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Oh my, it's been a while since the last update, hasn't it? Here you are, patient readers.
I do not own Hellsing.
Please read, review, and enjoy! : )
Amelia sat hunched at the foot of the bed, her back and neck aching from maintaining the poor posture for so long. She was tired, but unwilling to sleep. She was hungry, but had eaten no more than half of the food offered to her. There was nothing for her to do, and nothing that she wanted to do.
In the corner of the room the Captain stirred, drawing her attention for the first time in almost an hour. She slid one hand out of her lap and towards the clipboard resting on the blanket beside her, her fingers stopping just short of it as she watched the man in her peripheral vision.
Her captor stepped away from the wall.
Not wanting to bring about the tension that she had unwittingly summoned earlier, she kept her movements to a minimum, slowly pulling the clipboard into her lap and flipping it over so that the top sheet—still baring only one sentence—could not be seen.
"This is not for you." She spoke up before he reached her, her volume barely above that of a mumble. Her hands settled on top of the board. "It isn't for you." The repetition, no louder than the first, came out more defensive than assertive. If things went her way, no one would read the message and no one would figure out to whom it was addressed.
She did not raise her head when the Captain stood in front of her. It was almost a certainty that the moment she dared look up he would ask for the clipboard in the voiceless way that he requested things. As if she had a choice.
One uniformed knee touched the ground, and Amelia straightened her posture. A brittle snap made her jump, and she found a broken corner of the clipboard in her left hand.
"Oh, uh…" Her eyebrows wrinkled closer to one another at the sight of the detached piece. The anxiety of breaking something coupled with the self-consciousness expressed over her writing. More troubled about the board than she should have been, she began to stand, thinking that she would find a way to fix the damaged plastic and thereby avert any interest in her writing. Her gaze rose as she stretched her legs, eyes carelessly landing on the man in front of her.
She dropped back down on the bed. "I-I-I," she stuttered, trying to give an explanation that she didn't have.
He's going to take it! With trembling hands she struggled with the clip, trying to remove the first page without revealing what she had written. They're my words, not his. The paper came out along with a couple of extra sheets, one slipping out from between her fingers to fall at her feet.
"Wait…" She reached for the empty sheet with her left hand, three fingers still curled around the broken corner of the clipboard.
A larger hand put itself between her and the fallen page.
Recoiling, she let go of the plastic shard and fumbled with the clipboard and remaining papers, separating the sheet she had written on from the blank. The board, now balanced precariously on her lap, began to slide as she feverishly crumpled the paper in her hands. The Captain caught it before it hit the floor and Amelia sprang to her feet.
"Stop! Stop!" Her fists pounded the air at her sides in time with each exclamation. The second blank sheet fluttered down to settle atop her toes at the same time the Captain lifted his knee from the ground. Amelia shrunk as he stood, dropping back down to the bed for the second time and pulling her legs up and onto the mattress. Her limbs carried her until she felt the wall at her back, and she crushed the paper further into her palm.
"I said 'stop,'" her heart jumped. "I need you to… If you…" She was stuck between asking and ordering and uncertain if either method would work.
For the next two minutes the man did nothing more than watch and listen to her as she stuttered and struggled over a request that, at the end of the second minute, she realized he was already carrying out: don't do anything. That his gaze never strayed to the paper in her fist or moved away from her face embarrassed her further, and when she fell silent, she wished that she could erase the minutes spent making poor use of her vocabulary skills.
He's standing there and listening to me… He never talks the way… He never speaks, and I told him not to speak, so he just listened to me go on about…about… He let me make a fool of myself!
Eventually, the Captain did move again, plucking the pen out from the wrinkles of the blanket.
Thinking he would try and offer it and the clipboard back to her, Amelia moved forwards, planting her knees on the bed and putting out her empty hand, ready to slap both item away. But he did not extend the clipboard or the pen, and when he paused to look at her, the writing utensil pressed to the paper in his hands, she realized she had misinterpreted his behavior.
"No," she pulled back, "I don't…don't want it." Her volume dropped towards the end, and she broke eye contact.
The pen tapped briefly against the paper, and then the Captain turned the clipboard around for her to see.
'You should rest now. You will be needed later.'
