[The words young and turned are never a good combination when said so close in the same sentence. No one turns young children into vampires for example. That way madness lies. A prolonged process in youth is not something the dhampir ever intends to ask about. Not when he's realized how touchy a subject family can be when Geralt's in the wrong sort of space for a conversation.
Fast then. Alucard offers Jaskier a look that isn't really a mischiveous grin, but comes close. It is serious, with the undercurrent of if you're sure embedded in raised eyebrows.]
Very well. [The dhampir nudges his own horse gently. He doesn't need to do much more than that.] Radu. Dănești. For the dead travel fast.
[The words aren't magic. Those are about making this experience even more of something for the bard, who Alucard knows will not anticipate exactly how fast these horses move. They're vampires. They have that supernatural speed, and the vineyard is soon a blur. They're out of Jaskier's Horizon now, and Alucard's not sure how far his own is. There's the thick walls around it and --
--oh fuck.
Jaskier's fall plays in slow motion. His hands fly up, there's so much air, and--
--and the dhampir is right there, none of the bard having touched the ground. The horses keep moving - they've too much momentum in this moment - but that's fine. The light drizzle and the mist around them that curls around late autumnal trees means they're in Alucard's domain, and the two horses will get back to them eventually.
He is, however, holding the bard like one of Sypha's fairy stories. No idea how that happened.
With all the graveness that exists within him, Aluard draws himself up just a little bit more.]
I think we've outdone the sport of your youth, Julian.
no subject
[The words young and turned are never a good combination when said so close in the same sentence. No one turns young children into vampires for example. That way madness lies. A prolonged process in youth is not something the dhampir ever intends to ask about. Not when he's realized how touchy a subject family can be when Geralt's in the wrong sort of space for a conversation.
Fast then. Alucard offers Jaskier a look that isn't really a mischiveous grin, but comes close. It is serious, with the undercurrent of if you're sure embedded in raised eyebrows.]
Very well. [The dhampir nudges his own horse gently. He doesn't need to do much more than that.] Radu. Dănești. For the dead travel fast.
[The words aren't magic. Those are about making this experience even more of something for the bard, who Alucard knows will not anticipate exactly how fast these horses move. They're vampires. They have that supernatural speed, and the vineyard is soon a blur. They're out of Jaskier's Horizon now, and Alucard's not sure how far his own is. There's the thick walls around it and --
--oh fuck.
Jaskier's fall plays in slow motion. His hands fly up, there's so much air, and--
--and the dhampir is right there, none of the bard having touched the ground. The horses keep moving - they've too much momentum in this moment - but that's fine. The light drizzle and the mist around them that curls around late autumnal trees means they're in Alucard's domain, and the two horses will get back to them eventually.
He is, however, holding the bard like one of Sypha's fairy stories. No idea how that happened.
With all the graveness that exists within him, Aluard draws himself up just a little bit more.]
I think we've outdone the sport of your youth, Julian.