This is my first Anderson fic, so sorry that it's not very long...or good.
Hellsing isn't mine.
July 22, The Feast Day of Mary Magdalene.
It had been a fairly uneventful night in Ireland. Alexander Anderson shuffled home from the pub that he had spent most of the night in. The night though, was cold as he headed home to an even colder apartment. At seventeen he was still taller than most people and had yet to discover his place among the men of the cloth. He passed an alleyway by.
A scream and something rough.
Something rough.
Alexander Anderson stood in the dim light that fell into the alleyway. There were men there.
Clothing shredded.
Alexander took a step forward. The men turned. Below them was a girl, something if eighteen. She cried. Her shirt was torn, he could see her, all of her. She stared at him, with frightened eyes. The men turned.
"Fuck off, arsehole."
English punks, he thought. Her though, she was Irish. One of the few with red hair and freckles. He took a step forward.
"I said fuck off, wank!" the boy screamed and his friend kicked the girl in the ribs. "We're dealing with this hooker, so go find someone else to do!" the boy shook his head and left Alexander where he was to go back to the girl. She screamed again.
He took only a few more strides before he was over them. He took the first boy by the hair and swung him around, throwing him into a brick wall.
" 'Oo are ye tah cast stones?" he demanded of the boy, who only whimpered in response.
A gurgle of blood.
"Get outta here, thon!" he shouted and they ran, fast and far. He stood for a moment, watching the boys run. Then, he turned and looked at her. "Wot's yer name, thon?" he asked as he held a hand out to this girl. It was painfully obvious that she was a hooker. Church had taught him that hookers were sinners, but Mary Magdalene had been a prostitute.
Her hands outstretched to accept him as he rose.
She looked up at him and sniffed. She had makeup running down her face and her lips was bleeding. She took his hand carefully and he hoisted her up on to her feet. She winced and took hold of a handful of his jacket.
"Bloody fucks," she grumbled and looked at him. "I think it's broken."
"Aye," he said and removed his jacket, setting it on her shoulders carefully. He took her arm and bent down to wrap it around his neck. He lifted her up then, an arm under her knees. "Where do ye live, Mary?" he asked as he began leaving the alleyway.
"How did you know my name?"
"Ae hoonch I s'pose," he smiled down at her. "It's July, an' all. It would figger."