Anderson awoke with a start. His dreams had been dark as the night outside the windows, and filled with the sounds of gunfire, shells dropping from fighter planes, and men's shouts of fear and pain. Nothing that would terrify a normal person, but the dreams brought back memories he wasn't too keen to think about. Gulping hard and wiping the sweat from his forehead, he rolled out of bed and stumbled towards the showers.
The hot water made him feel calmer, and he reigned in his mind and focused on the sound of water hitting the tiles and the drain gurgling as it swallowed the soapy suds. Taking a deep breath, he turned off the water, careful to keep a light hold on the faucets. It was in this state of mind that he was liable to break something accidentally.
Drying his hair, he stared at himself in the mirror. The bags under his eyes weren't as pronounced, but even without his glasses he could see them there clearly. He looked haggard, and felt about the same. It was times like this that he wished he still drank and smoked; nicotine would calm his nerves, and the alcohol would put a fuzzy edge to the memories so that he didn't have to think about them anymore.
But he had given both up long ago, and he wasn't willing to go and try them again. What he needed was a good meal and more sleep, not drugs. He wrapped the towel around his waist and went back into the bedroom, lying face up on the bed and basking in the silence. The bed's scent calmed him even more—washing powders, with an undertone of bleach and wildflower shampoo. He wasn't used to it yet, but it was becoming more comfortable to him.
He dozed as his body finished drying out and then shook himself awake, getting dressed in order to head downstairs and find something to eat. His stomach growled, seemingly in approval, and he went out the door, doubling back once to grab his glasses. As farsighted as he was, he'd be lucky to make it down the stairs without tripping if he ever misplaced the damn things.
The kitchens seemed empty, but he heard a loud ruckus in the next room and peeked in to see soldiers, dressed for wintery weather, sitting at the long benches in the room and eating. He bypassed the door and made his way further into the kitchens where steaming plates piled with some sort of vegetable casserole were sitting. It smelled good, but the plates might have been set out for others and he didn't want to steal someone else's supper.
Thankfully at that moment the head cook came back in from a door that led outside, bringing with her chilled air that raised gooseflesh on his arms. Since he'd been gone winter had set in, it seemed. She saw him and unwound her scarf from her neck, placing it and the matching hat on an empty expanse of counter.
"Eh? So you're back!" she chirped happily, coming over to pat him on the arm. "Was wondering when I'd see you!" He let her touch him before nodding at the plates.
"Those for somebody?" She looked at them, and then at him, before tutting and leading him over to a table in the corner.
"Sit here and I'll get you some. Don't move, now—oh! Would you rather have tea or coffee or—"
"Water," he answered her and she nodded before bustling around. In no time, a tall glass of water and a much larger plate piled as high as it would go with two different types of casseroles sat before him. He prayed over the food and quickly dug in, his stomach rejoicing at the delicious meal. At the priory, they'd eaten whatever scanty supplies could be brought to them from the outposts. While it was good, humbling food, he was more than happy to eat lavishly again.
She filled his plate twice more while he ate, all the while flittering around him and talking about what he'd missed. He tuned most of it out, focusing on his food. It was only after his stomach stopped clenching in hunger that he began to slow down and actually listen to her.
"—not that she was a particularly good eater before, I mean that she's never been picky but at least when I make them, she finishes them! My heart broke for her, the poor dearie."
"Who?" he asked in-between gulps of water. She pursed her lips and stared at him incredulously.
"The young Lady, of course!" she said, slightly miffed. "Her appetite's just not been what it used to be, not that it was anything spectacular to begin with." She offered more casserole and he shook his head, pushing the plate away and working on finishing his glass of water. "After all, she use to eat plates of my cinnamon buns at a time, but this last batch I made just didn't work! I'd made the buns to help her feel better, but in the end she gave them back…." she trailed off with an annoyed glare at the ceiling, as if she could see Integra through the floorboards.
"She sick?" he asked in surprise. He'd been half-asleep, but he was sure that when she'd stopped by to see him when they had taken a break from her dress she had seemed perfectly healthy. The cook nodded confidently, her eyes solemn.
"Ah, yes, she was terribly sick. Heartsick, she was." He stared at her for a moment.
