Disclaimer: Hellsing and all other associated copyrights owned by Kouta Hirano, Genon, et al. Should any one of these parties wish it, I will remove this story at once.
Seras walked through the light snow to another music shop. She dressed up only so much as to fit in. It was not cold, not to her, and the sharp smell of ice cut at her nose. She could feel the isolated contentment of a few. See the bladed irritation of those still looking. She counted herself among the latter.
Her eyes stung, her feet felt weightless. She closed her eyes, letting her feelings carry her along.
Christmas was slowly creeping up and gifts for her love were short. Cologne? Pip smelled of cigarettes and gunpowder, she liked it. A bed? She wouldn't be able to sleep in it and Pip wanted to be with her.
When the Geese were going through the old and broken equipment she came upon a guitar. The strings were snapped and frayed, the wood rot-eaten and moldy. A few quiet questions later and it was revealed that it was Pip's once. Carried and played from years before a bad shipping had ruined it forever. Pip tried to have it repaired, but the old companion was done and had to be pushed aside. Seras knew what to get him.
She pushed open another door. The loud scent of vacuumed carpet coiled at her. A clerk repeated a corporate-mandated greeting in her general direction. His eyes for the clock only. Seras nodded and walked to guitar section. She passed by several proclaiming their artistry. Saying to Seras that they should be admired and not played. A few professed the power and volume they could attain, but not the melodies and songs they could bring. There did not seem to be a used section.
This one. A physical cousin to the broken friend Pip had once played. The edges still factory sharp. Clean and sparkling from the matte shine. The acid smell of cleaning chemicals. The newest, glittering technologies embedded discreetly into its guts.
Sterile. Soulless. It would not do.
She left unnoticed. The last of the 'recommended' stores exhausted. Just like herself. Seras was tried, too long awake and not enough sleep. She could not feel anything below her waist. She wanted to lie down in her soft coffin, crawl into Pip's warm arms and wish the world away. Seras shut her waking mind down and allowed her feet to fall with the whims of fate. She enjoyed a few moments of unconscious thought when she knew she was here.
The place was old and worn. Not ancient or decrepit but a soft comfortable wear. A quick pace to the door and she was in. The scent of forgotten joyous dreams wafted at her. The clerk called out a happy greeting that Seras tried to return. A lazy fuzz crept over her eyes but she pushed it back. A moment, a push on her mind and she ambled to the guitars. No electrics here. She past over those on display. She felt a pull on one. Older than herself, Seras could feel the joys and mirth of the previous owner. She picked it up and brought it closer. It smelled of old whiskey and rock and roll.
It was perfect.