[Oh, it's Dracula. So that's Dracula, locking them into the murder house on the premise of keeping his son safe. That's nice. That's really kind of him, actually, and so charming.

Ugh.]

And so what, then. He stays here, locked in this house until the next nightfall?

[If Sypha sounds irritated, it's only because she is. Reminiscing about the day she met Alucard in the basement just reminded her of why she'd met Alucard to begin with. The pallor in his face back then is so akin to the one that sits beneath his skin now. The stitches are the same. The blood is the same.

The fact that this is all Dracula's fault, fundamentally, is the damn same.]

He's hurt, and badly — he needs a doctor, not a musty old couch in the middle of some grotesque house!