Chapter Two: An Old Friend
"There is a what?!" bellowed Sir Integra. "There is a war?! Another one?!" Sir Walsh backpedaled as Sir Integra took a terrific stride toward her servant, her thin frame nearly shaking with rage. "How dare you claim that there is another war! We have only begun finishing on cleaning up the last war. And now you say that there is another to be waged? Bullshit! What information do you have to support your claims? What facts do you base this on? There must be some because the pure audacity you posses to even consider claiming war within my presence—"
Alucard raised his hand as if to silence the hardened director of the infamous Hellsing Organization. Sir Integra snarled, stalking up to her servant whose shadows still lapped around his ankles.
"Oh, no. No, do not push me off this time, slave! I shall not be ignored! I demand to know all there is about this acclaimed war."
Alucard cocked his head, simply smiling at the woman before him. "Is that an order, my Master?"
"I- wha- of course it is, you imbecile!"
"Hm," Alucard's grin became mad as he bowed his head, crossing his arm across his chest. "As the word of my master bids, I shall deliver." The great vampire straightened, his shadows calmly settling where a normal man's shadow would lie. "It is not so much a war as it is a retaliation against my power—a revolution, if you will." Behind him, the twins stiffened, their attention fully piqued. "You see, my Master, I was not the first to rule the un-life. Before me stretched an ancient lineage—a dynasty—of night creatures that ruled over my domain and did as I did; sought audiences, devised court systems, emplaced laws and customs, provided order and structure, and the like. The only conceivable difference between they and I was their greed. You think me to be a creature who readily dabbles in the unholy vices, but I am a saint compared to those creatures.
"There was once a time when the creatures of the night ruled over the world. It was long, long ago. Before either of our times. When night and day were irrelevant, as was time. When man was taking his first, shaky steps toward his stained glory he has now proclaimed for himself. It was a time of myth and fables, a time where legends were forged and heroes were born. It was then that a race so ancient that their name has long since been forgotten governed over the night.
"They, with their natural superiority over all other creatures—even the ancestors of vampires-, were granted complete sovereignty over the realm. In their tyranny, they grew bored. Bored of the monotony of life that came with a peaceful domain. So they sought war. Not any small, respectable war, but rather a large, all-consuming war. Much like our old antagonists, Millennium, who sought nothing but the world and their demise."
Sir Integra stiffened at the mention of Hellsing's old adversary. A force that never truly died away. Because… how can one truly destroy an idea?
"What does that have to do with today?" piped in Sir Rob Walsh who had found himself seated within the armchair once again. "A war of the past does not define today."
"Oh," Alucard's smile carved its way from ear to ear so that each fang glistened in the fire's light. "You should know more than anyone that war is what paves history. It is the edge that defines one's reign. History is written by the victors, and the victors come through the gore of war. War is the most vital part of life. It is the balancing of the scales of life; take some, lose some. It is the waging of corrupt minds in the hope of some idealistic utopia—because each side believes their cause to be just and right. It is only the winners who can say that their cause was the true one. No-one wishes to listen to the beaten drunk at the end of a bar. No, people wish to listen to those decorated head to toe in metals."
"Yes, b-bu-but," Walsh stuttered, falling submissive beneath the elder vampire's gaze.
"But how does this war define today, exactly?" Sir Integra finished for him, folding her arms across her chest. Her fingers tapped against her forearm, her tell-tale sign that she was due for a new cigar.
"Ah," Alucard returned his crimson gaze to his master. "How? Why, just look around you."
Sir Integra merely held out her hand, which a lit cigar was placed into by one of the twins, and inhaled. Upon exhaling a plume of smoke, she raised her brow, clearly asking for an explanation.
"Hm. Why do you believe the world fears the darkness so much? And yet so tantalizing? What is it about the night that appeals to the shadows within our minds? Do you know?"
"People fear what they do not understand," said a voice from behind the great vampire. He turned, his brows raised. "And yet people crave the unknown."
"Ah, police girl. Is that the wisdom that old age has given you?" Sarcasm dripped from every word as the woman's shadows ran up and down her form, cleansing her uniform and skin of any trace of blood. "But nonetheless, she is correct."
