Travel Journal: Entry 3
God, what a harrowing ordeal. We are alive (although I would not say I am well) in New York City by the grace of God, the Fates, or whatever capricious divinity might be looking down upon us and no doubt laughing.
I suppose it was inevitable, given how much I enjoyed our stay in Romania, although I suppose I ought to mention Vienna first. Remus is more fond of Vienna than I am, I think. He dragged me off to Demel's, where he stuffed himself with slices of torte. I thought it was a quaint city, but not one I would particularly care to visit again. Remus is likely of a different opinion, primarily because of the food, but as they didn't have pea soup, I wasn't nearly so enamored of the cuisine as he was.
Brasov, however, was a different story. Remus' publishing company thought it would be appropriate to have him do a book signing in "Dracula's Castle", which made me dubious of the collective intelligence of those running said company.
"They do realize your books are about a werewolf, not a vampire, yes?" I asked. Remus smiled and shrugged and said there were wolves in Dracula, and apparently, that was close enough a connection for them.
We didn't go to the real "Castle Dracula", which is Cetatea Poienari; it's nearly 3 hours from Bucharest by train, and it's partially in ruins. No, it's Bran Castle that's been established as "Dracula's Castle", even though historical evidence suggests Vlad Tepes was nothing more than a visitor there. However, it's in better condition and in a more accessible locale, thus it has been appropriated for use as a tourist attraction in the Impaler's name.
The Muggles are obsessed with the place because they've made some connection between Vlad Tepes and Count Dracula from that Stoker novel, and apparently, they treat it as a supernatural pilgrimage site. Vlad Tepes was not a vampire, and there was no such person as Count Dracula. The Bathory woman, however -- that, they got right. She was indeed a vampire.
I thought it would be kitschy, given how Muggles tend to decimate historical attractions, but the Carpathian mountains are quite lovely -- rugged and desolate -- and the castle didn't have rubber bats dangling from the Gothic towers or recordings of wolves howling echoing in our ears as we walked in. The castle was rather nice, actually. I remarked that it reminded me of home, and Remus agreed that it did resemble the manor house in certain ways, although the tone in which he said this made me wonder if he considered it a good thing.
Cymbeline and I both liked the castle, however, and rather than remain with Remus during the signing, I took Cymbeline, and we explored the castle instead. Nanny Stella opted to return to Brasov and shop for gifts for her mum, her sister, and two nephews. We took a guided tour, and Cymbeline sat in her stroller and played with the stuffed bat I purchased for her, although I swear she seemed to listen to the tour guide as intently as I did when he described Vlad Tepes' bloody history, including tales of nailing people's hats to their heads if they didn't take said hats off in his presence. I think Filch would have quite liked Tepes.
Remus was amused in the "oh, good lord, I should have known" sort of way when we met him after the signing, and Cymbeline waved her stuffed bat at him by way of greeting. "Don't tell me you're encouraging her to develop morbid tastes already, Severus," he said.
I informed him that Cymbeline had picked out the toy herself, which was true. She passed over the brightly colored wooden folk toys and reached for the furry black flying mammal. "Like father, like daughter," was Remus' response, to which I replied that it was hardly news. He laughed and stroked his forefinger over my left eyebrow and told me not to aim it at him as he was only teasing, and had we found a place that might offer a few minutes of privacy before we return to Brasov? He was tired, he said, and wanted to be alone with me and Cymbeline without any chance of interruptions from Nanny Stella, his agent, fans, or reporters.
There is, I said, if he was willing to trespass in areas where tourists aren't allowed to go and perhaps Obliviate any Muggle who might catch us. I saw the flare of mischief in his eyes right before he said yes, he was willing, although it was too bad we didn't have an Invisibility Cloak. It had made sneaking around Hogwarts after hours much easier, he said. I glared; Potter and his damned cloak caused more trouble for me than I care to remember.
Thus we sneaked off to a restricted area and went up in one of the towers. The view was spectacular, the setting sun exploding in dusky color as it sank behind the mountains. Remus wrapped his arms around me and leaned against me, and I heard him give a weary sigh as I returned the embrace. With the wolf suppressed, his vigor and stamina were decreased to human levels, and the trip had been taxing on all of us.
Perhaps it was the atmosphere of the castle, in which I felt quite comfortable, or perhaps it was because the place seemed so familiar and so like home, but I was relaxed and content. Cymbeline had nodded off, thus it was only the two of us, silently watching the sunset. As nightfall cloaked us in concealing darkness, I dared to bend my head and steal a kiss, pleased to hear Remus moan softly in response. We had been too busy or too tired to indulge in any intimacy for days, and suddenly, I was overwhelmed with the need to touch and to taste him.