"Heart…sick?" he repeated hesitantly. What was she talking about? The cook nodded again and patted his cheek with her weathered hand.
"Pining she was. She barely ate, and she kept sighing and she seemed so tired." The elderly woman clucked sympathetically and moved away, shaking her head. Anderson, wondering what in the world the woman could have meant, took another drink of water. He was halfway through a large gulp when her implications sat in and he choked, breathing in the water and coughing, wanting to laugh at the absurdity of it.
"There now!" she shouted, running back towards him and beating him in-between the shoulder blades, waving a cloth at his reddening face. "You men and your hurries! The water wasn't going nowhere and no one was going to take it from you, dearie! Don't gulp it so!"
Two weeks before the gala, Seras was outside enjoying the fresh air. Well, she was supposed to be enjoying it, anyway. She frowned at her team, who was supposed to be helping her string together strands of lights for Walter to hang outside on the gates. However, they were too busy being… men.
They had been teasing her by imitating what she sounded like in the showers, but that had devolved into seeing who could skew the lyrics to her favorite carols enough to make her angry. She was losing patience, and they kept dissolving into helpless peals of laughter at each other's "contributions" to the cause. They'd already finished a rousing three-part chorus of "Deck 'is balls" and were working on the lyrics to "Tyrant Night".
"Tyrant night, gory night…."
"Gentleman, please," Walter scolded as he stepped out into the cold to check their progress, ladder in hand. "Need I remind you that there is a lady in your midst?"
"Well, you can always go back inside," one chimed, causing the others to fall into another lapse of merry laughter. Walter glared harshly at them, his mouth a thin line, and they finally stopped and stared ashamedly at their boots.
"We are soldiers, men—not schoolboys," Walter reprimanded them with a growl he surveyed the completed strings of lights. "This should be enough, Miss Victoria. Go inside and warm up, everyone."
"It's alright Walter," Seras insisted as the men tramped inside to the mess hall where Cook would load them down with something delicious to eat. "I'll stay out here and help you string these on the gates." He nodded and she grabbed handfuls of the brightly colored lights before heading out with him to the front gates. She looked up at the gray sky, cloudy enough to hide the sunset but no precipitation. "I do wish it would snow by Christmas."
"Snow?" he chuckled as he prepared his ladder. "Goodness me, that would be a mess. Shoveling the sidewalks, and people bringing snow into the foyer at all hours of the day," he mused with a grimace. "That's a lot of extra work."
"But it's pretty," Seras countered, which in her mind made up for the extra effort that went with it. "And maybe that gala would be postponed because of a massive snow-in, so Sir Integra wouldn't be so stressed." She thought to herself for a moment. "I don't know why she worries so much. She never seems to bother about what people think about her the rest of the year."
"This isn't just any "person", Miss Victoria," Walter grunted as he stretched up in an effort to loop the lights the way he wanted to. "This is Lady Katherine." Seras wondered if she should help when Walter finally managed to get the ends tied onto the sides of the gate. He pushed the gate closed and moved to the other one, string them from the opposite direction.
"Why is sheso important?" Seras huffed as she slowly walked along with Walter as he strung, feeding him loops of the lights. Walter smiled and shook his head.
"You haven't met her yet; that's why it seems strange to you. Technically, she's Sir Integra's godmother, but that in itself doesn't give her much power." He paused to wipe his brow, sweating despite the cold. "Sir Integra and Lady Katherine are a lot alike," he confessed. "They both are blunt, stubborn, and completely at odds with each other. Sir Integra probably wouldn't be half as commanding as she is had she not had Lady Katherine for a role model during her teenage years."
"Does she wear suits too?" Seras asked curiously, wondering how twosuch women could exist in the world at the same time. Sir Integra was butch enough as it was, much less another English noblewoman sharing the same traits. Perhaps it was just a high-class thing. Walter laughed loudly, his voice ringing in the air.
"Not at all!" he assured her. "She's terribly old-fashioned. Sir Integra had a time with her the first time she chose to wear a suit, and for a while I thought there might be an outright civil war!" he explained. "But Sir Integra has told her that she would wear a dress to this gala. I must admit, I am looking forward to seeing her fancied up. She hasn't let anyone do that to her since she was a young child." He looked hopeful, and Seras smiled at the emotions twinkling in his eyes.
