Author's Notes: Another month, another chapter. I'm just gonna stop making promises about how quickly these are gonna come out.
Disclaimer: I borrowed story elements from Kohta Hirano's Hellsing, Bram Stoker's Dracula, both H.C. Andersen's and Disney's versions of The Little Mermaid, Shakespeare's The Taming of the Shrew, and various miscellaneous fairy tales. However, I'm not making any money off of this, so there's been no copyright infringement.
Seras was furious with herself. From about the moment they emerged from the water she felt her brief infatuation for Mr. Bernadotte (only during the song, of course) wash away, and she returned to dry land wiser and sober for it. Her face was flushed with shame, and her blood ran hot with mortification. How could she be so faithless, so careless? She told herself she loved the count... no, she did love the count! So why did she behave this way? Like a... like a silly little star-struck schoolgirl?
She glanced over at Mr. Bernadotte... so tall and tan and handsome, so scruffy and casual, such rustic and earthly charm... then she caught herself and shook her head.
Snap out of it! Stop being such a foolish little schoolgirl! Don't be such a faithless slut! She said she loved the count, that her love was as deep and faithful and true as any love that any mermaid ever felt. They sang songs of a mermaid's love, under the sea and even up here on land. (That Hans Christian Andersen she had heard about captured it so beautifully in his story, although she had not read it.) She wasn't like the Sea King's daughters. She didn't swoon and coo over a cute boy for about ten seconds, and then swoon over another cute boy the second a handsomer one swam by. She was made of deeper stuff than them. Even if she wasn't royal, she wasn't spacy or flighty. When she loved someone, she loved them eternally, and she told herself she loved the count! She loved him! She gave up her whole world for him! It had to be him.
She didn't look at Captain Bernadotte all the way back to the party. She kept her eyes firmly on the ground, scowling and scolding herself internally.
She expected them to get in trouble when they returned to the party, but her master did not even realize she was gone! He was too busy mooning over his little church girl!
He barely seemed concerned that they were both fairly damp (they were no longer sopping since they'd had to return the boat and then walk all the way back), and quickly bought the story that she had fallen into one of the garden fountains, and Mr. Bernadotte had gotten wet fishing her out, and he thought it would be best to take her home.
"How dreadful!" the church girl said, and the count gave them leave.
'What a heartless cow,' Seras thought of the church girl as they left.
She refused to look at him during the carriage ride all the way home, focusing instead on her pity for the plight of the coachman and his horse who had to wait out front all night for nobles to return home, which probably wouldn't be till three or four in the morning at the earliest, even though his horse was sore and antsy from having to stand out there in full harness for hours, and they had to get up early the next day to catch the morning rush. She knew all this because Mr. Bernadotte made casual conversation with him all the way home, and even shared a smoke with him. Seras listened to their conversation with interest, not daring to admit to herself that his friendliness and interest in the lives of others was another thing she liked best about Mr. Bernadotte. She refused to look at him even as they sat opposite each other in the coach, fearing her heart would flutter or her face would burn if she did.
The second they reached they reached the front of the flat, she bolted inside, not even caring how unladylike it was.
When she was finally able to get into bed (after the servants fussed and forced her to take a bath, which took forever because they had to start a fight and then warm the water and then made her scrub thoroughly to get all the pond water out), she fell face-first into the pillow and huffed.
What happened to her? How could she do this? It was one song-one song in a charming pond under a weeping willow tree. Her love for the count was steadfast and absolute... when did she become so weak that a single
Seras steered away from Mr. Bernadotte wherever she could help it. Whenever she saw him, she felt her heart give a leap or her breath give a hitch, and she felt flustered all over; her face burned so hard she feared her hair would catch fire. She felt shamed and embarrassed; just seeing him look at her felt like her insides were burning. She hated these new feelings she felt (or only thought she felt, she told herself) whenever she was around him, and tried not to be around them to feel them.
