"Now, repeat what you know about the Vampire Alucard."
A vague sense of weariness for his uncle's demands began to cloud Arthur's head, sucking any inspirational spark that might have led him to respond with any sort of alacrity or ability to impress. It was not the demands themselves that bothered Arthur. No, the demands were irritating, but easily humored. Old men liked to make demands, to compensate for their dwindling competence. It was the excessive caution his uncle exhibited, and the unending torrent of repetitive lectures that this caution seemed to sustain. But like any man in his mid-twenties who possessed the common misbelief that he was a reasonable and capable adult, Arthur complied with the instruction, with a derisive and self-satisfying thought or two about his, somewhat, sufferable relative, "I know of the creature's origins. Its weaknesses. Enough about the seal to-"
"You know nothing of the seal." As though crushing a scrambling roach, Abraham's palm slammed down against the back of Arthur's cushioned reading chair. A moment passed before Abraham resumed pacing the room. If Abraham had just slapped him with a wet rag, the contradiction could not have been more abrupt or more dampening on Arthur's incentive to humor his uncle. They eyed one another, Arthur to determine whether his uncle was indeed angry about his presumptive claim, and Abraham to see whether Arthur would respond with a proper, comprehending neutrality to his curt correction. Whatever their individual conclusions were, Abraham waved his nephew on. "You know nothing of the seal, but the rest was fine."
Clearly more irritated than before, Arthur sighed, "The demon is corruptive, but respects those who resist it. It is impatient with those who are slow to speak, those who fail to exhibit a natural inclination towards integrity, and those who doubt their actions and carry their regrets openly. The-"
Abraham interrupted again, with an assertion Arthur had only heard a mere thirty times before. Arthur watched his uncle's gestures and counted, for a while, how many times he clenched his fist in emphasis, "The Vampire Alucard has a sharp and (clench) cunning mind – a (clench) Man's intellect resides in its skull, conjoined with its demonic instincts that (clench) drive it towards wretchedness. That (clench) Man's intellect, however, was already tainted by madness while the creature still 'lived'. It will read your regrets and (clench) use them to destabilize the reasoning that had previously legitimized your choices, and (clench) thusly cause you to question and doubt your own powers of reasoning…"
Arthur naturally tuned out the concluding remarks of the interruption. In general, his uncle was almost irritatingly quiet; barely more than a growl could be coaxed out of him on any topic that did not involve his work. And when it came to the vampire, Sir Hellsing seemed inclined to divulge his every observation, every theory, and every single running suspicion he had concerning his slave. It was as though Abraham wanted to recruit every able bodied mind to keep guard and undermine the monster, should it ever actually make an attempt at some treachery. Yes, Arthur could comprehend how a five hundred year old monster could be a handful, a constant source of anxiety well equipped to give birth to obsession, given that the demon's bottled wrath was widely expected to unleash itself like a burst dam upon the Hellsing family, should some lapse in the demon's perpetual confinement allow it to seek the vengeance it thirsted after.
Yes. They would all be slaughtered. No, Arthur snorted as his uncle's voice surfaced in his thoughts, No, the Vampire Alucard would not simply kill us. No Arthur, you underestimate the wretchedness of the decrepit mind and the depths of its lusts and hatred. It would torture us, tear us apart mentally by exploiting every weakness the wretch has ever witnessed – and that is why your conduct should be understood as a performance – you are a construct, not a human being. A construct- Arthur, maintain eye contact, it's good practice for when you have to speak with the vampire. A construct, has no weaknesses. It has no qualms or doubts. Every bodily expression and every word from your mouth must be (clench) predetermined.
Arthur knew he must have been smiling, or making some equally disagreeable expression, because he found Abraham staring at him, his ancient, lined mouth flatter than a vampiric pulse. Arthur composed himself and assumed the 'construct' and 'performed' attentiveness quite charmingly. He well-understood the meticulous art of feigning charm and deference, having practiced it effectually through twenty or so years of formal education. Any account on his character made by any one of his past professors would have depicted an angelic, Edwardian gentleman with no discernible faults. Arthur, meanwhile, was gentle, perhaps, with women who wanted him to be gentle, but he was keen on sustaining a life of bachelorhood, private indulgences, and controlled vice. But he was sturdy, not unintelligent – even by Abraham's standards – and he was the only suitable human being who contained Hellsing blood. The blood was invaluable, and had disqualified every (otherwise) more qualified candidate. That was why Arthur Hellsing had been selected to inherit his uncle's organization, and had been written into his will barely three years before.
Abraham sighed, and left Arthur where he was sitting comfortably in the armchair, and stood behind his desk. He patted the back of his own chair, and spoke coolly. "Imagine that I am the Vampire Alucard," Abraham's lips curled at Arthur's quirky look of disbelief and joyless surprise. "So. ...Here I am, the Vampire Alucard." His hands raised as though in exultation of some pagan deity, and then fell carelessly to slap against his sides. "What is your expression right now?"
Tongue tied, as though he'd been asked to recall some neglected Greek or Latin exercise, Arthur's mouth moved and then shut to then open again, and then purse with an indignant and outright refusal to comply, rather than admit he had been caught off guard. Abraham's smile lit Arthur's frustration and heated it to a point of barely contained fury.
At Abraham's laugh, Arthur snapped back with a defensive growl, somehow impersonating the hissing tone of a sulking cat, "You can't expect me to-"
"I can expect anything from you," Abraham's voice seemed louder than before, as though he were speaking over a bellyful of withheld laughter, "Do you know why?"
Arthur continued to bristle.
Abraham snorted and professed with glee, "I am the Vampire Alucard! And I see you, and your poutiness, and how I've offended you without expending any effort of my own. I intimidate you-"
"No," Arthur disagreed in turns, refuting Abraham with souring grimaces and glowers.
"I do intimidate you-"
"No, I have done nothing to even suggest-"
"You have done nothing, yes! Correct Arthur! Because I have paralyzed you! You are terrified-"
"I am not that, Sir-"
"Terrified!" Abraham clapped, laughing without minding the rage that began to color Arthur's face. "You are, in fact, terrified. And do you know how I know that?"
"No," Arthur hissed, "No. How about you enlighten me?"
Ignoring the blatant disrespect, Abraham clasped his hands, grinning at Arthur. And, with a sinking feeling, Arthur felt as though he knew what was going to come.
"I am the Vampire Alucard! That's how I know!"
Arthur shook his head, seething as he grumbled and complained to himself, feeling cheated as he had no chance to defend himself. His uncle was mad, or too arrogant to forgo belittling his heir so as to remain confident of his superiority. Those were his thoughts, and his means of nursing his wounded sense of wisdom and maturity.