"Hey, the wandering drunk hears all kinds of stories." He laughs, in defense of himself, or maybe just to lighten the mood.
"I love that you refer to yourself as a- well, I guess we call ourselves kids, like goats, so in that context...anyway."
"Well, that just lends more to my thought that people are mostly the same even if you drag them far away from their homes and stick them on a prison boat stuffed together. What's he going through that's got you so up-in-arms?"
"He's following the lead of a woman who utterly lacks empathy. She enables his worst tendencies, and he brings out the worst in her, which as you know means they're inseparable."
He frowns because that's half the story. "Wolves have one girl per pack. She holds them all together. We don't...we don't have much free will with her around. I fought and killed my way free; no one is ever going to be able to put me under that kind of control again. But I look at John and it's so much the same."
"Shit. I was hoping you'd say that he was eating babies or something." Trevor looks and feels woefully out of his depth when it comes to relationship troubles.
Still, he tries his best to reconcile but he wasn't kidding about the 'wandering drunk' part; most people dynamics are beyond his understanding. Trevor thinks that might be the reason that he, Sypha, and Alucard get along so well: they all suck at knowing how to be social people.
"Wait, so you're saying if I had tits, I could get you to do whatever I want? Sorry, sorry: not the point."
Trevor makes a bit of a face, exhaling. Tries to think of this in terms of creature lore instead of people lore.
"Well, I think we should get Anita to go and beat the woman into submission so John follows her around. But I'm not very good at living around other people."
Trevor. He rolls his eyes and tries not to smirk too much.
"You might not be good at people but you get how wolves think." If Trevor wasn't sworn to hunt such creatures, Lark would be tempted to turn him.
"I'm going to try to keep him from drowning, but...well, what I said about people needing to make mistakes is true. I just hate doing it." Life was easier when he didn't see people as people.
As always, his mind is circling back to other problems. "Is there any way to tell if any whip you got here was the real one?"
That's all right, Lark: Trevor is smirking enough for the both of them.
"So long as they're making them on each other and not anyone else. This woman is the Carol we were talking about earlier, right?" He hasn't had much chance to interact with either.
He shakes his head a little. "Maybe Dracula would know, but I wouldn't. Honestly I'm still not dead certain any of this is real, but if I go down that path, it's going to take a lot of sex to get me to walk out of it and you're too furry for my type."
"Mm-hmm. I think you're only say that because I'm taken." A few things are settling in his mind, though. "How likely are you to stop a fight between humans? If there are no supernatural creatures involved?"
Ahh, christ. He pulls his hands down over his face.
"Stop a fight, sure. I can get in between anyone throwing a punch. I just tend to misinterpret situations or really make some enemies when it's not some fuck-off monster trying to rip my guts out: there's a reason we Belmonts hunted monsters and didn't become judges or priests."
"Yeah... I'm going to remove that curse. Let you help people who need you, as long as you keep giving me your side of things after." It is the right thing to do even if it is going to make him even more unpopular.
He nods, and doesn’t say thank you, even if a part of him wants to. How do you thank someone who has the power to reattach a limb someone else chopped off and is doing so, but only after a discussion about it?
“Sure. Times like these I wish I were a better writer: could have written you a little book about each person I’ve punched in the face here.”
“Well. Happy birthday.” He chuckles. How does someone even keep track of their birthday? He can vaguely pin his to a season, and the dates are all wrong here.
“You might be surprised. Or upset. I had a few of those earlier.”
“In that case, I might have to actually write something. Alucard will die of shock.” He chuckles, mood lightening now that he knows he’ll be back to normal soon.
He waves a hand, I don't mind. "I was twenty-nine. Almost thirty. Actually, no one under nineteen or twenty can survive the change, so we're all adults when we turn."
"Shit," he says again, feeling old all over again. He shouldn't, but it isn't helped by, "The average wolf lives five to ten years after being turned. I'm ancient for lycanthropes. Now I feel old for a human, too."
He shrugs. "It's how things go. I'm glad to still be alive. I'm glad I graduated so I could keep living. But that doesn't make life more certain. I feel good about how I live my life."
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"I love that you refer to yourself as a- well, I guess we call ourselves kids, like goats, so in that context...anyway."
"Well, that just lends more to my thought that people are mostly the same even if you drag them far away from their homes and stick them on a prison boat stuffed together. What's he going through that's got you so up-in-arms?"
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He frowns because that's half the story. "Wolves have one girl per pack. She holds them all together. We don't...we don't have much free will with her around. I fought and killed my way free; no one is ever going to be able to put me under that kind of control again. But I look at John and it's so much the same."
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Still, he tries his best to reconcile but he wasn't kidding about the 'wandering drunk' part; most people dynamics are beyond his understanding. Trevor thinks that might be the reason that he, Sypha, and Alucard get along so well: they all suck at knowing how to be social people.
"Wait, so you're saying if I had tits, I could get you to do whatever I want? Sorry, sorry: not the point."
Trevor makes a bit of a face, exhaling. Tries to think of this in terms of creature lore instead of people lore.
"Well, I think we should get Anita to go and beat the woman into submission so John follows her around. But I'm not very good at living around other people."
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"You might not be good at people but you get how wolves think." If Trevor wasn't sworn to hunt such creatures, Lark would be tempted to turn him.
"I'm going to try to keep him from drowning, but...well, what I said about people needing to make mistakes is true. I just hate doing it." Life was easier when he didn't see people as people.
As always, his mind is circling back to other problems. "Is there any way to tell if any whip you got here was the real one?"
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"So long as they're making them on each other and not anyone else. This woman is the Carol we were talking about earlier, right?" He hasn't had much chance to interact with either.
He shakes his head a little. "Maybe Dracula would know, but I wouldn't. Honestly I'm still not dead certain any of this is real, but if I go down that path, it's going to take a lot of sex to get me to walk out of it and you're too furry for my type."
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He knows the answer, he just needs to hear it.
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"Stop a fight, sure. I can get in between anyone throwing a punch. I just tend to misinterpret situations or really make some enemies when it's not some fuck-off monster trying to rip my guts out: there's a reason we Belmonts hunted monsters and didn't become judges or priests."
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"I'm asking because I think you're in a better position to spot trouble than a warden is."
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“Sure. Times like these I wish I were a better writer: could have written you a little book about each person I’ve punched in the face here.”
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“You might be surprised. Or upset. I had a few of those earlier.”
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“Would it be rude to ask how old you turned?”
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"How old you just turned. Three days ago."
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A pause as he thinks about how old that feels. "Shit."
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"Uh. Well. I think probably....Somewhere between twenty-two and twenty-four."
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"You'd probably be dead in my world, too. Human or lycanthrope."
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Do you?
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"At 52, I should hope you like living."
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