Chapter Text
“You!” barked Roselia, pointing aggressively at Jusis as her tiny legs carried her infuriated march. “Emma has just informed me that you are an Albarea!”
“I am, yes.” Jusis did his best to not outwardly react to the abject confusion he was feeling. It was impossible for Emma to forget to introduce him with his full name, and he had introduced himself with his full name. He was in the newspapers that Eryn somehow had. They’d spoken on numerous occasions. “That appears to be something of an issue. If I have done something to offend you, I sincerely apologize.”
“Oh, no, dear, you haven’t done anything.” Roselia glared up at him, her lips snarling so much for someone so tiny. “Your ancestors, however, oh, they were insufferable. Ungrateful freeloaders, all of them! I hired two of you seven hundred years ago to clean up Erebonia of nighttouched, and even enchanted a few swords for them so they’d have an easier time!” She scoffed and turned up her nose. “And I never heard back from them. Not one peep. Considering how there are apparently still nighttouched in the country, they didn’t even do what I hired them for!”
“I see.” Jusis gave her a short bow. “On behalf of House Albarea, I deeply apologize for the foolishness of my ancestors—”
“Yes, yes, decorum this, and that.” Roselia waved him off. “Please, do us both a favor and stuff your sorries in a sack for someone who has room in her closet for them. Because I do not!”
“Is it that you want the swords returned to you?” asked Jusis. Why was everything about Emma’s family and upbringing connected to some sort of absurd riddle or mystery? What purpose did that serve? Thank Aidios she was direct and courteous. “I can retrieve them without issue if that is the case.”
“They’re not that enchanted. A spitshine back in those days could cleave through devils like me through cake.” Roselia grinned far, far too widely, her fangs becoming rather pronounced. “No, you can keep them. They’re not particularly special anymore.”
“They seem effective against demonic monsters, but I shall trust your judgment on…” Jusis furrowed his brow. “What exactly do you want from me?”
“Blood.”
“Blood,” echoed Jusis. “You want…my blood.”
“Yes.” Roselia nodded. “Not all of it, of course.”
“I am not comfortable with this, and do not want to give you my blood,” said Jusis, struggling to wrap his head around the sentence that he had just said aloud. “Thus, I will not be doing so.”
“Of course you will!” Roselia chuckled. “Your ancestors also insulted my cooking.”
“That isn’t going to change my—” Jusis reeled backward as Roselia pounced onto his neck, latching on and slurping down a—well, it wasn’t a lot, but he could hear it move. “Good Goddess, get off of me! Why are you—” He wriggled her off of him and she landed on her feet. “What is wrong with you?!”
“Your ancestor said my soup was bland!” snapped Roselia. “And that I should hire a personal chef, because I was never going to get the balance of spices right!”
“Drinking someone’s blood is not a commensurate response to their ancestor behaving poorly as a dinner guest!”
“You are Emma’s friend, so I went easy on you, Albarea.” Roselia inclined her head and walked away. “Remember that.”
Jusis covered his neck with his hand and poked at the tiny two holes. They didn’t exactly hurt, but they were certainly present. He took a few breaths to calm himself down, and, after disinfecting the wound, decided to absolutely investigate if there was any veracity to what Roselia had told him. That, and attempt to discern if what had just happened was appropriate for the Hexen Clan. Wouldn’t Emma have warned them if it was?
“What the hell happened to you?” Machias inspected Jusis’s neck. “Was that a cat? Or a fish?”
“It was Emma’s grandmother,” grumbled Jusis, wincing. “She took my blood based on some absurd tale that might not even be true about my ancestors failing to exterminate nighttouched, stealing our holy swords from her, and insulting her cooking.”
“That sounds like it is absolutely true.” Machias raised a brow the more Jusis glared at him. “Really? Quit moping; it’s not like you’re anemic.”
“What would your reaction be if a tiny ancient woman jumped on your neck and drank your blood?!”
“Exactly the same as this. And yours would be exactly the same as mine right now.”
“Shut up.”
