Count Dracula

It had been days since housekeeping had been in the suite - he'd long discovered that Martha couldn't move or talk when he wasn't alone. And how could he do that, shut her back into her lonely prison? Drac had given up sleeping in his coffin, too. Shutting the lid against Martha had just hurt too much. He wasn't sleeping anyway. He still had so much to talk to Martha about! He'd only caught her up to the night Mavis' baby fangs fell out!

Every day he was losing the energy desire to do more than stay with his Martha. His voice was soft and low, slightly cracking and getting more hoarse every day, but he didn't care. He continued to tell stories of his life since he'd lost his beloved.

He was still allergic to sunlight, though, and he didn't have the energy desire to continue getting up to closing and open the drapes, so despite his exhaustion he had pulled the painting to him and was curled up in a dark corner of the room. He was small, huddled in on himself and the painting. Still and gray, he lay there talking softly and haltingly, assuring Martha that she would soon be free, be with him and their daughter again, his hand resting gently on the oils where Martha's cheek was.

( 'More,' the painting urged him. )



[So many ♥s to tigerundercover for this!! NFI, obvs.]

Owning a hotel full of monsters with varying personal needs meant he was on call 24-hours a day. But while Drac was used to being awake at odd hours, he'd always tried to keep a proper personal dining schedule for Mavis' sake; both Martha and he had agreed that gathering together as a family, at least at the table, was important in the development of a child.

And that schedule said that at this early hour all good and proper little vampires were either asleep or just waking up to breakfast. But since the island they'd moved to was operating on daylight hours, besides insisting that Mavis join him for meals at least once a week, Drac was slowly trying to adjust their meal times to match the islanders. Hence this confused mix of a meal before him.

The lights were out and the table was set with candles. Normal for any meal. The goblets were filled with NearBlood (with lots of pulp added plasma, since someone was still a growing vampire). Normal for the hour. The platters were piled high with wormcakes, omelettes, lizard and screamcheese sandwiches, fried scorpions, mouse jelly, and other foods that weren't really breakfast or lunch. Not normal at all.

Not. Normal.

Drac placed another wormcake on his plate and reached for the syrup with a small OCD-heavy sigh. Well... Maybe if he considered it brunch?

"So, Mouse. Tell me. How are you doing in classes? Are you making friends?"



[for callmemavy]