Slowly and steadily, Vlad and Renfield pull a coffin out the back of the hurse, before rolling it through the castle doors, Ingrid following close behind.
Vlad, feeling particularly snarky, jabs. "Maybe dad should go on a diet."
"I heard that." A voice originating from the coffin speaks out, dull and unamused, as it's rolled to a halt. After a brief moment the coffin lid opens, allowing the form of Count Dracula, clad in a leathery black cloak and crimson red silk shirt, to be observed. "Well, here we are, at last." The Count raises an eyebrow in query as he takes in the state of the strongholds interior, assessing the decor occupying his new castles entrance hall. "Hmmmm, it's not exactly what I was expecting. I mean, where are the cobwebs, the damp, the rotting corpses?"
Vlad, feeling both tired and slightly put out, attempts to defend his choice in castles. "Look dad, you just said 'find a castle'. It was the best I could find on the internet on short notice."
The Count strides out of the coffin, his first step sending a shockwave across the floor, vanishing all dust from the room as an ethereal scream echoes through the castle walls. Turning his head towards Renfield, he takes care to enunciate his words, lest his dim-witted servant miss-interpret. "Well, I suppose I might feel better when I've had someone to eat."
In response to The Counts pointed statement, more of a command really, Renfield excuses himself from the room to fulfill his tasks.
Here, Vlad decides to make his exit, hoping to get going while the goings good, before any arguments can be started. "Great, I'll get my things. Bagsie the tower room."
Perturbed by the implication Vlad would get the best room, Ingrid turns to stare at him. "Uh, I don't think so. I'm the eldest, I'm having that one."
Half tempted to just let her have the room, subsequently avoiding the incoming argument, Vlad kicks himself internally as he responds. "But I called it."
"When?" Ingrid inquires, suspicious of the little garlic muncher.
At this, Vlad turns to meet her gaze, hopeful she would be able to discern the truth of his statement through his eyes. "In the hurse."
Ingrid, now slight less suspicious, vaguely recalls Vlad saying something about the tower room towards the beginning of their journey. However, determined to get her way, she persists. "Right, well.... I called it before you were born. So, kiss my cape."
"Please, this is very simple. Vladimir will have the room." The Count declares matter of factly, mouth slightly upturned at the edges.
Relief flooding his body at having avoided a long, loud argument, Vlads face turns scarcely smug, a smirk building itself from his previously more uncertain features as he makes his exit."*Sigh*, brilliant. Oh Ingrid, I do believe you're about to chew on that."
Never let it be said that Vladimir Dracula enjoys starting arguments.... He just enjoys winning them.
"This is because he's your favourite, isn't it?" Ingrid asks as she turns to her father, his total disregard of anything to do with her infuriating beyond belief.
The Count, seemingly nonplussed by his daughters aggrieved tone, responds with a sort of bored amusement. "Yes, that's right."
"I hate you more than garlic!" Enraged by his nonchalance, Ingrid storms of in a huff after saying her piece.
As the young Dracula takes her leave, Renfield re-enters the room, now carrying an old portrait of a beautiful, pale woman. Her expression is stoic, lacking any discernable emotion, with prominent cheekbones and raven hair flowing out behind her, almost reminiscent of a lions mane.
The Count turns to consider the paining, expression soft and warm as he gazes upon it. "She is so much like her mother."
As he continues to examine the portrait, the previous warmth in his face drains as his visage is marred by the emergance of anger and loathing. As said expression settles upon his face, he directs his servant in where to store the oil based facsimile of his kind-of ex-wife. "Ugh, in the attic."
"Yes, Master." Renfield responds, shuffling away with the canvas in hand.
The Count, deciding to specify so as to not come across the blasted thing again, continues his instructions. "Behind some boxes!"
"Yes, Master." The servant repeats, familiar with the particular brand of disdain the count has for the painting, or more specifically, it's subject.
"Under a sheet!" He commands once more, just for good measure.
As the servile lackey makes himself scarce once again, Vlad re-enters the entrance hall, luggage bags in hand. As he strolls forwards, appreciation laces his voice as he regards his father. "Thanks, dad." He says, refering to his earlier bestowal of the tower room.
The Count, while gratified by his sons grateful gesture, feels as though he must correct his heirs misapprehension. "Oh Vladimir, there's no need to thank me. You are the son and heir of the Dracula family, it's only right you should have the best room."
Coming to the conclusion that saying 'I only wanted the best WiFi' is a bad idea, Vlad decides to embellish slightly when it comes to his reasoning. "Yeah, I figured the view at night would be the best from the tower. Y,know, ....with the height and all."
Ecstatic his son feels such a pull towards the twilight hours, the Count starts into a dramatic speech. "Oh, Vladimir! So young, and already a night owl, able to relish the elegance and beauty of the darkness, only truly appreciable by nocturnal creatures such as ourselves! The crisp, frostbitten air, the refreshing bite on ones skin brought along by the cool, midnight breeze. The moons gentle, caressing light, dancing across ones form, seeping into your veins as it breathes life into ones very being! *sigh*"
"Uh, ..... yeeeaahh." Vlad returns lamely, ill-prepared for such a passionate response. Hoping to subtly disengage from the daily father-son conversation about the joys of vampirism, Vlad excuses himself as best he can, well aware his dad would go on for hours if given the opportunity. "Anyway, I'm gonna go check out my room, see if Renfields moved Zoltan in yet."
