[Sypha remembers what it was like, in the Back Then. In that period of their lives when the Speakers were still close in proximity to this city she now thinks of as home, before Trevor had stumbled in ragged from the war, when they came to quietly collect the story of Dracula's wife from beginning to end (because it had ended, it had ended so recently) and Alucard had found her in the city gathering gossip on the pretense of telling fortunes. She remembers the scar when it was still fresh and new and he couldn't lift his arms without aggravating it. She remembers his thousand-yard stares while she stroked a hairbrush through his hair again and again; she remembers the way they danced around each other, drawing out goodbyes and racing toward hellos, bridging gaps and patching holes torn open by the death of Lisa Tepes.
She remembers enough that it's horribly familiar, when he disappears to the basement and withdraws from them for days after. Alucard has always been more comfortable speaking to them through actions instead of words, and she suspects she's more fluent in the nuances of the language than Trevor is. Hardly unsurprising, for a Speaker, though Alucard is a language in which she's entirely self-taught, and for which there is no dictionary to rely on.
But they have a lead, now. It's not an answer, far from it, but it's something to go on. Perhaps most importantly, it's an identifiable enemy — something that, if need be, the supernatural citizens of Alucard's domain can be mollified with. Far easier to be seen resolving a problem when the problem has a face, and can die. The creatures of the night understand death very well.
And thus, here they are, and she hates the way that Alucard looks, but she understands why he does. She couldn't be anywhere else right now than at his side, not for this.]
This is no place for a priest.
[It's a place for something, certainly, but not a member of the clergy. This bodes poorly, and the way she's got her hands held loosely up by her chest like she's keeping them charged and ready with intent is a clear indication of it.]
no subject
She remembers enough that it's horribly familiar, when he disappears to the basement and withdraws from them for days after. Alucard has always been more comfortable speaking to them through actions instead of words, and she suspects she's more fluent in the nuances of the language than Trevor is. Hardly unsurprising, for a Speaker, though Alucard is a language in which she's entirely self-taught, and for which there is no dictionary to rely on.
But they have a lead, now. It's not an answer, far from it, but it's something to go on. Perhaps most importantly, it's an identifiable enemy — something that, if need be, the supernatural citizens of Alucard's domain can be mollified with. Far easier to be seen resolving a problem when the problem has a face, and can die. The creatures of the night understand death very well.
And thus, here they are, and she hates the way that Alucard looks, but she understands why he does. She couldn't be anywhere else right now than at his side, not for this.]
This is no place for a priest.
[It's a place for something, certainly, but not a member of the clergy. This bodes poorly, and the way she's got her hands held loosely up by her chest like she's keeping them charged and ready with intent is a clear indication of it.]
Alucard, I don't like this.