Escape Attempt
Making his way steadily down the tower stairs, Vlads eyes dart about this way and that, vigilantly roving over the area in search of his father. Of course, it's not just his father he has to look out for, but Ingrid and Renfield too. Though, as they have no real reason to be creeping about the castle, Vlad was much less concerned about them discovering him. And while it may seem as though the Count has no reason to be skulking about either, Vlad knows better.
His father has always enjoyed stalking through the halls, as though in search of an intruder to eat. Which, now that he thinks of it, wouldn't be all that uncommon back in Transylvania. After all, they did live in a castle, and it wouldn't be unusual for a peasant or two to try their luck at robbery every once in a while. The Count, while always insulted by their audacity in attempting to steal from him, would never do anything to stop it from happening, claiming 'It's basically free food. And delivery!'
Though, as he gets close to the bottom of the stairs, he hears the voice of his father, tone laced with disinterest. "Ugh, Ingrid. And how's the grand sulk going?"
As Vlad reaches the end of the tower staircase, he crouches down, low to the ground as he peeks his head around the corner, bringing the Count, Ingrid, and Renfield into view. The Count sits relaxed on an ostentatious, uncomfortable looking chair, though he doesn't look uncomfortable in it. Beside him stands Ingrid, posture straight and hands clasped together in front of her.
"I've decided I'm going to go live with mum." Ingrid states, voice firm as she stares straight ahead, eyes focused firmly on the bricks comprising the wall.
Turning to look at Ingrid, the Count meets her eyes as she turns to him, awaiting his response.
Leaning in her direction, the Count assumes a remorseful, almost pitying manner as he addresses her. "Ingrid, your mother's dead."
Upon hearing the Counts words, Ingrids eyes grow wide in shock and disbelief, before realization dawns on her. Eyes morphing into a bored, irritated expression, from her previous surprise, she states dully. "You're dead. We're all dead!"
"Ugh, You still can't go and live with her." The Count asserts as he turns away from her, annoyed she saw through his 'clever' ruse.
"You're just mad because she left you for a werewolf." Ingrid declares, settling on the plan to push her father's buttons until he caves.
The Count, vexed by his daughter's words, true as they may be, retorts in his defence. "She did not leave me for a werewolf! We mutually agreed to separate."
"After she met a werewolf." Ingrid returns, feeling a great deal of vindictive amusement from her father's annoyance.
Deciding to cut the conversation short due to his growing frustration, the Count skips to the end. "Vladimir keeps the room, it's his birthright!"
Peeved by her father's sole interest in her brother, Ingrids voice turns incredulous, her tone snappish. "And what's my birthright?"
"I don't know. Cleaning my capes, housework, something like that. I haven't really given it much thought." The Count remarks, almost off-handedly, clearly quite done with this particular discussion.
"I hope you get some really painful splinters from your coffin!" Ingrid bites, aggrieved by her dad's belittlement of her, before stomping to a chair a few feet away and slumping into it.
At this, Vlad thinks. It's obvious his sister isn't going to give up in her quest for the tower room, and she's evidently pretty pissed off about it.
Distantly, Vlad notices his father snap his fingers, setting the fireplace that Renfield had been tending to alight.
Diving further into thought, Vlad begins to weigh the pros and cons to having the tower room. 'On the pro's side: it's quiet, has a great view, it's private, and I get bragging rights for having the 'best' room. On the con's side: it's annoying to climb the stairs, inconvenient for Zoltan, it'll be a pain getting electricity, and it's probably pretty cold at night.'
Resolving to consider the issue more later, Vlad brings his focus back to his family, attention caught by his father's rageful outburst.
"What do you mean, food problem!?" The Count screams, demanding an explanation as to why his servant failed to procure his food.
"I-I-I thought you wanted to keep a low profile so I turned a peasant away." Renfield excuses lamely, snivelling and pathetic in his attempt to explain his incompetence.
"Ggrahh!" The Count growls, enraged by such wretched whimpering.
"A-and what with the driving, and the map reading, and the cobweb hanging, I didn't have time to stock up on any fresh blood." The wart-ridden flunkey continues, hoping to appease his master's anger somehow.
"Two weeks from transylvania, and all I've had to eat is some black pudding in the motorway services! It's not good enough. I need a juicy peasant, or at the very least a steak!" The Count demands, wrathful and hungry.
Blubbering incoherently, Renfield attempts to agree with his master, his words coming out in short, disgusting sniffles.
Grasped by the thought of fresh blood, the Count looks off to the side, eyes gone hazy at the imagined smell of blood. "Hm, extremely rare."
Vlad, taking the opportunity that has presented itself, scampers quietly out of the room while his dad is distracted. His sister doesn't notice, back turned to him and nose deep in a magazine she started reading at some point.
