#radiantdecay

THANK you! I’m killing my own self! I’ve just binged a good amount of Castlevania season 2 tonight and I thought I was ready but oh fuck I was not ready, actually. Nowhere in the vicinity of ready for what they blessed me with-- including a lot of Alucard personality fleshing-out which I am SO pleased with and took the exact direction I was hoping for. I’m so glad you’re enjoying!

The sky thick with clouds, muting any sunlight form above into a dull grey, a rare time when even monsters of the night could risk day time hours. A light drizzle in the ancient mountains of this old land from the heavy clouds above. This was the setting of which Carrie found herself in, flicking some of the dampness from her dark and unnatural hair. Followed by pulling a hood up of her dark green shawl.

The weather always had to take a miserable turn when Carrie was out on work, as if the very sky it’s self wanted to hinder her from finding the target. A rogue werewolf, having gone feral and had murdered 3 people already... However, her focus was shifted when she felt someone drawing closer.

wheeze Speedwagon is my favorite jojo character don’t get me started on anything about him including his hair

D hums a little, as if he is thinking how best to answer this. As usual, it is not his mouth which responds, but that of the countenanced carbuncle on his left hand. It is a bit muffled, because D has not lifted it, but the voice is sharp enough to hear.

“Didn’tcha know? D here is a fancy genetic experiment gone—well sorta right—I mean, you got a point there… Eeeeverybody falls for him.” The tone is its usual flippant mockery of human speech, and in fact the parasite does, on most occasions, act more human than its host. It is D’s mouthpiece, sometimes to the dhampir’s chagrin, but the carbuncle is of the opinion that if he didn’t want it to answer for him, he ought to speak up.

“Hotness runs in the family, see, D’s dear papa—”

This is when the voice cuts off as D’s fist curls, almost gently, but firmly enough to silence it.

“Dhampir are usually alluring to mortals,” he says simply. “We are predators.”

He moves his head minutely to regard the stranger from under the wide, dark brim of his hat. There is no malice in that gaze, nor is there condescension or pity. What there is is damn near impossible to read if one does not know D.