"Fire!" a voice shouted. In a flash, a hail of arrows rained down on the targets on the opposite side of the field. They weren't very strong arrows. They were just cheaply homemade ones out of fiberglass and whatever else what laying around, as were most of the PVC pipe bows that the faoladh women were using.

They were a nasty-looking bunch who took their role with the utmost seriousness. They weren't dressed to be pretty. They were dressed for combat, wearing bullet-proof vests and homemade armour. They trained rigorously in many arts with many styles and weapons in order to best be as adaptable as possible given any situation. They knew, however, that they were out-matched when it came to weaponry. That is why they used every other conceivable advantage that could be thought of in hopes of tilting the scales in their favour.

Few of them reacted when they heard clapping coming from off to the side, having been disciplined enough to be able to filter it out. It was a member of the Whelan family, having caught the group while on a walk outside with a woman with short, black hair. Farroel was pleased by the destruction that the others wrought, yet was disappointed that he couldn't get his sister's attention as she trained as well.

"Is it alright like this?" the woman next to him asked as they continued on, shivering as they bundled up in their cloaks. "Shouldn't you be practicing, too?"

"Not really." the man disagreed. "Father doesn't want me to fight. It's women's work. It's boring, but it increases the odds of the family line continuing."

"I do hope that everything will turn out alright. I don't want this to affect the wedding." the woman, his fiance, replied. "This 'war' thing is dreadful business."

"It'll be fine. We're stronger than humans. It will be over quickly once it starts. We're supposed to be married before then, however."

Despite saying this there was nothing intimate about their reaction. They walked a good two feet apart and had nothing affectionate to say in the slightest. Mutual love was not required of them, however. Their union was chosen to create a strong heir for the Whelan family and strengthen the bond between their houses. Nothing more. Both of them understood this and accepted that it was their duty. After all, while Farroel was trained in some fighting techniques, it wasn't his place in their social hierarchy to wage war, just as it was not that of his bride, Evangeline's.

While they knew each other since they were quite young, they felt that it was important to get to know one another even more. Rather, they were trying to build comradery, as they were supposed to spend quite a great deal of time as a team. While they liked one another fair enough, they were still a bit lukewarm. This combined with the cold weather cut their walk short and started to gravitate toward the house, despite not saying anything about it.

Looking up at the tall building, Farroel tried to find something to talk about, only to fixate on one of the windows. Staring down at them was his future brother-in-law and most importantly, his best friend, Phillip. Once their eyes met, however, Phillip began to walk away, disappearing into the house, subconsciously causing the faoladh's pace to quicken.

"Come on. Let's get inside." he said, staying just slow enough that he didn't leave the woman completely in the dust. He was a bit more of a gentleman upon entering Lexington manor, having helped the woman remove her coat and put it away before the two of them advanced further into the house.

From there, they came upon a few others, including the lord of the mansion himself, Sir Stephane Lexington. He was a rather peculiar man with dark hair and a complexion of light purple and he coordinated his wardrobe accordingly so that it complimented it. His horns and his tail stood out, however, as while the man was a noble by virtue of his father, by his mother, he was an incubus. In his ear were the whispers of another noble that actually out-ranked him by one notch on the scale. It was the whispers of an otherwise ordinary human, The baron Lord Caesar Merritt, who was in no doubt saying something filthy.

"There is no way in hell I'm doing that." Stephane said rather sternly. "This 'fascination' of yours had better come to an end, soon, because you're on thin ice and I'm just a hair away from cutting you off entirely."

"Oh, come, now! I'm practically begging for it, Stephane." the baron replied.

"Why don't you go beg that sultry redhead of yours?"

Well, that's the rub, you see. I'm afraid I can't quite seem to track him down again. He just disappeared into the night. That is why I am left with no other option than to ask you, my dearest friend, to lend me your assistance."

"The answer is still 'no.' Besides, I prefer women."

"You're just no fun at all, are you, Stephane?"

"What are you talking about?" Farroel asked as they walked into the room. After looking around for a moment, he spotted something that made him raise an eyebrow. "Should you really be talking about dirty stuff in front of the old man?"

Pointing off to the side, the werewolf indicated to a small, wrinkled, husk of an old man sitting silently in a wheelchair. He was hooked up to several machines and stared vacantly at the group, begging the question if he was even aware that anyone was there. Caesar just waved him and the concern off.

"If I'm being perfectly honest, I don't even think he can hear us." he said. "Even if he could, there's not much he could do about it. If being offended can kill him, it's a damn good thing we have clones. Fortunately for us, dead tissue is still good to me."

"Charming." Farroel commented before turning his head to look at the incubus. "So, Sir Lexington, how did everything go with father and his majesty?"

"Oh, you know. The usual." Lexington answered, while examining his fingernails. He tried to dig a speck of dirt out from underneath one of them while he spoke in his strange, heightened received pronunciation. "Your father wants to rush into things while Abhartach says we should wait a little while longer. He says in his time, he's learned that patience is a virtue, but personally? I don't know how much longer we can wait on this. I mean, with HELLSING hot on our tails? Your father may be a bit more rash than I like, but he sort of has a point."

"So you're caught in the middle as always, you're saying."

"Naturally."

"Right. Speaking of his majesty, however, I don't suppose you know where his son may be, do you?" the werewolf questioned while rubbing his hands from the cold. The roaring fireplace just off to the side of them was pleasant, but in truth, Farroel really didn't want to talk to anyone there.

"The Prince? Why, he is off trying to persuade his bride to come out of her room, I believe." Sir Lexington answered. "It doesn't appear that he will be wearing her down any time soon, however."