If, for instance, she entered a room and saw him, she quickly walked right out of the room through the nearest door she could find. If one was right in front of her, she would enter the room normally, notice him, then walk quickly but smoothly right out that front door, manners be damned—and often manners did fly, since whatever servants or attendants were assigned to her quickly chased after her and admonished her (loudly) for her ill behavior. If, on the other hand, she entered a room and saw no door, like when Mr. Bernadotte was summoned to speak with the Count in the drawing room, she would turn right on her heel and walk right back the way she came.
It happened one evening when the Count and Captain were smoking and talking by the fireplace.
Seras was scheduled to spend the evening with the Count, who had been so engrossed with his conversation with the Captain that he had quite forgotten the overlap in time. The new servants brought Seras into the drawing room, where she wore a lovely white muslin gown tied with lacy ribbons. The Count's eyes lit up and his smile broadened as he saw her approach. "Ah, my little foundling…"
Seras took one look at Mr. Bernadotte, turned on her heel and walked right back the way she came.
The pure shock and befuddlement on their faces as they watched her leave was admittedly priceless. As was the pure silence Seras heard from behind her for several moments, before all parties recovered and she could hear the servants follow and call out to her in alarm.
Captain Bernadotte soon left (she heard her master give him leave to go), and Seras returned to the drawing room and spent a pleasant evening with her master, although even he seemed a little unsure about her behavior, and gave her odd glances for the rest of the evening.
Part of Seras felt exalted by the unease she had managed to bestill in her master. He made her feel worried and nervous all the time, as well as helpless to detain him when he suddenly lost interest in talking to her or turned his attention from her many a time (particularly to pursue his wretched church girl), so part of her thought, "Now you know how it feels. Suffer what I suffer for a change."
Of course, none of this lasted. The Count was still smitten with his church girl and was still very excited to see her whenever possible.
The London "Season" was swelling to an end. Early spring had given way to late spring when Seras had recovered from her broken leg, and now late spring had given way to early summer. Summer ripened the green of the trees from small, fresh, light-green leaves to solid, dark green leaves. Pretty little blossoms gave way to plump, juicy, ripe fruit, and any and all fruit trees on noble lawns bore fruitfully. Once they started falling from the trees in anticipation for autumn, everyone knew it would be time to return to their country homes where they could enjoy summer to the fullest, and then the autumn holidays, and then bundle in for winter until the next Season the next year.
Seras did not know this going in, but apparently the "season" was a marriage market for eligible young ladies and gentlemen from noble families. Oh sure, it was a good way for older ladies and gentlemen to get together and see each other for extended visits for seasons at a time, but by and large the whole point of being in London society was to meet young men or women from equally well-off families, to find a husband or wife.
Of course, society being what it was, most of the ridicule went to young ladies seeking a husband, rather than the men (young and old) for seeking a wife.
Seras knew so when she overheard two snarky young gentlemen in smart coats and hats, who seemed to believe their minds were as sharp as their clothes, jeer at a group of pretty ladies at a ball. Seras remained seated where she was, because of the ridiculous social rule that ladies must never get up and walk about a room at a party or ball without a male escort holding her arm (and while Dr. Van Helsing often came to her rescue in this regard, he was currently occupied talking to someone else), so she could openly listen without being accused of eavesdropping. The smartly-dressed gentlemen mocked pretty girls for their male-attention seeking ways, jeering at how thrilled they must be to finally be "on the market," and how social events like these were just a big "marriage market" anyway.
"That explains a lot," Seras thought dubiously as she sat at the grand dinner table, being served the first of many courses.
Before the meal started someone clinked a glass with a fork and asked for everyone's attention, as he wanted to make an announcement. The "announcement" turned out to have had been the engagement of some lady and gentleman Seras had never heard of, and she felt annoyed at being interrupted from her meal for such a common news. It seemed people were announcing engagements right and left.
Then it occurred to her that she had heard of a lot of engagements over the "Season." If it was indeed supposed to be a "marriage market" for single rich folks, no wonder she was hearing about new engagements all the time.
