[Alucard's quiet. That means he's listening. Really listening. The mirror shifts, showing a more pleasant scene. A quiet forest somewhere else in the world, all stillness and light and gentle breeze that makes the room feel less dark. This room's lack of windows always makes it harder.

He takes Trevor's chair since Trevor is in his. (Ass goes onto Enid's notes for a hot second, and then there's a muttered apology to the dead.]

Politics is what it would have become, in the end. Not hunting.

[Which is very strange indeed. House Belmont, vampiric king makers. Hell of a thought to wrap one's head around.]

And you'd have to retain that control through generations. Hunting less. Controlling more.