Chapter Text
This wasn’t where you expected to find yourself face down on a hard floor, your nose was a little bloody but nothing felt broken. You thanked fate for keeping your nose in the same shape.
After dabbing your nose with a tissue from your pocket you finally managed to take in the room around you. There was rubble on the ground and a wall in the opposite site of the room which lead to another room. Where exactly had you stumbled to in your drunken stupor last night? And where were the people you were with? The last thing you properly remembered was walking home from the bar, but from your lack of knowledge of where you currently were you definitely drank more than you intended to last night. You finally push yourself up off the ground, you wobble a little but regain balance quickly. You look down and observe the mess of your body. You wore a plunge top last night as well as a pair of lowcut jeans, if the top was to attract someone or just to look cute you couldn’t quite remember. You notice a hardened substance on your top, you knew what it was immediately, vomit. You only really vomited after a night on absinthe, that would explain your lack of recollection of the evening.
Pushing the thought of booze to the back of your head, lest you vomit again, the national trust, or whatever dumb organisation that owned this place wont be happy to see you on their premises in the first place let alone a puddle of vomit to accompany you. You reach for your phone from your pocket only to find it wasn’t there. “Fuck” is the only work you speak, so you’re not just in some random olde house you’re also phoneless so its not like you could contact anyone to pick you up. You do notice, however, in your other back pocket your tobacco is quietly sat begging to be lit. You oblige feeling the hit of nicotine almost immediately. You hoped it would clear your head a little, and it felt like it did.
Deciding to finally leave this room, which you had speculated may have been a ballroom in its prime. After stumbling to a door to the side of the ballroom you find yourself in a hallway. It’s not like you didn’t expect there to be a hallway, its just with the lack of recollection of getting here, you may as well be in the middle of a labyrinth. A dozen curses, 3 halls and a trip later you find yourself back to the door you stated at. Was is it really this difficult to traverse this labyrinth or was your tired hungover brain not working enough for you? You couldn’t possibly tell. Though, as you flipped the ballroom door off and turned your back to it you see a pair of eyes watching you from the other side of the hall “Look, i know I’m not supposed to be here, and i’ve lost my wallet so i cant pay but i’ll” you trail off wondering what you could trade “i’ll get you off in exchange for a phone call so i can back home” This hadn’t been your first rodeo ending up somewhere you shouldn’t be but it was always easy enough to offer a blowjob or a quick finger to be able to find yourself on your way back home.
The presence at the door recedes slightly, making you wonder if it was even there in the first place. But, a flash of wind and the sudden presence of a wall and a hand around your neck pushed the brief thought away. The next few moments to you were in complete panic, not because of whoever this person was, but it made you flashback to when you had found yourself in a similar circumstance. Tears threatened to spill “Please, don’t hold my neck” you beg, the man holding you scoffs a little
“Scared of punishment for trespassing in my home?” he asks, his grip tightening, you wince. After a second or two you look up to him. The thought of his attractiveness bubbled to the surface for a beat before your thoughts dissipated almost remembering your situation.
“Please” you beg looking the man in his eyes, “Punish me how you want, but please let go of my throat” you hastily add, you put emphasis on the second please. You feel tears welling up and the panic was starting to settle in. Maybe this man was compelled by your words, or the complete look of panic in your eyes, his hands move from your neck to your shoulders, there’s more force pushing you into the wall but you wouldn’t complain at least the hands were off your neck.
“What are you doing here?” the man asks, after you murmur a breath of thanks. You hesitate on the answer not really knowing the answer.
“I had a rough night last night, by the looks of things” you begin, the man looks at you unimpressed “I must have been convinced to drink shots of absinthe by a friend and I woke up in the ballroom” you’re sure to look this man in the eyes to make sure he knows you’re telling the truth, this man seems dangerous and provokable, telling lies could get you killed, or worse.
“You were drunk?” the man asks, although the question seems to be more of a statement if anything. At the words you feel his grip relax just a little, not enough for you to go anywhere but it didn’t feel like you were about to become the wall “How did you get into my home without me knowing?” he asks, maybe more to himself then you.