Alucard's hands came together at the small of his back as he gave a look to each human within the room. "Yes, the rulers of yesteryear fought a war against the very elements of the world; death against life, and darkness against light. It was a war of Yin and Yang, of two opposites interlocked within battle. Because, along with the rulers of the no-life, were those that were somewhat corporeal manifestations of the light. Angels, as people call them today.
"And so, their supremacy of the world was not enough. Instead, these villainous creatures took to waging a war between Hell and Heaven. Not much is known of this war aside from that, in the aftermath, man was left with the world upon its shoulders. The benevolent spirits seemed to recede from the world while those that ruled the no-life were banished from existence. It was then that the creatures of the no-life took to the night. It is said that it was a final curse of the war. That, because of the audacity of the creatures of the no-life in seeking a war against its Yang, they were forced to march beneath the cold glow of the moon.
"In the end, it was as if neither side existed. Erased forevermore from traceable history were those that once ruled the no-life, and gone ever since are those divine sprits that descended to earth to wage war. The only records and stories exist through spoken word. From those that came from lineages that fought in the wars and from those ancient enough to have lived through them themselves."
The room was quiet for a moment. Only the faint echo of the vampire's words and the dull crackle of the fire disturbed the tense silence.
"And no-one has heard of them since then until…" Sir Integra started, the face of a new era of grievances and battle already seeming to weigh upon her shoulders.
"… Until now." Alucard's voice flitted through the air as he dispersed into a swirl of shadows and whispers of horror.
. . .
From the howling wind and whips of rain and snow alike came a woman seeking reprieve in the form of a desolate and forlorn alleyway. From beneath the woman's fur-rimmed hood, she saw within the alleyway several snowdrifts that were being eaten away at by puddles of water. Alongside the graffitied walls were dumpsters that had heaps of trash spilling out the tops of them. A wisp of wind found its way into the alley, blowing aside the snow that had been clinging to the dumpster's side. From where the snow once was now read: "PROPERTY OF CARDIFF" in large, bold letters.
Skirting around a puddle, the woman came to rest before one wall of the alley where the bricks seemed to sag in. The woman removed a glove, revealing an inhumanly pale hand. She brought it to her lips and hesitated a moment. The woman parted her lips and plunged her fangs into her wrist just as another gust of wind threw her hood back, revealing golden locks that flew in the wind and scarlet eyes that burned through the night.
Blood began dripping from the bite on the woman's wrist. She stepped back, holding it before her as she chanted in some long forgotten, guttural language that would have raised the hair on the back of anyone's neck. The blood stained the slush beneath her for several moments before a low shifting was heard. She stepped back several feat as the ground gave way to an unlit stairwell that dug far, far beneath the earth's crust. From within, the faint sound of a trumpet and swing music drifted forward, as did the smell of drink and death.
Descending into the darkness of the stairwell, the woman found the reprieve she had sought from the snow and bitter cold – though, nowadays, the cold never did bother her much. Once she was in deep enough, the slab of concrete slid back in place over her head. She kept descending; foot after foot, step after step into the dank underground. The woman paid no mind to the whispers that seemed to seep into the darkness from the walls, nor did she send a glance at the torches that, when she took her first step in a long, dank corridor, sprung to life with a dark, lurid glow. She passed through the corridor soundlessly. Only the glow of her eyes in the faint light showed there to be anyone at all.
After what could have been kilometers or even a few steps, the woman came upon a crossroad that had four mouths of other corridors connected to a common room of sorts. Here, several outdated pieces of furniture laid misshapen and sad, the years reflecting heavily upon them. A few warped and dirtied posters for events that had passed a great many years ago were hung precariously along the walls.
The woman stopped a moment beside a frayed and rotting armchair, her nose twitching as she pushed past her human sense and dipped into her vampire side. Her eyes flashed as she turned in the direction of the bitter scent of drink. She took the middle passage of the four untaken and soon came upon another staircase, this one ascending. The woman traveled down several more corridors, rounded a few corners, and chose a dozen other passages before entering a corridor that echoed the soft beat of a jazz song off its stone walls.
The woman paused by a grand oak door, her hand hesitating above the metal knocker. Within, conversations were being had and drinks were thrown back. Within, a band with a steady beat and a daring saxophone riff were entrancing the patrons with the darkened beauty of the night. Within, species intermixed and mingled as one, sharing cultures and creating memories. Within, a face resided which the woman had not seen for a great many years.
