Castlevania (2017–…): Season 3, Episode 1 - Bless Your Dead Little Hearts - full transcript

What do you think, Trevor?

I think I hate everything and everybody,

so I'm going to get drunk on beer

that's been brewed
in an old sheep carcass,

and then I'm going to stick my tiny penis
in a dead dog I found in a ditch

to make hate-babies or something

because I am actually
more stupid than mud.

You are a horrible, terrible person,

and many other words
for horrible and terrible,

because I know all the words,
because I am smarter than everybody,

and one day I will go back to live
with my flea-bitten family in a cart,



which makes me better than everyone,
and you will all die in a fire.

A big one.

Oh, my God. I am losing my mind.

It's only been a month.

I think.

I think it might actually
be a nice night, for once.

I hope so.
Your feet get so bloody cold at night.

Don't they, though?

It's supernatural.

Like death, rubbing up and down my leg.

Even I don't want to be near them,

and they're attached to me.

Do you think we'll make the next town
before we lose the last of the light?

With a bit of luck.
If this doesn't take too long.



Do we need to make more noise?

No. They can hear us.

They need to hurry up. I'm hungry.

And I could use a drink.

It should start any minute now.

Let them get in close and get confident.

I know.

Here they come.

Oh, no! Night creatures!

Whatever shall I do,
out here alone in the forest,

with only my brain-damaged servant
who talks about nothing but beer?

I am certainly doomed.

Oh, God, not this again.

Doomed, I say.

Defenseless
and frozen to my seat with fear!

Laying it on a little thick,
aren't you, Sypha?

It's always easier

when we let them get in range.

- Four.
- Yep.

Doomed.

Really are.

Poor beasties.

Hah!

Easy there, boys.
This will all be over in a minute.

What if I said I was sorry?

Hah!

Sorry I took so long.
I couldn't let the forest catch fire.

It's fine. I wasn't waiting long.
Really.

That was pretty fast, though, right?

Yeah. Easy.

They weren't expecting
Belnades and Belmont!

So...

I've been promoted from
"brain-damaged servant," then.

Did you know that the original meaning
of the word Belmont

is "brain damaged servant?"

It is not.

I am a Speaker. I know many things.

What are you doing?

Buying some insurance.

Between the wandering packs
of night creatures,

and the brigands and
opportunistic criminals,

and that one guy
with the horse-drawn sailboat on wheels

that called himself
the Pirate of the Roads...

It's best to look like useful friends
when we arrive at new towns.

You're catching on.

Well, it's been quite a month.

We'd almost given up hope.

Thirty fucking days, Lenore.

We were lucky to march
for eight hours a night.

I'm sorry.

Why were you marching?

You were given horses for a reason.

Well, you didn't give me
immortal vampire horses of death, did you?

Eight hundred miles, and every inch of it
infested with bastards.

We lost the horses
to arrows and swords in the first week!

It's absolutely bloody chaos out there!

Humans fighting each other,
night creatures gone mad,

even vampire packs
trying to set up kingdoms.

There is literally no one
between here and Braila

who I don't want to murder.

So what do you want to do first,
Carmilla?

I want to get in a bath
for at least a day.

And then I want you to bring
a cartographer to my chambers.

I may have a plan.

Oh, yes.

Striga.
Take this to a cell and lock it up.

Throw it food once a day.

What is it?

It's a whining bag of shit

that I would have happily
have dropped in a ditch

at any moment over the last month.

But it is also a Forgemaster.

So keep it alive.
My plan includes it.

Take this to the western cellblock.
Don't kill it.

And throw some water over it.

- It stinks.
- Ow.

If there's nothing else urgent,
I suggest we get you indoors

and give you a proper welcome.

Hmm. My sisters.

I've spent the last ten days
of that hell march

wondering if I'd die of hunger
or sheer bloody rage before I got home...

and wondering if you'd still be
waiting for me.

Where's Morana?

She awaits us inside. Come on.

There you are, Morana.

It's good to see you again.

You're late.

Thirty days slogging through...

To make terrible time.

We stationed our forces
within a day's ride of Braila.

Where are the horses?

Killed by insane humans
with pointy sticks.

And half a dozen packs
of starving night creatures.

And eaten. And every other fucking thing.

The plan couldn't have gone more wrong.

You'll be wanting a drink, then.

Mm. Virgin's blood.

Oh, bless your dead little hearts.
You do still love me.

Mm. Welcome home, Carmilla.

We're all so glad
to have you back with us.