"I'm sure she'll look wonderful," she said, and held up a hand to help him down the ladder. They closed the other gate and looked at the results of their teamwork, shining brightly down on them. Then they opened them up again and walked back to the mansion, Seras carrying his ladder for him.
"You will as well," he added thoughtfully. "That tailor may be… eccentric, but he is very talented. I can't wait to see you both." Seras blushed and shook her head.
"They can make me up to be a pretty porcelain doll, but I'm still clumsy enough to ruin the entire look," she replied.
"That sounds like something Alucard would say," he frowned. Seras shrugged and promptly stumbled over the doorframe, effectively proving her point and forcing Walter to choose between catching her and the ladder. He wasn't fast enough for either and with a loud bang both girl and equipment fell to the foyer floor, skidding on the tiles. "Oh dear; are you alright?"
"Mhmm," she winced, rubbing her forehead. "I'm sorry, Walter; I've made a mess of things again." He picked up the ladder and hoisted it out of the way. By the time he turned back around, Alucard had appeared from seemingly out of nowhere and was dragging the girl up by her arms. She stood, wobbly-legged, and blushed fiercely at him before muttering her thanks and running off to the basement.
"What on earth has gotten into her?" Walter asked in confusion, looking at Alucard. As usual, he couldn't see much behind the glasses, and the vampire's usual grin always somehow lacked enough depth to find a true meaning.
"Yes, what could it be?" Alucard responded, staring at the basement stairs. "If we only knew." He sounded smug, and Walter sighed.
"What have you done to her, Alucard?" he asked, wishing that he could give the ancient being a good dressing-down. It worked on the men every time, but Alucard was too old to worry about what Walter— or anyone else for that matter—thought of him. Any scolding on his part would be utterly ineffective.
"This time, it's more of what she's done to me," Alucard replied cryptically, his smirk growing. His fangs gleamed in the twinkling Christmas lights and Walter watched the colors dancing off the ivory canines with a sense of remote loathing. Somehow, every year Alucard managed to dim his Christmas spirit.
"Don't you bother that poor girl," he warned, wanting to tear into the vampire with his wires. "She's got enough to handle, not counting you messing with her, and staying on her all the time."
"I assure you, Walter: she's the one "on me" at the moment. It's interesting, actually," he said with a cool sort of inquisitiveness in his tone. "I wonder which of us will hold out longest?"
"My money is on her," Walter said arrogantly, though he wasn't exactly sure what Alucard was referring to. He almost didn't care—he said it only to spite his old war partner. However, Alucard didn't laugh like Walter thought he would. His smirk faded and he looked both grave and contemplative for once.
"So is mine." he said inscrutably before vanishing into thin air. Walter gazed after him, shaking his head before carrying the ladder back to the supply closet and minding the mistletoe at the archway. He didn't want to know what it was—it was a vampire thing and honestly, it would only make him concerned for Seras.
With only days to spare until the gala was upon them, the entire mansion was in an uproar. Walter had a handful of soldiers he was training to take people's coats and usher them to where they needed to be, as well as guards who would be stationed around the mansion for the guest's safety. He and Cook were tearing apart the ballroom and building it back up to their liking with decorations and tableware.
Anderson was being stretched between his two duties. Apparently, the Pope had issued a decree to enhance the safety procedures of outlying Vatican headquarters and stations abroad; this meant a hefty amount of paperwork as well as more traveling than ever before. If that wasn't enough, he kept having to try and schedule time around all this extra work to meet with Lewis and Valerie, who were scurrying to finish his suit in time.
It wasn't any easy for Integra either. Since she was technically "free" from prison, the paperwork from the rest of the Round Table started to flow in once more. That meant more for her to do, since they had been backed up because of her incarceration and were sending her everything at once. And then she also had to put her two cent's worth in on decorations and what sort of music and food should be in the ballroom and which chairs and tablecloths to set out; it was her gala, after all.
