Vlad hadn't expected Max to be injured, but his overall appearance was more surprising than if he would have shown up covered in blood. He'd never seen him look so physically weary, and he wondered if something had happened in France that was worse than being attacked by a pitchfork-wielding mob. Max never seemed the sort to take things too seriously, which was why the gauntness in his face worried him more than usual.
"It's more of an annoyance, really. Someone tried to stab me in the heart but missed and got my shoulder instead." Technically speaking it was Dracula who'd been attacked, but since the vampire was in his body he was the one who had to suffer for it. "I can say the same for you. The French Revolution..." He shook his head. "This building either wants us dead or wants us to get as close to it as possible."
Cain and Abel eyed the new arrival with suspicion, but on Vlad's orders they didn't move an inch. He gestured to the couch and took a seat across from him, the faintest flicker of pain crossing his expression before it was gone. Reaching for the bottle of pills, he shook one out and swallowed it before replying. "Russia... well, what can I say about Russia?" He smiled without mirth and shook his head. "At first we all nearly froze to death, and then a group of us were recruited as spies to infiltrate a dinner in honor of the Grand Duke. From there, things went downhill... there was a mob in the forest, and they believed I was Rasputin and a few of the women were my witches." He paused. "You have heard of the Romanovs, right? The last Russian royal family? It was during their time, about a year or so before they were murdered. The peasants tried to murder us with pitchforks and axes, and then we nearly burned to death when the damn forest was set on fire." Dracula had enjoyed the battle, but then again he didn't feel any of the injuries he'd sustained. "So," he said after a moment, "how was France?"