"I'll go see if I can help him out." Farroel said before making his way out of the room. "See you all at dinner."

"See you." Sir Lexington called out, followed by a wave from Lord Merritt, but there was another person in that room who wanted to continue talking to him.

"Farroel, wai-" his fiance called out, only to cut herself off once she saw that the man was gone. Slouching her shoulders, she allowed herself to be saddened by it, but only for a moment. She had to stand tall and look important around her father's subordinates.

"Chin up, dear heart." the incubus told her. "He'll come around in time. It's simply a matter of… reframing. He's still wrapping his head around the fact that the two of you will be husband and wife."

"He says he's accepted it and that he's happy." Evangeline stated. "I don't know if I believe him, but even if it isn't, I know he'll go through with it. It isn't exactly what I imagined, but… I supposed it's better than nothing."

With a pause, Sir Lexington looked up and seemed to acknowledge the young woman more clearly. "You really love Farroel, don't you, Princess?"

"Yes." she answered, looking down. Her cheeks were rosy as she smiled, regardless. "He's funny and charming… He's rugged, yet well put together… Really, he's any girl's dream. He's mine and yet… Something's missing..."

"Have you tried seducing him, Princess?" Caesar questioned. "You know… Get that manly heart of his beating and his blood pumping?"

Still smiling, the woman rolled her eyes. "A lady never speaks of such things."

"So that's a 'yes,' then?"

"He said that it is tradition to wait until our wedding night." Evangeline stated. "He also said that I must steel myself first."

"Ah, yes. The faoladh and their traditions." nodded Lexington, having now found interest in plucking a piece of lint from his jacket sleeve. "He is right on the latter bit, however. You are aware of what he means by that, yes?"

"Yes. I have seen his real face."

"Have you seen his real body, though?" Caesar questioned. "That's the bit that's going to give you problems."

"I am aware." the woman informed. "I don't pay much mind to it. Certainly, it's not the most… pleasant to look at, but love will find a way."

Without her noticing, the two men shot one another a look before resuming their usual posture. "I'm sure everything will turn out just fine, Princess." Sir Lexington replied. "After all, who better to know than I? I'm an incubus. We know these things."

Meanwhile, a few hallways away, Farroel went off to find his friend. When he found him, Philip was leaning against a doorframe, balancing his weight on one hand while occasionally knocking with the other. He seemed slightly irritated, but was maintaining his composure well.

"You'll have to come out eventually, Sasha." he could be heard saying as he spoke to Miss Pomeroy on the other side. "I know that this isn't the ideal situation for you, but it's the situation we have. We can either try to get to know each other and settle things before the wedding, or we can leave everything to be a surprise afterwards. Personally, I'd like to know what I'm getting myself into."

Nothing. There was no response. Only silence. As Farroel walked up, Philip uttered a sigh before gesturing to the door.

"I'm not making any headway with this." the prince stated. "I really like the idea of using force, but I'm not sure what else will work."

"Just be patient. Forcing it will only make it worse." Farroel replied.

"That's easy for you to say. Your woman is already in love with you."

"True. You got me there, mate." chuckled the werewolf while patting the other on the shoulder. "As long as the task is complete, though, it doesn't really matter."

To that, the other man scoffed. "If she's like this now, I can only imagine what it will be like after the wedding." Standing up straight again, Philip put his hands in his pockets and moved away from the door. "I'm not looking forward to this."

"She's your best option right now, though. She's got the blood of British nobles in her. All of your other options are just wealthy business heiresses whose dads will be annoying later."

"I know. From a practical standpoint, it makes sense." the prince conceded, although obviously not too happily. Turning to Farroel, however, his expression changed. "There is a better option, though." he continued as he reached out and grabbed the other man's forearm.

Eyes widening for a moment, the werewolf then looked down, his cheeks reddening, and shook his arm out of the other's grasp. "Philip, stop." he said. "That's not a viable option."

"It seems pretty viable to me."

"We have our duties to attend to."

"Why? Because our fathers said so? What else is there to stop us?"

"Because it's best for our families!" Farroel protested, looking up at the other again. He kept his volume down so that no one could hear. "I also have a duty to my kind. We said we were going to put an end to this, Phil. There's too much hinging on this. We are friends. If we want to keep it that way, we can't tell lies."

Quietly, the other man looked down. "You're right." Philip said, swallowing. "Of course. We did agree, didn't we? Some things just… Aren't meant to be, I suppose… Uhm… I'll… Talk to you later. I need to go think of another way to win Sasha over. See you at dinner."

"See you." the werewolf said, turning his head so his gaze followed after the other man as Philip walked away. Once he was out of sight, Farroel was all alone and left to ponder. He paused in order to collect himself, taking a deep breath and clenching his fist before relaxing it again.

"Right." he said to himself. Turning, he began walking in the opposite direction, heading back to the living room. "Nothing's a lie if you make it true."


A/N: Very short, but I felt like this was a great thing to leave you with. Let that marinate for a second. I'll start on the next one immediately after this.

As much as I'm dying to talk about this, I think it's more interesting if you figure out the themes and such that I'm going for on your own. Besides, you might have an interpretation I like better than mine.

From the last chapter, though, I think it's kind of fun that everybody seemed to like the fact that Jim is in a cooking class though pfft! He wants to learn to take care of himself! And impress his boo. That's another really important thing.

I also really like the juxtaposition between that and very serious meetings. It's really fun to play with and specifically why I do stuff like that a lot. There's gotta be a balance between work and home. "Honey, I'm home! Let's not kill anybody and just sit!" Beauty.

Until the next chapter, my duckies~!