[3] Power and Principles
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Soundtrack: Going, Going, Gone - Stars
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He remembered those child's eyes, bright and almost unholy, watching him move through Richard Hellsing's men like they were insubstantial, scattering viscera and body parts about the dungeon as he gorged himself from their skullcaps. Oh, there was shock, horror and not a little revulsion boiling on the surface, but deep inside, he'd glimpsed that twinge of curiosity, the strange hidden fascination with the monster bound to her by blood.
Her blood.
His first taste in twenty years, and it had thrummed in his mouth like rocket fuel. Exquisite, Hellsing high-octane. Oh, he remembered a great many details of that night, every crack in the floor, every scream, the warm, pungent smell of terror emanating from their soft, weak bodies. But mostly, the heady, dizzying taste of her.
He could still hear her blood flowing, the steady trickle running down her sleeve from where the bullet lay buried in her arm. Yet the thirteen year-old girl who had probably never picked up a gun in her life had held that Walther PPK steady in her hands, muzzle trained on that pathetic, whimpering uncle of hers.
She'd asked his name.
Alucard, she'd mouthed experimentally. Processed. Compartmentalized. Took her grief and rage and tucked it all away.
Alucard, she'd repeated, in acceptance of duty, her inheritance, Master of this Monster. He'd listened to her heart as it decelerated, the last stages of adrenaline dissolving from her veins.
Then, she'd pulled the trigger. Without warning or fanfare.
Uncle and father, both buried that week.
And how he'd laughed then. Yes, yes! She was undeniably of old Abraham's lineage, but unlike her insufferably weak father and the traitorous Richard, she'd had all fear burned out of her that one night. As objectionable as indentured servitude was to this sober little girl, this child, he'd vowed to serve her.
A mere decade later, at twenty three, she'd achieved beyond his expectations, grown into something... he couldn't quite place a gloved finger on, but it had wormed its way into the back of his head and had made a comfortable home there.
Yet, there she was, locked up like some caged animal, with her family's institute crumbling around her, and she still repeatedly turned his offer down. Silly, infuriating…woman. But he could wait. He had the patience to wait another ten years, if necessary.
He'd gamble on her damnable pride, her iron will and fanatical need to keep her family name alive, even if it included the sacrifice of herself and of God.
Integra. Integral: complete; perfect. His Hellsing.
Had he been human, capable of such frail and ignoble traits as emotions, or feelings or ...whatever... he might have thought he was fond of her. And wouldn't that have been a laugh? A pet, a true slave, to her - granted, but still a fragile thing, still disgustingly... mortal.
Alucard's footsteps came to an abrupt halt, the knuckles in his left hand cracking under the grip of such an ignominious thought. Slowly, his fist relaxed. Fortunately, he was above such petty things.
The vampire lifted his head, contemplating London's evening sky, silently laughing at himself in an unusual fit of self-deprecation.
How strange. How unlike him to fall into silly introspection.
"Must be the full moon," he murmured, to no one in particular.
Pulling the brim of his hat down, Alucard shifted his grip on the object under his coat and continued his leisurely stroll towards the Tower of London. It was a fine, if unusually warm, night after all.
He wondered if his master would appreciate his present.
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He was a short (shorter than her, anyway), rather stocky man in his sixties, dressed in tweed, with a salt beard and a permanently severe, lined face that only served to enhance the pretentious, self-important air he exuded.
In other words, he more or less resembled every other Knight she'd encountered at the Round Table conferences.
Integra's gaze swung from brief assessment of her cell's visitor down to the official papers in her hand. Her shoulders did not shake as she read the missive. Her voice didn't rise from its normal clipped contralto into the booming registers it usually did when she became angry. In fact, someone who didn't know Sir Hellsing would have thought she was being remarkably even-tempered instead of, say, mentally firing an exploding mercury round into the space between his eyes.
"I find it inconceivable that Her Majesty would agree to allow a member of..." Integra nearly choked on the epithet, "...a pagan group to take control of Hellsing."
"I understand how valuable an asset Walter Dorne is to your family. However, Her Majesty felt it was necessary for someone of proper rank to assume a position such as yours."
"Walter has served Hellsing for nearly fifty years."
"And, as you just now mentioned, he is merely a servant."
"As is Alucard." She slapped the papers to the small table, near the cold remains of her dinner, but remained standing, refusing to place herself in any position below this pompous git. "Though I don't imagine you'll be able to order him as easily about." Her mouth tilted into the beginnings of a sneer. "You are, however, free to try."
Well, perhaps she was just a little irritated.
The old man smiled, a bit too patronizingly, and at that moment, Integra decided she was going to strangle him with her handcuffs if he even entertained the idea of patting her head like some errant child. "Alucard is no longer your concern. We have other, less unreliable ways of dealing with whatever issues may arise."
