Author's Note: OMGOMGOMG—okay, random fangirl moment- but wasn't the 23rd only the best day ever? As a Whovian, I felt major feels. NO MORE. (fist pump) Also: that Mr. David Tennant. Woof. Is anyone else a Dr. Who fan? You can tell Juju ;)
Also, does anyone know how to deal with crows? (Peers out of window, terrified) They're just… there. It's like that episode of Ed Edd n' Eddy when Ed summons the blackbirds to the cul-de-sac with his weird ritual of a scam. IT'S THE BIRDS! THE BIRDS! (Slaps Alfred Hitchcock)
Now back to your regularly scheduled Hellsing, aka The One in Which Seras Tries Seduction and The Twins Arrive in Jolly Old England.
Anderson woke up, disoriented. He sat up, looking around and saw the red digits on the phone blinking 5:30 am. He rubbed one eye, furrowing his brow as he looked around the hotel room. That's right; a nightmare. He relaxed then as his mind settled into its usual pattern.
"It was a nightmare," he repeated softly to the muted television. He looked down at his side to see the remote, still held by his dozing wife. He was surprised that she was fully dressed and showered; as light a sleeper as he was, she had to have been very quiet for him to not wake. Or he was very tired; one of the two. He reached out a hand to touch her shoulder, shaking her slightly. He had to practically throw her off the bed before she opened her eyes to look at him.
"Oh, are you awake?" she mumbled as she struggled to sit up.
"Are you?" he retorted as she yawned and stretched, her suit jacket riding up her back with the motion. She shrugged before rolling out of the unmade bed and reaching for her bag, which was all packed up on the table.
"I couldn't go back to sleep when I woke up earlier; well, I guess I did but I still went around getting everything ready. I thought that as long as you were sleeping soundly, I might as well leave you alone." She eyed him strangely and he prepared himself for the question he knew was coming. "You had a nightmare last night," she accused. He scoffed and looked off towards the wall, crossing his arms. He heard her walk over to his side and she placed a hand on his shoulder. "Does that happen a lot?" she asked quietly.
"No. Maybe," he grumbled as she ran her hand up his neck and through his hair. "Dinnae bother with it."
"Hmm." She left him alone and sat back down on the bed with her pack, turning the volume up slightly on the television until it was barely audible. "Get showered and dressed. We're going home."
"To Hellsing?" he asked, slightly surprised. She hadn't mentioned anything about it before, but then again they had been rather… busy. She nodded, her eyes never leaving the screen as the world news flashed the headlines out at them. "What for?"
"I need my resources. If I want to do proper research, I need to have access to more than the normal population. I need my libraries and secret government contacts. I daresay you could probably get in touch with your officials more easily as well." She sat and listened for a moment as the news reporter talked of a dormant Argentinian volcano before continuing. "Walter already knows that I'm coming home. And he agrees with me; I don't need to be out investigating. That's what Alucard and Seras are for."
"Eh." Anderson rolled out of bed and headed for the bathroom, grabbing his clothing on the way. He really didn't want to go to that mansion, swarming with Protestants and his arch nemesis. But he knew that before long he'd of had to go anyway. Integra couldn't live at the orphanage; she needed to be where she could command her troops. And she wouldn't have enjoyed all those noisy children.
He sat on the rim of the tub and closed his eyes, intent on taking this short time of peace for his morning prayers. He steeled himself and prayed for self-control and as much patience as the saints could spare for him. He was in for a long day.
"It's strange. There's not as many soldiers here as I thought there'd be." Anderson looked out over the broad lawn, where only a few soldiers stood on patrol. Most of them looked rather nervous, but he only attributed that to himself. Most people gave him the same look when they saw him approaching. He was rather intimidating at first sight. But Integra took one look at one of the men and frowned deeply. The man's uniform revealed him to be a captain of some sort. His hair was mixed gray and brown with bangs that hung down over blue eyes. His nametag read "Stevenson", but above that someone had written "Chief" in marker. He saluted as he saw the blondes heading towards him.