The plan didn't matter a whit
compared to your safety.

Welcome back to your castle
and your realm.

It's us against the world, Carmilla.

Same as it always was.

Mister Saint Germain.

Just Saint Germain, please.

You're not a mister?

I most certainly am not.

What are you, then?

Many things, young lady. Many things.

Uh...

I'd like two apples, I think.

Two coins each.

They were one denarius yesterday.

That was yesterday.

Yes. Just yesterday,
they were one denarius.

Has there been some
apocalyptic development

that I somehow slept through
in the meantime?

Time's moved on. Season's ending.

Less supply, same demand.

Time absolutely does move on,

and, sadly, none of us
is master or mistress of it.

You should be a banker.

Give me some coins to count, then.

Practice.

Excellent. I have one grosh.

I said two coins each.

But a grosh is twice as large
as a denarius, and twice as thick,

with twice the silver of a denarius.
You see?

Grosh isn't coin.

It most certainly is a coin.

We don't truck
with that eastern money around here.

Proper coin, Mister Saint Germain.

Good grief.

My apples, if you please.

It's a little late for new arrivals,
isn't it?

I trust this isn't
a bolder breed of brigand,

or that imbecile
who put wheels on his boat again.

Well...

this is new.

So...

Had you been having problems
with a night creature pack

outside your lovely town?

If you mean,
"Were terrible naked bastards from Hell

trying to eat people in the forest,"
then yes.

Ah. So had the village down the road.

They told us the pack had been hitting
travelers and transports.

My partner and I decided
to take care of that for you.

Where are we?

This is Lindenfeld.

The minster town.

The spire we saw from the road
belongs to the priory, yes?

Oh! You're a Speaker.

We haven't seen any of your people
in some while.

It's a genuine honor.
I'm the Judge of Lindenfeld.

A township Judge!

That is a very old term
for the headman and landlord of a town,

from the time before boyars and lords.

What is your name?

I'm simply the Judge. And you are?

Wait a moment.

Those are monks of the Priory.

Take care.
They are somewhat, uh, broken.

Judge.

Prior Sala.

What is happening here?

And this is a night creature
of Dracula's horde.

It is.

Did you kill it?

That's right.

Good.

The horde betrayed Dracula at Braila.

Murder at the hands of vagabonds
and a long dragging behind a wagon

is no less than they deserve.

Betrayed him?

Dracula is dead. Didn't you hear?

We did not.

How do you know this?

Information still gets carried
between minsters.

Vampires were trapped at Braila,

and they told of his castle
being flooded with holy water

and sent back to Hell.

They said they felt his death.

I would very much like to know
who killed him, Speaker.

Why?

So my men can punish those responsible.

Dracula sought to reunite us all in Hell
with his beloved wife.

OK, then. Nice to meet you.

There was a Speaker woman at Gresit.

What are your names?

There are Speakers everywhere.

They would only have given aid and comfort
to those harmed by Dracula's hordes.

Does that offend you?

It is time for you and yours
to move along now, Prior.

Indeed. We shall give thanks.

What the hell was that?

We suffered an attack
during the recent troubles.

It was a difficult night for the priory.

Honestly, though, when it was learned

that the actions of the Church
were what unleashed it all,

I think it just sent Prior Sala
and his people quite mad.

Oh, dear. What a shame. Never mind.

He's been taking in refugees
of a similar turn of mind.

It's a problem. Mister...?

I'm Trevor. This is Sypha.

Ah. No last names?

Not until I feel a little safer here.

Sensible. Well, Mr. Trevor,
a pleasure to meet you both.

Welcome to Lindenfeld.

What do you want for its teeth?

What?

I'll give you two coins for each tooth.

Pardon me?

All right, three.

- But...
- Sypha.

Three coins a tooth is fine,

but you'll have to get them out yourself.

Happily!

Trevor, that is wrong!

You're hungry, aren't you?

Well, yes.

We need friends, but we also need coins.

For food, and for somewhere to sleep
that isn't the back of the wagon.

Oh. You know, that might be nice.

I mean, I'm used to sleeping in wagons,
but it is nice when you stop.

And that man there has beer.

Could I get a mug?
I'll have some coins in a minute.

You killed that bastard thing.
You get one free.

I love you!

Oh, my God.
That is better than sex.

Mmm.

Better than sex?

Ah, well, no, not-not...

You, know,
just d-different, differently good.

Really?

But, I-I-I didn't, I didn't mean...

I do hope you sleep well tonight

with my tiny, icy foot
shoved all the way up your...