At a table by herself, Seras sat with a mug before her and her jacket beside her. Her fingers tapped along to the swing of the band while her head swiveled side to side in search of an old face. With each passing moment, Seras couldn't help but feel paranoia creep up on her. Where were they? What was taking so long? Had they found their way alright? Had something happened? Was she being blown off? What if –
No, she thought, ceasing her tapping and pushing back in her seat with a resigned sigh. Think positive. Nothing's wrong. You're just nervous, you silly little fool. But why? It's only him.
"Only him? Oh, how cruel. I'm offended. Terribly, I'm afraid."
A smile stole its way across Seras' features at the melodic sound of an accent ingrained forevermore within her memories.
"Oh, yes. Only him, I'm afraid. A pity, really. You should see this tosser – a real pushover, he is," Seras said, glancing up at the man.
The man was leaned against a wall, snowflakes still somehow dusting his suit jacket's shoulders. His hair, curly and voluminous, sprung out however it pleased – as rebellious as he was. Everything about the man screamed rebellious – not to mention flirtatious; from the crinkles around the dark eyes and the one arched brow to the tight slacks and 70's propaganda t-shirt covered with a suit jacket, he was, all in all, a rebellious little fuck. Wise, but unruly. Strong, but foolish. Every idea of his contrasted with his very next. Volatile some might have said, ingenious said Seras.
With her insult, the man tilted forward, mock hurt written across his features. "Oh, how rude! The audacity! The vulgar! My, my!"
"Vulgar? I haven't sworn yet. You're getting sloppy."
"No, you haven't yet. We'll get you there, though." With a wink for good luck, the man kicked out the seat opposite of her and plopped down. He leaned back, stretching his arms overhead and his legs beneath the table. Seras groaned and knocked his foot away when the man seemed to not give the slightest damn about personal space.
The man paused in his stretching, causing a passing fae creature with deep-set purple eyes and scales upon their forearms to duck in order to dodge his arms. He tilted his head, his eyes – as black as the night itself – assessing her. He slowly collected his appendages, a look of seriousness settling upon his features. He leaned forward over the table, elbows digging into the stained wood.
"Seras… Seras Victoria. Look at you. You've grown, I can tell. Look at you," he said, waving his hand toward her. She shook her head, resting her own arms atop the table.
"Oh, no. Let's not start this. I'm good without a reca –"
"Hush, it isn't up to you. But, look at you. Really look at you. You've had some changes over past the two – or has it been three? – years. They are weighing upon you." He grew quiet for a moment, his eyes roaming freely. A certain captain within Seras' mind twitched in annoyance.
Calm down, Pip.
Qui. Calm down when another man is looking at your woman, grumbled the Captain within her mind. Seras had the vague sensation of the Captain pacing back and forth, rubbing at the scruff upon his chin.
And just where have you been? You've been quiet for the last few days, Seras thought, her eyes never straying from the silent man before her.
I've been sleeping, mignonette.
For three days? Either way, you've missed a lot, Captain. A lot. But, I'm not going to explain now. I'm here to catch up with an old friend. Like him or not, he's my priority at the moment. Back at the mansion, I'm sure Sir has a few things for you to do. Security improvements, double layers of –
"Seras?" The man before her snapped his fingers, drawing her out of her thoughts. "You were thinking – well, you were speaking. To your familiar, weren't you? Your face always screws up in annoyance when you do."
In her mind, Seras heard Pip utter a few unforgivable curses before his consciousness vanished almost completely, instead taking to the nearly corporeal manifestation of her shadow that encased the Hellsing Manor. Seras rolled her shoulders, trying to dispel the prickling sensation that always spread from the small of her back to the nape of neck whenever her most faithful – and only – familiar left her presence. Even when sleeping, the Captain held within him a certain security that both reassured and strengthened Seras. He was still with her, yes. But, it was as if his consciousness drifted away to some foreign place that a sliver of her soul resided, but not her true, full self. It was difficult to explain, the sensation. It was like scratching an itch you never knew you had. Inexplicable.
"My familiar – Pip? Yes, I was. Come on, you know I don't like you messing around in my head."
"Then stop me," he said, arching a brow in challenge.
