"The leash is that tight, then?" Adrian doesn't like this. He doesn't consider that to be Trevor's problem, and won't insult him by offering it as condolence. He doesn't know what would work better, keep the man from diving headlong into more violent disgrace, because clearly reason won't do it and he's not the person to handle it.
Adrian would probably soften immediately if the remnants of feeling weird weren't still fluttering around his temples. As it is, he chooses practicality, not affection. "Well, I'm not. You want cards, something to read, or... I don't really know how you amuse yourself when you're not prowling about on monster patrol." It's hard to imagine Trevor... still. Not scheming, or tipsy, or snoring, but doing anything sedentary.
God, he's depressed and already climbing the walls. Trevor doesn't do well cooped up in one place; he's already been relegated to one ship, and now he's stuck in an even smaller cabin.
"Bring me some of that wine we had the other night?" He asks. He's got some depression drinking to catch up on. Trevor considers asking for one of the books he's been repairing but decides against it: better to leave it in the library with the paste and leather bindings.
"I'm not sure that constitutes an activity, but arguably a distraction." He briefly considers saying something about it being morning (if that, as he isn't actually sure of the time, and is very late at night possibly better?). "No boot repairs to catch up on, even?" He's teasing, but he's standing. It's the least he can do.
That part wasn't even a joke. Mending keeps the hands busy. Adrian regards him quietly, but with real concern. He's going to lose his mind. "Good time to take up woodcarving?"
He's going to get the wine bottle. Because if he questioned whether that was a good idea, he'd have to question other things. But one parting thought. Because the other option is shutting up. "Fine. I'll have to see if I can get Rags to come show you video games if this goes on any length of time."
"No, but it's worth a try. Game of skill played with some of the staggeringly weird future technology the place abounds with." And this is Adrian, reared in a castle full of electric lights and plumbing and laboratories.
"You'll probably lose a lot, anyway. I certainly did." Which seems unfair. Rags is from a world as comparatively backwards as theirs.
Adrian waves on his way around the corner. He will be back with both the wine and some quick scroungings from common rooms, a deck of cards and a chess set. The set doesn't look quite right to him and he has no idea if Trevor even plays, whether it falls into the narrow cavern where the experiences of a noble heir turned wandering disgrace and the pampered prince of an empty castle convene.
Either way, the offer is hopefully clear. He's not going to spring Trevor, but he'll be here as long as he's needed.
"Sounds amazing." He says, dry as ever. "Who wouldn't want to play a game where they constantly lose to a kid named Rags?"
But he waves back to Adrian and sets out trying to figure out ways not to kill himself from boredom. When he comes back, Trevor will be carrying out everything he can find to pile in the center of the room just out of sheer obstinence.
He peers at the chess set, and breaks into a challenging sort of grin. Oh, no.
Because of course he would have played - and lost, horribly, sometimes in red-faced humiliation and tears - with older relatives. Belmonts are not only strategists but they're damned competitive. And he remembers his French cousins 'winning' what few coins he had on him, only to be forced to give them back when he tattled on them to his mother.
"Well. Not to interrupt your art project." Adrian blinks once at the pile, decides there's no real way to engage with it, and lets the question go. "Father taught me to play ages ago. It's not too difficult." A little challenge in his voice there. Which is... pure bravado. Adrian was never any good at chess. He has an analytical mind, but he isn't actually much of a strategist. Before he learned to cooperate with whips and magics on either side, he thought of combat as something he carried alone, the strongest and only champion of a human side with no one else.
Trevor is probably going to beat him soundly. And Adrian is willing not only to let him have it, but grease the wheels of his ego a little, first. This is an act of deepest friendship and he will probably regret it.
He shrugs a little, and waves the hand at the pile. "Figured I would just see what I could find and put everything back where I like it, if I'm going to be staying here a while." Never let it be said that Trevor was a polite houseguest. Especially one under duress.
He snorts. Of course Dracula taught him. "So if I beat you, in essence I'm really beating him. Is that right?"
It's been literal years since Trevor played chess but he thinks he can bluff. Or at least fuck around until he remembers how the pieces move. And then; watch out. He walks over and starts clearing off a spot for them to play.
"You want to play for money? Wait; I keep forgetting, we don't have any."
Adrian decides not to point out that his father may well have been there when the damn game was invented. As admirably peaceful as their coexistence has been of late, he can't imagine Trevor challenging him to a match.
"Does one gamble over chess, really? The game can take hours, and there's only the two outcomes." He... has sincerely never gambled. But this seems like an inescapable logical hook. What a wait for the payoff.
Trevor is in fact imagining that very thing. Would Dracula kill him if he tried punching him over a few stolen pieces, he has to wonder? He'd be delighted to find out.
Either way, he starts setting up the board.
"Course people gamble over chess. They gamble over every fucking thing. Here, you brought wine? We can make this a drinking game, then." Says Trevor, gaining confidence now that he's remembering how to set up the pieces. Some things you don't forget.
"You don't play for hours when you're with me. You drink - or you lose coins - each piece you lose. Infantry are worth one, knights and bishops three, castles are five, and the queen is nine. 'Course, if you're underage and have no money, you exchange drinks for free punches."
"I brought a bottle." Which, between the two of them, doesn't quite sound up to the challenge. "I suppose we could make it victor's choice." Because punching does sound pretty fun. Let Trevor blow off some steam. He picks up a little plastic pawn, surprised by the lack of weight, and takes over his half of the board.
He slumps down into a sitting position, his head tilted at the board, scrutinizing all the little pieces to remember where they go and how best he wants to move.
Adrian only faintly remembers his lessons about opening gambits. You're supposed to be able to take control of the board. It never seemed to do him any good against Father. He hops a knight and just sort of hopes, taking a seat cross-legged in the air as he does.
