[Alucard isn't wrong. He's already been here an hour, or an hour-ish, and even if it's a bit early, time is a meaningless concept and he's already gone through about half a bottle of wine. At some point. A very lucky thing that had so much at home already. Wine and shopping. What better way to deal with the very state of one's world and mental capacities?
He flinches as he hears his own name, drawn out of his reverie. He blinks, several times, staring at Alucard. Obviously he knows quite well who this man is, remembers clearly every moment they've spent together. But there, then, he had never thought of this place. Never recalled an Abraxas. And especially did not think, ah, if only my dhamphir friend was here, this man would be just a big meaty blob in the middle of a swarm of bats.
Do bats eat people like that? It doesn't matter.]
Oh. Oh, yes. Hats. [If Alucard peers long enough at his face, there is a sense of lingering alarm that is not shaking off as it should. For fuck's sake. He'd barely grasped the missing year between he and Geralt when they first arrived here.
Well, whoopty-fucking-do. He's found his missing year, and it sucks. The moment of silence passes so long that Jaskier can even feel the discomfort coming from the hat's crafter. He looks between the offering, and Alucard, and picks it up. It's only then, as his fingers slide along its leather edge, he realizes he can only barely feel it. On those fingers.] What's wrong with it? I can pull off black. And hats.
no subject
He flinches as he hears his own name, drawn out of his reverie. He blinks, several times, staring at Alucard. Obviously he knows quite well who this man is, remembers clearly every moment they've spent together. But there, then, he had never thought of this place. Never recalled an Abraxas. And especially did not think, ah, if only my dhamphir friend was here, this man would be just a big meaty blob in the middle of a swarm of bats.
Do bats eat people like that? It doesn't matter.]
Oh. Oh, yes. Hats. [If Alucard peers long enough at his face, there is a sense of lingering alarm that is not shaking off as it should. For fuck's sake. He'd barely grasped the missing year between he and Geralt when they first arrived here.
Well, whoopty-fucking-do. He's found his missing year, and it sucks. The moment of silence passes so long that Jaskier can even feel the discomfort coming from the hat's crafter. He looks between the offering, and Alucard, and picks it up. It's only then, as his fingers slide along its leather edge, he realizes he can only barely feel it. On those fingers.] What's wrong with it? I can pull off black. And hats.