"I can stop everyone else, but not you—"
"Oh, my dear Seras! How ashamed I am of you to believe that I am a part of this 'everyone else'. You should know more than anyone else that I exceed all others in skirting around –"
"I think you mean being a nosy, sly little –"
"People's defenses. You may build a wall, but there shall always be a hole somewhere – a lose brick in the foundation," he concluded, waging a finger. "And you mustn't interrupt me, Seras."
"Oh? And why not? Why shouldn't I?" she challenged, leaning forward so that she could snatch the wagging fingers between her forefinger and thumb.
The man narrowed his eyes, lightly tugging against her hold. When she failed to concede and let him go, he began to tut and tore his finger away. And what did he do? He began to wag his fucking finger again.
"Seras, Seras, Seras. You may be the princess of our great – and, seemingly, late – king, but that doesn't mean you get privileges. Don't become the spoiled brat you are expected to be." The man stopped the wagging of his finger when Seras' expression soured. "Oh, I am merely being facetious, Seras."
When she didn't respond, the man cleared his throat and began speaking again; "But yes, let me have my look at you. Hm. Your hair is as light as ever – you put the stars to shame. Your eyes are as blood red as rubies. Your figure is as womanly as ever – eternal youth has gifted you that way. But that is all physical. Hm. Your hair is a mess. Strands all over the place. You're in a rush, aren't you? You haven't had your shadows tidy you up, you're distracted. You're eyes are wide and cautious—you aren't circumspect by nature, Seras. You're too much like me that way. Headstrong and brave. Your figure, your posture… is too posed. You seem tensed. Much like a gazelle is before the lion pounces and devours. You have always been a tiger, so why become the prey? What is it, my dear? What worries you so much?"
Through the psychoanalysis, Seras squared her jaw, fighting off the urge to beg him to quiet. His words were true, yes. But they were not words for the wrong ears to hear. She thought she tidied up nicely, but, apparently, she hadn't. He saw through her just as he always did.
"Worried? That's putting it lightly. I'm past that. I'm in shock at the moment, actually. I haven't decided what I feel. I – I… There's just so much that's happened in the last few weeks and now – now there's this new threat. This new unknown force. This – this – eugh! Another fucking antagonist!"
"And there it is, the first swear." His grin faltered as Seras ran her fingers through her tangled locks, trying to soothe her frayed wires she didn't know she had. "Another antagonist? A new threat, you mean? For Hell – ehm. Your organization?" Seras was right; the wrong ears were all around them. Hellsing was not something to bring up when at a tavern filled to the brim with all walks of the no-life.
"Yes, for my organization. And for – for… for my… for our… for the –"
"For the king, she means," hissed a cool voice that made both parties jump in their seats.
Silence fell upon the tavern as all eyes came upon a man who took a step forward from the lengthening shadows that covered the wall near Seras' table. Each click of the man's heels rung off of the high walls and rock-lined ceiling. The band's mic screeched loudly with feedback. No heads turned in the direction of the mic acting up or towards the frantic band member who rushed forward to deal with it, both embarrassed and terrified. Each no-life creature, drunk or not, had their full attention trained on the man whose duster and hat were as crimson as blood.
The man, with deep, scarlet eyes that bore into any all those that dared cast a glance directly at him, halted beside Seras with his hands clasped behind his back. Seras' eyes closed in frustration – so much for remaining inconspicuous.
As if from some unspoken cue, all the no-life creatures rose as one from barstools, the floor, perches along the walls, booths, and chairs. As one, they bowed deeply toward the crimson cloaked man, muttering words from a language born of the night. As one, they dipped further and further till the man waved his hand much like a conductor would to conclude a symphony.
"You may rise," said the deep, resounding voice of the man beside Seras. Each creature did. Not one dared to look away. "I came here to listen to music, not the silence of the grave. Move! At once! Let the no-life continue in its grandiose!"
Raising goblets and pitchers, cups and shot glasses, fists and instruments, the creatures howled and roared their delight. The jazz ensemble instantly began once again as if they had never stopped. Life seemed to have frozen for a split second around the man beside her, and life began once again with a simple word from his lips.
"Master," Seras addressed smoothly, her posture as stiff as any fine Englishwoman.
"Seras," Alucard nodded, his gaze drifting down to her.
"Oh, so in public I am addressed with my true name?" Her question hung in the air, rubbing against the tense friction between the two. How out of tune the two were with one another. "Sir Integra let you out?"