Trevor snorts when he sees Adrian sitting in mid-air, only inches from the ground that Trevor's on. Goddamn vampires.
He watches the move, curious if Adrian's as good as he says or if he's fucking around. Trevor moves one of his middle pawns up two spaces, opening up a space for a bishop to come out on the next turn.
At first Adrian tries because he doesn't want Trevor to feel like he's being allowed to win. And because it's a little bit funny to watch the occasional struggle to remember which bit goes where.
Then he tries because he is, quite frankly, floundering. He was just never interested in strategy. He wants to settle things as effectively as possible and can't really think more than a move or two ahead. It doesn't take long to start losing pieces, and without much regard for their value, either.
Trevor watches, growing more confident and alert as his brain is forced back into working despite his best efforts to kill it with drink. He tilts his head a little and starts trying to help Adrian, as if that probably won’t piss him off more.
“You sure you want to move there?” He’ll ask. To give him a bit of help and maybe to rub it in his face, a little. Trevor’s lost pieces himself but he made Adrian pay dearly for them. This might be the first he’s ever gotten a chance to beat someone because no one ever takes it easy on anyone in his household. And that in turn makes him suspicious that he’s being allowed to win.
“Look, don’t move there, it leaves an opening for me to box you in that corner in a few moves. I’m trying to lure you out and you’re falling for it.”
He takes it for an attempt to psyche him out the first time. And then he looses that rook. Apparently he should not, in fact, have moved it there. Honest daytime hours are creeping up, but he can't blame this on being tired. This is about the amount of sleep he usually gets, if that. He's just. Not very good.
A more detailed warning draws him up with a frown as he looks over the board, puzzles, finds Trevor's approach, and sighs. "So you are."
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But he's not terribly hard to read, either.
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“It’s either this or get locked in. And if I’m going to get locked in I’d rather it be for a better reason than ‘got bored and wanted a stroll’.”
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God, he's depressed and already climbing the walls. Trevor doesn't do well cooped up in one place; he's already been relegated to one ship, and now he's stuck in an even smaller cabin.
"Bring me some of that wine we had the other night?" He asks. He's got some depression drinking to catch up on. Trevor considers asking for one of the books he's been repairing but decides against it: better to leave it in the library with the paste and leather bindings.
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"Funny. I don't know, maybe I'll find something in here worth doing."
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"Hah. Fuck you. I still don't see that wine bottle."
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"Am I supposed to know what the fuck that is?"
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He shuts the cabinet and comes out with a can, which he sets on the counter and takes out a knife to try prising it open.
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Adrian waves on his way around the corner. He will be back with both the wine and some quick scroungings from common rooms, a deck of cards and a chess set. The set doesn't look quite right to him and he has no idea if Trevor even plays, whether it falls into the narrow cavern where the experiences of a noble heir turned wandering disgrace and the pampered prince of an empty castle convene.
Either way, the offer is hopefully clear. He's not going to spring Trevor, but he'll be here as long as he's needed.
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But he waves back to Adrian and sets out trying to figure out ways not to kill himself from boredom. When he comes back, Trevor will be carrying out everything he can find to pile in the center of the room just out of sheer obstinence.
He peers at the chess set, and breaks into a challenging sort of grin. Oh, no.
Because of course he would have played - and lost, horribly, sometimes in red-faced humiliation and tears - with older relatives. Belmonts are not only strategists but they're damned competitive. And he remembers his French cousins 'winning' what few coins he had on him, only to be forced to give them back when he tattled on them to his mother.
"The fuck did you bring me?"
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Trevor is probably going to beat him soundly. And Adrian is willing not only to let him have it, but grease the wheels of his ego a little, first. This is an act of deepest friendship and he will probably regret it.
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He snorts. Of course Dracula taught him. "So if I beat you, in essence I'm really beating him. Is that right?"
It's been literal years since Trevor played chess but he thinks he can bluff. Or at least fuck around until he remembers how the pieces move. And then; watch out. He walks over and starts clearing off a spot for them to play.
"You want to play for money? Wait; I keep forgetting, we don't have any."
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"Does one gamble over chess, really? The game can take hours, and there's only the two outcomes." He... has sincerely never gambled. But this seems like an inescapable logical hook. What a wait for the payoff.
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Either way, he starts setting up the board.
"Course people gamble over chess. They gamble over every fucking thing. Here, you brought wine? We can make this a drinking game, then." Says Trevor, gaining confidence now that he's remembering how to set up the pieces. Some things you don't forget.
"You don't play for hours when you're with me. You drink - or you lose coins - each piece you lose. Infantry are worth one, knights and bishops three, castles are five, and the queen is nine. 'Course, if you're underage and have no money, you exchange drinks for free punches."
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"Works for me. You go first."
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He watches the move, curious if Adrian's as good as he says or if he's fucking around. Trevor moves one of his middle pawns up two spaces, opening up a space for a bishop to come out on the next turn.
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Then he tries because he is, quite frankly, floundering. He was just never interested in strategy. He wants to settle things as effectively as possible and can't really think more than a move or two ahead. It doesn't take long to start losing pieces, and without much regard for their value, either.
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“You sure you want to move there?” He’ll ask. To give him a bit of help and maybe to rub it in his face, a little. Trevor’s lost pieces himself but he made Adrian pay dearly for them. This might be the first he’s ever gotten a chance to beat someone because no one ever takes it easy on anyone in his household. And that in turn makes him suspicious that he’s being allowed to win.
“Look, don’t move there, it leaves an opening for me to box you in that corner in a few moves. I’m trying to lure you out and you’re falling for it.”
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A more detailed warning draws him up with a frown as he looks over the board, puzzles, finds Trevor's approach, and sighs. "So you are."
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