"Good to have you back, Sir." The man smiled, his two front teeth slightly bucktoothed. Integra nodded and looked around the yard before eyeing the quiet mansion. At her unspoken question, the man shuffled slightly. "Mum's in a bit of a state. Most of the others high-tailed it out of here while they still could," he explained, his eyes jumping to the fountain and back. He appeared amused rather than fearful, though. Integra seemed to understand the strange explanation and nodded, her forehead creasing.
"And to think I left poor Walter alone with them for a whole year," she acknowledged guiltily as she walked through the doors. She stopped, looking up at the chandelier in the foyer before taking in a deep breath. "Home."
"You missed it?" Anderson asked as he shimmied in behind her as best he could, standing off to the side and looking around curiously. He'd never even seen a picture of the mansion on the inside before; it looked empty, but nicely decorated all the same. An elderly man with a ponytail stuck his head from an opening in the ground, where stairs could be seen disappearing into the gloom. His eyes lit up when he saw the pair standing in the foyer.
"Miss Integra," he gushed warmly as he practically jogged to where she was standing. He held her at arm's length, his eyes twinkling as he took in her appearance. "I'm so glad to see you well, Miss-er, well, Sir Integra. You have no idea how concerned I've been these past few weeks." Integra smiled, more warmly than Anderson had ever seen her smile towards anyone, even himself. She even wrapped the old man in a brisk hug before backing away.
"I'm always going to be that little girl to you, aren't I Walter?" she teased him. Anderson realized with a start that this was Hellsing's infamous butler, the Angel of Death. Really? He thought to himself as he eyed the man with a newfound wariness. I'd heard about him in reports, but I'd never have thought he'd look so… unassuming. Walter caught the scrutiny and looked the priest over quickly before offering a bow.
"I beg your pardon; allow me to introduce myself. I am Walter Dornez, head retainer to Hellsing. I'm pleased to be of service to you, Paladin Anderson," he chirped politely as he looked up at the man, his indigo eyes shining eloquently. Anderson nodded and after a moment held out a hand for the old man to shake.
"I suppose I'm not needing to be introducing myself then," he replied awkwardly. Walter grabbed the hand in a firm shake before smiling and shrugging.
"Pleasantries can wait, Walter," Integra butted in. "I'm more concerned about Captain Stevenson's explanation." Walter frowned and his mouth settled into a thin line.
"I told Miss Victoria not to write that on his nametag. No one wants to hear about why he's called Chief by everyone in East London." He colored as Integra's eyes bugged and she shook her head. "Yes, well—apparently you can be too drunk."
"Walter—my men are missing because of "Miss Victoria", according to him. Why are all my men defecting at the sight of one vampire?" Walter cleared his throat, clearly trying to beat around the bush as long as possible. "Walter," she repeated in a more warning tone, one slender eyebrow rising into her hairline.
"Yes—hmm." Walter looked out at the fountain. "It seems that Seras and Alucard reached another one of their little impasses last night." His own eyebrows rose and Integra groaned, rubbing her temples.
"I don't want to know. What was it?" she growled impatiently. Anderson looked between the two with interest.
"You're telling me that the little devoted follower actually fights with the demon?" he crowed after a moment. Integra looked up at him crossly before sighing and turning back to Walter. The butler coughed once more and placed his hands behind his back, clearly trying not to smile as he conveyed the story.
"Well, it came to my attention a day or so ago that Alucard had an issue with Seras' "hair-soap", as he so articulately put it. This culminated in his refusal to allow Miss Victoria to bathe at all." Integra wrinkled her nose. "Oh, it gets worse; you see, he also insisted that her scent be disguised."
"How so?" Integra asked weakly, her face twisting in disgust. Anderson's expression mimicked hers and they shared a look before listening to Walter with growing distaste.
"Well, it looked like a pair of oversized cats. Except that one was most definitely not purring." Anderson shivered in revulsion and Integra shook her head, lamenting poor Seras' fate. "Yes, very much so. And after a while of this, Seras apparently told him that if he didn't stop—and I quote—"rubbing his sweat all over her", she was going to go to drastic measures. Alucard both seemed to take offense to being called sweaty and refused to comply with her orders."
"And?" Integra asked, both inquisitive and repulsed. Walter looked out to the fountain, unable to hide the grin that spread across his face at the remembrance of it.
