Alucard is used to getting himself in all sorts of trouble, but it's been a good few years since he's truly fallen ill. As such, what begins with a soreness in his throat he dismisses easily enough. Perhaps there is something in the air? He thinks nothing more of it than that. And the aches that seem to accompany it? Perhaps there is a change in the weather coming, nothing more.
By mid-day, however, there is a tickle that settles right into the back of his throat. It's there every time he breathes, every time he speaks. Every swallow of food seems to scratch and irritate it more and he should probably be drinking something other than wine from the way it seems to burn all the way down. Forcing himself to face the fact that this illness (for that is what it is) is only going to get worse before it gets better, he shuffles back down the road to where he and Rhy live now, tiredly making his way up the staircase to the third floor and in their front door to pour himself into a chair at the kitchen table.
[closed to rhy]
By mid-day, however, there is a tickle that settles right into the back of his throat. It's there every time he breathes, every time he speaks. Every swallow of food seems to scratch and irritate it more and he should probably be drinking something other than wine from the way it seems to burn all the way down. Forcing himself to face the fact that this illness (for that is what it is) is only going to get worse before it gets better, he shuffles back down the road to where he and Rhy live now, tiredly making his way up the staircase to the third floor and in their front door to pour himself into a chair at the kitchen table.