This also explained why her master was so eager to court the church girl as soon as possible. While it was far from over, it seemed as though the activities of the "Season" were swelling to a close. While dinner parties and charities and balls were plentiful, and engagement announcements were fruitful, it was as though everyone knew the Season was coming to a close, and everyone was trying to make the most of it before it was time to wind down to a close. Once it was over, Seras learned, Lady Integral "Integra" Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing would be returning to her home in… wherever she lived ("Probably Amsterdam, where her grandfather is from," one lady said), and then Seras and her master would return to their castle by the sea, and then he would have to wait till the next season (or rather, next year) to see or court her again.
Naturally, this gave Seras the vaguest inclination of hope, and she wished very much to keep her master preoccupied to run out the clock. If they could just make it to the end of the Season without an engagement, then the Count would be away from the church girl and she would have the better part of the year to try to win him over to her.
Of course, this was impossible because the Count rarely left Lady Integra's side.
What was worse, the nature of the church girl's interactions with him had changed, and it broke Seras' heart to see. It seemed that ever since the night Seras and Mr. Bernadotte had wandered off, something changed in the church girl's reception of the count. Whereas before the church girl had been haughty and aloof, cold and coquettish, now every time Seras saw her and her master after that evening, she seemed much more warm and inviting. She kept her body turned toward her master to give him her full attention (rather than endeavoring to look diverted, and often turned away to talk to someone else or walked away with an escort), and she looked him full in the eye when he spoke to her, smiling invitingly and leaning closer. She still batted her fan coquettishly, like many of the young girls, but she smiled with genuine mirth lit up her sea blue eyes, and smiled in such a way that showed her pearly white teeth.
She was still as spirited as ever, and rather impertinent besides. While the count was greatly encouraged by her increased favor toward him, she was far from fawning to him. She often asked him pointed questions, challenged his opinions, and countered his opinions on worldly affairs with her own, which greatly scandalized other men to hear. She asked him about the news, politics, and even business. She discussed trade, investments, and shipments from "the colonies" overseas.
"I suppose my father and grandfather are very much regretting their decision to give me my dowry to invest as I choose," she said from behind her fan one evening, waving it coquettishly. "I know they meant well, hoping to ensure that I had a tidy fortune to myself should the man I marry turn out to be a rake, or terrible business ventures."
It was soon revealed that while Lady Integra's father and grandfather did not approve of her attentions to the count, they could not force her to keep away from him. When they threatened to disown her, she was not fazed because they had already given her a tidy sum of money to invest with (so that she should be financially secure, whatever the future held for her), which she had invested wisely with and turned into a tidy profit. Even if her family did disown her, she could sit comfortably upon her little pile of cash, and so would not be forced to either grovel for her family's protection or rush down the aisle to the nearest available gentleman for financial security. In short, she could move at her own pace.
Of course, Lady Integra reassured her father and grandfather that the furthest thing from her desire would be to alienate or displease them, and in fact she greatly admired and respected their characters, depended upon their advice and moral support, she still wished to defer to their wishes and good judgments in all matters moral, fiscal, and practical in the future, and she valued their opinions so highly that she would never dream of marrying any man whom they did not approve of, etc. etc. She simply did not wish to be a prisoner of their wishes any more than her future husband's.
"While I do wish to be the master of my own destiny, at least in this regard," she said to her father and grandfather, "I will always adore and respect you. But I must make my own way in this regard. My future happiness depends upon my marriage to a respectable husband," she added with a laugh, "not your own."
When they were not sufficiently pleased, she added more seriously, "I do trust your good opinions, father and grandfather. And if you truly do not believe the count to be a changed man after this season is over, then by all means I shall reject him. But if you truly refuse to entertain the notion that he might have genuinely repented, as Our Lord would have us strive to do, and your objection hinges only on an old grudge that you would forever condemn him for no matter how sincere his wishes to repent... then I am sorry, father and grandfather, but I cannot follow your example in that regard."
