Artistry
Alucard scowled up at Beatrice's retreating back.
He hadn't deserved that scolding. He hadn't.
He'd gone hunting with John, and Beatrice had made it quite clear that he was to stop stressing his Master. He'd kept that in mind on the hunt. He'd made sure to destroy the voice box immediately, so no one could hear the screaming and John wouldn't be...upset. And after he'd killed, he'd even made sure to clean all the blood off himself instead of wearing the smears as a sort of proud, bloody trophy to display to his Master.
It was annoying to have to go to such lengths, his Master ought to be able to handle any bloody screaming mess he created, but Beatrice had been quite firm. John was unnerved by such displays, and he was to Stop It. Or Else.
So he had. He hadn't even spooked the troops when he reported back to John.
It wasn't HIS fault they'd gone to do cleanup and John had gone with them. The creature had been Faie and would have evaporated with the morning light, there was no need to do a cleanup at all. Apparently, John had decided to satisfy his curiousity about what a Faie "pet" looked like, and also teach the troops how to do a clean-up in a situation where any mistakes wouldn't cause problems.
John had been horrified.
Humans. NO understanding of artistry. He'd been quite pleased with the final arrangement of parts and the distance the blood had sprayed, himself.
And now Beatrice was angry at him, too.
Some nights it simply was not worth getting out of the coffin.