(A/N: Thank you to everyone for reading this - and special thanks to dash11 for your words of encouragement, they are much appreciated. Sorry it took so long to 'change out of my work clothes'! Hope you all continue to like this; just a silly little idea that popped into my head a while ago, and because we all love (torturing) Kouta Hirano's wonderful characters so much, thought it would be fun to subject them to this. There is a little intentional typo because I couldn't bring myself to swear - how quaint, no? Once again, many, many thanks for reading.)
Chapter 2: Protest
The priest knocked on the big doors of the office.
"Ah, yes, come in," a slightly rattled-sounding Italian called.
Alexander opened the doors just enough to let himself through, and let them click closed behind him.
"God be with you, Father Anderson."
"And also with you," he replied, and bowed deeply, before taking his position opposite his host.
"I expect you have heard the news, Father?"
"Yes, as matter o' fact, I have," the priest said. "It is unusual, as trusts go, but I'm perfectly happy to comply with your demand." He was serene. The Italian regarded the broad, tall priest standing before him, head bowed respectfully, prepared to do his bidding, and then looked away, perturbed.
"It was not my demand, that much I can assure you."
"Oh?"
"Yes. I don't believe you have heard much about this at all, 'as a matter of fact', Anderson, because had you heard you may have been less compliant."
Alexander raised his gaze just a little, to peer through his glasses at the other man. He had turned his back to Anderson, and from the tension in his interlocked fingers, it was obvious that whatever it was that Alexander didn't know greatly agitated the younger man.
"Well, Father Maxwell, what is the problem lad?"
The term of endearment, inappropriate but always forgiven, hung in the air. Maxwell's voice spoke from the other side of his ponytail.
"It is against Hellsing."
The ticking of the large grandfather clock seemed to louden.
"Oh."
"And I must partake too."
"Oh."
The senior priest spun round, enraged.
"'Oh'? Is that all you can say? Damn it man, we are supposed to be killing those basturds not playing games with them!"
"Now, Enrico," Father Anderson soothed, automatically speaking to the powerful man as he did when he was just a little boy in the orphanage. "I agree completely that this is a most unorthodox turn of events. However," he continued before Enrico began his tirade anew, "I am perfectly able to see how it could further our cause. After all, if you are on the pitch, nobody would suspect you of giving the order to assassinate their foot soldiers now, would they, hmm?"
He watched Maxwell's face slowly return from purple, to red, to his usual pale gold.
"Indeed," the man with authority pondered. "Well... In that case..." he locked eyes while considering his words carefully. "I see no reason for the Vatican to renege on this deal."
He smiled that smile that always worried the priest a little, but he hid his worry well.
"Aye. Say no more, Father Maxwell. Let us prepare for the games next week." In every way necessary.
"Indeed. I disagree with the garments though."
"Oh nonsense, lad. Bit o' sun to the skin never did a man o' God any harm," Alexander chuckled, as he walked out on a gaping Enrico.
Yes. This match against the cream of Hellsing would be most interesting and fruitful indeed.