The sun was beginning to set over the Hellsing property, peeking over the large complex that was built as an extension of an already massive manorhouse. Soldiers marched across the lawn and tended to vehicles on the concrete next to the garage, getting ready for the night. While it was possible for supernatural activity to occur during the day, offending supernaturals were often far more active at night.
A car drove up to the front gate and stopped so that those inside could present the guards with their IDs. Once inside the property, the vehicle traversed down the many roads that led this way and that way- to the hanger, to the practise field, to this, and that- before slowing down once it reached the residential area where many of the soldiers who worked at the base lived. There were apartments and apartments, and apartments, but the car parked in front of the newest apartment complex: the one built for the influx of lycanthrope staff to live in.
Oliver pulled the parking break before taking his hands off of the wheel. He turned to the woman in the passenger seat with a smile. "Well, we're here." he said.
"Indeed, we are." Claire replied, pausing before unbuckling her seatbelt. Once it was off of her, and she no longer had any physical inhibitor to stop her from opening the door and leaving, she hesitated again, wanting to say something. Her cheeks were pink and she scowled as she stared forward, refusing to look at the Midford. "I had a nice time." she finally said, although it seemed to cause her physical pain to do so.
"I did, too." Oliver said, finally prompting the woman to look over at him just a tad. His smile only widened as he chuckled. "I hope we can do this again sometime. Only if you want to, of course. I won't make you duel again if you want to say 'no.'"
"No." The woman replied. "I think I would like that. Seeing you again, I mean. Not dueling you."
"Really? Afraid you might lose?"
"Don't assume that the same trick will work on me twice, Oliver. I would destroy you."
"You're probably right." nodded the man. "That's why I was hoping you'd agree without it. Do you want me to call you?"
"I… Isn't it unfair for you to arrange the date twice?"
"Not really. Did you have something in mind?"
"No… I still don't know the first thing about arranging a human date- or, any date for that matter..."
"Think you've got the hang of going on 'human dates,' though?"
"I am certainly more… comfortable with it, although I don't find myself proficient in the slightest."
"No one really is." said Oliver. "If we both had a good time together, then it was a successful date. I'm just glad I got to see you laugh as much as I did."
"I… Enjoyed seeing you have fun as well." Claire actually smiled a bit at seeing the blush on Oliver's face darken. It was a small smile, but Oliver was more than content with it.
"I'm afraid I'm at a bit of a loss again, however." the woman continued.
"Go ahead." It wasn't the first time during the course of their time together that she had questions about etiquette, and Oliver was always more than happy to answer them. As time passed, it became less awkward when either of them didn't understand the situation or the rationale behind each others' actions.
"I don't know if there is an etiquette to leaving..." Claire somewhat bashfully state, finally turning to face the man. "It feels rude to just get out, somehow."
"Yeah, I get what you mean… It never seems right the first few times, but it gets easier. Sometimes, people just sit and chat for a bit until the conversation dies out, but you can just leave, if you want. Oh! But before you do, you should tell me when the best time to call you is! Your sleep schedule is different than mine!"
"I wake up at dusk and am on call until dawn." The woman's tone was as serious and stoic as ever.
"That long?!"
"Not quite. I wake up at dusk and go do my non-call work until around five in the morning. Then, I go home. I'm just still on-call in case I'm needed at that time."
"Oh, yeah… That's right… It's been a while since I've been in the field, so I forgot!" Oliver laughed. So, if I call you around five-thirty, will it be alright?"
"You don't need to get up that early for me."
"It's fine. Or, we can text so that so that we both can answer each other whenever we have the opportunity."
The suggestion made the woman pause. She had to stop to consider it, as she was somewhat skeptical of approaching someone so informally. Still, she supposed that the whole point of interacting with Oliver like this was to be relaxed and have fun, and as she had learned previously and over the course of the day, Oliver was more than alright with her not being formal. It felt nice to not be so on guard. Even though she felt somewhat out of place in everything that they did together, Oliver always made a point to help her feel as though she belonged there. Thus, she nodded.
"Alright." She said. "That is a good compromise."