As he moves towards the castle doors, Vlad breathes a sigh of relief at his clean escape before looking about the room, just in case he was followed. Seeing nobody, Vlad moves forwards, turning his head back towards the entryway, only to be met with the sight of his dad smiling smugly down at him. "Going somewhere?"
"Yeah, just...popping out." Vlad supplies, manoeuvring around his dad and dashing towards the door. Pulling open one of the doors, Vlad makes it a single step outside before his arm is grasped, being dragged back into the castle by his father.
"OW, OW, OW!!!" The Count yells out, his arm smoking from the brief contact with sunlight, pain evident on his features as he pats himself out. Angry and injured, the Count direct his ire towards his son."You're not going anywhere young vampire. GO TO YOUR ROOM!" He orders, pointing in the direction of the tower room.
Vlad, hoping to plead his case, begins. "But dad!"
Sadly that's as far as he gets, all words dying in his mouth in response to the scathing glare sent by his father, the fury and disappointment in his stare palpable. Turning around, Vlad begins walking towards the tower, retracing his previous, more stealthy, steps.
As Vlad makes his way back into the room Ingrid is still seated in, she pointedly questions him, focus remaining on her 'FANG' magazine. "You know which rooms yours, don't you? It's the one that should be mine!
At that, Vlad slows to a stop, turning to look at his sister.
"I'm coming master!" Renfield yells, running into the room with a wooden bucket in hand, before chucking the water contained within that bucket at the Count, who had been following after Vlad to make sure he did as told.
While his father complains about his hatred of sunlight, and chews out Renfield for being 'a useless stinking meat bag, with less brains than a Transylvanian service animal', Vlad comes to a conclusion and makes his way to Ingrid.
Alerted to Vlad's approach by the sound of his footsteps, the weight and cadence of his movement different from their father's, Ingrid pries her attention away from her magazine. Turning to her brother, she raises an eyebrow in query, waiting for him to explain his presence.
Deciding now's as good a time as any, Vlad's voice grows curious as he addresses her. "You really want the tower room, huh?"
"What's it to you, bat-brain?! Here to rub it in, brag about how great it is being the favourite?" Ingrid asks in an accusatory fashion, face of venom and hatred.
"No, and I'm offended you think so little of me." Vlad retorts, transitioning to a whisper as he moves closer to her ear, tone conspiratorial as he continues. "I'm here to make a deal for the room, if you want it."
At this Ingrid blanches, an expression of surprise and shock displayed on her face, before being concealed by a look of intrigue. However, as she's about to respond, she's interrupted by a loud shout.
"VLADIMIR!!!" The Count bellows, voice, while thunderous, not quite as angry as earlier.
'Seems like berating Renfield calmed him down a bit.' Vlad thinks, thankful the servant took some of the heat off him. Mouthing a quick 'Later!' to Ingrid, Vlad turns to follow his father up the tower staircase, prepared to receive a long, painful tongue lashing for trying to sneak out.
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Down the hill from the castle, at the house the Dracula family was previously stopped in front of, a middle aged man is singing as he packs various different items into a car. "We're all go-ing on a, camping holiday, just some tents and a rope or two-" He stops, surprised to see his son, Robin, as he turns from the car.
*Insert image of Graham Brannagh here*
"Dad, you're making strange noises again." Robin supplies, disturbed by his father's cheery disposition.
"It's called singing robin. People do it when they're in a good mood." The man, Graham Brannagh, informs. Bending down, he picks up some more items from the floor before moving to place them into the trunk of his car. "Oh sorry, good mood. Hope I'm not confusing you with my complicated technical jargon."
"Ha-ha. It's a small drama insight without the Kendall mint-cake." Robin states plainly, tone void of any amusement.
"What, can't have a Brannagh family camping expedition without Kendall mint-cake." The suburban dad claims, turning from the car and walking into his open garage. Opening a small biscuit tin placed atop some furniture stacked within, he finds it woefully empty.
"This is a disaster, Elizabeth!" He yells, moving into the house in search of his wife.
As the man exits his view, Robin pulls a Kendall mint-cake bar from his pocket, before tossing it onto a wooden chair beside him. Grabbing a hook attached to bright yellow rope from the floor, he remarks, "I wish they'd do this stuff in black.", Wanting for the rope's colours to match his clothings darker palate.
Borrowing the climbing gear, he sets off up the hill once more towards Stokely Castle.
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Chapter 3: 1776 words, (not including this bit)
Sorry if this took longer than expected, been kinda busy recently. Hopefully the upload schedule will become more concrete as things progress. Feedback is always welcome.
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