. . . Rook . . .
"You failed, you know."
I wonder what's he's trying to say this time. One minute it's a game of chess, and the next it's this. It tires me when he dodges around the point, but I've known him long enough that he will get to it... when threatened a little perhaps.
"Would you like to be fed this week?" I reply, idly fingering my knight. I always play white. He told me that we should switch sometime; I should try the black on for size. I can't remember my reply, but I'm sure that there were bullets involved. Maybe.
He chuckles and moves his pawn, a safe move. It appears that wants the game to last a little longer. Then again, I do too. Either of us could have ended it a while ago, we've traded being in check for some time now.
"Of course, Master," he replies, sitting back, awaiting my move. I decide to move the rook, a fast and daring move in comparison to the lazy pace the game has taken most of this evening. The piece stands in danger of being taken by his queen, but it's a sacrifice I'm willing to take.
Like any self respecting noblewoman, my chess set is beautiful. The pieces are fully detailed and human versions of the stations in which they represent. The rook actually took the form of a fortification on the back of an elephant, the knight a man on horseback with a shield and sword, and the queen an impossibly cold feminine figure in a regal gown.
In short, they were English, in every sense of the empire.
"What did I fail in this time?" my mood was better now, my rook was merely bait, and I knew he couldn't resist it. Bait for bait, question for question.
He knocked the rook over with a smirk, replacing it with the dark and impassive queen. Maybe he'd forgotten, maybe he knew; there are two rooks. The other had his queen in its sights.
"You can't hide it," he replied, fingers intertwined and hands resting on the polished wood of the table, "Like your obvious attempt to bait my queen." So he called me on it. I needed to get it; he relies too heavily on her. The most powerful piece, the only woman. His reaching for metaphors is so transparent and amusing. And he knows it, like that smirk on his face.
"And your point?" I ask, sliding the rook over next to the queen. I want to draw out the moment, even though I may lose the game. If it were up to him, the game would be lost when the queen was; he never cared for the weak and feeble king. One of the few sentiments we agree on.
He snatches the queen away himself, just as I reach for it, and actually... sticks his tongue out? The nerve.
"My point is, Master," he twirls the queen in his long fingers, "In order to fully conquer what you detest, you would cut your hair." I blink, and slide the rook over into its new spot. My hair? What a trivial thing. I think that he knows he'll lose this game and is trying to catch me off guard with... hell, I can't even begin to imagine what he's trying to get at.
"My hair?" I say, sounding perhaps more like a command of answers, than a question. He puts the queen down in front of him and uses his hands as leverage to lean in. Like a conspirator, like a thief.
"Hmmm..." he says, studying something on my face, "Maybe not a failure after all." My eyebrows are certainly knitted, and the slightly giddy feel of overtaking his queen is replaced by the more common annoyance. I look back down at the board and realize that my rook is gone.
"You cheated," I say, and then try to bite my tongue as I realize that the bishop that stands in my rook's place was put there legally. I can see the path now. He smiles again, the lighter version of his usual maniacal grin. Distracting me is always a goal, I'm sure.
"Checkmate," he says and reaches a hand to the side of my face. I'm too angered to realize he's touching my hair. But I won't say anything. Undoubtedly he knows he's riled me.
I jerk my head back, and his fingers are still intertwined in a few strands, thwarting my escape past more than a few inches. He chuckles.
"Alucard..." I warn, though it's an empty threat. I merely want to be prepared for whatever odd notion he's plotting in his head. It's not like I've never dealt with him before; there's a point he's trying to make, somewhere beneath the teasing grin and proximity.
"It makes perfect sense," he says, twirling the lock of hair slowly now, "It's so like you, Integra, to simply cover your femininity." He releases my hair and takes my hand, which I realize now that I had raised to strike him if need be. It only lasts for a moment, and I feel a weight in my hand.
It's my rook, small white elephant with a fortress on its back.
"Just remember," he says, leaning his face closer, posturing, "I'll always see that skirted little girl when I look at you, no matter what the others may." I snort in his face. More perverted little girl fantasies, Alucard?
"And every time I look at you," I retort, feeling better now that I know where the conversation is heading, "I'll remember that even you are not indestructible." He backs away, smiling and going back to the edge of sanity.
"Another game?" he says, carefully placing his line of pieces on the board, "It's a good evening for chess." I decide a smoke is in order, and fish around for my lighter. When I've sufficiently lit it, the board is set; with the exception of my rook. I place it on the board, to join the rest.
Yes, a good evening indeed.
AN: My first Hellsing fanfiction. Terrible, prolly, but I couldn't get this out of my head. And in order to progress with my other stories, I had to purge this idea. Enjoy, hate, whatever.