Rarity: Part 8
The minute I open my door, the cats are all over me. Jinto, the younger, seems to think that tripping me will be a suitable affectionate greeting; Lafiel, the elder, leaps from the back of the chair by the door to drape herself from my shoulders instead. "Calm down, guys! I'm glad to see you too!" I tell them as I flick on the overhead light, dropping my bag of soggy clothing.
"Come on in, make yourself at home," I call back to Alucard without looking. "If I don't feed the beasties right away, I doubt that they'll forgive me." I walk through the living and dining rooms and into the kitchen, beset by hungry cats all the way.
He enters the kitchen a moment later, just as I finish serving the cats their canned food and move on to replenishing their water and dry food. The cats tuck in, taking no more notice of this guest than they would anyone else.
"This is Jinto and Lafiel," I say, introducing the cats. "The woman who gave me Lafiel swore up and down she was Lafayette, but the vet pointed out that he was a she. And then Jinto met her in the garden and moved in on his own." I'm perfectly aware that I'm babbling. I just don't care. I'm tired, and if I'm going to be bait and have who-knows-what in my house, they shall suffer my babbling, dammit.
"Huh." Alucard responds as though he's successfully ignored the babbling. He looks for somewhere on the kitchen table to deposit box of donuts, fails to find a space, and sets the box on one of the chairs instead. He then looks around, studying the surroundings. He gestures toward the windowless wooden door visible in the dining room. "Basement?"
"Yeah... It's not, you know, finished, so there's nothing but the laundry machines and boxes and such down there."
"It opens to the outside?"
Ah, I should've thought of that. "It does. Not exactly air-tight, either... can vampires really turn their selves into mist?"
"It depends on the vampire." He moves away, returning to the living room and looking at the stairs. "The house has no attic."
"Nope, just lovely sloping ceilings upstairs." I return the bag of dry cat food to its hiding place under the sink and stare at the refrigerator. I should really eat something, but the donut I had has rather spoiled my appetite. I get out some leftover curry that I need to finish anyway. "So, can vampires enter a place without being invited?"
"That also depends on the vampire." He moves to the far side of the living room and casually begins to study my bookshelves.
"Can Fioli-Sternson... er... Sir Skeffinton?"
"We suspect so." He pulls out one of my books - I don't see which one - and sits down in my favorite (and only) armchair.
I decide against asking him to move, and microwave my leftovers instead. To my surprise, Alucard continues.
"Sir Skeffinton's abilities lie in evasion. His apparent inability to fight has nearly led to his capture on a number of occasions, but he has always escaped. Were he a worthy opponent..." he pauses, the last phrase hanging in the air for an odd, silent moment. He sounded so... sad, or perhaps tired, when he said it. "Were he a worthy opponent, I would be at the edge of the Loch waiting for him. As it is... it is felt that I will be of more use here..." I note that he seems to struggle with the last part before finding a passive way to state his displeasure.
"So you're here to mop up, but nobody thinks he'll get this far," I say, getting my food out and prodding it with a fork. "It sounds like somebody's trying to keep you out of trouble. You must be awfully disappointed."
He gives a short, somewhat bitter laugh. "Perceptive."
I can't tell if he's being sarcastic or not.
By the time I finish eating and getting a shower, Alucard seems to have completely settled in, and has either been reading Harold Schechter's Nevermore rather quickly or has skipped ahead, because he seems to be halfway through already.
I can hear the cats scratching at the basement door, which means that there's probably a mouse taunting them from the far side again. "Any word?" I ask Alucard as I pass, rounding the corner to open the door for the cats.
As soon as I yank the obstinate door open, the cats race down the stairs. I push the door shut behind them, lest they leave presents for me at the foot of my bed, good hunters that they are.
"None," he responds without a glance as I return to the living room. "Perhaps you should rest," he suggests, his definitely red eyes finally sliding up to meet mine.
I feel the tension in my shoulders easing at the very prospect, and I notice how tired I am. "That sounds like a great idea," I say, barely able to stifle an unexpected yawn as I turn toward the stairs. I don't know how well I'll sleep - sheer nervousness has been keeping me awake this long - but I find I want to give it a try now.
However, before I can get to the stairs, my foot bumps a large, full plastic bag sitting in the way. I look down, and my shoulders sag. "Crap. I forgot about my wet clothes," I mutter, picking up the bag and turning around again. "I'd better go put them in the washer so that they don't smell like loch forever."
