"This piece fits there and stimulates that, causing them to open and close." said Mister Blythe while opening and closing his hand. "The perfect machine… At least, it will be perfect, when I'm done."

Turning back around, now facing the open room with his back to the window, the man extended his disproportionately long arms and rested his palms on the desk. "Are you here to tell me that I don't have much time left to do that?" he asked, facing the woman as she sat in the chair in front of him.

Her fingers were bandaged, peeking out the opening in her forest green cape as she rested them in her lap. She sat elegantly and held her chin up high. Her gaze never wavered as she faced the man.

"I'm here to warn you." She answered in accented English. "You are wasting time with this. Your grandfather wishes for you to focus your energy on acquiring resources. You'll kill yourself at this rate."

"So he only cares if I die if I'm useful, then? Well, at least he outright admits it." the man shrugged. "Is it wrong for me to want what everyone else wants? What he has?"

"I am not in a position to make that judgment."

"Oh, shut up, Claire. You always have an opinion."

"My opinion is that your pursuit of immortality is more likely to get you killed than not." Claire replied. "There are easier ways that are already accessible to you. All you have to do is ask."

"I'll be shunned if I do that and you know it."

"Then die."

That made Raymond furrow his brow at her. "What do you really want?"

"It is not a matter of what I want, but rather, a matter of what his highness inquires." the woman replied. "He wants to know if you will be coming to your uncles wedding or not."

"Haven't decided yet." Mister Blythe answered, straightening his back. "Who's Phillip marrying again? The Pomeroy girl, right? Why her?"

"His highness has an interest in maintaining noble a noble bloodline." Clare answered. "She may be a nobody, but she is descended from English Earls, so it's close enough."

"You don't sound too happy about that."

"It is not my decision to make."

"Did you have a crush on the prince or something?"

"No." the woman bluntly stated, glaring at the man before her. "The only thing I don't like more than the English are humans. Even if I were valuable for maintaining bloodlines, I would still detest it if I were meant to marry a human."

"That isn't something you should be saying to a member of the royal family." Mister Blythe reminded her.

"You are stripping yourself of your humanity. You do not count, even in your grandfather's eyes." she said. "Come or do not come. It doesn't matter to me."

"I don't like your tone, young lady..."

"So be it." Standing up, Claire stared him down. "You are on thin ice already. His highness invites you to his son's- your uncle's wedding, all the while you are forsaking him by mutilating your body, wasting resources, and failing to do the task you have been given. You were not meant to fall for the same rhetoric as the rest of the Philosophers."

"You don't know what being human is like and neither does he!" Blythe snapped back. "With each passing moment, I am slowly dying. All the while, I am meant to serve a leader who promises me nothing for my efforts! I deserve to be able to do what I want with my life! I don't care if he doesn't like it! I'll take my own power with my own two hands!"

The man was breathing heavily as he concluded. His eyes were wide, staring at the woman in front of her, waiting for her to say something. Yet, she was silent. She waited for a moment and thought about what he had said. Then, raising her arm slightly, she pulled back her cape allowing for the metal of the sword handle at her hip to glint in the light.

"Are you forsaking his majesty?" she asked, her tone very grave. Her eyes stared back at his, burning with silent fury as she waited for his final answer. Swallowing hard, the man gathered his courage to answer her back.

"I want more." he said. "That's all it is. I want more than being just a pawn. That isn't forsaking the king. That is just… nature."

"Funny for someone who's been replacing his body parts with inorganic matter to say." the woman said, closing her cape again. "What all can those arms of yours withstand?"

"You're just itching to swing that sword of yours at me to find out, aren't you?" Mister Blythe asked.

"Can you fight?"

"Is that a 'yes?'"

"Can you fight?" Claire repeated. "His majesty wants to know. If you're going to become a machine with the royal family's money, then the least you can do is suit up and take charge when the big day comes."

"Let me guess: I'm not going to get compensated for that, either?" the man said while shaking his head and looking down. When he looked up again, the woman had her arm outstretched with an envelope in her hand. Taking it, Mister Blythe opened it up and read it's contents. His furrowed brows slowly relaxed until they were turned upwards as he proceeded to look back at the woman.

"A baron?" he asked.

