[Alucard's stopped registering the smell of burnt flesh. It is a required immunity for this moment and for a painfully long time to come. He...he remembers what it smelled like. He remembers the body. He remembers every horrifying second of it, and to be immune to the scent means that the memory has less power than it might otherwise. Now...now he registers the lack of it. How strange it is to smell the air again, the traces of fire now on the wind.
There are other smells now. Swampy ones from the bayous mostly, mixed with cooler air. Dampness on the ground. Winters are't cold here, but there is morning dew and it must be periously close to morning now.
He remains still as the last of the work is done. Bandages and things between them meant to absorb blood and fight infection. The practical things and...
...and the smaller kindnesses. He reacts not from the water but from the gesture itself. There's only a whispered:]
no subject
There are other smells now. Swampy ones from the bayous mostly, mixed with cooler air. Dampness on the ground. Winters are't cold here, but there is morning dew and it must be periously close to morning now.
He remains still as the last of the work is done. Bandages and things between them meant to absorb blood and fight infection. The practical things and...
...and the smaller kindnesses. He reacts not from the water but from the gesture itself. There's only a whispered:]
Thank you.
[It carries the weight of the world.]