone has to start somewhere.
Alfred is working at his table and Herbert is on the sofa when the first rumble of thunder rolls towards them. Herbert sits up straight. Stalk straight, not his usual slouch. They've had rain, of course, since Alfred arrived here, but no big storms.
Until tonight.
"Did you hear that?"
Alfred is working at his table and Herbert is on the sofa when the first rumble of thunder rolls towards them. Herbert sits up straight. Stalk straight, not his usual slouch. They've had rain, of course, since Alfred arrived here, but no big storms.
Until tonight.
"Did you hear that?"
Edited 2022-04-18 00:45 (UTC)
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