As he provides his (frankly quite lackluster) excuse, Vlad begins walking backwards, before turning and striding hastily out of the room. Making his way towards the tower, Vlad rolls his eyes at the voice of his father calling after him. " Well done Vladdy, getting an early start on super speed training! That's my boy!"
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As Vlad makes his way to the tower room, Robin, the familys spectator from earlier, walks through the gates to the castle courtyard. Here, he stops, taking a moment to appreciate the gargoyles situated atop the pillars, before continuing on towards the main entrance. Stopping before the grand and imposing double doors, the boy smiles excitedly whilst rubbing his hands together. "Time to meet the neighbours!"
Knocking on the heavy oak comprising the castle doors, Robin only has to wait a moment before one of them is pulled slightly ajar. From the castle emerges Renfield, face cold as he assesses the peasant at the entrance.
"Not juicy enough, go away." Renfield demands, his tone callous and harsh as his evaluation of the boy comes to a swift and decisive end.
As the door is slammed in his face, Robin stands confused for a moment, before turning on his heels and heading back down the hill.
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Entering his new room, after climbing the many, MANY stairs required to get to it, Vlad takes a moment to figure out where everything is, before moving to place his luggage atop his bed. Opening his bags, he off-handedly greets the stuffed hellhound occupying a corner of his room while he unpacks his clothing. "Hey Zoltan."
Turning his head to the young vampire, the confusingly alive taxidermy responds to the greeting. "Hello Master Vladimir."
Throwing the now empty bags further up his bed, Vlad picks up the crumpled pile of t-shirts and tops stacked upon his sheets. Moving to his dresser, vlad pulls open the top drawer, before stuffing the clothes inside.
After doing the same with the rest of his clothing, Vlad collapses onto his bed, letting a weary, drawn-out sigh escape from his mouth. Taking a moment to relax, Vlad sinks into his bed slightly, enjoying the quiet suffusing the quarter. 'An unintended benefit of being so high up.' he supposes.
Reveling in the silence briefly, Vlad collects himself once more before sitting up. Examining his room in more detail than he had initially, Vlads face gains a searching look as he stands from his bed. Roaming around the room, Vlad inspects everything with great scrutiny. The walls, the furniture, and even the ceiling are scanned with great interest, every detail noted down as best he can in his head.
As the boy makes his way to the window, Zoltan speaks up, intrigued and concerned by Vlads unusual behaviour. "Master Vladimir, I'm not sure what you're looking for, but I doubt you will find it in the walls."
"Hm? Oh, sorry Zoltan. I'm just trying to figure out if I can get a TV up here." Vlad explains, turning to his friend. It feels uncomfortable, demeaning really, to call him a pet, considering how smart he is.
"A TV, Master Vlad?" Zoltan prompts, hoping for a more in-depth explanation.
"Yeah, a TV. There are no wires going up here, y'know? no power, no plugs. It'd be pretty hard to watch TV when you can't even plug it in." Grinning slightly, Vlad gestures around the room as he elaborates.
"And you believe your father will let you have a television, Master Vlad?" Zoltan asks, doubtful." That doesn't seem very likely...."
"Well," Vlad begins, "There's not really any point in asking if it's not even possible, now is there?"
Turning back to the window, he pulls open the wooden shutters, before stopping still at the sight before him. 'Woah. I wasn't wrong about the view, huh?'. The entirety of stokely is visible from the window, every house, every shop, every road, clearly seen from a birds eye view. "Hey Zoltan, come check this out!"
Zoltan rolls himself towards the window, the wheels on his stand rattling loudly as they rotate. As he stops at the window, Vlad points to various locations in the town, illuminating Zoltan to their purposes as he does so. "See? Semi-detached housing, street lights, a newsagent, a golf course. It's all so normal! Alright, new life, new neighbourhood, time to check'em both out.... after I check the roof."
Following that worrying statement, Vlad steps carefully onto the windowsill, hands grasped firmly onto the edge of the window. Leaning out ever so slightly, Vlad turns his head upwards, back facing Stokely as he begins examining the roof.
Zoltan, concerned for Vladimirs safety, poses him a question. "Are you sure it is wise to be doing that Master Vladimir?"
"If I fall, all I have to do is scream, and dad will swipe me out of the air. One bogus excuse of flying practice later, and I'm the double favourite. Soooo... Yeah." Vlad responds.
Of course, he's completely forgetting the fact that it's still daytime, even with the afternoon sky right in front of him, and as such, his father would be significantly less capable of preventing Vlad from going splat, should he fall.
"*Sigh*, What about the town? The neighborhood? How are you going to 'check'em both out' as you say? Your father has forbidden us from leaving the castle." Zoltan queries, curious as to the solution he has come up with for that particular problem.
Vlad, not worried in the slightest about being caught, speaks out confidently. "Zoltan, I'm a pre-teen vampire. That means I've got the reflexes of a night hunter, combined with the incredible ability to sneak out behind my parents back."
Sighing to himself, Zoltan can only think, 'Of all things, he had to develop a teenagers unearned confidence first.' before Vlad is hopping down from the windowsill and tiptoeing out of the room, grin still firmly in place.
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Chapter 2: 2013 words, (not including this bit)
Just in case you believed Vlad would be perfect, or never fuck up, your wrong. He will make mistakes and grow as a character, as will all the others. So you don't have to worry about reading an idealised piece of garbage with no stakes and no investability. There WILL be consequences to actions, and it WILL have an effect on the story and character development.
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