Abraham van Helsing (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
master_helsing) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
sirenspull_logs2012-03-21 12:20 am
master_helsing) wrote in sirenspull_logs2012-03-21 12:20 am
Entry tags:
Slave of God, Slave of Devil, Slave of Man
Who: Alucard & Abraham van Helsing
When: Night of the vampire's return
Where: Abraham's basement study
Summary: No matter how many years have gone by, Van Helsing is determined to solidify Alucard's fealty to him.
Warnings: Alucard
A soft golden light of a kerosene lamb spilled down a vast stone staircase that seemed to lead to a place where even sunlight was swallowed. The basement of Winther's Stoker Manor was more of a forth story to the seemingly two-story home, if one also counted the large attic where their young retainer chose to sleep. Down in this dungeon, this oubliette where dark creatures were dragged in, but they never came out, held the rusty scent of old blood and an array of acidic chemicals.
The master of the house ushered for his little vampire to follow him, not bothering to glance behind himself to see if he had listened. His word was law. There was no doubt in his mind.
At the end of the stair-well, a long hallway with a series of arched doorways seemed to lead to a labyrinth of rooms. Where they went only the noxious scents could tell. The first room was rather tell-tale, for it smelled of newly cut daisies, white lilies, fresh cotton sheets, and certified English-dug earth. That room was reserved for Miss Victoria; only the best for the dear young lady of the house.
Further down was a second doorway, larger than the rest. Here was where Van Helsing stopped, and fished in his pocket for his iron ring of keys. There was a stench coming from further down the hallway. Faint to humans, but clear to any beast. At the very last door at the end of the hallways was where unholy vermin went to die in the most horrific and sadistic fashions possible. Alucard would be spared the terrors of that room... for the moment.
For now, the wooden door opened with a loud clank, creaking inward to a welcoming room that housed a beautiful pump Organ. With the door shut, they were treated to a Gothic-styled study of its decor's innately awing proportions. Towards the back was a portrait of the master of the home, above him the Helsing Coat of Arms. To the left and right, a statue of Mary mother of God, and Micheal the Archangel. A long treaty table took most of the floor, where sitting strong and daunting, was the large silver crucifix Van Helsing brandished before his one great foe.
He took a seat at a clawfooted arm-chair, taking from his breast pocket a large cigar, to which he lit with the breath of a dragon figured cigar lighter. A Christmas gift from his dear friend John. The mist of burning cacao was already long present within the room. A sign Van Helsing came in here often to smoke and think whilst pacing the ornate rug like an irate bull in a cramped pen. He gestured, his hand swirling the misty ash before his stern lips and pointed to the brocade-lined couch across from him.
"Be seated, Vampir."
The beast had yet to try his patience. He would be allowed a chair like his human betters, instead of the floor he would readily send him to if the rules were ever bent. This subtle act alone told his slave he was capable of benevolence so long as he never strayed.
"Though you do wear this reprehensible guise of youth, I do see, by the faint supple of your cheek, that you have grown fat." His lip practically curled at the mere bloated sight of him, relaxing only under another bright embered drag of his tobacco.
"What slop has my son been feeding you?"
When: Night of the vampire's return
Where: Abraham's basement study
Summary: No matter how many years have gone by, Van Helsing is determined to solidify Alucard's fealty to him.
Warnings: Alucard
A soft golden light of a kerosene lamb spilled down a vast stone staircase that seemed to lead to a place where even sunlight was swallowed. The basement of Winther's Stoker Manor was more of a forth story to the seemingly two-story home, if one also counted the large attic where their young retainer chose to sleep. Down in this dungeon, this oubliette where dark creatures were dragged in, but they never came out, held the rusty scent of old blood and an array of acidic chemicals.
The master of the house ushered for his little vampire to follow him, not bothering to glance behind himself to see if he had listened. His word was law. There was no doubt in his mind.
At the end of the stair-well, a long hallway with a series of arched doorways seemed to lead to a labyrinth of rooms. Where they went only the noxious scents could tell. The first room was rather tell-tale, for it smelled of newly cut daisies, white lilies, fresh cotton sheets, and certified English-dug earth. That room was reserved for Miss Victoria; only the best for the dear young lady of the house.
Further down was a second doorway, larger than the rest. Here was where Van Helsing stopped, and fished in his pocket for his iron ring of keys. There was a stench coming from further down the hallway. Faint to humans, but clear to any beast. At the very last door at the end of the hallways was where unholy vermin went to die in the most horrific and sadistic fashions possible. Alucard would be spared the terrors of that room... for the moment.
For now, the wooden door opened with a loud clank, creaking inward to a welcoming room that housed a beautiful pump Organ. With the door shut, they were treated to a Gothic-styled study of its decor's innately awing proportions. Towards the back was a portrait of the master of the home, above him the Helsing Coat of Arms. To the left and right, a statue of Mary mother of God, and Micheal the Archangel. A long treaty table took most of the floor, where sitting strong and daunting, was the large silver crucifix Van Helsing brandished before his one great foe.
He took a seat at a clawfooted arm-chair, taking from his breast pocket a large cigar, to which he lit with the breath of a dragon figured cigar lighter. A Christmas gift from his dear friend John. The mist of burning cacao was already long present within the room. A sign Van Helsing came in here often to smoke and think whilst pacing the ornate rug like an irate bull in a cramped pen. He gestured, his hand swirling the misty ash before his stern lips and pointed to the brocade-lined couch across from him.
"Be seated, Vampir."
The beast had yet to try his patience. He would be allowed a chair like his human betters, instead of the floor he would readily send him to if the rules were ever bent. This subtle act alone told his slave he was capable of benevolence so long as he never strayed.
"Though you do wear this reprehensible guise of youth, I do see, by the faint supple of your cheek, that you have grown fat." His lip practically curled at the mere bloated sight of him, relaxing only under another bright embered drag of his tobacco.
"What slop has my son been feeding you?"