Sypha snorts against his neck, secretly delighting in the way his skin jumps. He's so clever about these things, dishing out just enough truth not to be called on the things he still keeps wrapped tightly away. They tend to let him get away with it, when they have the sense to recognize what he's doing; their dhampir needs time and space to process things. His mind is such a complex mechanism, it sometimes takes simple things a day or two to work their way through its twisting paths and chambers. Things like 'I am outside my comfort zone and I don't appreciate it' or 'I enjoyed that thing you did but I'm not sure I'm allowed to ask for more.'

Things related to his father are rarely simple.

Sypha twists, pushing her hip against Alucard's to urge him onto his back. She props herself up on her elbows, hovering just above him. His hand still blankets the claw marks on her skin, palm the same temperature as the midmorning air.

"They don't bother me." she tells him, forthright. "You know that, yes?"