And then Lady Katherine was calling up, offering suggestions and advice on silverware and what sort of wine to serve, among other things. Integra was nearly tempted to ask the woman to host the damn thing herself, but she kept her temper in check with the thought that once all this was over, things would simmer down. Lady Katherine wouldn't bother her about dresses and husbands and hopefully, she and Sir Penwood would take care of the rest of the Round Table as well, so that Integra could get back to doing what she did best: actual work.
Seras was trying her best to split her nights between training, helping Walter with preparations, and dealing with her master. Even as a vampire with super speed and senses, she couldn't be three places at once and she ended up just as worn out as the rest of the manor's staff and inhabitants. Alucard wasn't any help at all, insisting that this party was a human affair and the only reason he was attending is because Integra was forcing his hand. The only time he seemed remotely interested is when Seras had to have her dress sized, and even then he only slunk around in the shadows and said little to nothing.
There seemed to be an endless stream of decorators, tailors, cleaners, soldiers, staff, and even a few overly-cautious Vatican agents sifting in and out through the front doors, bringing work and leaving everyone with more to do. Seras even got her wish for snow three days before Christmas week; although it wasn't near enough to stop the gala from happening, it was still enough that thoughtless soldiers tracked it in on their boots and were thoroughly rebuked by an agitated Walter.
So life went on as hectic as possible, with everyone too tired to fight, tease, or even look at each other as the calendar days flew by. And then, before they even had a chance to stop and catch their breath, it was the day of the grand party.
To Integra's relief, the day went as smoothly as planned. The only surprise was that Lewis, who they'd all written off to be homosexual, was actually married to a beautiful young woman named Carson and just really loved fashion. Carson's brother was the acclaimed Gary, who was gay as well as a brilliant hairstylist. Lewis's wife pulled a few strings and suddenly the overbooked man was free to do both women's hair for the gala.
He showed up that afternoon in a cloud of hairspray and flamboyance before immediately marching downstairs to do Seras' hair. The poor vampire was already up, having been unable to sleep for nerves and excitement. He spent most of the evening with her, and then Lewis trailed behind him to fix her dress. Finally she was allowed to look at herself in the mirror and gasped aloud, unable to recognize her own image.
Gary had put extensions into her hair so that he could "do more with what she had", and now it fell in luxurious golden curls to her waist. Her bangs were pulled out of her face with a crimson ribbon and hung behind her, with only the shortest allowed to settle over her forehead.
Lewis had, as promised, made her dress a combination of green and red. The main part of the dress was scarlet and was built like a ball gown, with hanging sleeves that enveloped her upper arms and were outlined in a dark green color. It was tight on her torso, holding up her breasts with the help of some sort of modern corset that made her glad she didn't need to breathe all the time. It branched out in waves down the skirts, alternating between the bright scarlet and a darker red that was so subtle, you hardly noticed it. The ribbons and trimmings on the skirts were dark green as well, and shimmered slightly in the basement lighting.
The dress was long enough to cover her feet, so after some arguing Lewis had allowed her to wear plain flats, since no one would see and she was certain that heels would only make her more clumsy. She had bangles on her wrists, gold set with emeralds that were on loan from some jeweler that Lewis had connections with, and a matching gold and emerald necklace that was more a choker than an actual string of jewels, sitting high on her throat against her collarbone.
Valerie had come behind with cosmetics after the men had finished. Integra had fed them the same excuse about advanced porphyria, and so they hadn't batted an eye at her crimson irises for fear of being thought rude. Valerie had also spent time researching what might look best with her eyes, and had settled on a green so dark it was nearly black for the eyeliner, which she swiped across Seras' lids expertly. Then she dabbed on a grayish color on the lids and then mascara, which highlighted the strangely-colored eyes without making them overly noticeable. A lip stain the color of the darker red highlights in her dress completed the look.
She stood and stared at herself in the mirror, feeling like a giddy child. She swished her dress to and fro, watching the different colors come into light. It was truly a magnificent work of art, much better than she ever thought it would be. When she'd seen the prototype dress, she'd had an image in her mind, but this was much more than she could have ever imagined!
"Why, Miss Victoria!" Walter said in shock, and she turned around to smile at him and offer a small curtsy. He walked into the room, his eyes wide as dinner plates as he looked at her. "You—look at—My God," he murmured, barely touching the curls cascading down her back. "I would have never recognized you; you look so…." He paused, shaking his head, clearly speechless.