She was able to touch on her grandfather's deeply religious, deeply Catholic sensibilities of repentance, redemption, and salvation.
Integra was a very suave young lady. She knew how to walk the delicate tightrope of social acceptance with social impertinence. She was dark-skinned and rumored to be of Indian descent (while her mother was unknown to England and had died in her infancy, it was rumored her father had married an Indian princess during his time as an officer in the British colony), and yet she was blue blood through and through; the child of so respected and beloved a family; particularly that of the now-renowned Dr. Abraham Van Helsing. Her purity and piety were legendary in a time that valued such virtues above all else in women; she was chaste, modest, deeply religious, and very virtuous. While Catholic, she was deeply pious, and faithfully adhered to every holy day and holy law. She regularly attended Mass, frequented Confessional, and more. A lifetime of growing up in the finest Catholic schools and cloisters her grandfather could afford could leave room for little else, and she was universally admired and praised for it.
In fact, she had been so shy, quiet, withdrawn, modest, submissive, and obedient to her father's and teacher's wishes growing up, that many found it amazing how much she was flourishing now that she had come out into society.
She was also selectively submissive toward the opinions and wishes of men. While she was witty, lively, and opinionated, by and large she could limit her wit so that men did not feel challenged or threatened by her. Her powers of conversation were geared to entertain and delight, and her intelligence was enough to evoke admiration and respect. While she refused to hide her intelligence for men who did not believe women capable of thought, she was just deferential enough that she managed to make many men feel even more clever, or even complimented, for being able to keep up with her in conversation, rather than stupid or insecure.
Of course, there were some boors who did not believe any women capable of intelligence, and who tried to put her down in conversation, to whom she skillfully shived with her tongue and managed, if not to put them into their place, then to keep them from putting her in hers. To these boors, she was greatly reviled; but she did not care for their opinions, and managed to maneuver through highly influential circles that felt likewise, and so they held no sway over her.
Of course, the independence she exhibited was rather scandalous no matter how skillfully she handled it, but the aforementioned virtues made her more acceptable to the public.
It is worth noting, then, that the same characteristics that were merely tolerated by her peers were adored by the Count.
"I hope you know, you shall never see a penny of my dowry should we marry, Count," she said one day.
"Then I may hope that such a day will come, Lady Hellsing?" he teased.
"No!" she exclaimed, alarmed. It was one of the few times he got the better of her. "What I mean is, I am from a good family, and you shall not see a penny of my inheritance."
"Why should I want the dowry when I can have the dame?" the count asked in his sultriest voice.
"I know not, but..." she hesitated. "You shall not. I shall keep it for my own, so you shall not have it."
"It makes very little difference, Lady Hellsing," he said. "For are you not Catholic? And, unlike these English Protestants, do our people not believe in divorce?"
She did not have a proper answer for that, until a few days later.
"If we were to marry, and I am not saying that we are," she cut him off, which made him laugh, "What would you say if I refused your marital bed for half a year? So that, if I did not like what I saw, our marriage might be annulled?"
"A half a year is but a small grace period so that I may enjoy your hand for eternity, my lady," he responded.
It was hard for even her to resist such charm.
And he did follow through with her demands to test his obedience to her. When she demanded to know if he would not obey her instruction never to see her again if she truly wished it, she asked that he refuse to see her or talk to her for a full two weeks to test his resolve. Those two weeks were agony for him, but ultimately he performed his part beautifully. He avoided events she was to attend, and did not so much as glance at her in events they accidentally found themselves in. Indeed, by the end of the two weeks she felt that maybe she was mistaken, perhaps he did not truly care for her at all. That perhaps his regard for her had been imaginary all along, and that now that he had time to be away from her after meeting her in person after romanticizing her in his mind from afar for so many months, he would lose interest and that would be the end of him.
She barely had time to think that maybe she had been a fool for thinking that maybe his regard for her was sincerely, when he casually approached her a picnic the day after the two weeks were up, and continued speaking to her as though they had never been apart.
