+++++
Ah. I was afraid that would happen. One of my nice reviewers has thought of a solid reason why this wouldn't happen. And it's a reason I didn't think of.
Maybe it's because. . . hrm. . . the Church officials consider that Holy Mother Church divorced him because, ah. . . they advocate this idea because. . .
Here, would you look the other way while I put this chapter up? Thanks.
I am mulling over your criticism, honestly, and will work more on believability. Rrg!
+++++
Alexander Anderson sat in his room drawing from memory. He adjusted the ruler a careful ninety degrees. The pen tip scraped across the paper. The miniscule trench glistened with wet ink. Anderson kept his hand up as he turned the paper again; he didn't want to smudge another and have to start over.
Their conversation ran through his mind again. He didn't know how Wendell got so acutely on his nerves so quickly. He advocated a middle ground, getting away from the solid tenets of Anderson's faith. But Anderson was working with the Hellsing Organization. He was going to have to learn not to let this sort of thing get to him.
But. . .
Anderson stood, looking at the paper on his desk, shifting the ruler a few times to be sure that his lines matched up evenly. The last one hadn't been a perfect parallel. This one was good. He could use it.
Something about their conversations was itching at him. He hunched his shoulders for a moment, tapping the pen against his teeth.
"Pretty," said a voice from the ceiling. "Those look almost useful."
"Begone," Anderson snarled.
"Now, now." Alucard's face formed for a moment, just below the plaster. Anderson felt around for weapons, then folded one of his finished sheets into a paper dart. Alucard retreated, mindful of Integra's stern warnings. "I had to be sure you weren't making an arsenal."
"Just practicing," Anderson answered coolly. A flash of worry struck him. If Alucard could sense him crafting holy symbols from elsewhere in the building, he'd underestimated the beast's sealed strength. What else was he aware of? Anderson turned back to his work.
Alucard remained for a moment, hoping that the priest would give him a reason to stay. Integra had put a time limit on how much time he could remain in the same space as the human. Alexander stoically ignored him. Alucard snarled and withdrew.
Anderson threw his pen across the room. It thunked point-first into the wall and hung there. He was supposed to be studying the creature's habits and weaknesses, and instead, what was happening? A few random taunts from each of them, and the Hellsing's twisted pet would go hide again. He knew they would have to have a confrontation, and he would rather it happened before the marriage then after.
Ah, the marriage. Anderson winced. He didn't know why Integra was putting it off, but they would have to have a pen-and-paper wedding soon. Neither of them wanted the church-and-train affair. Not for this.
His thoughts returned to their previous groove as he retrieved his pen and sat down at his desk again. He set aside his most recent drawing to think.
Perhaps what made Anderson nervous wasn't what Wendell said, but how he acted, Anderson thought. He tried a different tack, thinking of the man's behavior. Wendell was always calm. He was careful not to confront Anderson. He always asked more questions than he made statements. That conversational style was oddly familiar. . .
Anderson pushed his chair back and headed for the door, perfectly aware that Wendell would be with him shortly after he stepped into the hall. He needed to find something out.
*~*
"Master?"
Alucard was staring into space, his lips pulled back slightly in a distasteful expression. "Yes, police girl?"
Seras slid into the room, a book clutched to her chest. Alucard glanced at it and sat up. "I think I may have done something wrong. . ."
Ah. I was afraid that would happen. One of my nice reviewers has thought of a solid reason why this wouldn't happen. And it's a reason I didn't think of.
Maybe it's because. . . hrm. . . the Church officials consider that Holy Mother Church divorced him because, ah. . . they advocate this idea because. . .
Here, would you look the other way while I put this chapter up? Thanks.
I am mulling over your criticism, honestly, and will work more on believability. Rrg!
+++++
Alexander Anderson sat in his room drawing from memory. He adjusted the ruler a careful ninety degrees. The pen tip scraped across the paper. The miniscule trench glistened with wet ink. Anderson kept his hand up as he turned the paper again; he didn't want to smudge another and have to start over.
Their conversation ran through his mind again. He didn't know how Wendell got so acutely on his nerves so quickly. He advocated a middle ground, getting away from the solid tenets of Anderson's faith. But Anderson was working with the Hellsing Organization. He was going to have to learn not to let this sort of thing get to him.
But. . .
Anderson stood, looking at the paper on his desk, shifting the ruler a few times to be sure that his lines matched up evenly. The last one hadn't been a perfect parallel. This one was good. He could use it.
Something about their conversations was itching at him. He hunched his shoulders for a moment, tapping the pen against his teeth.
"Pretty," said a voice from the ceiling. "Those look almost useful."
"Begone," Anderson snarled.
"Now, now." Alucard's face formed for a moment, just below the plaster. Anderson felt around for weapons, then folded one of his finished sheets into a paper dart. Alucard retreated, mindful of Integra's stern warnings. "I had to be sure you weren't making an arsenal."
"Just practicing," Anderson answered coolly. A flash of worry struck him. If Alucard could sense him crafting holy symbols from elsewhere in the building, he'd underestimated the beast's sealed strength. What else was he aware of? Anderson turned back to his work.
Alucard remained for a moment, hoping that the priest would give him a reason to stay. Integra had put a time limit on how much time he could remain in the same space as the human. Alexander stoically ignored him. Alucard snarled and withdrew.
Anderson threw his pen across the room. It thunked point-first into the wall and hung there. He was supposed to be studying the creature's habits and weaknesses, and instead, what was happening? A few random taunts from each of them, and the Hellsing's twisted pet would go hide again. He knew they would have to have a confrontation, and he would rather it happened before the marriage then after.
Ah, the marriage. Anderson winced. He didn't know why Integra was putting it off, but they would have to have a pen-and-paper wedding soon. Neither of them wanted the church-and-train affair. Not for this.
His thoughts returned to their previous groove as he retrieved his pen and sat down at his desk again. He set aside his most recent drawing to think.
Perhaps what made Anderson nervous wasn't what Wendell said, but how he acted, Anderson thought. He tried a different tack, thinking of the man's behavior. Wendell was always calm. He was careful not to confront Anderson. He always asked more questions than he made statements. That conversational style was oddly familiar. . .
Anderson pushed his chair back and headed for the door, perfectly aware that Wendell would be with him shortly after he stepped into the hall. He needed to find something out.
*~*
"Master?"
Alucard was staring into space, his lips pulled back slightly in a distasteful expression. "Yes, police girl?"
Seras slid into the room, a book clutched to her chest. Alucard glanced at it and sat up. "I think I may have done something wrong. . ."