[She's still not altogether happy about the prospect of a Belmont being here, for a number of reasons. One is that, to be perfectly simple about it, Belmonts kill vampires, and Alucard happens to be one, and so that's really just a bad combination straight from the get-go. Another is that this particular Belmont is...volatile, to say the least, and the world of vampire society is so incredibly perilous, so desperately in need of immense control and precision, that unpredictability like the Belmont's is nothing short of anxiety-inducing.

Then there's the fact that the man himself is stubborn, bad-tempered, smells, swears, always thinks he knows best, and quite possibly has a death wish, and sometimes it's hard enough as it is just carrying Alucard's issues, without the added complication of trying to pick apart the snarled, dirt-caked knot that is whatever the Belmont is carrying around with him.

And yet she's noticed things, from her place one step removed from vampires and their society, that make her wonder about him. His blue coat from the distant war, the muddled accent he slips into, the way his vowels and consonants sometimes hit in a way that tells her things about where he's been, the places he's assimilated into himself.

When Alucard came to her, his scar was visible, and physical. The Belmont, she thinks, bears a different set of them, and hides his better.

But here she is, subjecting herself to his Opinions, and resisting the urge to "accidentally" freeze his feet to the floor on the pretense of seeing to his ankle.]

Is that what you think I am doing? "Coddling"?

[She doesn't roll her eyes, but it's a barely-restrained thing.]

You know very little of what you're talking about, if you think he is ignoring anything. Stop moving your foot, please.