"If that is what his majesty says." Claire replied. "All you need to do is fight on his majesty's behalf."

"Understood..." the man answered, smiling as he looked down at the piece of paper.

"Make sure that body of yours is in top shape. If you don't fix your weakness soon, you're going to have problems."

"I will." Mister Blythe stated. "And I'll be there for the wedding."

"I'll go back and report that, then." Claire replied before turning around. "I will see you then."

"Uh-huh." the man distractedly answered, allowing her to leave the room and shut the door behind her.

Shaking her head, she let out a sigh to rest for a moment before a voice to her left spoke up. "I take it he accepted, then?" it asked, prompting Claire to turn her head.

Standing just next to the doorway, leaning against the wall stood Johnathan Beattie, waiting patiently on her. He looked back at her and raised an eyebrow. "Well?"

"He did, but I doubt his loyalty can be counted on." she told him. "He's like all the others. They just want power and nothing more."

"I see..." Johnathan replied, avoiding the obvious retort as to not offend her. "So we're not killing him today."

"As long as he stays useful, he won't be killed at all." With that, the woman began walking down the hallway and was soon followed by Johnathan. "He says he'll be going to Phillip's wedding as well."

"What about your brother's?"

"I didn't ask. I don't think Farroel would care if he didn't show. Father didn't ask me to inquire, so I didn't."

"You really don't like Mister Blythe, do you?"

"It's not that I dislike him, specifically. I just don't like people who don't care about the past. Our goals aren't similar in the slightest."

Nodding, the demon thought about this for a moment and took it in. "We all have our own goals in mind." he noted. "Revenge is just a common one."

"You're mistaken. I don't want revenge." Claire informed him. "I want to flourish."

"And you'll kill anybody who gets in your way?"

"Without hesitation."

They left Mister Blythe's residence and returned back to their own base of operations. It was a moderately-sized manorhouse out on the outskirts of London, not at all unlike that of Ciel Phantomhive's. It was smaller, granted, but it was still impressive with a well-kept garden and architecture that that made it seem extraordinary. The pair rode up the driveway and exited their car before heading inside.

Upon knocking on the door, it was answered by a man dressed rather smartly who quickly ushered them inside and shut the door behind him. From there, they led themselves around and came across a fireplace with several seats around it. The orange light fought off the cold of fast-approaching December, heating the room while flickering off the faces of those who sat around it.

Two seats were occupied by two men, who were busily talking and joking around in the quiet of the deep room. Both of them appeared to be in their late twenties and were noticeably unrelated. One of them had the same dirty blonde hair that Claire herself had, but messier and sideburns that framed his boxy face. He was talking to a slightly taller, thinner man with a longer face, black hair smoothed back out of it and a thin goatee. Both of them sat closely and spoke in voices that gave off the impression that they didn't want anyone to hear them, only to correct their arrangement when others approached.

"I'm back." Claire announced, prompting the blond man to stand up with a smile. Walking over to her, he held up his fist and bumped it against hers in a friendly fashion.

"How'd it go?" the man questioned. "From the looks of things, you didn't kill anybody."

"No. Everything went smoothly, not that it breaks my heart." she replied. "I need to inform his majesty. Is he in?"

"No, father is out right now with the lord of the manor." said the man with black hair, now standing up as well. "I can tell him when he gets back, though."

"Thank you, your highness." Claire answered, offering a light bow. "I'm appreciative."

"No need to bow. I'm not King, or anything. I'm barely even a prince!" the man offered with a smile. "And just 'Phillip' is fine."

"You've only told her that a thousand times..." the other jested.

"Claire's always been serious, Farroel." Said Phillip. "You of all people should have figured that out by now."

"Too serious..."

"You have your duties, Farroel, and I have mine." she stated. "I don't mind it at all. I'm more than happy to do it."

"Sure you don't want to sit and relax for a bit?" her brother questioned. "You're not going to be skulking around, working security at my wedding or anything, are you?"

"Well… I… Uh..."

"Claire!"

"I'll take it easy when I can…" the woman offered. "Right now, it's vital that everything keeps going according to plan, so I need to stay on top of things. Recruitment has come to a halt at the moment, but can be fixed as soon as we get Pomeroy's business running again, and these lower-ranking Philosophers need to be kept in line."