I turned Cymbeline's stroller to face away from us in case she woke, drew my wand and cast a sound-proofing spell around the small room we were in, and then I pressed him against the window ledge and sank to my knees. He seemed torn between amusement and arousal, and he said he wasn't surprised that a place like this had made me amorous. I didn't give him a chance to tease for long, however. Soon, he was fisting his hands in my hair and trying very hard not to wake up Cymbeline with his moans and cries as I brought both him and myself to completion.
I have fond memories of Romania, indeed.
Not so of the flight to New York City. Nanny Stella warned us that Cymbeline might cry if her ears didn't "pop", that it could be painful for her and frightening as well since she was too young to fully understand what was happening or to do the things older children could do to relieve the pressure, such as chewing gum. She suggested a mild sleeping potion, to which I readily agreed. Remus teased me, pointing out that Nanny Stella was talking about sedating Cymbeline, not myself, which earned him a glare.
I wish I had sedated myself, and that is what I will do on the return flight. The air smelled funny, there were hundreds of people crammed in there with us, it bloody well hurt my ears, and the in-flight film looked stupid and boring, although I wouldn't know because Remus wouldn't give up his headphones, saying I should have asked for my own set when the young woman was handing them out. Not to mention the food was barely edible. It was "food" in the loosest sense of the word in that I suppose it might have had some nutritional content, but it was bland and tasteless and utterly appalling.
Then we hit some turbulence, and I spent the next three hours frozen in my seat, clutching the arms of my chair and bracing my feet on the floor against the impact when we hurtled to the ground and exploded in a fiery ball of agonizing death. At first, I clutched Remus' thigh, but he said my fingers were cutting off the circulation in his leg, and he pried them off and transferred them to the chair arm instead.
Suffice to say, it was not a relaxing flight, and I was more exhausted when we landed than when we left. We arrived in late afternoon; Remus has interviews scheduled -- he'll be a guest on a radio news program as well as giving interviews with newspaper reporters -- and he's already left. He took Cymbeline to Nanny Stella's room and tucked me into bed as soon as we arrived at the hotel. He kissed me and told me to get some rest. He won't be signing books until tomorrow morning, and he says we can do a bit of touring tomorrow afternoon if I'm up to it.
I don't remember him leaving; I fell asleep shortly after he went into the bathroom to shower and dress, and I slept for several hours. He's due back shortly, and we're going out for a late supper, which means I ought to stop writing and avail myself of the shower as well. He says he wants to take me someplace called the "Hard Rock Cafe" just to see the look on my face, although in browsing through some of the brochures I picked up in the lobby while he was checking in, I found a place which I think he might like much better: Serendipity, which boasts of a special dessert called "Frozen Hot Chocolate". Somehow, I don't think it will be difficult to coax him into going there instead.
I suppose it was inevitable, given how much I enjoyed our stay in Romania, although I suppose I ought to mention Vienna first. Remus is more fond of Vienna than I am, I think. He dragged me off to Demel's, where he stuffed himself with slices of torte. I thought it was a quaint city, but not one I would particularly care to visit again. Remus is likely of a different opinion, primarily because of the food, but as they didn't have pea soup, I wasn't nearly so enamored of the cuisine as he was.
Brasov, however, was a different story. Remus' publishing company thought it would be appropriate to have him do a book signing in "Dracula's Castle", which made me dubious of the collective intelligence of those running said company.
"They do realize your books are about a werewolf, not a vampire, yes?" I asked. Remus smiled and shrugged and said there were wolves in Dracula, and apparently, that was close enough a connection for them.
We didn't go to the real "Castle Dracula", which is Cetatea Poienari; it's nearly 3 hours from Bucharest by train, and it's partially in ruins. No, it's Bran Castle that's been established as "Dracula's Castle", even though historical evidence suggests Vlad Tepes was nothing more than a visitor there. However, it's in better condition and in a more accessible locale, thus it has been appropriated for use as a tourist attraction in the Impaler's name.
The Muggles are obsessed with the place because they've made some connection between Vlad Tepes and Count Dracula from that Stoker novel, and apparently, they treat it as a supernatural pilgrimage site. Vlad Tepes was not a vampire, and there was no such person as Count Dracula. The Bathory woman, however -- that, they got right. She was indeed a vampire.
I thought it would be kitschy, given how Muggles tend to decimate historical attractions, but the Carpathian mountains are quite lovely -- rugged and desolate -- and the castle didn't have rubber bats dangling from the Gothic towers or recordings of wolves howling echoing in our ears as we walked in. The castle was rather nice, actually. I remarked that it reminded me of home, and Remus agreed that it did resemble the manor house in certain ways, although the tone in which he said this made me wonder if he considered it a good thing.
Cymbeline and I both liked the castle, however, and rather than remain with Remus during the signing, I took Cymbeline, and we explored the castle instead. Nanny Stella opted to return to Brasov and shop for gifts for her mum, her sister, and two nephews. We took a guided tour, and Cymbeline sat in her stroller and played with the stuffed bat I purchased for her, although I swear she seemed to listen to the tour guide as intently as I did when he described Vlad Tepes' bloody history, including tales of nailing people's hats to their heads if they didn't take said hats off in his presence. I think Filch would have quite liked Tepes.