"And so she went and dunked herself in the fountain outside and let the spray fall over her head. Then they stood there and shouted at each other for all of five minutes before Miss Victoria burst into tears and went to hide in her coffin. Alucard's been alternating between making the house shake and skulking around the basement in a dead pout. They've put each other in a mood again, to make a long story short." The man shrugged carelessly as Integra huffed. Anderson rolled his eyes; they were talking about these creatures like they were spoiled children and not undead adults. And from the sound of it, that's about the same way they acted.
"In other words, everything's completely normal," Integra muttered after a moment. Walter chuckled and took the pack from her hands.
"As always. Now, I suppose you'll be wanting to show our newest arrival around the mansion, so I'll take this from you and make sure everything goes where it's supposed to. I have a bit more work to do before I head out with the cook, so dinner may be a bit late. To make up for that, I think we'll have roast beef for tonight? Hm?" he smiled at her and Integra nodded.
"Sounds delicious." She turned to Anderson. "Come, let's go." She made her way up the stairs and he followed, nodding in farewell to the butler.
"So you'll just leave them two at it down below?" he asked as they strolled down the winding hallways.
"Might as well. Alucard will sulk for a few days and then he'll be back to normal. Seras is a bit harder, but she'll come around eventually. They do this every few months." She made a face. "At least it proves that there are lengths even she won't go to." They walked in silence until Anderson cleared his throat.
"Do vampires sweat?" he asked her. She was the vampire expert; she ought to know. She stopped in the hallway, thinking for a moment before she let out a short laugh.
"I honestly never thought to check."
Stupid Master. Stupid shampoo. Stupid clothes. Seras curled up within familiar silk and earth interior, sniffing intermittedly and letting herself air dry. The warm, stale air was actually a comfort and she rubbed her eyes before stilling as someone knocked on her coffin lid.
"Mum?" It was Roans. She barely opened the lid, peering out. It could easily have been Alucard playing a trick on her. No, there was the round face with the smattering of freckles; the hazel eyes blinking at her with concern in their depths. "Captain told me to come check on you before I left for the day." When she didn't respond, his voice became more pleading. "Come on; I got you a towel, so at least dry your hair off." True to his word, a fluffy bathroom towel appeared next to the crack. She let the coffin lid rise up enough to grab the towel and bring it back into her warmth. Roans sat on the floor, his head at level with her mattress. "Everyone's on your side in this one. You're right; you gotta take a shower sometimes. Otherwise you'll be gross and greasy-haired." Yep, that was Roans all right. So blunt, and not even realizing it.
"Thank you." She didn't know if she was thanking him for the towel, or the encouragement, or for him just being there and checking on her. But whatever she meant, he must have caught it because he smiled and blushed as he stood up.
"I'm going now. I've got a plate of food waiting on me at home. See you tomorrow, Mum." She listened to his boots as they echoed down the hall and up the stairs before pressing the button on her remote and sinking into the ground. She lay her head on the pillow, her arms wrapped around the towel as she closed her eyes. She was exhausted; she knew that she must have looked insane during her outburst, standing underneath a torrent of cold water as she shouted her lungs out at her livid Master.
I'm going to throw you over the fence and let those Sirens have you, ungrateful thing!
At least they wouldn't rub their nasty skin all over my face! Even if you've never stuck your head under a faucet, you can still wash off every night!
There's no need! I have shadows for that!
Shadows, shmadows! Go bathe in a fucking river and then we can talk!
She humphed and buried her face in the towel; it smelled sweet from the dried herbs Walter kept in the linen closets. She smelled the fabric softener and chemically-pungent bleach that made it so startlingly white. She could have sworn she even smelled the hands of the humans who folded it, although more than likely that was just residue from Roans holding it.
She fell asleep on her bed, her cheek still rubbing the material as she dreamed of fields of lavender and clover.
Leather boots tapped out a rapid staccato on the stone floor. Their owner was sitting in his chair, fingers laced in front of him as he stared at the wall. The only thing betraying his calm exterior was the shadows in the room, which flickered across the floor and up the walls restlessly. It was as if they were itching to devour something in their depths, the red eyes bobbing into being and out again without any real pattern within the inky darkness.