"Strange?" Seras guessed with a nervous grin.
"I think "captivating" would be a more appropriate term," he replied, clearing his throat. "You're very pretty all the time, but tonight you look positively stunning," he declared. Seras flushed, the color spreading across her cheeks and making her all the more darling.
"Don't make me blush, Walter," she mumbled, her nose crinkling. "Do you—do you think Master will approve?" she asked shyly, looking at him through her lashes. Walter nodded at once.
"I think he'd be foolish not to," he insisted. "But he better be on his guard," he added slyly. "With looks like that, you'll be getting more attention than I think either of you bargained for. He'll have to fight off the suitors." Seras reddened even more, the color spreading down her neck and turning her ears bright pink.
"Well… maybe I just might humor that sort of attention," she announced softly. "Master can fight if he wants, but I don't think he'd dare do anything drastic at Sir Integra's party." Walter hummed thoughtfully and patted her shoulder, treating her as if she might break.
"Just be careful, Miss Victoria," he advised. "You know how petty he can be at times."
"Walter, my ears are ringing!" The disembodied voice echoed throughout the room. Walter backed away with an apologetic smile.
"Are they, now?" he mused with a smile. "I wonder why?" He turned to leave, looking back at Seras one last time. "I suppose I should finish my duties and then find Sir Integra. She'll be at her wit's end trying to make sure all her ducks are in a row, as they say." Seras waved as he walked out the door, and then turned to face the empty room, looking around.
"Master?"
"Tell me true, Police Girl; what sort of women lets a man see her before…." His thought was never finished and she spun on her heel to see him standing against the wall beside her bed. He wasn't formally dressed yet, but she knew that all he had to do was use his shadows to get dressed and that he'd wait until he absolutely had to. He wasn't moving, or making any effort to complete his thought.
She lifted her skirts slightly and walked towards him, listening to the unfamiliar swish-swish of the fabric as she moved. She stopped before him and looked up at his face, trying to see his eyes behind his glasses. She hated that he wore them all the time; his eyes usually were a large clue to her as to his inner thoughts. She tapped their bond with her mind, but he'd completely shut off from her.
"You're right, Master," she agreed suddenly, and began to prod him out of the room. "I shouldn't be letting anyone see me until the party starts. So go and get ready; it won't be too much longer now." She pushed him out and shut the door, waiting to see if he would stop her. To her amazement he didn't, and she turned back to the mirror without another word. The woman in the mirror's smile seemed a little too crafty and knowing, so Seras grabbed a book from her end table, instead sitting in her chair to pass the time by indulging in fantasy.
She didn't like to think of herself as a vixen, but she had to admit; in this dress she felt rather… foxy.
"Come now, let us in!" Cook protested, trying to see around Lewis' agile form. The tailor blocked her off, pursing his lips in a frown.
"She's not done yet, my good madam!" he hissed, holding the chef at bay. "I promise you, when Valerie is finished you will be the first to see her!" Cook fell back, looking put-upon, and turned to Walter. Walter shrugged and leaned against the wall, waiting patiently, and the woman followed suit with a grumble. They waited quietly; they both had things to do before the gala officially started, but neither of them was going to miss this chance to see the young woman they'd helped raise all gussied up.
Finally, the door opened and Valerie stepped aside with a flourish to reveal the form of the heiress. Neither servant breathed, and the object of their focus became more and more agitated until finally:
"Well?! Stop staring like that!" Integra demanded, bright pink spots appearing on her cheeks. "That's an order!" she growled when no one listened to her. Cook clasped her hands beneath her jowls, her eyes shining with unshed tears. Walter took a step forward, looking as if he couldn't believe his own eyes. Then the waterworks started as Cook burst into tears, stepping forward to run a finger under the slimmer woman's chin.
"Oh!" she sobbed with joy. "What a lovely young Lady you've become!" Integra looked flustered and stepped away, but the corners of her mouth barley lifted at the woman's acceptance of her outfit. "I can't believe it—it's like a dream come true!" the woman blubbered, shaking her head as she stared in awe.
