"Reflections."
Disclaimer: The usual. Hellsing and its rather homicidal cast members aren't mine.
"Time is like a handful of sand— the tighter you grasp it, the faster it runs through your fingers."
Blue eyes stared resolutely at their reflection from behind round glasses. Integra— Sir Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing, was thinking of the latest endless meeting with the other Knights of the Round Table, from which she had just returned.
She gazed at the image in the full-length mirror, lost in thought. A stern-looking twenty-something woman with pin-straight, long blonde hair, who was dressed in a masculine black suit— tailored to her slender form, stared back at her. Sir Hellsing. She allowed herself a small, sardonic smile. I can not even afford to be a "Dame Hellsing." That would be showing weakness to the wolves. And still, they persist in reminding me that I need a husband and an heir. For their "peace of mind."
She was only twenty-three. The average life expectancy of a Hellsing had proven to be below the national norm, and this was not unexpected given their duty. She eyed a single silver strand hidden in her flaxen hair. It would be the stress that killed her, not the vampires.
Regardless, twenty-three was still young. Not too young to be married, but in this century it was an acceptable age to be single. She narrowed her eyes, fighting back an irritated growl. They want to replace me with someone more malleable, preferably one of their sons. How predictable. As if any of those spineless, frivolous boys has the strength of will to protect Queen and country against the endless night, she thought with a derisive snort. It was insulting that they still harbored thoughts of replacing her. It had been a decade since her father had died. A decade, since she had been forced to kill her power-hungry bastard of an uncle and awaken the monster sleeping in the bowels of Hellsing manor. A decade of loyal service to the crown. A decade of holding the abominations in the world at bay, of holding Alucard's leash. And still they wanted to replace her.
All because she was a woman, the "fairer, gentler sex." She had the strength to lead her men, to gaze into the abyss and slay the creatures that came crawling out. Always resolute in her decisions. Always victorious. Never faltering, despite the fact that she had been thrust into the role of Director of Hellsing and Master of the Monster at the age thirteen. She had been born for the role, raised with the knowledge of honor and duty. Taught strategy and war instead of the art of being a noble lady. Taught alchemy and the occult, instead of being shipped off to an expensive preparatory school to socialize with her empty-minded peers.
Those stodgy old men on the council, who had once been her father's friends and allies, wanted to replace her. To take away the duty that had been assigned to her by God and Crown. To her, and all other members of the Hellsing family, all the way back to her several times great-grandsire, Abraham van Helsing. Oh, of course they hadn't worded it that way. But the undercurrent was there, when they asked her to start considering marriage.
Integra Hellsing did not want to marry. She did not want to raise children. She definitely did not want to pass on the title of "Sir Hellsing" to some dull-eyed, soft-minded fool. No, she wanted to be Sir Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing. To lead her soldiers. To do the duty she was born for. To continue on doing what she had been for a decade.
I need a cigar. Integra noted, as she repressed the urge to shoot something— or someone, and stalked out of her quarters, intending to return to work. That pointless meeting had set her behind on paperwork.
The hardwood door closed behind her with a quiet thump.
Another day, another drabble. What can I say? Sometimes my muses are pushy. Particularly when I'm procrastinating. Now if only I could find the motivation to write the next chapter of Scribe..
Anyway, tell me what you think, and maybe I'll be inspired to write something else. (Reviews are very motivating, you know.)