[Pacing doesn't get anything done. Trying to read the paper doesn't get anything done. There's nothing to do in this house or the castle, because everything is too still. Too perfect. Perfection hiding a shattered world, and there's no outlet for the grief.
It's a side effect from the blessed reprieve Sypha offered. The grief, while not gone, was managed in a way that probably was too early. Now all there is is a terrible restlessness, a desire to do something, anything and finding the matter impossible.
His eyes go to the door. No sounds of approaching footsteps. No doorbell. Nothing he can do in the yard without aggravating the wound on his chest. In every way that could ever matter, Alucard is stuck. Never has he hated a feeling more. Never has he pitied himself so deeply for it, because there's naught else to do.
And maybe it's that self pity that finally unleashes a floodgate of emotion in the form of every intonation of the word fuck he can think of. Alucard has the good grace to go upstairs into the bathroom, where the floodgate should be muted as to not disturb his neighbors, and soon enough the swear session becomes an outpouring of every emotion.
(Cute how he thought he reached the end of grief.)
There are tears and there are moments of rage, and he shakes from it all by the end, his head resting on the tiled wall of the bathroom, claws digging into the material. This is what it will be for some time now.
That realization sets off a fresh swell of tears.]
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It's a side effect from the blessed reprieve Sypha offered. The grief, while not gone, was managed in a way that probably was too early. Now all there is is a terrible restlessness, a desire to do something, anything and finding the matter impossible.
His eyes go to the door. No sounds of approaching footsteps. No doorbell. Nothing he can do in the yard without aggravating the wound on his chest. In every way that could ever matter, Alucard is stuck. Never has he hated a feeling more. Never has he pitied himself so deeply for it, because there's naught else to do.
And maybe it's that self pity that finally unleashes a floodgate of emotion in the form of every intonation of the word fuck he can think of. Alucard has the good grace to go upstairs into the bathroom, where the floodgate should be muted as to not disturb his neighbors, and soon enough the swear session becomes an outpouring of every emotion.
(Cute how he thought he reached the end of grief.)
There are tears and there are moments of rage, and he shakes from it all by the end, his head resting on the tiled wall of the bathroom, claws digging into the material. This is what it will be for some time now.
That realization sets off a fresh swell of tears.]