[ The basket that arrives is recognizable almost immediately. No one else mysteriously leaves food and then flees. What he doesn't expect is that it has come at all. They'd parted on not so favourable terms. It'd been a poor topic to discuss, and while Geralt is not one to bother with petty grudges, he's also got other things on his mind as of late than the dhampir.
Critique does not come in written form. The contents taste decent, the shape is...unusual. (Why have they got legs? Who gave Alucard this idea? It certainly was not him.)
What Geralt does send back is his wolf, with the same basket. Inside is an accurate replica of what he'd been unable to describe to Alucard in words: standard pierogis, stuffed with cabbage and mushrooms. The kind you'd get at any tavern or inn.
There's a note attached—not in regards to the food, but an acknowledgement of something else Alucard had done. ]
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Critique does not come in written form. The contents taste decent, the shape is...unusual. (Why have they got legs? Who gave Alucard this idea? It certainly was not him.)
What Geralt does send back is his wolf, with the same basket. Inside is an accurate replica of what he'd been unable to describe to Alucard in words: standard pierogis, stuffed with cabbage and mushrooms. The kind you'd get at any tavern or inn.
There's a note attached—not in regards to the food, but an acknowledgement of something else Alucard had done. ]