Alucard, sitting still but now watching me, raises an eyebrow at this and watches as I pass. I assume that he's thinking that worrying about my clothes right now is a bit silly. I don't care. I like my jacket and I'd like it to stay in a wearable state.
A waft of cold air greets me when I open the basement door again. The cats must still be hunting. I descend, now wearing my own pajamas, but still the pink slippers given me as emergency footwear. I figure they'll make good house shoes for just such an occasion as this - traversing the house's unfinished basement.
I carelessly throw the light switch, passing under the bare light bulbs to the washer and dryer, located beneath the kitchen at the rear right corner of the basement.
I see shadowy movement beneath the shelves lining the right wall as I walk by, and assume that it's the cats, probably annoyed at my disturbing their hunting.
It takes me a moment to get everything out of the still-damp pockets, but soon everything not to be washed is in a soggy pile on top of the dryer, and the clothes are in the washer. I reach for the detergent on the shelf to the right.
That's when I catch movement to my left out of the corner of my eye.
I freeze in cold shock, suddenly perfectly aware of my environment. To my left, in the opposite rear corner of the basement, is the loose, grimy door to the stairwell to the outside.
I tell myself that what I saw was only the cats. Steeling myself, I slowly turn my head.
Movement along the floor attracts my attention. It's not the cats. There are things half the size of the cats moving along the floor. Rats. My stomach knots up. My right hand, gripping the handle of my near-full jug of detergent, tightens. My gaze follows the rats; they're suddenly streaming toward the rear left corner of the basement, which seems to be shrouded in shadows. The lights flicker.
I hear the cats growl. They're behind me. Jinto, the more timid, moves to crouch a few feet away from my feet. Lafiel, more bold, stalks around the shelf on my right and onto the dryer, tensed as though to pounce. Both of them are growling low and steady now, ears flat back.
"What were you waiting for?" I mutter to them, not taking my eyes from the dark corner opposite me.
The rats swarm, pile onto each other, build a tower from their squirming bodies. I can no longer distinguish individual rats within the mass - the lights seem to be giving out - and then I realize that it's not rats at all, but a crouching man slowly standing.
Skeffinton.
"Such a hassle," he murmurs. "It's so hard to carry things in that form..." He raises his arm toward me.
He's got a gun. My own revolver, lost in the Aquabus. The bastard.
He tilts his head to the side, slightly manic red eyes catching mine. "...But I'm not about to bite you just to be rid of you. Ghouls are such a mess, you see, so I never kill that way. Suicide will suit you much better." He pulls back the hammer.
I can't avoid the all-consuming red his eyes, still locked with mine. I can't break the gaze. But those near-luminous depths, all seems to be growing dark. "Be still," he tells me.
I am still.
He takes a step forward. Lafiel growls loudly.
"You don't have to listen to him," I seem to hear Alucard's voice say in my ear, though he's obviously not there.
Skeffinton stops, eyes narrowing as he shifts to regard the grey tabby. "I suppose you can take these filthy beasts with you," he mutters, swiftly bringing the pistol to bear on her.
My right arm is still outstretched, still grasping the jug of detergent on the shelf.
Using the rest of my body as a counterweight, I fling the nearly-full jug straight at Skeffinton.
He gives an inarticulate cry as he's struck, staggering backward as the jug breaks and soaks him in liquid detergent. The gun goes off; a gouge appears in the top of my dryer as the bullet glances off of it into the wall beyond. Lafiel seems to have teleported away.
I should do the same, but my feet won't move. I'm too scared to move.
Skeffinton recovers, his upper lip curling back in a grotesque, impossibly wide snarl, and roars with rage as he brings my revolver up again.
My heart is beating almost painfully fast, and I find I'm holding my breath.
The dimmed lights go out entirely.
I feel a hand on my shoulder, and... I'm thankful for the darkness. A rush of wind passes my ear, ruffles my hair, like a loosed arrow. I have the vague impression of animate - I can't say living - darkness with no set shape and too many eyes.
I pass out.
Disclaimer:
Hellsing, the series, concepts and characters, are the property, copyright and trademark of Pioneer Animation/Geneon (see http/hellsing. No ownership or claim on said property, copyright or trademark is made or implied by the use in this work. This work constitutes a personal comment on the aforesaid properties pursuant to doctrines of fair use and fair comment. This work is non-commercial, not for sale or profit, and may not be sold or reproduced for commercial purposes.