The man didn't touch his drink, nor did he bother to look at the coffin in the corner. He was too irate to sleep, to flustered to sup. His boots continued to rap against the floor as he thought. He stared at the wall without really seeing it, his mind flipping and flopping in an attempt to find a solution to his problem.
He felt his master's presence upstairs and realized that she had returned to her stronghold, but didn't bother to go up and irk her and the Catholic. They were beyond his attentions at the moment, and he'd have plenty more opportunities to make their lives a living hell if he so wished. Even so, Integra's psyche was buzzing with aggravation and he knew that Walter had informed her about his fight with his stubborn ingrate of a fledgling.
Her mind was already asleep, soothed by a towel of all things. He felt like going up to her room, punching through the coffin lid and dragging her out for an explanation of why. He couldn't understand her reasoning—well, truly he could but he'd rather not. She didn't want to be unwashed—it was a product of her time, he was sure. He had no qualm with going without a bath. The whole process was meaningless anyway; he could just use his powers to rid himself of dirt and other unpleasant things that may find their way onto his person. Yet she wasn't convinced.
He could still see her in his mind's eye, standing under the water in the fountain and letting herself be soaked to the bone. She washed away all his hard work in an instant, his transferred scent leaving and he had sniffed the air, smelling nothing but her again. Why did she have to be so damn potent? She wasn't a flower. She didn't have to let her odor waft across the whole countryside. He was half-surprised that all the vampires weren't knocking down their doors in an effort to get to her. And that disgusting hair-soap didn't mask it a bit. With a natural fragrance like that, she might as well have been a Siren herself.
How could he stop her from smelling like that and still keep her from being so bloody emotional? No matter what solution he thought of, he couldn't work out all the kinks in the matter. Perhaps if she washed with a different hair-soap. No, he'd be hard pressed to find one that he could stand and she wouldn't smell nice in all at the same time. He growled and thought harder, willing an answer to come into his mind. He couldn't rest until he figured out a way that would keep her shrill screams out of his ears while still "winning" the battle.
He fell asleep in his chair, his boot still tapping a slower rhythm on the floor until he slumped sideways with a quiet snore.
"What'd you think was going to happen? You'd been clean for a full year." Anderson cringed as she heaved the last of her breakfast into the toilet before slumping down on the floor with a groan. She leaned her neck back onto the rim of the tub, letting the porcelain cool her. Her face was green and miserable as she looked up at him and shrugged slightly. He looked pointedly at her as she reached up to flush the mess, her fingers resting on her forehead before reaching up to him. He scowled and handed her the still-lit cigar and she took a careful, more measured inhale before coughing only a bit less violently. "You should have just given them up for good."
"The day I do that is the day you worship the Devil with an open heart," she vowed as she tried her best to finish the cigar. Finally, she got it halfway down before stumbling to her feet and putting it out in the ashtray. He sighed and turned to leave the room as she reached for her toothbrush. He walked back into the bedroom, looking around in more depth as she brushed the taste from her mouth.
It was practical and yet a bit extravagant; he found that he expected nothing less of her furnishings. The room was the most crowded of all he'd seen so far, and still looked empty. He wondered if she did it on purpose, or just because she didn't want more than what she needed in the house. He laid on the bed, drawing his legs out experimentally to see if they'd fall off the edge. They didn't, but they came damned close. He could feel the edges with his heels, even through the boots.
He got back up at the sight of the pictures on the dresser, walking over for a closer look. They were lined up in a row; he supposed from oldest to youngest in terms of time. The first on the left end was a tanned woman in a sari, holding a blonde-haired baby close to her heart. He decided that it must have been Integra's mother and looked over to see the next one; a blonde toddler sitting on an older man's lap. This man, who shared her eyes and cheekbones—her father. Next was an older girl, perhaps ten or so, with her father again and Walter. They stood in front of a ship at a pier, the sun shining on the girl's hair and making it light up. Next, a picture of her and Walter. Her father was missing, but Alucard was there—he looked rather put-out. The pictures stopped about midway through the dresser, the rest blank. Empty spaces waiting to be filled.
"I didn't have enough to stretch across." Her voice startled him and he jumped back to look at her standing in the doorway of the bathroom. She crossed her arms and walked across the room to his side. She smiled wistfully at the photos and looked up at him. "Do you have any pictures of your parents?"