Remus was amused in the "oh, good lord, I should have known" sort of way when we met him after the signing, and Cymbeline waved her stuffed bat at him by way of greeting. "Don't tell me you're encouraging her to develop morbid tastes already, Severus," he said.
I informed him that Cymbeline had picked out the toy herself, which was true. She passed over the brightly colored wooden folk toys and reached for the furry black flying mammal. "Like father, like daughter," was Remus' response, to which I replied that it was hardly news. He laughed and stroked his forefinger over my left eyebrow and told me not to aim it at him as he was only teasing, and had we found a place that might offer a few minutes of privacy before we return to Brasov? He was tired, he said, and wanted to be alone with me and Cymbeline without any chance of interruptions from Nanny Stella, his agent, fans, or reporters.
There is, I said, if he was willing to trespass in areas where tourists aren't allowed to go and perhaps Obliviate any Muggle who might catch us. I saw the flare of mischief in his eyes right before he said yes, he was willing, although it was too bad we didn't have an Invisibility Cloak. It had made sneaking around Hogwarts after hours much easier, he said. I glared; Potter and his damned cloak caused more trouble for me than I care to remember.
Thus we sneaked off to a restricted area and went up in one of the towers. The view was spectacular, the setting sun exploding in dusky color as it sank behind the mountains. Remus wrapped his arms around me and leaned against me, and I heard him give a weary sigh as I returned the embrace. With the wolf suppressed, his vigor and stamina were decreased to human levels, and the trip had been taxing on all of us.
Perhaps it was the atmosphere of the castle, in which I felt quite comfortable, or perhaps it was because the place seemed so familiar and so like home, but I was relaxed and content. Cymbeline had nodded off, thus it was only the two of us, silently watching the sunset. As nightfall cloaked us in concealing darkness, I dared to bend my head and steal a kiss, pleased to hear Remus moan softly in response. We had been too busy or too tired to indulge in any intimacy for days, and suddenly, I was overwhelmed with the need to touch and to taste him.
I turned Cymbeline's stroller to face away from us in case she woke, drew my wand and cast a sound-proofing spell around the small room we were in, and then I pressed him against the window ledge and sank to my knees. He seemed torn between amusement and arousal, and he said he wasn't surprised that a place like this had made me amorous. I didn't give him a chance to tease for long, however. Soon, he was fisting his hands in my hair and trying very hard not to wake up Cymbeline with his moans and cries as I brought both him and myself to completion.
I have fond memories of Romania, indeed.
Not so of the flight to New York City. Nanny Stella warned us that Cymbeline might cry if her ears didn't "pop", that it could be painful for her and frightening as well since she was too young to fully understand what was happening or to do the things older children could do to relieve the pressure, such as chewing gum. She suggested a mild sleeping potion, to which I readily agreed. Remus teased me, pointing out that Nanny Stella was talking about sedating Cymbeline, not myself, which earned him a glare.
I wish I had sedated myself, and that is what I will do on the return flight. The air smelled funny, there were hundreds of people crammed in there with us, it bloody well hurt my ears, and the in-flight film looked stupid and boring, although I wouldn't know because Remus wouldn't give up his headphones, saying I should have asked for my own set when the young woman was handing them out. Not to mention the food was barely edible. It was "food" in the loosest sense of the word in that I suppose it might have had some nutritional content, but it was bland and tasteless and utterly appalling.
Then we hit some turbulence, and I spent the next three hours frozen in my seat, clutching the arms of my chair and bracing my feet on the floor against the impact when we hurtled to the ground and exploded in a fiery ball of agonizing death. At first, I clutched Remus' thigh, but he said my fingers were cutting off the circulation in his leg, and he pried them off and transferred them to the chair arm instead.
Suffice to say, it was not a relaxing flight, and I was more exhausted when we landed than when we left. We arrived in late afternoon; Remus has interviews scheduled -- he'll be a guest on a radio news program as well as giving interviews with newspaper reporters -- and he's already left. He took Cymbeline to Nanny Stella's room and tucked me into bed as soon as we arrived at the hotel. He kissed me and told me to get some rest. He won't be signing books until tomorrow morning, and he says we can do a bit of touring tomorrow afternoon if I'm up to it.
I don't remember him leaving; I fell asleep shortly after he went into the bathroom to shower and dress, and I slept for several hours. He's due back shortly, and we're going out for a late supper, which means I ought to stop writing and avail myself of the shower as well. He says he wants to take me someplace called the "Hard Rock Cafe" just to see the look on my face, although in browsing through some of the brochures I picked up in the lobby while he was checking in, I found a place which I think he might like much better: Serendipity, which boasts of a special dessert called "Frozen Hot Chocolate". Somehow, I don't think it will be difficult to coax him into going there instead.