"Now, listen here boy. This war is in full swing, and the Germans are doing all they can to push us back. And doing quite well at it." Walter snorted slightly, rolling his sucker from one side of his mouth to the other. It was no coffin nail, but it did well enough for right now. Albert Legrow, the head butler to the Hellsings, and by extension, his boss, made it very, very clear he did not approve of a fourteen year old boy smoking. All as well though. Walter was simply waiting for the day when the old wanker finally keeled from all that hair of dog he was so fond of.
"You'll be working with Alucard."
"Will I now?"
"You're damn lucky boy. So quit acting like a complete brat and get yourself ready. I don't believe it so, but Hellsing thinks you could actually do SOMETHING to help with the war. And I am not one to go against my master's orders. Besides, if you die, I won't have to put up with you any longer."
"Wonderfully kind. Thank you so much you bloody cunt." Walter was used to these sorts of things being hurled at him. Though he had been chosen by the great Arthur Hellsing himself to succeed the slowly dying butler that now stood in front of him, most of the twelve thought he was simply and only an arrogant, egotistical, spoiled, uncontrollable child, with no skills to praise besides the fact that he could lay entire squads of men to waste in less than fifteen seconds. Not that he particularly disagreed; if you were good at something, why waste your time pursuing other endeavors? And he knew he was good. Why waste his time learning politics and philosophy when the only two skills he had, and needed, were the astonishing ability to relieve a solider of any body part you asked in record time and brewing a damn fine cup of tea.
He pulled his small pack closer to him as he sauntered out. The air was nippy tonight, even for London, and it was beginning to sink to his bones. Behind him, he dragged a huge coffin, black as ebony and lacquered to hell and back. He thought it was hideous. A loud roar howled through the cold night as the copter landed like a graceless duck in front of him. With a soft grunt, he pushed his thick black hair away from his face, and manhandled the coffin into the screeching bird. "Goodbye London..." he grumbled, reaching into his vest for a cigarette. "Fuck me. Of course." it seemed as though Albert had taken the moment he spent staring in disgust at Alucard's gaudy coffin to pickpocket him, nicking both his smokes and his silver Zippo. He threw himself childishly into the body of the copter after the coffin. He could always steal a pack from a soldier. Not like they would be needing it anytime soon. He tucked his legs inside the cabin and pulled the heavy door shut, throwing it momentarily into pitch blackness. Then the lights kicked on, and Walter pulled his black gloves from the recesses of his duffel. If nothing else, it would be a great way to get rid of some pent up energy.