To be fair, to find anyone with any sense of duty to the dead's about as likely as shooting a bird under the ocean. [In his experience, in his world, even if the body's still bloody warm, it's nothing that one can tie promises or obligations to.

Gods, one doesn't need to be a nosy bard to know there's treasure troves of drama to be taken in between what isn't being said. He's also quickly learning that Hector is the chattier of the two, and much more likely to give details. At least as far as sober conversation is concerned.

It is terribly tempting to push a little more -- he longs to know all about this horrible drama -- but it's the memory of Hector's horrible reaction to the ring that gives him pause. Perhaps there is plenty he'd rather not know, too.]

Rest? [It's not the strangest thing to be seeking, but the way Alucard says it makes it not sound akin to catching a nap in the sun.] Like a foggy, depressing forest in the middle of nowhere? Fat luck here for that. [Actually, a rest sounds wonderful. Possibly not moving anywhere for a few days, even if the light weight of his coin purse reminds him that is no longer a luxury he can afford.] But I do hope you find it.

[If only because he always sounds as if the weight of time is only a moment away from crushing him.]