Then, suddenly, it appeared as though she remembered something as her face lit up for just a short second. "If you don't mind my asking, your highness, have you met with your fiance, yet?"

"Ah-ha… We spoke briefly when she arrived, but she's still adjusting to things." Phillip answered, rubbing the back of his neck. He looked slightly uncomfortable and suddenly, his friend's face fell.

"It's to be expected, but it doesn't make it any less annoying." Farroel stated, putting his hands on his hips. "Oh, well… That's just how it is."

"It's not annoying..." the other man insisted, only to be seemingly rebuffed by the Farroel, who waved him off. Rolling his eyes, Phillip informed: "Father doesn't seem to be in much of a hurry about us getting married, however, so it's fine. He's got bigger things to worry about."

"Is there anyone else here?" Claire inquired.

"Just one of Pomeroy's sons and the old man. The other two are still recovering. The older one is a bit weak, so we're not sure if he's going to make it."

"Shame. We need soldiers."

"Is that all you care about right now?" Farroel asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Given that we're supposed to be gearing up for an invasion? Yes." the woman stated very surely. "We have a good amount at the moment, but it's better to over estimate your enemy than to underestimate them."

"What's the next step?"

"Whatever his majesty decides it to be." Claire said before waving her brother off. "You don't need to concern yourself with all the details. That's woman's work. You just focus on your own duties and we'll compare notes later."

With that, the woman excused herself, leaving the two men alone since Johnathan had disappeared himself quite some time ago. No one was ever really sure where he went, but they knew it was probably nowhere good. They already knew that he wasn't really all that interested in the plans of the family, but rather, in his own gains, whatever they were. All the others knew was that he had a vendetta against someone and knew a lot of information about HELLSING, and that's all they really needed to.

Like many people associated with supernaturals in the United Kingdom, some of the Philosophers were indeed aware of HELLSING's existence. There was resentment by a good number of supernaturals as well, given the long history of humans hunting and killing supernaturals forno reason other than being "scary." That divide couldn't be closed very quickly.

Many hadn't yet forgiven, yet lived alongside HELLSING anyway, because they felt that it was for the best longterm. One such person was the notorious "Babyface" Baldassare, who was always outspoken against the organisation, but known to concede if the deal was good for Gehenna. The leader of the Girasol vampires had very little patience for HELLSING, or even humans in general, but even he had to admit that neither were completely bad. In fact, he even spoke to humans in a rather pleasant manner if prompted to. For example, he often spoke to that human girl who frequented the bookstore and sought out books by "Girasol Frescobaldi."

"We always seem to end up going at the same time on the same days, don't we?" he pointed out. "Do you really buy that many books?"

"No always and it makes me feel bad when I don't, actually." Samantha confessed. "Thanks for walking me back, by the way."

"It's fine. Those fetuses prancing around like they're actual vampires are always a pain in the ass." Baldassare nodded. "I can see how going past their freeloader hangout of a stoop could be scary for a human. They like to run around and act like they're hot shit like those wankers you see in movies, but to the rest of us? They're pathetic. I'll make sure they won't bother you."

"Thanks. You really don't have to do that..."

"Nah. I do. Twats like that make the streets unsafe and I don't take to kindly for that. Their bullshit affects everybody. I'm just gonna help them learn faster."

"Whatever you say..."

It was a strange sort of pseudo-friendship between the two. They would talk about books at the bookstore whenever they came across one another. He was getting his money from the books he sold and she was usually buying books. Almost every time, she had a new Girasol Frescobaldi book in her hands until the day she ran out of ones she hadn't read yet. That was the greatest compliment Baldassare could be given, naturally. Without knowing who he was, she would talk about his books, passionately rambling on about what she liked and giving fair criticism of places that were a bit weak and that was something that he simply had never seen before. For the very first time, he had a fan who wasn't just a number in sales.

She was a real life person who loved his work and sought advice in her own writing from him. For the first time, Baldassare was protective of a human being, so when he heard that a posse of vampiric teens were harassing her from their stoop as she walked past on her way home, he felt obliged as an upstanding member of the community to do something about it.