Alucard's fingers twitched with annoyance, the only sign of anything besides the bemusement that was a permanent fixture upon his features. "Why, of course. My fledgling departed, leaving me questioning her whereabouts. It was only natural that I come to find her. Lo and behold, I found her conspiring in a grand temple of virtue."
"Conspiring?" Her word bit. She turned toward him, defiantly jutting her chin up at him. Though she knew better than to act out against him in public with eyes watching and ears listening, she still wasn't going to roll over and be subservient.
With a flick of his hand toward her companion, Alucard continued on with mirth colouring his words; "That is what you're doing, isn't it? Spilling all of our secrets to some unknown? Seeking advice in… low places."
Seras' fingers gripped the table's edge so tight that her knuckles turned white. A soft crunch of wood and a few splinters from beneath her fingertips clued the elder vampire in on just how much annoyance and frustration he was causing his fledgling.
"You must control yourself, Seras, if you claim to be a paragon of maturity."
"Oh, and you should talk, you – !"
"Sir, would you like to sit?" The man opposite of Seras had rose and was offering his chair to Alucard. Alucard cocked a brow before snatching the chair away and lounging in it the same way he did with his throne; carelessly, and, in a way, narcissistically.
The man slid into the booth beside Seras. Though their thighs brushed along one another's, she didn't dare scoot away. Not with Alucard watching.
"And just who are you? Talking to my fledgling in such a casual, intimate manor?" Alucard inquired, removing his hat and placing his gloved hands on either side it.
"Intimate? Just what are you suggesting, Master? And don't speak to him in such a way –"
"Seras," the man held up a hand, silencing her. She bit her tongue though she wanted nothing more than to smack away the hand – she had developed a dislike for being silenced long, long ago. "It's alright. Yes, I suppose proper introductions are due."
The man bowed his head, his arm folded across his chest. "My name is Varfolomei Bersoni. A humble servant before you, oh lord of us no-life. I apologize on the behalf on not only myself, but of also the princess beside me who lashed you with her tongue. Such disrespect is intolerable, Sir. My apologies are contrite and full of candor."
Seras stared at him, mouth gaping open at his turn in character. Never before had she heard him speak in such a manor; in fact, he was always more or less opposed the idea of complete sovereignty and anything more extreme that an oligarchy at best. Never before had she heard him be such a… kiss ass. How brown was his nose under proper light, she wondered.
Alucard nodded, his grin widening into that of a mad cackle. "Of course, all is forgiven." His attention shifted back over to Seras. "My servant has never before been so… rebellious and spiteful. It is quite the turn of character."
"Master, you have been gone for thirty years. You have missed a great deal." Her words echoed those that she had hissed the night previous to him within the library.
"Oh, she keeps saying that. Hm. You seem to know her quite… well. Tell me, how did you two meet?"
"Well," Varfolomei snuck a glance at Seras. "We met in battle, actually. Well, more of Seras annihilating every and all assailants in her path. I, too, was in her path. She spared my life. Don't know why."
Oh, the bastard. Seras knew as well as Varfolomei that he was lying. She wasn't some one-woman army that tore through an entire brigade of armed creatures and, in a saint-like fashion, spared his life on a whim. No, she was interlocked in battle with several others, neither side finding the advantage over the other. It was a solo mission, so Seras was relying merely on herself and on Pip. A stray bullet, blessed just like hers, ripped through her shoulder, causing her to trip up and – well, the other side got the advantage. Seras had backup plans installed, had other alternatives she had been banking on in times of crisis, but she hadn't need any of them. Just as they closed in, raining down bullets and throwing knifes of blessed silver, a third party member quickly and smoothly dispatched each assailant. Through the gore and the smoldering wreckage, Seras first came face-to-face with the man with golden skin and ebony locks. In the end, it was he that saved her on a whim.
"Is that so?" Alucard looked unconvinced. "I wasn't aware that I was in the presence of the modern Maid of Orléans. Tell me, Joan D'Arc, what other acts of chivalry have you committed?"
"Quite a few, actually."
Alucard darted his eyes towards Varfolomei once again, a mixture of annoyance, distaste, and bemusement waltzing across his angular features. "Is that so? Then at least one thing has remained within my servant. If anything but an annoying human-like quality, it is refreshing to know that time has not bittered her completely."
