A few weeks had passed and the house was still buzzing with preparations for the girls birthday come courting celebrations. As Dracula browsed through the halls, hands folded behind his back, his eyes weaving their way from project to project, he couldn’t help but wonder: why so much faff for one day? Of course, when he was human he’d never celebrated a birthday, it was the rich that would celebrate them, they could afford them after all. Masses of food served for the masses that attended, a jug of wine & ale that seemed bottomless, and of course all the entertainment one could desire at their feet. But for Dracula, his birthday was barely acknowledged. There was simply too much work to be done to try and get that extra coin or extra trade to feed or keep the family warm. His birthday present was nothing more than a reminder that he was lucky to be alive, that he was given the gift of life. Even as he’d gotten older, and ultimately promoted to war lord & advisor to Vlad Tepes, there was no time to celebrate his birthday, not even when he’d had money to live comfortably. He had wars to plan & win. Even with his transformation to vampyre, he didn’t celebrate his ‘deathday’ as he’d call it. So, seeing all these candles, silver, silks, and lace all laid out for an 18 year old girl who didn’t even want to celebrate her day, he couldn’t work his brain around it all. Apart from the fact that it was more to impress her possible future husband.
As Dracula passed the entrance leading down into the servants kitchens, he’d heard a male cry out, and the scuttling of several feet. That’s when the smell hit him, that familiar heady scent of iron. Blood was oozing somewhere. With a lick of his lip, and a sharp in take of breath, the Count couldn’t resist but make his way down to see what all the commotion was about. Ducking his head under the door & into the servants hall, he saw several pairs of shoulders, and a leg smothered in crimson disappearing down another walkway, heading toward what he remembered was the boot room. He trailed after them quickly, partly because the smell was making him ravenous but also because he was incredibly nosy. As he entered the room, he saw that bleeding leg belonged to no other than Egon. Dracula’s eyes seemed as though they’d darkened, glaring at the human under butler, silently chastising him with his cold hard stare. “What happened?” he asked with barely an ounce of care in his tone.
Gone unnoticed, due to the searing pain he was in, Egon cried out “Fell out of a tree” before knocking his head back into the hard wood of the table.
Another servant reached a hand to steady Egon’s head, not wanting yet another injury to deal with. That same servant turned his head to address The Count “Our resident game keeper has taken ill, so Egon decided to hunt for the pheasant for the Duchess Valeria’s birthday instead. A wild boar had startled him, and where he’d tried to shoot that instead, he fell. I believe he’s broken his leg...” the servant, younger than Egon, perhaps around the age of 25, looked more terrified by the possibility than Egon had & he was the one with the injury.
“Have you checked it? Sometimes, excessive bleeding is merely a scratch.” The Count asked.
“Sir, I don’t think it’s appropriate for you to be in the room. It is not something your eyes should see.” the young servant tried to argue but Dracula interjected
“I served as a successful war lord for several years, I have killed & butchered many men in my time. Some blood & broken bone won’t do me harm.”
“I’m afraid it might me...” The servant muttered under their breath, where none of the others would hear, Dracula heard as clear as day.
“Then allow me to inspect it. A little blood never sat uncomfortably with me.” With that, Dracula didn’t even wait for permission from any of the staff, he didn’t need their permission, he was higher up in the world than they are after all. He’d barged past the staff, then curled over the limb, fingers lightly touching at Egon’s trouser, not wanting to apply too much pressure, merely feel if the bone was broken. Evidently, it was. He could feel the bone protruding in a fashion that was nothing as it should be. Dracula straightened himself up, turning to address the staff who’d taken a step back as he worked. “You’re going to need to hold him down.” he snapped his fingers at different men, then pointed at different parts of Egons body for them to hold down. In a short sharp shock, Dracula pulled Egon’s pant leg up & exposed quite the gruesome scene before him. The skin of his shin had ruptured, splitting in an uneven pattern, while the bone itself protruded outward with jagged edges. Egon cried out as Dracula tore the material aside, a mixture of fresh air burning at the wound, and the slightest movement causing him pain.
“Fetch me two planks, some rope, and something for him to bite onto.” he ordered about as though he was a skilled doctor. He didn’t mind getting hands on, keeping a cool head despite the blood, carefully rotating Egon’s leg, & trying to figure out the best way to snap the bone back into position. It was only a moment later that the required pieces he’d asked for had come into his position. “I need two men at my side, one holding the planks, the other the rope.” and without debate, two men had instantly volunteered. “The rest of you, hold him down tightly, get him to bite down, this isn’t going to be pleasant.” for them that was, not for him. Without a count down, Dracula snapped the bone back. Even with all his inhuman strength, it was no easy feat. For the human readers, the comparison you could have is returning a felled tree back into it’s upright position. But with a sharp snap, and not to mention a scream from Egon that could wake the gods of Hell, Dracula had managed to reposition the bone. The two men at his side instantly got to work, lining the planks either side of the leg, then wrapping the rope tightly to keep the leg from moving out of position. “Fetch Egon something strong to drink, heavens know he needs it.” He didn’t give this order to anyone in particular but one member of staff had willingly disappeared to do it, more than likely due to the fact he didn’t want to see anymore than he already had. Other staff members had gradually begun to phase out. Dracula loomed over Egon, wanting to pass a message on for his ears only. “And don’t you dare die tonight. I’m in no mood to keep a sharp leash on a newborn vampire.” he hissed at his personal blood bag.
“Count?” the young, ill looking servant from earlier shuffled on his feet “You mentioned earlier you were a war lord, and that you have no problem killing someone, this is merely a suggestion b-but seeing as our game keeper is ill, and the only man in service who knows how to fire a gun is also injured... Would it be rude to ask if... you would hunt for the prize game for the duchess’ celebrations?”
Looking from the servant, to Egon’s leg, then back Dracula thought it over a moment. He hadn’t been hunting for quite some time, given that he’d feed from Egon whenever he’d pleased, Dracula had become quite the fat housecat. “It’d be my pleasure too.”
