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"He's gone this long without being an immediate threat to the real people." He isn't sure that's going to last now that Trevor has tipped the balance.

He leads Trevor out, to the elevator, and to Cabin 101. "The last thing we need is collateral damage when you two fight. And he will come after you sooner or later."

"Tell that to the people he already murdered back home."

He leans against the elevator's interior, not much paying attention to where they're headed. He's too bone-tired to care.

"If I don't go after him first."

"I can't change what he did at home. I can keep people here from being hurt." Including Trevor, if the man decides not to do anything stupid.

And then Trevor opens his mouth and speaks and, oh good Lord, this is going to be a long year.

"What are you going to do? Spend every day trying to kill him?" The elevator doors open and he motions Trevor to follow him. 101 is just a turn away, and he gestures Trevor through that door, too.

"Not every day. Figured I'd take one day off a week for the Lord's rest." He murmurs. Trevor doesn't know how best to kill Sephiroth but he knows that he's also not okay with letting bygones be bygones and pretending he's all right living next to someone like that. That innate, resolute stubbornness in the face of something most people would turn tail and run from was ingrained in him as much as any number of physical features.

He hesitates, knowing they're on the wrong floor for the infirmary, but figures that Lark wouldn't have dug him out of the well if he was planning on setting him up. He heads into 101.

This is it. This is the day Lark Tennant finally thinks to himself, I'm getting too old for this shit.

Still. He admires perseverance and creativity more than any other traits, and Trevor seems to have at least one of those down.

He grabs towels from the bathroom, looks at Trevor dripping well water on the carpet, and instead gets a dry set of clothes from the back bedroom. "Go in there," motioning at the bathroom. "Get into these. If you can," noting that arm. But better to let Trevor try than to offer to help him dress.

He takes the clothing with a look of gratitude and disappears into the bathroom. Being in his family and line-of-work, Trevor has a high tolerance for pain and while there are some grunts and struggles, he seems to be managing fairly well even with the broken arm.

"Why the fuck do you people have your toilets so close to where you sleep?" he calls from inside the bathroom. "I get that there are pipes that bring the shit elsewhere but what if those pipes get stuffed up?"

It's unhygienic, Lark!

"This is a cabin I let my inmates use. I live in another one where I can keep the bedroom upstairs," he chuckles, ducking away into the spare bedroom to change out of his own wet clothes. Since he has two arms it doesn't take him as long.

Is he curious to see what Trevor Belmont looks like in Armani slacks and shirt? Why yes he is.

"It's still very weird." He calls back. What the hell are these clothes made of? They're so soft. Trevor's momentarily distracted by running his hand up and down the slacks. Just enjoying something that's 1. new and 2. not covered in crap. People in his time had probably two outfits on average so wearing something new is definitely a change for him.

He comes out, looking somehow both awkward and comfortable. He keeps his boots and arm guards on but there's a hand towel he grabbed to rub his hair dry. If Lark squints, Trevor looks almost halfway presentable.

He bends down to run his hand over the shirt and pants again, this time in front of Lark, still getting used to it all. How can something lightweight be this warm? He didn't exactly grow up in his early years as a peasant but this is still far, far nicer than a boy prone to getting dirty and playing rough would have been allowed to wear.

Edited 2021-11-24 16:07 (UTC)

It's strange how modern clothes both look so unusual on Trevor, and seem to suit him. That gentry thing, he reasons, gives Trevor an air of nobility that lines up nicely with tailored clothing.

"We can clean your clothes in a minute." He goes to the small kitchen and puts on some coffee. "First I need you to tell me what happened from the beginning."

Trevor follows, still getting used to walking around without armor or weapons. He left the cape and the rest of his clothing hung up to dry in the tub with the drain in it. No real point in that.

"Why?" He's genuinely curious. "Got to figure out a proper punishment or something?"

"You don't seem the type to respond to punishment, and I'm not the type to try to beat you into submission." He shrugs. "You're the only person who's ever hurt Sephiroth here, as far as I know. So it's part curiosity and partly my job to put the scene together. The more I know, the more likely it is I can keep him from escalating."

Fat chance, he knows. Sephiroth is as resistant to punishment and deterrent as he's sure Trevor is.

It's going to be a long year if these two keep going at it.