"Bittered?" inquired Seras, narrowing her eyes. With a sudden lunge, both men tensed and drew in on themselves, prepared to strike or stop the woman. Her arms flew forward, grasping hold of – DUN, DUN, DUN – her mug. She curled her fingers around the mug, bringing the lukewarm contents up to her lips. Varfolomei sighed, relaxing against the back of the one-sided booth.
For a moment, Seras merely glared at Alucard while he simply stared at her in return, grin widening with each passing second. With a clearing of a throat, the silence was broken. Seras flickered her gaze toward a thin man with a vine tattoo spiraling up his right arm and branching out at his collarbone and neck. He had a bass in hand and a guitar in the other – both electric.
"Hey, Varfolomei," said the man uncertainly, stealing several timid glances over towards Alucard. He's most likely only ever heard stories of the king – probably all bad ones, too. "We're up in five. We need you now to do sound checks… You comin'?"
Varfolomei sent a glance towards Seras, his eyes asking the unspoken question. Was it going to be alright if he left? She nodded, prodding him along with her gloved fingers. He scooted out and straightened his suit jacket before bowing deeply. With a curt nod from Alucard, Varfolomei bided his farewell. Seras followed him with her eyes before he rounded a corner, bass in hand.
"He's quite the charmer, no?"
Seras jumped a bit, momentarily lost in thought. Of course, he was still here.
"Varfolomei? He's a friend. An old friend. We go back."
"Hm. Is that why you were so close to him? I can smell him all over you," he said, his lips curling in disgust.
"You could say that, I suppose," Seras snapped back, glowering over at him.
"I could? Close? Seras, you must be careful with who you… affiliate yourself with. Not all creatures of the night are loyal to me – and, to an extent, to you. There will be those who will wish to abuse both you and the power you hold, abducting you to use you as leverage and to use you as a tool of extortion."
"Extort me? No, no. He's not like that at all. He doesn't care the slightest for political power and all the melodramatics attached to it."
"Perhaps." Alucard looked unconvinced. He leaned forward, his hands wound together atop the table. He peered over into her mug, sniffing the air. "Blood? And… vodka? Hm. A woman with a real taste for liquor." In response, Seras tipped back the mug, drinking much of it. Alucard's impish grin returned in full before dying away into a mask of apathy. Whenever he did that in the past – long, long ago, Seras knew that she was going to be in for a tricky and rather touchy topic. Murdering of innocents? Mask of apathy. Explaining that vampires do not defecate nor do they urinate? Mask of apathy. The talk of war and the death it will entail? Mask of apathy.
"Seras," he began, clearly choosing his next words carefully. He chewed on a few words for a minute before beginning again; "Seras, you must be careful with who you affiliate yourself with for another reason. There are some creatures of the night – some species – that bond… The bond through being close with another being. We vampires are one of those species. You must be careful with who you are close with because, in time, you shall create a bond that nothing – not time, not distance, not death – will be able to overcome. It – it has another name, another title. It –"
"I really don't think I need to hear this." What was he saying? What was he doing? What? What? What? No fucking way.
"Oh, but you do since you insist upon being close with others. Your familiar seemed distraught when I passed him in my departure of the manor, and I agree. There is reason to worry. You still have time before you must choose. But, if you are so adamant, you must know the possible consequences. One being the inseparable bond that being sexually active brings –"
"Master! I'm still a bloody virgin!"
Those around the king and his fledgling fell into stunned silence. A few – those who were younger and knew less of the king and his temper – stared over at the two, mouth hanging open. Seras' cheeks reddened as she threw back the rest of her drink, trying to drown out her embarrassment. Alucard, across from her, stared at her, face devoid of everything.
This was it. This was how Seras Victoria, sire of the great king of the no-life, was going to die – public humiliation. She was tempted to laugh and try to play it off, she was tempted to get up and simply walk out, she was tempted to vanish from her spot, she was tempted to seep down into the floorboards and descend to some further level of the tunnels. She swore the handle would break off of the mug she held in a vise-like grip. Holy shit. Holy shit.
A sudden note, deep and trembling, struck through the air, catching the attention of all. Another note, half a step down in the scale, was plucked, sending another wave of vibrations through the air. The bass player with the suit jacket and unruly curls tapped his foot rhythmically before descending further on the scale, the guitar player next to him with the vine tattoos chiming in with a swift riff.
