Kana: Massive amounts of fanfiction are created using daydreams. My daydreams are weird then. I've no idea if this has been done before, but oh well. I'LL PULL SHIT OUT OF MY ASS AND YOU'LL LIKE IT :D cause you're all weird for liking my writing style. Seriously, I blow. Why are you here again? Right, I should shut up now.
Disclaimer: I don't own Hellsing. I do own this particular plot, and this glass of cranberry juice.
Summary: With Alucard back, the Hellsing Organization travels to America on suspicions of a vampire outbreak. Working with the witches of the Salem Institute, they realize just how widespread vampirism has become.
Warnings: Language, violence, gore, everything else you get in a Hellsing manga/OVA. Ideologically sensitive material, which you also get in the manga and OVA (in the form of NAZIS. Only there are no Nazis here ;A;). Please don't bitch about the witches. There ARE OCs in this fic, some important, some not, but it is a Hellsing-canon-character-centric story. For those without knowledge of the last few chapters of Hellsing, THIS IS A SPOILER. Now STOP PMING ME, DOUCHES. IT'S FREAKING BOLDED. Kthxbai.
Notes on the Holy Scripture: yes, it is set post-manga. That means the following; its sometime in the 2030's. I'm not good with futuristic stories, plus I seriously doubt we'll be living in an Asimov story in twenty years, so meh. Anyway, I really dislike the ending of the manga, but it is a perfect timeslot for this story. I'm sorry to all who feel it was like fanservice (such as myself and a friend), but it's a necessity, like killing someone on a deserted island for food. Only this isn't chewy.
WALL 'o TEXT. BIG NOTES EQUALS COMPLICATED STORY. BIG TEXT IS BIG.
Let's begin, BEETCHES.
EDIT: Apparently FF. Net doesn't like my page breaks. FFFF
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Winter Will Come
Prologue: Becoming a Sponge
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Alucard hated it when humans pointed guns at him. It was like the ant trying to knife the person who was about to step on it.
Staring down the barrel of an ordinary state issued handgun, which would be as affective against him as trying to take on a tank with a ball peen hammer, Alucard growled at the airport security officer. Clutching her carryon a little tighter, Seras watched with interest and a little fear – but not for her master. It was as if Alucard wanted them to find his gun, as he usually hid it to the point where searching for it would drive a human mad.
Though it was her master's fault. In Britain they had been able to get on the plane with weapons unscathed, because their Organization was well known (though no one really knew what they did). But in America, Hellsing was not a commonplace name. In fact, no one recognized their patches or shields in security, so they were searched, starting with Alucard. And upon finding the Casull (two point oh) hidden underneath his coat, the two officers aimed their weapons at him and told him to put his hands on his head.
Like Alucard would do anything of the sort. He just gave the officers a deadpan stare over the top of his glasses. "No, I won't," he said, crossing his arms instead of putting them on his head. "I have the King of England's permission to carry a firearm wherever I go." Alucard had been disappointed to hear of the Queen's death, mere months after the siege of London, but the new King had been happy to give him his permission. It was a formality, but somehow important to the old vampire.
"That means nothing," the female said, still pushing her gun into his face. "Hands on your head and get on the ground."
Growing bored of their antics and impatient at the worst times, Alucard's hand twitched, a sure sign he was going to reach for the Casull. Seras closed her eyes, straining her ears for the sound of gunshots and death. That's the problem these days; Millennium is forgotten and no one really cares, she thought. If they knew about vampires, we would be more important than the Minister.
"Stop this insanity right now," said a stern, feminine voice.
Seras cracked open an eye, afraid that she would see some professional holding a gun with silver bullets to her master's head. That was her worst fear, for they didn't know if Alucard was easily killed without his souls. And no one wanted to accept Iscariot's offer to find out.
Instead of the reincarnation of Alexander Anderson diving at Alucard, Seras saw a short woman standing before airport security, in front of her master so that the barrel of the gun was brushing her forehead. She barely came up to Alucard's chest, but she had the same kind of glare – the kind that could make the weakest of cowards drop dead of a coronary, or make federal marshals wet themselves. Dressed in a navy blue jumper a size too big for her and faded jeans, with her wavy, mousy brown hair pulled back from her face with a little clip, she looked ready to take on the world.
And just below her left shoulder was a black armband, and indecipherable symbol embroidered into it in silver thread. The security officers looked at it suspiciously, their guns still cocked, one at her and the other at Alucard, who found this so amusing that he was grinning like a lunatic.
"And who are you?" the male said, a moustache of sweat forming on his upper lip.
"I am the person who has a letter from the president," the woman said, a smirk on her face. It was cruel, contrasting with the triumphant light in her strange ice blue eyes. Looking at those eyes made Seras shiver, as they were not wholly human.
The officers received and opened a crisp, pure white envelope given to them by the woman. As they read it together – one over the other's shoulder – they slowly paled, and Seras wondered if they might cry.
The male's lips moved, and Seras heard his voice say 'you pointed a gun at a national ambassador'. The image of Alucard as any kind of diplomatic representative was a tad ridiculous, if impossible.