Coming up on the spot, Samantha lowered her head while Baldassare wrinkled his face in disgust. He could tell already what exactly it was that they were. He walked with his head up high with the sort of swagger that only a bonafide gangster could put on. It was the classy kind that all of the old school shady folks in London had and that included Ciel Phantomhive himself.

Spotting them, a devious smile spread across one of the punks' face. "Ooh~!" the young man cooed, nudging his compatriots. "Looks like the human brought her boyfriend~! Now we've got two humans on the menu!"

His friends laughed and he stood up when the pair grew closer. He was just about to feign a lunge at them when Baldassare quickly reached into his jacket and pulled out a revolver. Without even a moment of hesitation, the older vampire pulled the trigger, causing a bullet to become embedded in the concrete steps just behind the younger, having gone straight between his legs. Suddenly, the youth looked a lot paler as all of the young ones, including Samantha, stared at Baldassare with wide eyes.

"I need to have a chat with you lot." Baldassare said before shooing off Samantha with his free hand. "You run off. I'll take care of this. Go on home. The police'll probably show up after that."

"Uh… I… Uhm… Okay?" Hesitantly, the woman began to scamper off before turning back to add: "Thanks again, Baldassare!"

"Any time." With that, the man turned back to his terrified hostages, keeping his gun pointed at them.

"Now, back to you..." he said, his expression shifting dramatically in an instant. "You dickless fuckmouths have been annoying the shit out of the community for long enough. I don't care what you think you are. 'Vampires,' or whatever… To me, you're just weak shit pretending to be hot shit and it really pisses me off. You know how many requests I get a month about weedy, sheep-biting, clotpoles like you? Huh? Because I'm on the city fucking council and run the biggest coven in London, you puss-filled blemishes are somehow my responsibility! So what's the big fucking idea, going around harassing people like tha'!?"

His direct question went unanswered for a moment as the youngsters tried to recover from the shock of having a man point a gun in their faces and yell at them. He even fired it! For all they knew, they were going to die.

"W-we-well… We..." began one of them, but they couldn't think of an excuse.

"What's tha'?!" demanded Baldassare. "You got something to say?! Come on! Speak up! I thought you were all tough and shit?! That's what I hear! I hear you lot are really fuckin' chatty about wantin' ta kill and eat people! Start chattin'!"

"We… We… We were just messin' around!" hastily answered one of them, emboldening the others.

"Yeah! We didn't mean anything by it!" said another. "Honest!"

"Then why the fuck are people so scared of comin' by here, huh?! They ain't laughin'! Obviously, people don't think you're joking! Isn't that the fuckin' point of a joke?!" veins protruded from Baldassare's forehead and he bared his fangs as he shouted. A few people from the surrounding buildings had looked out their windows to see what all the commotion was, only to stop and watch as Baldassare tore in to the neighbourhood nuisances. No one called the police.

"We're sorry!" one of the n'er-do-wells insisted. "We thought that… Since we were vampires..."

"...That everybody would be on your stupid-ass game?" the Girasol vampire questioned. "Yeah, I know how you dumbasses like to play pretend. You harass werewolves and people you think might be werewolves, trying to get that movie rivalry going in real life, when really, you just look like a bunch of diseased cockholes. You also think you're real cool, vicious vampires, don't ya?" Pausing, Baldassare lowered his gun slightly and narrowed his gaze at the one in front.

"In fact… Lemme see your eyes!" Baldassare ordered, stomping closer to the young man, getting directly in his face. Looking him in the eyes for just a moment caused the older vampire to laugh. "Ha! You don't even have any red in your eyes! You're weak shit! Look at me. Look me in the eyes. You see that shit? You see these red fucking eyes? These are the eyes of a vampire that's ripped somebody's fucking throat out and drained them of drop of blood in their fucking body! You ain't got even a pinch of red! Look at you with your sweet little baby-blue eyes. Isn't that fucking adorable? You're nothing! I could kill you right fucking now and sleep just fine! You're just some pussy pretending be a real fucking threat."

Now the young man was embarrassed and trying to put on a stiff upper lip for his friends. He clenched his fists as hard as he could and tried to straighten his posture so he wouldn't look weak. Baldassare saw right through him.

"The fuck are you clenching your fists for? Are you mad? Did I upset you? Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realise little baby was sensitive!" he mocked. "Go ahead and swing, bitch-boy. Just remember who has the gun."