The energy that was suddenly coursing through the air, only amplified further by the entrance of the drums, was contagious. Many rose to their feet while others bobbed their heads along to the beat at their tables. From jazz to rock, the tavern acclimated accordingly. From light talk to the pumping of fists and nodding of heads, the conversion was complete.
Seras, in light of the new change in music, was forgotten – as was her blunder. She sighed in relief, daring a glance towards Alucard. Something akin to disappointment coloured his features as he watched his continuants "jam" out. Yes, Alucard more seemed to be the type to attend three hour concertos, not all night rock concerts.
Alucard rose from his seat, returning his fledgling's gaze. "Shall we?" His expression seemed to ask as he placed his hat over his ink black hair. Seras rose to her feet as well, not particularly in the mood to spend her night being tossed about in a mosh pit. So much for spending time with Varfolomei.
Walking down the corridors of the tunnel, Seras kept in stride with Alucard. Neither had spoken since their departure from the tavern. The faint sound of rock music accompanied the light echo of their footfall and the swish of Alucard's duster. Every now and again, Seras would glance over at her master, bite her lip, and open her mouth to say something, only to close it once again.
After a moment; "Master, I was there for more than company. I was trying to gather people who would and could help with the upcoming – " oh, how she hated this word, "—war. Varfolomei knows many, many people. He's older than me, far older than me. He may seem like a fool, but that's all a part of his act – his façade. He would know of others who would help. Others who could be of use if this threat – these old rulers of the no-life – are truly so powerful."
"Hm. You look up to him, don't you?" Though his question was rhetorical, Seras was tempted to answer. "Yes, they are truly that strong. But you needn't over exert yourself. I – as you often remind me – may have been gone for thirty years, but I still hold favor among many. I may not have been in constant contact due to my… enslavement to Hellsing, but I have managed to prolong the good relations. I am the King, after all. They answer to me."
"But," began Seras, skirting around a rotting couch with the room that several halls lead off of, "Is this a war between Hellsing and the old rulers or the no-life and the old rulers?"
Alucard was quiet for a moment, waiting beside the tunnel's entrance for Seras. "It depends on who is all brought into play."
Seras stuffed her hands within the jeans of her "incognito" street wear. She found herself lost within thought, turning over possible outcomes. She brushed over the "old rulers" who were shrouded in a layer of vague obscurity. Who were they? Truly? What threat did and could they pose against the world? As life as she knew it?
"This… This is all some game, isn't it?" Seras mumbled, gazing up at her master. In the flickering light of the torches, he might have been beautiful. But, with the thought of war on his mind, his features were contorted into something dark and vengeful; a predator deciding how to best execute his prey.
Alucard paused, as did Seras. Before them, the rock and earth overhead began to rumble and fall away till the night sky, full of hazy pollution and plump snowflakes, shone through the darkness, barely illuminating the stairs that led up to the alleyway.
"A game," he mused, lost in thought himself. "Life is always a game, Seras. It just depends on what you're willing to do – what you're willing to sacrifice – to win." He gazed at her for a moment, his thoughts foreign and unreadable. He then looked up toward the sky, starting up the stairs to get a better view. "The world is our chessboard, the earth and forests our tiles, our armies our pawns, our strategy the moves, and fate the deathblow. War is but two minds raging against one another, demanding supremacy – demanding the win. And Seras," he said, climbing up and up the stairs, "I don't lose. I don't. I always win. Always."
A/N: Alright! First off, I'd like to thank all those who review, followed, and favourited the story! Ahh! It means quite a lot to me! To all those that read this - THANK YOUUU!
Anyways, on a more serious note, I'm sorry for all the dialogue. I swear that, in future chapters, there will be more action. There just needs to be a rise before a fall, you know? Anywho, I hope you all don't mind OCs because, due to Hellsing killing off a good majority of the characters, I will be making some up. A few, and I think you all know which ones, will be coming in more and more. If you don't like any or think that they make any of the characters too OOC, please tell me!
Oh! In reference to Seras and her general snark - yes, it is intentional. I am intentionally making her a "bit" more rebellious. You can thank Pip and a certain someone (I wonder who?). If you have any further questions, ask away! If you want to review, be my gueeest!
Oh, yeah. This is going to get violent and swear a lot - all good things, yes?