Murmuring apologies and even offering to carry their bags, the security officers let them pass. The offers were useless. Seras only had one bag and Alucard found most material possessions useless. He only traveled with his guns and his coffin, which was being shipped with hers to their destination. Instead the two vampires followed the woman out of security, where fewer people stared at them.
"May I ask who you are?" Alucard purred to the woman who had almost taken a bullet to the head for him. He didn't care about that, but he had the curiosity of a five year old.
The woman turned to them, her head craned far back to look at Alucard. She was nearly a foot shorter than him, but her entire demeanor was wraslin' with him. "My name is Morgan Bristritz," she said, "and I am the Secretary of State for the Salem Institute."
In the silence that came after that, Seras could hear an elderly man humming. 'Ta-ra-ra-BOOM-de-ay' he muttered.
"My master must be growing senile," Alucard said, his face suddenly set in a scowl. "She never mentioned anything about working with a vrăjitoare." The last word was spat, a jumbled combination of vowels that was more accent than speech.
Before leaving London, Sir Integra had informed them about their mission – the largest they had had in years. They were to travel to America and help out the Salem Institute, a sort of subdivision of the Hellsing Organization. Many of them had popped up in the decades of Alucard's absence, with their leaders being qualified soldiers of Hellsing or sons and daughters of the Convention of Twelve. With the appointment of England's new King, almost every large country had one, with the most publicly known being Hellsing in London and the Carpathian Institute in Romania.
But the Salem Institute, North America's only anti-median organization, located in Boston, Massachusetts, was a completely different story. It was formed by witches, another type of magical humanoid, like vampires and werewolves, only vastly different. Instead of just running on magic, like vampires (for there was a touch of magic in them, keeping them 'alive'), or being infected by magic, like werewolves, witches lived on magic. Using in gave them a satisfied feeling, the kind that eating or sleeping gave normal people, only much more intense, like a vampire feeding. That was how you could tell you were destined to be a witch; casting a spell made you feel as if the world revolved around you. When ordinary humans tried to utilize magic, they either went clinically insane or dropped dead right on the spot.
A telltale sign of a witch was their blue eyes, just like Morgan's. The colder the better, and hers looked like they were made of arctic water.
"I take it you were taught to hate my kind as a little barbarian child," Morgan said frostily. "Evil witches who turned bad princes into rats. I can assure you, I have never turned someone into a rat. But I could start with you."
Alucard's scowl deepened at being called a barbarian, an old wound with him. "Prove it then. Where is your familiar?"
Morgan looked at him. "I will show you, but not here. There is a town car waiting for us outside to bring us to Allston." She looked away and continued to walk, shoving past passersby without caring who they were. Once she nearly stepped on a child, narrowly missing it. Her eyes were trained on the next exit.
While Seras wondered what Allston was, Alucard marched forward, stepping over the same child Morgan nearly stepped on. He grumbled under his breath, more human than usual (when in a 'human' mood, Alucard had a tendency to have a shorter fuse). Putting a little effort into her step, she caught up with Morgan.
"Forgive him," she said, "but believe it or not, you'll prefer him this way."
Morgan's eyes softened slightly. "Who are you? I was expecting only that great red sponge."
Happy that Morgan was friendlier than she appeared, Seras's mood lightened. "I'm his fledgling. Seras Victoria."
"Oh, I've heard of you," Morgan murmured, as if to herself. She was silent after that.
Seras fell back to her master, disappointed that her conversation with Morgan had reached such a short end. "Are all witches like her?"
"Unsmiling, blunt, annoying, and erratic?" Alucard asked, still frowning, but in a thoughtful way. "Every single one of them."
"I heard that, you giant leech!" Morgan spat over her shoulder, making more people stare.
Alucard's frown turned back into a full-blown scowl.
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Kana: NUUU. RIP my first Xbox 360. I paid an extra hundred dollars for the elite and it STILL got the Red Ring of Death. STILL. Ah well; Microsoft is repairing it for me. BUT WHAT WILL I DO UNTIL IT GETS BACK? I can't play Darksiders or ANY of the Assassin's Creed games, or Bayonetta or or or THIS LACK OF ALTAIR/WAR/ENZIO WILL KILL ME. I can feel it SUCKING AT ME. I have NO homework and I CAN'T KICK THE VIRTUAL SHIT OUT OF ANYTHING.
Okay, I feel better. Now I have an excuse not to go out and blow all my gas money on that Final Fantasy XIII game that I feel the compulsion to buy just because I have never played on before.
Let's all admit that there's some kind of magic that allowed vampires to defy the laws of everything. Don't give me bull about blood circulation and voodoo ceremonies preformed by Brad Pitt and Tom Cruise in the middle of the night; we all know Alucard leaks faerie dust like Tinker Bell.
Next Chapter: Alucard plus dorm life equals hilarity. Check it out. This chapter was mostly author's notes and me bitching, but NEXT chapter there will be asskicking. I think. It might be the chapter after that that contains the asskicking.
Review cause you're enjoying the image of Alucard as Tinker Bell.