[It's been seven years since last she'd set foot in the Other World.
There's something fitting to that, she supposes; seven is a proper sort of number for all manner of things, second only to the number three in its pervasiveness. Seven years spent as the ward of the King of Vampires in her youth, and seven years since her tearful goodbye as she'd crossed back through the distance mirror to her true home.
More time than that has passed in the Other World, of course; things do run differently from one place to another that way. Of course she'd been well accustomed to the notion of Uncle Vlad — er, Lord Dracula's castle moving about, and had not expected to find it in the same place as last she remembered it. But she had at least expected to find it in a reasonably open countryside, or perhaps somewhat adjacent to a small village across the way, not anchored smack in the midst of a bustling town grown up on all sides like ivy around it.
The people had been kind, at least. The Bell Mount Hold, they'd called it, despite being set in a valley rather than on a mountain, and lacking any sorts of bells besides.
But more concerning a thing to find missing was Adrian — whom she'd been given to understand had inherited custody of the castle, and presumably ought to have been with it when she'd arrived. But the Holders had mentioned he'd not been sighted around for decades, if not centuries, which of course had led her to ask the day and year, which had rather shed more than a bit of light on some things.
She'd bargained for her bow, and lamented the lack of her night mare, and set off to the west in search. And of course adventuring was nothing new to her, and nor was keeping away the night creatures as she'd gone, but — well, it had been such a very long way.
But at last she'd found her way to the borders of "France", and after making some discreet inquiries as to where the resident vampires tended to make their residence, she'd set off even further west in search of a place called Machecoul — which evidently might be found by following a river, which at least made for keeping easy directions.
Of course she'd noticed, as she'd traveled, when the populations of night creatures began increasing in proportion with the fear of the townsfolk. How very odd — Lord Dracula had never been one to permit such wanton marauding in the days of his reign. Rather uncivilized of these modern vampires, really.
She doesn't feel poorly about shooting them. They ought to have had better manners.
But then, as she heads toward a gaggle of them near the banks of the river, she hears voices shouting through the underbrush — and peers out just in time to see a handsome young man and bold young woman tearing into the night creatures themselves, one with a whip and the other with blades, all making admirably quick work of it. Perhaps, she muses, they might have word of how close she's getting to Machecoul — well, once they're all well finished with slaying the vampires, that is.]
Oh, honestly, I've seen better manners on an ogre! And you call yourself a vampire.
[She says, as her bowstring sings and three arrows fly in quick unison, burying themselves in the foreheads of three vampires — reinforcements seeking to join the fray, evidently.]
Pardon me — oh, you there, sir and madam, when you're quite finished with slaying this lot, I wonder if I might have a word — ?
no subject
There's something fitting to that, she supposes; seven is a proper sort of number for all manner of things, second only to the number three in its pervasiveness. Seven years spent as the ward of the King of Vampires in her youth, and seven years since her tearful goodbye as she'd crossed back through the distance mirror to her true home.
More time than that has passed in the Other World, of course; things do run differently from one place to another that way. Of course she'd been well accustomed to the notion of Uncle Vlad — er, Lord Dracula's castle moving about, and had not expected to find it in the same place as last she remembered it. But she had at least expected to find it in a reasonably open countryside, or perhaps somewhat adjacent to a small village across the way, not anchored smack in the midst of a bustling town grown up on all sides like ivy around it.
The people had been kind, at least. The Bell Mount Hold, they'd called it, despite being set in a valley rather than on a mountain, and lacking any sorts of bells besides.
But more concerning a thing to find missing was Adrian — whom she'd been given to understand had inherited custody of the castle, and presumably ought to have been with it when she'd arrived. But the Holders had mentioned he'd not been sighted around for decades, if not centuries, which of course had led her to ask the day and year, which had rather shed more than a bit of light on some things.
She'd bargained for her bow, and lamented the lack of her night mare, and set off to the west in search. And of course adventuring was nothing new to her, and nor was keeping away the night creatures as she'd gone, but — well, it had been such a very long way.
But at last she'd found her way to the borders of "France", and after making some discreet inquiries as to where the resident vampires tended to make their residence, she'd set off even further west in search of a place called Machecoul — which evidently might be found by following a river, which at least made for keeping easy directions.
Of course she'd noticed, as she'd traveled, when the populations of night creatures began increasing in proportion with the fear of the townsfolk. How very odd — Lord Dracula had never been one to permit such wanton marauding in the days of his reign. Rather uncivilized of these modern vampires, really.
She doesn't feel poorly about shooting them. They ought to have had better manners.
But then, as she heads toward a gaggle of them near the banks of the river, she hears voices shouting through the underbrush — and peers out just in time to see a handsome young man and bold young woman tearing into the night creatures themselves, one with a whip and the other with blades, all making admirably quick work of it. Perhaps, she muses, they might have word of how close she's getting to Machecoul — well, once they're all well finished with slaying the vampires, that is.]
Oh, honestly, I've seen better manners on an ogre! And you call yourself a vampire.
[She says, as her bowstring sings and three arrows fly in quick unison, burying themselves in the foreheads of three vampires — reinforcements seeking to join the fray, evidently.]
Pardon me — oh, you there, sir and madam, when you're quite finished with slaying this lot, I wonder if I might have a word — ?