"Taking pictures back then was a big occasion. Little farm folk didn't get the chance." He frowned down at the pictures before turning away. "My parents never had their picture taken. I didn't either, until I was a soldier." He felt her staring at his back and refused to look around at her. After a quiet moment she tugged on his sleeve.
"Come on; I need to show you the rest of the house."
Three floors of endless hallways and crazy rooms. There was even a torture chamber, although it clearly hadn't been used in a long time. And libraries upon libraries, kitchens upon kitchens, ballrooms and music halls and guest bedrooms and meeting rooms and so much more. Anderson's head was spinning from it all. Who needed this much stuff?
Now, they stood in the basement hallway, looking down the dark corridors at the steel-plated doors lining the stone walls. Integra walked to another set of stairs in the floor, standing at their summit and pointing down the hallway.
"Alucard's room is the only thing down that way. I don't know why he likes it this far back, but I guess it suits him well enough." Anderson bristled at the thought of the evil King, lying asleep in his chambers. It would be so easy to just slide him through—pin him to his coffin and figure out a way to destroy him before he managed to become too powerful. His hand twitched at the thought. However, Integra must have caught his mood and she pointed a finger at him warningly.
"I don't want you two fighting all the time. If you can't manage to have the ghost of civility around each other, than stay out of the other's way. I get enough headaches around here as it is." He shrugged and she gave him a death-glare before walking back the way they came. She stopped by another door, unassuming as all the others. "This is Seras' room. She usually doesn't stay in there much, but if you ever need her you can always start here. She pops in and out throughout the night."
"I doubt I'll ever need her," Anderson corrected as they walked through the cold hallways and back to the stairs leading to the upper levels.
"Anyway, there it is." Integra looked around the foyer, side-stepping soldiers as they scurried about on their personal missions and patrols. "This is how it should look—of course, it's still not as crowded at night, although there are quite a few soldiers."
"I see." Anderson felt completely out of his element. Surrounded by the enemy, vampires resting under his feet, protected from his bayonets by the words from a blonde woman who just happened to be married to him… he never felt so outnumbered before, not even in the Great War. He couldn't relax, even jumping when Integra grabbed his sleeve once more.
"Come with me," she said softly and led him through the hallways. After a moment, they arrived at her office and she pushed him in, shutting the door behind her. "You can always come here for some quiet," she explained, understanding that he was getting overloaded. "No one bothers me in here except Walter, and half the time you can't tell if he's here or not."
"Hm." Anderson looked at the pictures lining the walls, across the empty space of diamond tiles to the picture windows behind the desk. Integra was looking at the crowded desk, holding a stack of paperwork in each hand. With every passing moment she became more and more distressed until she reached into the desk drawer and pulled out a tin cigar case. She lit one and didn't choke this time as she inhaled and let the smoke waft towards the ceiling.
"A year's worth of paperwork. I'll never catch up," she informed him seriously. "I'm going to be here until I'm older than dust." He chuckled and went to pull up a chair in the corner, sitting close to the bookcase as he perused the shelves. He sat and pulled his bible from his sleeve, flipping the pages open and reading silently. Integra looked at him before smiling and sitting at her desk, pulling the first stack of endless papers towards her.
They sat like that, each lost in their own world of quiet thoughts and rustling pages, until Walter rang them for supper.
They called out at her; they were so very, very angry for what she'd done, who she'd brought back. She heard them; the voices whispering in the shadows and under the beds. Demons were all around—if you knew where to look for them. Adults had a harder time of it, naturally. Their minds thusly occupied with adult matters, they had no time to worry about what could easily drag them into the shadows. And drag they did. Demons would always take advantage of an opportunity. And their whispers! It was enough to drive anyone insane.
Small children, who cry to their parents about monsters in the beds and under the closets and are not believed, although they are comforted by their guardians—to what words can children describe the horror that is a demon's appearance, other than "monster"? How can they tell of the horrid things that those creatures let them see? Demons can't touch children; those who are loved most dearly by Him. But they can frighten them.
She heard them, fussing to themselves about what to do with her and yet unable to touch her, seeing as she'd thrown herself through the only loophole in her contract. She'd done things the proper way; she'd not violated the covenant she'd created with the creatures of Hell. But still they searched for a way out of that loophole; anything to get her soul a few thousand years early.