"Alright. It's settled then."
The conversation died of natural causes right then and there. Neither of them could think of anything more to say, so the air was silent as the pair looked at one another, hoping that something else would come up.
"Well..." Claire finally said, breaking the silence. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight, Claire." Oliver replied and with an affirmative nod, Claire quickly opened the door and stepped out of the vehicle in one fluid motion. She shut the door behind her and walked around the car toward the stairs of the building. Her walk was certain and dutiful as always, but slowed somewhat as she looked over her shoulder. There, Oliver was still in the car, making no movement to leave. He offered her a smile and a wave, but that did not satisfy her. Immediately, she turned around and walked briskly back to the vehicle, prompting the Midford to roll down his window to talk to her.
"Why aren't you leaving?" Miss Whelan demanded, leaning down so that she could meet eyes with the man.
"It's polite for the driver to wait until their date gets inside of their house in case they lost their keys." the man stated.
"I never forget my keys."
"True, but it makes me feel better to know you got back home safely."
"I see." She was content with that answer. "Thank you." Once again, she nodded before turning away. Abruptly, however, she leaned down again to add: "Goodnight."
"Goodnight." Oliver nodded back. "I'll text you to let you know I got home safely."
"Good." Claire stated. "Goodbye." For the last time that evening, she walked away from him, finding it odd, but somewhat comforting to know that Oliver was watching out for her, as well as the fact that he would let her know that he returned safely as well. What a pleasant custom. She made a note to adopt it herself as she climbed the stairs to her floor. Once there, she looked over the railing and sure enough, the man was still there, just as he said he would be. With that, she carried on toward her front door, but stopped as she very clearly saw the curtains in the window of the apartment she was passing quickly close.
Turning to face the window, she put her hands behind her back and stood confidently and menacingly, glaring at the window with all of her might. She waited a few moments before the door of the apartment finally swung open and three rough-looking women stepped outide, lining up at attention against the wall.
"Welcome back, Ma'am!" they said in unison. They would have looked rather official, had they not still have been in varying stages of getting ready for the evening, with two of them in their pyjamas, still. One of them had foam around her mouth, as she had been in the process of brushing her teeth.
"At ease." Claire instructed. "Is there any reason why I've been watched as soon as I arrived at this building, faoladh?"
The women looked to one another, silently checking to determine what the best answer was. In the end, however, two of them looked at the third, prompting her to be the one to reluctantly speak. "We were wanting to ask you how your date went, ma'am."
Claire narrowed her eyes. She stared at her underlings for a moment longer before walking onward down the corridor. "It was adequate." she said, causing the women to smile. "Adequate" was "good" to the leader of the Whelan clan. Ordinarily, she would scrutinise every single detail about things, whether it be in training or anything else. For her to deem this man "adequate" meant that they had little to worry about, although they were still somewhat suspicious of him. In fact, poor Oliver noticed the curtains on the apartments on the ground floor moving as well, causing him to wave at the people monitoring him.
"But! Just because I have the night off doesn't mean that you can slack off!" Claire practically barked from down the hall. "Kathleen is in charge and I'm having her write me a detailed report. You're dismissed."
"Yes, ma'am!" the trio dutifully replied in unison before scurrying inside. Once the door was shut, they giggled amoungst themselves, knowing that they had a lot to gossip about while the boss was away.
Once ready, they tended to their daily duties with the others in their platoon, counting and maintaining gear, mopping up, and doing whatever else needed done. A few of them sat in a circle, treating the scabbards of their swords so that the leather was healthy and the metal was polished and ready for combat. Some, however, were sewing holes that had been torn in their pouches or a patch that had come loose on their uniforms. All of them sat nonchalantly and talked as if they weren't soldiers who could be called into the field at any moment.
"Do you think they've kissed, yet?" questioned one of them- a faoladh with red hair braided closely to her head and above her eye. Another woman- one with dark hair fashioned in a short fauxhawk answered her without even looking up from her scabbard.
"Nah, she would have killed him if he tried."
"What do you think of him? He seems alright. She wouldn't go along with it if he weren't, even if he did beat her."