“Maybe I crawled through a window, or used a side door” you offer some reasoning “I’ve occasionally found myself in places I don’t want to be because of drunken stupor” you look down and smile thinking of the times you’ve woken up in strange places but usually you were surrounded by friends, or at the very least you had your phone.
“Why not check surveillance cameras? A place like this is bound to have cameras everywhere outside” you offer, even if you couldn’t explain your appearance, they sure as hell could.
If the man before had never heard of words like phone and camera, he definitely didn’t show it, perhaps he presumed it was slang for certain spells he wasn’t well versed in. “I am the surveillance” he states looking you in the eyes between a long pause. A million thoughts were racing around this mans head, starting from ‘holy shit they’re here to kill me’ to ‘jesus, they’re not even armed’ and even the thought of the immodest clothes you wore, he could pin you as a jezebel or a whore but the clothes you wear are nothing he could recognise. On the other hand you had less thoughts running through your brain, the main ones speaking about how imminent your demise was another whispered about how you really had no clue where you were. A memory, or the lack thereof, surfaces and reminds you how you had lost just over half a week after drinking too much absinthe for your body to like.
You barely hear the man ask the question of your name because of how deep in your thoughts you had been you take a moment longer than usual to process the question, but upon realising it you quickly stammer your name out. You go to ask the man his name, but quickly decide against it out of fear. You could mentally call him Goldilocks or Rapunzel for the time being. The man before you seems to be thinking and after a few moments he loosens his grip again. If he let you, you could probably snake out of the grip and run. But maybe that was the test he was presenting in front of you. In the mans opinion the test was less about if you’d run, but more about if you would attempt to stab him, or something similar. After what felt like an eternity of staying frozen on the spot the man sighs “Where do you live?” he asks, his arms not shifting as if challenging you to run. You inform him of your address with more confidence then you thought you had. That confidence shatters as you watch the man try and remember where your home is.
“I’ve never heard of that place, and I pride myself on being well travelled” he states “What country are you from?” he asks carefully, you tell him and he furrows his brows “That’s a long way aways” he informs you.
After a moment of silence, mainly to take in the information “Where am I?” you ask and for a moment a sick feeling comes across your body “When am I?” you question, you had asked the question before even really processing the whole thought.
“We are currently in the country of Wallachia in the Lords year of 1455” the man informs you.
You feel like you could pass out.
In fact you did, because when you arose you found yourself laying in a large bed, much bigger than the one you could ever dream of at home. Maybe you died and heaven was actually the softest feather downed bed in the world. Bah! You laughed internally at the thought, even if you believed in all that heaven/hell riffraff you would definitely be joining the others in the underworld. You weren’t a killer or anything, but the handful of abortions and the sex with both sexes probably signed the seal of hell. That or the fact you didn’t believe in the sky-daddy. Probably the latter. After a handful of minutes of content you roll out of the bed and suddenly realise the lack of vomit clothes which had been replaced with a long, modest, nightgown. You couldn’t help but feel a little uncomfortable in it. On the bedside table you first notice you pouch of tobacco and all its effects, thank god. The next thing you notice is a note written on a scrap of paper. The handwriting, in contrast to the paper, screamed educated scholar, the words were beautifully written but still legible. It read ‘I have taken your clothes to wash as I’m sure you would dislike waking up to vomit coated clothes again. There are clothes in the closet that are close to your size, if not exact. There will be food to eat once you’re ready to find the kitchen’ attached to the note was a quickly drawn map to direct you to the kitchen. Easy peasy.
You open the large closet and find an assortment of clothes, if you had doubt in your mind about the year it was quickly satiated by the period typical clothes. Your face pales a little, there is no way you’d feel comfortable in such a long dress like the ones before you. As you explored the wardrobe you come to notice some nice blouses and trousers. Although the frills on the blouse were a bit overwhelming, you felt comfortable in the clothes, they were definitely well made. They kind of made you also feel like a vampire, especially in these labyrinths halls. You laugh at the seemingly ludicrous thought. You look yourself over in the vanity mirror in the room and leave the room without forgetting both your baccy and map.