She dreamed about it sometimes; what was going to happen to her when she eventually crossed the veil. They surrounded her in her mind's eye, ripping open her stomach. She felt their claws scrape the inside of her body, felt their sharp teeth nibbling on her innards. She cried out to be saved, but who could save her? Even the King, in all his dark power, refused to join her and create the most powerful army in the world.
He'd seen her Girls, when she first discovered the recipe for making them. He'd watched her black ritual and his nose had wrinkled in disgust.
"You are a babe, Erzsébet Báthory. You play with things that you have only the barest knowledge of. Innocence, no—ignorance will not save your soul in the end."
She had scoffed at him, sent him on his merry way with a wave of her kerchief. How was he to know what she was? She was in control. At the time, that's what she thought.
But now, as she lay in bed and the monsters around her whispered their anger from the shadows, she wasn't so sure.
Seras wasn't tired. She'd woken hours ago, when the sun set and the air cooled and the sounds of soldiers upstairs driveled away into individual voices instead of the clamor of the daytime armada. But she didn't want to get up and face her master, or Sir Integra or even Walter, who'd been by earlier sometime before she woke to drop off her supper. She didn't feel like crawling out of bed, so she didn't. Instead, she lay in her pajamas with her hands demurely on her stomach, picking out the humans that belonged to the voices she heard clearly, as if there wasn't twenty-something feet of foundation and steel and stone separating them. Roans, Stevenson, Walter, Penn, Sir Integra….
She felt sweaty and icky all over, even after dunking herself in the fountain. She needed soap; something to wash away the crud and Alucard's stench off her body. Not that he smelled particularly bad—she just had an issue with his fragrance all over her. She had long decided that it must have been a "vampire thing", as she liked to call it; this strange, unexplainable anger that arose every time she moved and caught a whiff of him on her skin, as if he owned her body or something! She chalked it up there with anxiety over her coffin and the need to go outside during the full moon and just stare up at it for a while.
Ugh. Master doesn't understand. I know he's never showered in his life. Suddenly, the image of Alucard in a shower stall had her temporarily distracted. She had the immense privilege of being one of only a handful that ever saw him in something other than his normal crimson outfit. Her mind flitted to his lean form when he took off his coat, the tucked in shirt and vest tapering off into thin hips and long, lean legs. Even the skintight leather that he wore when he released his powers—God, it left hardly anything to the imagination! She could see him standing under the spray, rivulets running down his slender form and accenting the pale, gorgeous skin. Her eyes followed the wayward drop as it traveled from his chest down his abs, sliding achingly slow until it reached the apex of his thighs before it touched his-
She jerked out of her daydream from the pain, realizing that she'd bitten her finger hard enough to draw blood. She gave it a tiny lick, letting it heal as a shiver worked its way through her body. I shouldn't feel this way. I really, honestly shouldn't feel this way, or think this way for that matter. He was her master, her mentor and she his scion. He was only supposed to be her guide—her handsome, dark, tantalizing…. No! She banished the wanton thoughts from her mind, shaking her head. She was just hungry, was all. She had those sorts of…fantasies and dreams when she hadn't eaten enough and was craving sustenance.
She bit the wrapper and let the blood pour into the bowl, waiting impatiently for it to fill so that she could start eating. She may be a vampire, but she'd be damned if she drank straight from the package like other vampires that didn't need to be named. She took a single spoonful and stopped before it reached her mouth.
That was it. That was how she could convince him to let her bathe again. When Sir Integra needed something, she used her feminine charm on them. She probably used it on poor Father Anderson, too. If Seras could take a page from her book, and be brave enough to work her wily ways on Alucard, then who's to say she couldn't have whatever she wanted? And she'd wait to do it when he was at his weakest. She frowned; she had to be careful, though. One push too far and she might end up biting off more than she could chew. Still, he'd have what was coming to him.
Seras smiled to her reflection in the mirror and raised the spoon in a silent toast. Oh, this night was absolutely, truly, most certainly a beautiful night.
