[ A vampire limitation. The words are accurate, but he still hates hearing them. His limitations. Like Cazador's way of reaching out and ruining his life from beyond the grave. ]

I— [ He swallows thickly, gaze on the water in the distance. It's dark and murky in the nighttime. Foreboding. ] I suppose it isn't impossible.

[ His throat is tight as he makes the concession, all but unwilling to admit that no, it wouldn't be impossible for him to escape through the river. Possible doesn't mean pleasant, though, or perhaps even tolerable. He takes a look back at the smoldering mansion, considering. ]

Running water is like acid to a vampire.

[ It's a horrific round of would you rather, but— he'd prefer recovering from the burns to being cooked alive at this mansion or being beheaded by its guards. That doesn't mean that dread doesn't seep through his every pore at the thought of braving running water. ]

And, as you can imagine, that means I'm not exactly the strongest swimmer.

[ An understatement. Excluding their dip in the Chionthar after taking on the Netherbrain, during which he splashed to land as quickly as he could, he hasn't gone for a swim in over two centuries. ]