"He's a weirdo, if you ask me." said another. This woman had a large mane on her head that was held out of her face with a headband. She had a scar in the shape of a fish on her exposed arm, carved into her arm with a blessed blade for decorative purposes. "He sat there in his car for a long time after she got out."
"Maybe it's a human thing." suggested the woman with the braid.
"I hear he's related to the Phantomhives, and they're all weird, according to some of the folks from the base." Fauxhawk stated.
"Don't you badmouth the Phantomhives, Orla." said the woman with the fish tattoo. "They're the reason you're sittin' there instead of dead and buried or still livin' a lie under you-know-who."
"Yeah, I guess you're right." Orla replied.
"It must be nice, though..." sighed the redhead, pausing from her work to rest her chin in her palm and her elbow on her knee. "Most of the people we talk to every day are all girls, so she's really lucky."
"What about Solomon? Think he's cute?"
"Stop it!" the woman with the braid giggled, giving the one with the fauxhawk a playful shove. "He's not that cute..."
"Well, you might wanna give it a shot if you're going to, 'cause there's a lot of other girls who've probably got the same idea." informed the tattooed woman.
"What?! No way! Who?!"
"Saoirse, Sheila, and I think Deidre, maybe..." Orla counted off on her fingers.
"Uuuuuuugghhh! I can't compete with Sheila! The way she handles knives is beautiful!"
"That's true..."
"Hey! You're supposed to support me!"
"I am supportive… of the facts."
The nature of those at the organisation was always strange, but that simply came with the territory. No one else could do the things that these operatives do, which is why they never leave HELLSING for as long as they can. That went for supernaturals and humans alike.
In the research department, the people there approached their own work with similar amounts of enthusiasm and eccentricity. Wink stood in an airtight testing room, staring down at a long, plastic bin full of herbs and sand. She turned off the heatlamps beating down on it and put on a pair of latex gloves before reaching into the mixture and feeling around. Once she found what she was looking for, she grabbed ahold of it firmly and pulled the nameless black blade commissioned for the Earl Phantomhive out of the sand. Holding it steady so that it was horizontal to the table, she sprayed it with a can of compressed air, removing any unwanted grains or debris before holding it up to the light to examine. Satisfied with her findings, she placed the can of air down and grabbed a tuning fork, striking the blade with it and listening to the sound.
Perfect. It was exactly as she had hoped it would be. Carefully, she wrapped it in a cloth in order to both protect it and herself as she returned to the main lab. There, she stored it away until the scabbard was finished, but that was work for another day. She still needed to check on how the treatment of the baronet's weapons was going.
Wink returned to her desk to write her notes on the progress of the sword before proceeding, carefully documenting her process and her findings. As always when she dealt with projects like these, however, she felt eyes trying—and failing- to bore holes in the back of her head. It was best to ignore it, however. Entertaining the irritating warlock would only encourage him, as annoying as it was for him to read over her shoulder. Finally, however, the silence was broken.
"Did you use a tuning fork on it?" Dafydd asked, now standing right behind Wink.
"Yes, Dafydd. I did it right after dusting it off." the witch answered, not looking at him.
"Did you hit the back side or the front?"
"The back, Dafydd."
"You really should have hit the blade."
"Well, you should be sure to do that when you're assigned a sword." Wink stated, not leaving him any room to continue talking to her. He stood there for a moment, placing his hands in his pockets and rocking on his feet.
"Soooo..." he began, drawing it out as he stalled to figure out how to phrase his next question.
"Sir Phantomhive will probably come in to get the Jarnglofar add-on when his husband comes in to get his sword." the woman informed, cutting him off. "Don't talk to him if he does."
"I won't say anything bad to him. I am over it. I just wanted to know."
"Mm-hm..."
"Really, I did."
"I heard you, Dafydd. I'm working."
"Fine. Fine. I'll just… go over here, then." the warlock replied, putting his hands up before backing toward his own desk. "I have things to do too, you know."
"Yep."
"I'm trying to make a potion strong enough to heal deep wounds instantaneously."
"Good luck with that."
"It's going very well."