"Peace offering!" Alucard looked up to see a nervous Seras peeking around his doorframe. She held up her hands, showing him the two blood packs she'd brought with him. When he glared at her, she tilted her head slightly in a pout. "You're not still angry at me, are you? I'm really sorry about what I did yesterday," she whimpered as she walked across the floor to his side. "I'm sorry about what I said, too. Even if I don't like it, I guess not bathing will help keep you from exerting yourself too much," she conceded as she took her normal spot on the arm of his chair, letting him take one of the packs from her hand. She blinked her eyes at him woefully and he scoffed.
He knew why she'd come to him so early. It wasn't as if she couldn't hear the horrid sounds coming from upstairs somewhere. And he wasn't even trying to spy! He'd been sitting there, trying to block out the goddamn emotions and sounds and using all his self-control to keep from eating the Jackal and blowing his own head off. He was in a state and she knew it, the little minx.
"I came to see if you wanted to talk, Master. I'm sure you need a distraction from…" she looked up at the ceiling with a grin that clearly portrayed her disgusted amusement. "Even so." He grunted and turned the pack over in his hands, looking at the writing on the front and watching the red liquid slosh about sluggishly within, the chilled mass gaining no heat from his palm. She watched him for a moment before crossing her legs, her skirt riding up her thigh as she delicately bit the pack and let it drip for a moment before licking the blood off the plastic.
"What are you doing?" he snapped at her, his eyes moving from her exposed skin to her tongue at a rate that alarmed even him. She stopped and turned to him, her eyes dark against her white skin with pupils dilated.
"What does it look like?" she crooned softly, shifting on the arm of the chair. "I'm eating a snack." She closed her eyes and licked the plastic against as the trail of blood came dangerously near her fingers, moaning in delight at the taste. She heard a pop and looked down to see the remains of the second blood packet crushed in her master's fist, crimson staining his white gloves.
"Don't toy with me, child," he growled, a note in his voice that spoke of things worse than punishment. At the same time, her own instincts told her they were much better than any punishment, too. She leaned forward, disregarding his warning hiss as she ran a finger up the soiled glove and through the bloody plastic.
"Oh dear—you made a mess, Master. Better not let good food go to waste." She looked him in the eyes as she licked the blood off her finger, watching him fall for her act. Ha! Master or not, you're still a man under all that dark power. "Wanna taste?" He smacked her hand away, backing up out of the chair and throwing the ruined pack to the ground.
"You have no idea what you're dealing with," he warned her again, his eyes chary and sinister as he took her in. She leaned forward like she'd seen Sir Integra do to the government officials when she'd been a little too tipsy, letting her legs spread out on the seat he'd vacated.
"It's a shame that you've forbidden me to shower," she cooed. "If you were nice enough, I might have let you watch me." It took all she had to not blush at the words, but if she colored even the littlest bit, the show was over. He'd take control and win again. And the vampiress inside her railed against that happening. However, she knew— who didn't know? Vampires were masters of the seductive arts; she was no exception. She had this one in the bag. He wasn't going anywhere.
"Liar," he called her bluff, looking down as his shadows drank the blood off his glove and left it as pristine as before. She knew he was looking away from her body and stretched, focusing his attention back on her.
"You'll never know. In the showers at the precinct? Where I worked my human job? The men got more than an eyeful, I'll tell you that much." Okay, that wasn't a full lie. Eddie had walked in on her showering once; he'd practically killed himself by apologizing until he was out of breath. The poor guy thought she was going to pull a sexual harassment suit on him for an accident. Her white lie worked; Alucard's eyes shot back to her own and narrowed menacingly, prodding her mind with his own for evidence of falsehood. She grinned and ran a hand down her leg.
"Too bad, such a shame that you'll miss out. Soap running down every curve, hands all over my body, touching…" She softened her voice and closed her eyes, knowing that if she looked at him, she'd realize what she was saying and end up blushing and come to her senses, running out of there before it was too late. The entire room was a danger zone as it was, and here she was stoking a fire to cook herself with. "Hair sticking to my neck, water droplets running along my pulse as I rinse off—"
His breathing hitched and her eyes opened of their own accord to see him staring at her hungrily. She knew he was imagining her body under the water, like she'd been doing with him before in her room. Time to seal the deal. "But I might as well stop talking about it. It's not going to happen anymore." The look of absent wonder left his face and was replaced by a snarl. She hopped off the arm of the chair, adjusting her skirt and fluffing her frizzy hair before smiling at him and waving as she walked out the door. "Well, I'm off to work on my formations. Have a pleasant evening, Master."