"Ah, yes." A voice wound like monofilament in the air, as something wicked this way materialized through the carved memorial to the five Dudley brothers, looking every bit the dark prince of Wallachia. "If I recall correctly, it involves recruiting children, arming them with primitive weapons, and systematically tossing them to the monsters." Integra made a nearly inaudible sound of amusement that only vampire hearing caught. Blood-red eyes flickered momentarily towards her, and then back to the guest present. "Tell me, Watcher, how's that working out for you?"
"Alucard, this is Lord Roger Wyndham-Pryce," Integra smoothly interrupted before the old man could retort, noting that he'd recovered from her servant vampire's entrance surprisingly well. "He comes directly from the Council, under the advice of Her Majesty to assist with the administration of Hellsing. At least until my fate is decided." She shot a somewhat rueful glance at Alucard. "I thought you said they were blown-up."
"Send in inferiors to exterminate vermin," the Watcher took a wary step back as Alucard reached into his coat, "and they always forget about the roaches."
However, what the vampire chucked at the man --spattering him with clumps of grey matter and coagulating blood-- was the item he'd been saving for Integra - most of a bald, severed head with a bit of spinal cord dangling from the bottom. Most noticeable was that its eyes were sewn shut with runes carved across the eyelids.
Torchlight glinted across the left lens of Integra's glasses as she ducked her head to hide the twitch in her lips. Cats sometimes left the heads of birds on their owners' doorstep as a sign of affection.
Sir Wyndham-Pryce, however, was not amused, but again, displayed remarkably smooth recovery. "A Bringer." He was good, she had to admit. "Where did you find this?"
"Near ground zero." Alucard took three long steps to the cluttered table and plonked himself casually into the chair near Integra. Unlike his master, he had no issues with where he stood (or being this case, sat) relative to matters. "I suppose escaping before the bomb detonates becomes substantially more difficult when you can't actually locate the door."
"Bomb...?"
"Haven't you heard?" Integra crossed her arms as well as the soft-restraints on her wrists would allow. Alucard's eyes narrowed as he saw her hands were bare. Then spotted the bloodied glove on the floor. Unnoticed, he leaned back over in his chair and picked it up. "While you were otherwise occupied, someone, or some thing, decided your offices would be better served as landfill."
Sir Hellsing had never seen anyone dial a phone so quickly.
"Travers!" Roger Wyndham-Pryce barked into his cellular. Then, "If you could tell me where--" Master and servant watched as this poor man, who had probably experienced more shocks in a single hour than he'd managed to accumulate the past few years, slowly paled. "I see. Thank you."
Clicking the phone off, he strode back towards the entrance and banged his knuckles twice on the steel. Latches on the other side snicked hollowly as the locks slid away, and the door swung open. Two similarly-dressed aides stepped in as the Watcher addressed Alucard and Integra.
"As of now, you both are considered inactive. All Hellsing-related equipment will need to be turned in." The men then proceeded to confiscate Integra's laptop and cell phone, leaving only the cigars. Wyndham-Price turned to Alucard. "Including any weapons that happen to be on your persons."
With a wicked smile, Alucard stood and drew both the Casull and Jackal, leveling their barrels at each of the aide's heads.
"I can do that. Would one bullet at a time be sufficient?" That smile stretched obscenely as he felt pulses spike, tendrils of his hair twitching like rattlesnakes. The guards outside had drawn their weapons as well, and were nervously pointing them at the vampire.
"As Administrator of Hellsing--" the Watcher tightly began.
Two safeties flicked off, sounding ridiculously loud in the small chamber. "I do not serve pretenders to the throne."
Lord Wyndham-Pryce threw a glance over towards Sir Hellsing, who stood there with her arms still crossed, impassive, and looking just a little bit smug. More footsteps sounded as panic began to rapidly build outside. Alucard licked his lips, fangs baring in anticipation of the impending violence.
"Alucard," she finally reprimanded, in a not-at-all convincing manner.
The tense tableau held for a few more moments, then to the relief of all persons not named Integra Hellsing, the vampire reluctantly thumbed the safeties back on, inverted his weapons, and slapped them grip-first into the aides' hands. The unlucky fellow who was handed the Jackal fumbled and nearly dropped the thirty-five pound pistol.
Without further word, Alucard stepped between the two trembling men, towards the door. The armed guards stationed there still had their weapons trained on him, but slowly backed away as he made his exit.
Roger Wyndham-Pryce was last, turning at the door. He glanced around the room, motioning to his men. "I want wards set up all around the perimeter. We wouldn't want anything unfortunate to get out." His jaw twitched. "Or in."
He then addressed the cell's remaining occupant. "Sir Hellsing. I assure you this turn of events was not my idea. But as far as Her Majesty is concerned, your stay here has been deemed...indefinite."
After the cell door clanged shut and latches were swung back into place, Integra stood there for a while longer before slowly uncrossing her arms. Heading slowly back to her cot, she slowly sank down onto it.
And she waited.