ii. audio. after dark. both courts.

[vrykolakas]

[If anything, the Brucolac's voice sounds worse than ever, painfully scratchy and distinctly weary. The reception isn't perfect; he's sitting in the garden of the fortress at Redgate, where the lockets work, but the blood granite is still causing some interference.]

What languages do you speak? And what language would you say I'm speaking right now?

Comments

[thebreakingwave]

"Mmhmm. I could describe a snorkack to you so well, you'd swear you were seeing it here in person." While the exact meaning of the phrase is lost, the general sentiment is still there. "The medics were worried that the stuff I used to stopper it, that it could do something with the nerves and they wanted me to either not feel it or not care that I'm feeling it."

"If you'd like, we can still hold a wake." The sentiment may be a bit ill-timed, but Harry is a bit of a shit while enjoying better living through modern chemistry.

[vrykolakas]

"Two people, one of whom can't get drunk. That's a shit wake and I'll not have it in my name." He's not been successfully doped (we can't seem to get a needle into you, one red-robed medic had complained) but he's knackered, on a pretty much constant supply of blood and he suspects his brain is pumping endorphins at a ridiculously high rate. Vampir physiology is a mystery even to him, to be quite frank; he's done some experimenting, but the fact is that he's the oldest and strongest he's ever met, and the literature on the subject tends to be thin and distinctly influenced by myth.

"Mm. Actually. I've been told to try drinking from another shardbearer." A vague wave of the hand. "Not you, not right now, obviously, you'd taste like the contents of an alchemist's gutter."

[thebreakingwave]

"Later. Once we've gone from this place, I promised Waver that we'd go sit on a beach, drink frothy things with small umbrellas, all while wearing terrible hats to protect us from the sun. If you'd like, we can go at night and only need the hats to firmly ruin what's left of our dignity?" Which is a very roundabout way of saying, if he'd like a pint, he's welcome to one, but at some point in the future. "Although, back home, drinking from wizards does different things than drinking from mu-, non-wizards. Could be the same here."

Goodness, someone is certainly more talkative.

[vrykolakas]

"A beach," he sighs, almost croons. "That sounds good. Idyllic. Perhaps after the dust has settled I'll locate myself something sea-worthy." That brief daydream fades away and he opens his eyes to frown slightly at Harry. "Why, what does your blood do?"

[thebreakingwave]

With a snaggletoothed grin Harry holds his hands out to face the Brucolac, other than a splint on one, there's nothing in his hands, nothing up his sleeves. Gesturing for the vampir to be patient, he clasps his hands together, and blows into them as if he's wishing on dice. After a good, firm shake, he opens his hands and out drops a pale, blue egg.

"Magic."

The egg cracks and from within it, a faint glowing shape emerges and coalesces into a mermaid that hovers above the table, swims a brief lap around Harry's head, and then vanishes back into mist.

[vrykolakas]

The Brucolac opens his mouth to say something but shuts up when Harry gestures at him to wait. When the egg cracks and the mermaid appears, his mouth crooks up and he leans back to watch it, reflective eyes following the movement and his tongue unrolling out. (In an expression of appreciation, you know). "Pretty." He's startled by that: the pleasing uselessness of it. The thaumaturgy he's familiar with can be beautiful, but it's almost always workmanlike and possessed of purpose, although occasionally its purpose gets away from its caster. "I'll do a taste test. Any magic happening to me, we'll call it off. At the first crack of eggshell."

[thebreakingwave]

As the mermaid vanishes, Harry realizes that perhaps he should not be doing wandless magic in public for something so trivial as to make a pretty, pleasant statement. Oh well, if the Aurors and Wizengamot want to frown on this particular incident, they're welcome to do so and bring him back to Britain.

"That's about the grand total of anything I can manage here, surrounded by all this stone." A great deal of effort, for just a little wisp of an image.

[vrykolakas]

"If I were a better nurse, I'd tell you not to push yourself," the Brucolac drawls, leaning back in his seat and clasping his mug to his chest. That's it, that's the punchline. "What's your plan after this? When are you leaving?"

[thebreakingwave]

"Once I'm a little more steady on my feet, I'll be reporting back to the court. I want to make sure they send supplies here." While Redgate is doing well enough on its own, Harry wants to make sure that they get the support they need. "After that, maybe to Mair, to find a dentist. Maybe some shardbearer has been granted a boon of tooth-repair. Maybe not."

"You? To the beach? The library?"

[vrykolakas]

"Ha. See if you can avoid getting gold replacements, won't you? I've seen too many men mugged for their teeth." He smiles, though he's weirdly still, leaning back with his face to the sky and his eyes closed. "I'll check back in at Caer Scima. Start some research there. Certain things... I want to learn what Shards can do. And I want to get my hands on some astrolonomical charts. Do some star-wrangling. See whether I'm still in the moon's good books. If I ever was." He opens his eyes. "After, fuck knows. I'm not giving up on the beach."

[thebreakingwave]

Harry hums in agreement. He supposes that if you're going to be in favour with one celestial body or the other, the moon is as good as any other. Although, he has a dim recollection of reading a newspaper headline in a muggle paper and realizing that it must be a reference, but he never knew to what. A harsh mistress. He liked that phrase. "Can I ask you something personal? It might be rude, and in turn, you're welcome to ask me anything you like."

[vrykolakas]

The moon is the best celestial body and sort-of deity to have on your side. It's definitely real, for one thing, and it's definitely too far away to hear you cursing at it, which the Brucolac has always considered two positive traits in a higher power, if you must have one.