"That's nice." With that, Wink stood up again and left the room, returning to the lab to work on her next object while her coworker sat down.
Dafydd sighed, sitting with his back turned to the potion station he had set up on his desk. Leaning back and closing his eyes, he wondered what exactly was the problem his coworkers seemed to have with him. They were always so rude, often ignoring him or going out of their way to avoid him! None of them would let him live down his previous mistakes with the Phantomhives, or the "harmless" pranks he pulled on Miranda in the past. Wink even went so far to mock him, gawking at how it was a wonder that he hadn't been fired yet! She was especially cruel to him, and combined with the fact that she was a sorceress, Dafydd felt especially inclined to prove something to her. Warlock magic was notoriously weaker than the magic of witches, hence why Dafydd needed all of his rings and earrings to harness and focus his magic and the magic of the world around him. He didn't like to admit it, but her presence made him feel small. Thus, he needed to do a good job so that she didn't show him up. Unfortunately for him, Wink was a notoriously skilled witch while he was a rather skilled warlock. His rings simply weren't enough.
But what if there was a way to amplify his magical output? He could try more jewelry. Different jewelry. Perhaps tattoos were an option? It wasn't unusual for humans at HELLSING to have magical tattoos, so why couldn't he? Before he could do anything, however, he needed to come up with a plan. He needed to know what spell to mark himself with and how he was going to reinvent his magical instruments.
In the meantime, however, he needed to turn up the air conditioner. It was summer, still, but it was hot! It was getting hotter, too… Wait, what was that smell? It smelled like burning hair?
Dafydd let out a scream as he jumped up, desperately patting the back of his lab-coat and head. His ponytail had gotten caught in the burner at his station that was keeping his cauldron heated. Wink told him a million times to use a lab, but he didn't listen! Now, he was tearing off his labcoat and throwing it on the ground. Still smacking his own head with his hands, he jumped on top of it, all while screaming in both pain and alarm. Finally, however, he felt a burning cold come over his back as everything went white. A coughing fit came over him and he screwed his eyes shut, waving his arms around in order to shoo the mist away while Miranda sprayed the coat at his feet.
When the dust finally cleared, the room was completely silent. Dafydd rubbed his eyes and blinked a few times, having regained his breath, but his back felt cold. While he was only able to reach his shoulders, he could feel that the shirt he was wearing had a massive hole burned through it. More pressingly, however, was what he didn't feel on his back.
"My hair!" he declared, feeling the singed stub that remained of his ponytail. He looked around, desperately trying to find something reflective enough for him to use to inspect the damage, but everyone could see it, even if he couldn't. The man's mullet was a mess- even moreso than usual. It would take a trip to the hair salon to fix it, but for that day, he was going to have to live with it. That said, this was still not the worst of it.
"Dafydd..." Miranda began, nudging her glasses further up her nose. "Go to the med wing and get your burns checked out. Then, I want to see you in my office."
Miranda never used her office. She was hungry for research and therefore she always out on the floor. Her office was bad news, as it meant that she was going to use her power as head of the department. Sometimes, it was simply giving orders to focus investigation in certain areas or to assign a project, which were all ordinary and non-threatening reasons to be called there. This, however, was not one of those times.
On that day, Dafydd lost his ponytail, but more importantly, he was demoted. Wink thus took over his role as lead magic expert on the team, while Dafydd was sent home for the day. There was no way that he could be allowed to work in only a fraction of a shirt and besides, he had a hair appointment he needed to arrange.
A/N: Please let me indulge in the weird daily shit that goes on at HELLSING aoijgqowiegjalkdjaglh I really love thinking about this shit but I don't always write it! With the positive response to the random politics of last chapter, though, I thought now might be as good a time as any.
I was initially going to include other departments, but I couldn't figure out how to extend it beyond the bit with Dafydd? Speaking of Dafydd...
*Insert "The Evil Is Defeated" gif here*
The mullet has been destroyed. The world is safer now uwu
I mean, there's still unhinged demons obsessed with more well adjusted demons vying for power in the French governement, but, y'know... Small victories.
Until the next chapter, my duckies~!