"Shit. Really?" That takes Trevor aback, and if he's honest, he feels a tiny bit of pride swell in his chest. Even with a broken arm and without any proper weapons, he can manage to surprise.

He still lost, but now he doesn't feel like such shit about it.

"Uh. Yeah. I mean. There was a cabin in flames. And he was there in the middle of it, gloating. Calling it beautiful. Had these eyes like a cat's, all slitted pupils: some vampires get them too, you learn to see it in old killers and predators, where they think the whole world's their snack to devour. So I did what I've always done: I challenged him, we fought. You found me in a well."

That's the whole of it.

Well that makes a lot of sense. Not that it will soothe Sephiroth any. As a defense, though, it's solid. Even better that Trevor isn't playing it up; he's a vampire slayer. He was doing what he'd been trained probably since toddlerhood to do.

"Did you know the Enclosure wasn't real? It's just a memory of his. The cabin was empty, no one on board was in the flames."

He shakes his head, once.

"Not until we were halfway through the fight and he told me. I knew the cabin didn't have anyone inside, the smell was..You don't forget the smell. But I didn't know the flames wouldn't carry outside. Sometimes with magic, you just don't know which way it's going to go."

He sniffs the air. Smells the unfamiliar scent of coffee. And looks questioningly at Lark.

"What are you making?"

"Coffee." He almost tells him that it's Guatemalan and then sees his expression. "To warm you up. It's bitter--I can sweeten it if you want, but give it a try."

He pours a mug and offers it, then pours one for himself.

Trevor thought he was protecting the ship. He thought Sephiroth was either a vampire or a demon. Even if Lark thought out and out punishment worked (and he knows it doesn't), Trevor was trying to do the right thing. Which means Lark is probably going to have to defend him from other wardens.

Troublemaker, Lark thinks at Trevor, grousing but hiding a smile behind his mug.

Oblivious as to the goings-on behind Lark's mug, Trevor nods and takes the cup, bringing it up to his face to sniff it. Smells oddly Turkish, in a way. Maybe one of the relatives came back with things from the Ottoman Empire to make him think that, suddenly.

"Thanks." He exhales, and takes a sip.

And immediately burns his tongue.

"Mmph!"

Oh. Right. People who haven't gone through law school probably haven't deadened the nerves in their tongue with years of scalding hot coffee.

"Here," getting him a glass of water. He'd normally offer cream to cool it down, but the last of the cream ran out three weeks ago. "Sorry. Let it cool."

"Christ almighty." He wheezes. "You weren't joking." That sure did warm Trevor up in a hurry. He takes the water, exhaling when he's able to cool his tongue.

Once Trevor clears that up, he returns his gaze back to Lark, a little flushed.

"So. You were saying something about that killer's response?"

He leans against the counter, mug between both hands. "You hurt him. And his ego. I can guess you aren't worried about him coming after you, and if this wasn't the Barge I'd buy tickets to that show. But it's a small ship and people will get hurt, and that worries me."

He nods, expression turning serious as he contemplates what Lark's telling him.

"Not if I do my job right. Keep his anger centered on me instead of anyone else. Would help if I could get a few more weapons."

"You don't understand how he fights. Or maybe you do," thinking of Dracula. "You saw what he did to that town. You might be the focus of his anger, but the ship isn't big enough for everyone else to avoid him."

Trevor nods, exhaling.

"Shit." He already caught him in a memory lighting innocent people on fire. The ship's probably next. Collateral damage indeed.

"So. What's the solution, appease his swollen ego? Ask him nicely not to burn everyone to the ground?"

Not likely to happen and not something Trevor would ever be okay with doing, but it's worth checking if Lark has a solution in mind.

"No. Appeasing a monster doesn't make it more gentle." And Sephiroth, whatever he is, is happy to do monstrous things. "I don't know what the solution is yet, Trevor. I'm trying to figure it out but in the very short-term I'm just trying to prevent tragedy. How do you protect people without escalating?"

He nods in agreement. Monsters don't get preferential treatment like that.

"You're asking me? Because normally we just kill them. And we protect people by showing them how to defend themselves."

Edited 2021-11-26 01:41 (UTC)

"Ah, well that's something you'd think everyone here would already know. We have people here who have spent most of their lives fighting." Like Trevor. "I'm here to teach new ways of defending themselves. Sometimes it doesn't even involve blood."

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