Lorenzo looked at the brochure he'd gathered from the airport. It was a hobby of his; collecting brochures from every airport, rest stop, or civil building that he and his brother visited during their travels for work. He didn't have one for England yet, but now that it was in his hands he was excited to return to the Vatican City and put it in the scrapbook with the others.
"Leonardo—Look here at this picture of Buckingham Palace. Could you imagine what it looks like from up close?" He turned the page and eyed the illustration of Big Ben. "Maybe we should visit some sights before we leave this country." His twin brother huffed, mustache quivering with the heavy breath.
"Lorenzo, we aren't here for leisure. I wouldn't spend a day more in this Protestant hovel than needed to anyway. I can't imagine how Anderson lives with it." The younger twin looked up from his brochure and adjusted his round sunglasses.
"Father Anderson is a good role model. He is filled with love and righteousness in his heart," he chirped. Leonardo wrinkled his nose at the cheery words.
"You just stole that from Yumiko," he accused as he sized up the double-decker bus before getting on. He turned around and jerked his brother onboard before he was left behind. Lorenzo wouldn't have even noticed if he'd been abandoned or not. Leonardo sighed. His twin had always been like that; an air-headed bookworm. He was the level-headed one; but he had to admit that Lorenzo's polite ways were much more effective at causing guilt than his straight-talking demeanor. The ultimate good cop/bad cop: They were the finest of the Vatican's Iscariot Division: Accounting Services. And they were headed straight for Hellsing.
Afterword: The Twins are actually—well, sorta from Hellsing Ultimate. I got the idea from episode VI of the OVA, when Integra's bullying the Iscariots with her cigar (which is my number #3 favorite Hellsing moment; random fact there). There are two of them in the background that look almost the same with minor differences to the blonde hair. The only major thing is that one has a mustache/beard thing going on and the other doesn't. So I got the idea of twins (the joke is that no one can tell them apart, even though Leonardo clearly had a mustache and Lorenzo doesn't. It's just that no one really cares because they're from the Accounting Division and no one likes a loan shark anyway.)
Then again, all the Iscariots look the same with those weird mini-Lennon glasses.
*****RANDOM REALLY BIG IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT UNDER HERE. LOOK DOWN*****
#1: Happy Thanksgiving! I hope everyone that's celebrating it gets to eat lots of yummy food! I know that I will! My favorite Thanksgiving food is… my Nanny's vegetable casserole, I think. What's yours? (You should tell me if/when you review ;D)
#2: As it is Thanksgiving (tomorrow), I want to say that I'm thankful for each and every one of you guys. Without you reading my stories, I wouldn't have very much of a reason to write. Your favorites and follow in my inbox make my heart warm. I love reading the reviews, even if they're tiny and only say a sentence or two. It means so much that people take time out of their days to read my stories, and that in some way I make them feel nice. You guys PM me and review me and I get to know individual people by their comments and it's wonderful to get to talk to all of you! You are the reason I keep writing these stories; because you care enough to help me care. And that's totally awesome of you all.
(Makes everyone get into a line so that she can hug them) Thanks for being the best scarf-clad army anyone could ever ask for. Please be safe in the holiday season, don't get trampled if you try to brave Black Friday crowds, and I hope to see you again super-soon, if I'm not trampled by Black Friday crowds; seeing as I have to work all the week long.
Oh, and if anyone… maybe, hopefully, is a SEC fan and going to watch the Iron Bowl, GO WAR EAGLE! (Jumps around wearing blue and orange) We've got a fighting chance this year! Stupid elephants won't know what hit 'em! Seriously, this is going to be a great game this year. I feel it; one for the record books. Nick better have his act together, cause we coming to win. :P
Okay, I'm done. The turkey is ready to eat and if I don't get in line, my cousins will take all the good meat and the dressing, too. (NO! I SAID THAT ONE WAS MINE, NATHAN! BROTHER OR NOT, GET YOUR GRUBBY PAWS OFF MY ROLL!)