"Go on."

[thebreakingwave]

"Can you speak Parseltongue? The language of snakes." Harry is curious and there's no hint of judgement or concern in his tone. "I only ask because I got to thinking about languages, and magical ones. For us, that's a trait like having black hair or green eyes. You can't learn it."

[vrykolakas]

"No," the Brucolac says slowly, thoughtfully. "Some vampir claim an affinity with snakes and reptiles. Physiologically, yes, it would make sense, but like often doesn't attract like." He flashes his teeth, unmistakeably serpent-like. "Personally, I never liked them. But then, as we've established, I've never had a conversation with one." He eyes Harry. Black hair. Green eyes. Right. "You?"

[thebreakingwave]

"When I was young. It was removed."

Harry seems pleased and relaxes further (...if possible) at the Brucolac's snake-like teeth. "The first piece of magic I ever really knew was magic, and not just coincidence, was when I went to a zoo and spoke to a great, beautiful boa constrictor."

[vrykolakas]

That tickles him, alongside Harry's reaction to his teeth; it's something he's seen himself do, relax in the presence of people who are officially, visibly outside of human parameters, or outside of normal parameters, whatever they may be. He's not sure that's Potter's motivation exactly, but there's enough of a glimmer of resemblance for him to be pleased. "And what did it have to say?

[thebreakingwave]

Harry isn't conscious of his tendency to relax or relate well to the visibly non-human, but if it were pointed out to him, he wouldn't deny it. "She was beautiful and she complained about the weather. Too cold in England. Not enough sun. Damp, but not humid. She wanted to see the rainforest and jungle."

"Which lead to the second piece of magic: I removed the glass from her tank and off she went. I hope she made it." All the way to Brazil. Why not. She never turned up in the news, so maybe some other magic went to work. "Years later, I wondered and I still wonder, are all snakes sentient or is that the real trick of being a parselmouth. Does a wizard lend a cup of self-awareness to animals when we speak to them?"

He gestures as if to waft away the thought. "Sorry, I think I'm, well, thinking about nothing again."

[vrykolakas]

The Brucolac shakes his head: it's fine. "I want to think about nothing," he says firmly. "Fuck knows it's a liberty I haven't had in a while." It's not really a liberty he has here, he has to admit—there are countless things he wants to get straight—but this temporary spell of rest and recovery is an excuse to leave that for later.

A pause, and: "How do you remove a predisposed trait?"

[thebreakingwave]

Harry promised that Brucolac could ask a personal question; he did not promise to answer it truthfully.

"There were a whole string of events, one little thing leading to another, to another, that all resulted in a great, terrible mess. We had a war and it got all tangled up so that it couldn't end unless a series of events happened in the right order." He's not going to talk about a 'prophecy' in those terms, because it's asinine. "Myself and the leader of the other side of the war, a man named Riddle, we got metaphysically entangled and some things got lost when we parted. The price of his death."

[vrykolakas]

The Brucolac peels his lips back from his teeth a little in an expression of wincing sympathy, or perhaps disgust: yuck. "Sounds messy," he grumbles, though from the tone of his voice, it also doesn't sound particularly far-fetched. Metaphysical entanglement. It could happen to you. "You could ask for it back." Thoughtful. Just a suggestion.

[thebreakingwave]

"If there was no one else from my world here, I'd ask in a heartbeat." But how can he explain to Hermione and Ron that he wants to be a parselmouth? "My friends are already worried enough as it is about me being Unseelie and that might be a bit too much."

shh, I'm going to bed

[vrykolakas]

"What?" The Brucolac's eyebrows come together, and he reaches up to press his fingertips to the join, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. "Missed something. There's no connection, is there, between Unseelie and snakes? Beyond the typical symbolism." The way Harry phrases it suggests it's not quite just that.

Re: shh, I'm going to bed

[thebreakingwave]

"I know them and they'd see it as a sign I'd gone astray. They're already half-terrified that I won't 'come to my senses' and defect over to Seelie, or some other half-daft idea." He looks as if he's about to say something else and there's a warm, angry thrum in his voice, but Harry shuts his mouth, a bit too quickly, and winces at the sudden movement.

And yet, he doesn't stay quiet. Rather, he manages to get out the following: "It's not about being good, it's about being visibly good enough."

[vrykolakas]

The Brucolac stares at him a moment, face tense—then exhales sharply, tongue rippling in the air. "Yes," he says. "It would be." He finishes the now slightly lukewarm blood in his mug, and doesn't quite slam it down. "Piss and spit," he declares. "Does it need to be said? There is nothing inherently evil, whatever that means, in the Unseelie code. Don't take me for any proud carrier of Morla's banner, but at least Unseelie have the good grace, the sense of barest fucking nuance, not to claim the moral highground as their sovereign territory."

He hisses, fingers flexing, wrangling himself under control. He can still remember how the dragon's mind felt, bearing down on his, squeezing.

[thebreakingwave]

He listens to the Brucolac speak and dearly wants to believe him, but it's a war between logic and his own insecurities. What if he really is all that bad? What if he can only counteract whatever is inherently wrong in him by defecting and proving his worth and value? For a moment, Harry looks very young and disappointed in either himself or the world around him.

"I was and am a fool. I'd thought that with the war over, with my opposite dead, that the question would be dead too, but it's still here. And with this,--" he says, gesturing to the scarred and bruised half of his face, "It's only going to get worse."