"You need to leave…" the younger vampire mumbled, not having the nerve to give himself volume.

"Huh?" mocked the Girasol vampire. "Wha? Can't hear you. You want me to what?"

Just as the younger man was about to repeat himself, Baldassare harshly shoved him with his free hand against the young vampire's chest. The delinquent landed painfully on the concrete steps, having tried to slow his fall by putting a hand down, only to land wrong and hurt his fingers.

"Sit your dumbass down." Baldassare instructed. Before any answer could be given, the older vampire stomped his foot next to where the lad's hand fell and stood on the steps with him and his friends. Bending at the waist, he got right into the younger vampire's face and stared him down, allowing the unblinking redness to strike fear into the heart of the weaker one of the two. "I don't give a fuck about what you have to say. The only word I wanna hear from your dumbass is 'yes.' Understand?" There was hesitance, prompting Baldassare to repeat himself. "Do. You. Fucking. Understand?"

"Ye-yes!"

"Good. Now listen up, dickwit," the man began, "I better not hear another complaint about you or your impotent friends. Not from the neighbours, not from my friend, not from anybody, because if I do? I'm gonna come back with my coven, yeah? And my coven is gonna bring pliers and we're gonna wrestle you to the fucking dirt and rip your fucking fangs right out of the fucking sockets. Understand?"

"Yes!" the delinquent replied, clenching his eyes shut while trying to hold back the water that threatened to spill.

"Good." Baldassare said before standing up straight again. "I'm gonna keep my eyes and ears open about you. Lemme tell you a little something-something before I go, first… Whenever you see a sunflower, just know that that means that the Girasol coven is there and we're watching. There could be ten people with sunflower tattoos on this street that you can't even see. If you keep acting like you're a real coven full of real vampires who are real tough? We're gonna come back here and remind you of where your place actually is. Got it?"

"Ye-yes..."

"Alright." the older vampire cryptically nodded, giving the impression that he didn't believe these youngsters for a single second. In reality, he felt as though he had invoked the wrath of God in them enough. "Enjoy the rest of your day, then."

With that, Baldassare turned and walked down the steps. From there, he simply walked away. He walked down the sidewalk as though nothing had happened, politely saying "Good afternoon" to people as he passed. The police never arrived to question him and the next time Samantha walked down that street, she experienced no further problems. She didn't really understand what happened, herself, really. She didn't know who Baldassare was or that he was in a serious coven, let alone that he was their leader! He would have to explain all of that later. For now, he was just content that he solved a problem that had been plaguing that street for a while.


A/N: This was way longer when I typed it out... What happened?

Also, I'm trying something new with the baddies this time! Take notes because this family tree is important and kind of confusing?

Claire's brother Farroel is marrying Evangeline, who is the sister of Phillip who is the son of a significant baddie and is engaged to Sasha Pomeroy. Then there's the whole Pomeroy tree who only has her and brothers Jared, Dennis, and Rueben remaining. That's what we've got so far. Family and nobility are important themes this time, if you haven't noticed yet. More confusing nonsense to come~!

Do tell me if it's too much too fast, though. I've been trying to introduce things slowly, but I'm worried about people forgetting by the time I introduce a new thing! Comments are helpful so I know that we're all on the same page, here. Lemme know what I need to do because I honestly can't tell on my own. It is a lot to remember and I've had to make several family trees before I got it streamlined like this.

Writing for Baldassare is a fucking riot, though. I am ashamed of myself. It's weird, because sometimes, I'm like "Ooh, that's way too graphic" and then other times, I'm like "That's not graphic enough!" At this point, it's kind of like? "Just be offensive and nasty and that'll be in character."

Before we leave, though, I have a question.

"hello hate. question; in chapter 541 you mentioned a character called Cynthia after mentioning the essential 8. In the next chapter someone asked who they were, and you listed off the sensational 7, but I think they were asking who Cynthia is. I'm also having a 'brainfart' and have no idea who they are, could you explain? x" by guest.

Oh! Cynthia is the name of Audrey's dog, which is also why she wasn't counted in the Essential Eight! His dog has a "people" name, so I can see how that could be confusing! I hope that clears things up!

Until the next chapter, my duckies~!