[Hector studies Alucard closely as they sit down. A cook, like a medic, is something he's never bothered with on his ship of undead. With only himself to benefit from it, it had seemed an unnecessary luxury.

He's eaten a lot of jerky, hard tack, and dried fruit. Forget that he just called Alucard an asshole not a minute ago. He is of the angels.]

Do you mean you can make this actually appetizing?

[He gestures at his rations, which he's done nothing to prepare but fishing them out of one of the barrels below deck.]

Yes, then, we'll stick to your expertise and leave mine for if anyone unsavory reaches us.

[Maybe he can learn to put up with Alucard and share his dog if real food is on the line. A way to a man's heart, as the saying goes.

Hector sits on deck with a crate to serve as their table. Said jerky and hard bread, he places in the middle. He uncaps the flask and takes a long sip before adding that to the communal pile as well, in case it gets confiscated. ]

I can break the spell, but we'll have to redo it each night if we end up needing to maintain that same speed. Are you alright with that?

[It's not a hard thing to replicate- ashes, a strand of hair, a force of will, and a few drops of his blood, bound into a bundle. But Hector has to imagine the casting of it feels intrusive.]

I suppose there will be a few. There's Speakers around most every port, these days. I don't know what they're after, but I've seen one or two lurking around our destination.

[Hector's not sure why that would matter. They tend to keep to themselves, and they have no maritime fighting force, as far as Hector knows.]