draculabutbackwards

[After the greenhouse explosion, and after realizing that there were more than enough hands to assist - something that's honestly something of a relief to the antisocial Trevor, used to the dregs of humanity - he heads down below to Adrian's room to patch up his hands and check on his friend.

Especially given that Rags was one of the bodies pulled out.]

[Not quick enough to be on the ground for body extraction, Adrian did busy himself with clearing debris for a while. Mindless work, but consuming even for him. He's only been back in the room a little while when Belmont turns up. He is gazing intently at a wall and starts a bit to find himself no longer alone.]

All the space down here, thanks to the admiral's... sense of humor.

[He gestures vaguely at the empty stone vault where he slept off being eviscerated by his father.]

I could probably host half the ship if we had to hunker down.

[He walks over to Adrian's bathroom to start picking the glass out of his hands, eyeing Adrian over his shoulder]

You think it was done on purpose?

Doubt it. Seems a bit showier than inmates usually manage. And I didn't catch a whiff of any of the potentially useful chemistry.

[His tone remains a bit flatter than usual.]

You need that cleaned up?

So why blame the Admiral?

[He nods a little, resting his forearms on the sink's edge]

Yeah. Please.

[Adrian slides into place, businesslike, ready to tend to the small but pernicious wounds that come of this end of the disaster. A lot of cleaning. Nothing that's slipping past Trevor's epidermis ought to be allowed.]

I don't know, people want to believe power exerted on them is power absolute and extensive? It doesn't sound to me like the admiral is worth anybody's time.

[He settles in, bowing his head to wait this ordeal out. Fuck, he did a fair number on his forearms, but it had to happen]

Except where he's such a powerful fucking sorcerer that he managed to lock up your dad with no problem.

[Where this sort of simple medical intervention is called for, he's a machine. As Alucard cuts through orphan-threatening scorpion-goat-bats, he cleans, appraises, bandages, and secures.]

Honestly, I don't find tangling with the admiral conceptually to be terribly productive. Whether he's just the poor idiot lashed to the rudder or the mastermind of all our discontents, why does it matter? We can't do shit about it.

[He doesn't say it, but the relaxing of his tense shoulders show the relief in Trevor's mind; relief, and gratitude that he has Adrian here to take care of this when he needs him to]

I'm not convinced we can't. Just that I haven't found a way yet.

You'll be very popular around here if you stumble on a way.

[A lot of the cuts are shallow, but there was a lot of glass and frantic activity. He takes his time on a deeper slash, debating whether to recommend stitches when Trevor will almost certainly blow off taking care of them.]

Sure. Right before things go to shit and people blame me for it.

[He exhales, lowering his head to wait, one boot itching up to scratch at his ankle.]

So how does this necromancy work?

[He decides against stitches and is just very careful with the bandaging job.]

Uncomfortably. People come back intact, but feeling whatever killed them, and with what sounds more or less like a terrible hangover that lasts a week.

Great. So not only is he raising the dead, but he's doing a shit job at it.

It doesn't seem to matter who you are, either. Father went down as hard as anybody.

[Normally he'd be a bit more careful with that subject in front of Belmont, but he's not at his best.]

[Wait, what?]

The fuck? What happened to your dad?

[Adrian pinches the bridge of his nose.]

A clusterfuck is what. Last time the Admiral shit the bed, we were dropped in a port with some powerful, malicious magic ingrained that turned some of us into rage-driven maniacs and suppressed any useful abilities we might have.

And he died?

He was effectively human at the time. There were a lot of casualties on that one.

[Trevor can't help himself. He snerks, then hunches his shoulders and starts to laugh]

[Adrian rolls his eyes, but the distress is softened enough by time that he restrains the rest of his reaction. Considering his current state of mind, best he doesn't think too hard about any of this.]

Yes, well, you should see how dramatic someone can be when they haven't felt ill since Atlantis.

[He's laughing longer now, trying not to rub his eyes when Adrian is taking care of his hands]

Oh my god. I wish I could have been there to see it.

[Only a strict sense of medical ethics keeps him from deliberately poking a wound.]

Certainly the only time I've seen my father turn down my cooking. Well, since the mud pie stage of things. So. When... when they're back, there's a nasty bit of nausea in with the rest, keep that in mind.

If every time I got the stomach flu instead of dying, I wouldn't mind it so much.

Hang on. Did you die here?

No, though it was a near thing that port.

[Still a little punchy, he keeps talking when he probably shouldn't.]

I'm not used to having to worry about things like cold.

[he is just radiating sick delight]

Oh, no. Did you have to put on a jacket? Figure out the joys of sneezing?

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