"You're beautiful," Walter summed up his thoughts with two words, smiling and holding her at arm's length, his own eyes uncharacteristically shiny as he bit his lip. "I could never have imagined… when I held you as a child, I would have never thought that one day you'd be standing before me, looking like this."
"Don't be sentimental, Walter," she insisted, but patted his hand on her shoulder comfortingly. He laughed and dropped his arms, instead going to pat the wailing chef on the back as she blew her nose into her apron.
"I'm afraid that's the fate of us elders," he joked half-heartedly. "We have to be sentimental for the rest of you young ones, so that you can live in the moment." Integra rolled her eyes and turned towards the stairs, heading for the ballroom.
"I suppose I better go down, she muttered.
"I'll come to finish up as soon as I can," Walter promised as Cook turned and began to cry into his shoulder, still going on about how beautiful she looked. Integra nodded gratefully and descended the stairs, steeling herself for what was to come.
If you'd told him when he was a child that one day he'd be standing in an Englishwoman's elaborate mansion, dressed in silk finery and ready to go to his wife's party, he'd have laughed. Him? In a mansion, in silks, with a wife that gave parties? Ridiculous! What was he, a high-class gent?
But now, he stood before the mirror and stared at himself, living out that very thing. He reached up and tugged at the jacket with both hands, being careful not to pull two hard and rip his own clothing off. He wasn't used to this slinky, silky material. He preferred the polyester of his own regular clothing. But the suit was also well crafted, and it fit him fine. He supposed that if it was only for one night, he could bear it.
He nearly ran a hand through his hair, but stopped at the last minute. That girl had used some sort of gel to tame it and while it wasn't slicked back, it wasn't all over the place anymore either. He probably shouldn't mess it up. He locked his hands behind his back and wiggled uncomfortably, still watching his reflection.
He'd been to social events before, with Maxwell. But it had been as a stolid protector, a bodyguard. He'd had been to dinners before too, and meetings at high-profile Vatican agent's houses where the elaborate settings were nearly laughable, but he'd always had a small part in those too. Now, he was the hostess's husband—that was a pretty big part. He'd never been in this type of situation before.
He had to try to make it work, though. He had an obligation to Integra, to make it work. Her hopes were riding on this gala and the approval of this mysterious Lady Katherine that everyone was so excited about. Personally, he couldn't figure what the big deal was. This woman wasn't the Queen, she wasn't the Pope and she sure as hell wasn't a Prime Minister, so why did this name have such prestige and authority behind it?
If it had just been the butler, or the cook and staff that had been excited, he wouldn't have been half as concerned. But even Integra herself seemed almost bullied by this woman into doing things she wouldn't normally do—wear a dress, put on a show, have a large party, and all to please Lady Katherine. Who was this woman, who could force even his stubborn little wife's hand in a way the most powerful men in the country couldn't? He was beyond curious.
But the enigmatic Lady wouldn't be the only guest he had to watch out for. That damned vampire and his hellspawn would be there as well, keeping an eye on the guests as well as causing all sorts of trouble; he had no doubts in his mind that by the end of the night, they will have managed to get themselves in over their heads. And as much as he wanted to, he couldn't stake them to the ballroom wall. He had to stay his hand, which went against every decent bone in his body.
He shook his head, roughly dispelling such thoughts. He couldn't lose control—not tonight. He had to prove himself to these men, although for him it did nothing. He didn't feel that he had to justify his marriage to anyone; it was God and Church-ordained and for him, that was good enough. But these fickle Englishmen and their ways, wanting her to marry one minute and not the next… He'd have washed his hands of them all by now, but then again, he hadn't been raised in this world of political power and changing hands. He couldn't compare her actions to his, because she'd been introduced to this lifestyle a lot earlier than he.
Glancing once more in the mirror, he had the fleeting thought that his parents would have liked to see him dressed like this; his mother especially so. She'd went on and on the first time she'd even seen him in his officer's uniform; surely even she would have never imagined that he'd be standing dressed like this one day.
He sighed and adjusted the blue and silver striped tie, squaring his shoulders. It was time to head downstairs.
Afterword: This chapter is so big; I had to split it in two! Also, you'll just have to make do with this, since another semester is upon me and that means less writing time. \(QoQ)/ oh noes!