You followed the map closely and made it to the kitchen without a hitch. You found some food on the table labelled with your name and you pull i towards you as you sit. You take a bite without realising how hungry you really were, you wolfed down the food within in five minutes and with zero regrets. After a stomach full of food and the occasional hiccup to indicate you in fact did eat the food much too fast for your body’s liking. After finally gaining control of your hiccups you found yourself rolling a fag without much thought.
“Tobacco isn’t good for you” a voice from behind you announces, without turning you could tell it was Rapunzel
“Well Goldilocks, I have a good tasty case of self-destructive senses” you respond without thinking about the nickname “It’s either tobacco or heroin” you add with a morbid chuckle, the blond didn’t seem to acknowledge the second part of your words.
“Goldilocks?” he questions sitting opposite you, he seems ready to pounce at you if you look at him wrong, maybe that is your paranoid conscious speaking. You go to make another morbid comment about your unhealthy mechanisms but his question pushes the thought out your mind and your look down to the cigarette between your hands.
“Oh yeah...” you trail off wondering what to say that wouldn’t piss the quick blond across the table off “Well you never gave me a name, so, uh, Goldilocks it is” you pause “unless you prefer rapunzel” the man opposite you seems to show no amusement in his face, he kind of deadpans at you. He sighs.
“My name is Adrian Tepes, better known as Alucard to your kind” he tells you through what you would read as gritted teeth, you smile thinking of how you could say ‘Goldilocks it is’ but the man in front of you seemed like he would rip your throat out if you said that
“Well, Adrian” you test his name on your tongue, an easy enough name to remember, “Tell me somewhere I can smoke this” you smile waving the cigarette in your hand to indicate what you were smoking. Without much thought Adrian tells you the direction of how to get on the outside of the labyrinth. After a wrong left turn and a little bit of backtracking you find yourself in front of two large doors, one of which was slightly ajar it almost felt like it was waiting for you.
As you leave the labyrinth you look down and focus on lighting the cigarette between your fingers. It took till you were at the bottom of the stairs to finally get it lit and you take a long drag. The first thing you notice are some ruins ahead of you. Who would build a labyrinth not to far away from a set of ruins? Your eyes then focused on the trees, maybe once you felt less exhausted from the now imposing hangover you could climb a few trees. You like climbing trees. Your focus next sees a giant hole in the ground in between the ruins and the trees. From what you could make out it seems like the way down is via a pulley system. You wonder what’s held in the underground area. But you’re not left to dwell on it much as you realise you’ve taken the final drag of smoke.
You turn around and finally take in the imposing structure that you’ll be, presumably, staying in till you find your way back home. The structure is large, beautiful and gothic. You chuckle to yourself the dumb thought of ‘looks like a vampires abode’. You notice Adrian looking at you through a window and decide to give him a wave. How long had he been watching you? Your eyes fall down the castle and take in each detail until you finally notice two bodies on pikes. You pause for a moment looking between both the corpses. Sure you were in whatever year, but surely they whole corpse outside doors was just a fake thing made to make history exiting. The two bodies were proof enough of the former being totally false.
You can feel your skin go cold, these bodies couldn’t be more than two weeks old, you noticed a distinct lack decomposing flesh but the scent that after the smell of tobacco left the air was putrid, the organs were definitely on their was out. It didn’t make you gag once, but in fact twelve times, tears rose to your eyes because of the consistent gagging. You speedily walk past the bodies and close the front door behind you “Holy mother of fuck” you curse “I want to fucking go home” you say with the conviction of hundreds of people. Every time you close your eyes you see the bodies once again swinging in the wind. With a small bout of confidence you make it to the kitchen once again and you began to look for some alcohol. Twenty minutes ago the thought of more booze would make you puke, but now, finding and downing a bottle of whatever would be more then tasteful.
You didn’t actually see Adrian again for the rest of the day, you found to bottles of red wine and they were gone before you knew it and then you spent the remainder of the afternoon stumbling around the castle drunkenly singing whatever dumb song came to mind. You found your way back to the kitchen at one point to find some food which you ate at a slow, tasteful pace. That’s when you realised, presumably Adrians, cooking was amazing. The food tasted so bloody good. After food you found yourself another bottle of badly hidden, half full, white wine, which you took to your bedroom with you. The less you remember about the bodies on the porch, the better.
You pass out on top of the covers still clothed.