A familiar sinking feeling tugged at Amelia's gut. "You don't need me," she muttered, the words escaping her lips faster than she could fully comprehend what she was saying. "Not me. Only my blood." Her breath stopped short when the implication sunk in, but aside from that and a twitch of her bottom lip, she showed no other outward signs suggesting what those words meant for her. She leaned back farther, untucking her legs from beneath her as her back returned to the wall.
The Captain responded in writing. 'For a little while longer.'
And then what?! Amelia wanted to cry, but she kept her mouth shut.
The thing standing in front of him that called itself a vampire was hardly above the intelligence of a ghoul, and in terms of physical capability, no better than a human on steroids. Even Walter, fifteen years from now, would be enough to finish the fledgling in front of him.
Alucard's lips drew back in a small snarl. It wasn't worth his time.
The lowly vampire bared his fangs while his eyes sought an escape route, his options for avoidance limited to one route. With an angry hiss, he spun around and ran back into the barn, the door slamming once against the flipped latch before swinging outwards behind him: a failed attempt to throw the door shut.
"Imbecile."
A column of wispy black descended rapidly from the stormy sky above, writhing like a living thing as it stretched towards the figure on the cliffs below.
The hound saw the snaking tendrils breaking off from the main mass—knew what it meant. In a frenzy, the animal paced in tight circles, barking and kicking off its front paws as it anticipated the arrival of the faceless shadow.
Before the darkness touched it, the dog sprung forwards and sank its teeth into the closest limb, snarling and tearing at it. Multiple sets of crimson eyes blinked open along the canine's snout as if they had been shut for a long time, slowly opening and closing, attempting to focus in disturbing contrast with the acuity of the dog's original pair.
The canine spit out one tattered coil and grabbed another, shaking it viciously. A wave of black rolled over the hound's head, and in an instant, both the animal and the shadow were gone.
The Baskerville Hound broke away from Alucard, black hair ripping away from cloth like loose threads. Charging at the barn, it waited until the last moment to swerve, hind legs slipping in the muddy sediment as it burst through the closing gap between the door and the frame with the intensity of a rabid animal.
The terrified bleats of startled hoofstock leaked out of the building, intermingling with the screams of something that wasn't quite human.
Alucard stared blankly at the creaking barn door as the wind pushed it back and forth, seeing something that was not truly there but no less real. The hound's memory played out in front of him like a film until it reached the present, and he severed the link. It was impossible to tell how much time had passed on that grey and miserable shore, for to Alucard, everything took place in a matter of seconds.
He shut his eyes, giving in to temptation.
When he opened them, he stood on the beach, his sharp gaze sweeping over the empty landscape. The wind died, the sea calmed, and the sky darkened, and for a breath, there was quiet.
Then he blinked, and the watery horizon disappeared, trading places with the dimly lit barn set against a starless night sky. His familiar came out of the building, its wary and deliberate steps bringing it closer to him. Even in the weak light, its hair glistened, hanging in damp clumps from its jaws and chest.
When Alucard took a step towards the dog, it halted, its slack jaw tightened, and it growled.
The Baskerville Hound was unlike any other familiar in his arsenal. Over the years personality faded and will-power crumbled, reducing man and beast to empty shells that existed for the sole purpose of being filled with the intent of their master. It was a natural deterioration, affecting some sooner than others.
But not the black dog.
Whether it was demonic or not, cursed or blessed, the animal would not be tamed. Yet, it was as susceptible as any other being to influence.
The eyes lining the dog's snout glared up at Alucard as he approached, blinking independently of one another. Aggression and excitement molded the animal's posture as it unknowingly leeched off his emotions.
"Alucard." Integra's voice rang out over the clearing behind him, demanding his attention.
Alucard stilled, arranging his expression into one of boredom, and then turned his back on the canine. His shadow elongated, lunging for the dog. The familiar had just enough time to let out a disgruntled snort before it was shrouded in darkness, dropping straight down into the shadow as if it was a pool of black water. Briefly, his shadow thrashed, contorting and shrinking until it assumed the shape of his silhouette.
"He's been taken care of." He finally answered the call of his master, the tips of his gloved fingers gently brushing against his palms as they curled into fists.
In the back of his mind he could see the frigid waves crashing on the beach, could hear the wind howling in his ears while the damp earth shifted beneath him. He could almost feel the girl beside him.