It was difficult of her not to feel the weight of such devotion, especially from a man so handsome, and charismatic, and seemingly truly repentant for his past.
Still, she could not allow herself to let him see how deeply his devotion touched her, at least not yet.
"I suppose you find me very impertinent, Count Dracula," she said from behind her hand fan, which covered her face just below the eyes.
"On the contrary, my Holland rose," he said, "I find your speech and countenance as pleasing as though your every word dribbled with jewels and flowers."
"Jewels and flowers?" she said with a mirth, "Not toads or serpents?"
"Other girls speak toads and serpents compared to your lovely voice," he said.
"Oh? I would have thought toads and serpents by the way people talk."
"Do you always pay heed to what fools say?"
"Only when fools all speak in unison, dear count," she turned her torso to face his, "When a crowd says, 'The emperor wears no clothes!' am I to say he is fully dressed just to be a contrarian?"
"Not to be a contrarian, my lady," the count said, "Only fools claim to see something they do not just out of fear of appearing the fool."
"Truly?" the church girl said. "So if one were to tell you that the emperor had the most magnificent garments in the world, but only those who are foolish or incompetent cannot see them, and you find that you cannot see them, what do you say?"
"I say what I see," the count said, "For only fools believe what they are told."
"Yes, yes, it is true that the tale reveals that the tailors were charlatans," she said with a smile, "and that this special thread they wove was out of thin air. But imagine if the thread were indeed real and only fools could not see it, and it seemed that everyone in the crowd could see it except for you. Would you still reveal that you could not see it?"
"I only reveal the truth as I see it, my lady," the count said, a little forcefully. And then he smiled winningly, "If the world gazes upon your sumptuous lips and sees only venom dripping out, then let him speak of venom. When I see nothing but honey and nectar flow, then let me speak of honey and nectar."
"... Quite so," the church girl said, and managed to keep her composure, "And you find other girls' tongues to be venom to my honey?"
"I find other girls to be black as crows to your white dove."
"Ah, you have read Shakespeare now!" she smiled.
Seras was to learn later that the church girl was fond of fairy tales and folk stories (Charles Perrault, Brothers Grimm, Hans Christian Andersen and all) and that the count read such works so that they may have things to discuss.
"By your pleasure, my lady," he said with a slight bow.
"Truly, then?" she asked. "Then you do not find my honeyed tongue to be waspish?"
"Wasps carry no honey, my lady."
"Ah! He admits it then," she said. "If there be no honey on my tongue, then there be no sweets. 'If I be waspish, best beware my sting.' "
" 'My remedy is then, to pluck it out.' "
He clicked his teeth playfully, and she scoffed.
"' Ay,' " she said, recovering herself, " 'if the fool could find it where it lies.' "
" 'Who knows not where a wasp doth wear his sting?' In his tail."
" 'In his tongue.' "
" 'Whose tongue?' "
" ' Yours, if you talk of tails,' " Lady Integra said crossly, who found that this discussion was getting too raunchy for her liking, " 'and so farewell.' "
" 'What, with my tongue in your tail?' " he said before he could stop himself. Lady Integra looked deeply scandalized and prepared to withdraw, and Count Dracula moved quickly to do damage control. " 'Nay, Good Kate; I am a gentleman.' "
Unable to resist wordplay from the Bard himself, she turned to engage him.
"Do you not mean curst, dear Kate?"
" 'A common house Kate,' you'll call me next," she smiled with a mock dismissive wave. "And what shall you say now? 'A bonny Kate?' 'The prettiest Kate in Christendom, Kate of Kate-Hall, a super-dainty Kate, for dainties are all cates?' "
"Forsooth," he replied in iambic pentameter, " 'Hearing thy mildness praised in every town, thy virtues spoke of, and thy beauty sounded-' "
" 'Yourself are mov'd to woo me for thy wife,' " she concluded, a little bitterly.
Her smile was gone and her eyes narrowed to hide the shine of tears, and she seemed ready to withdraw.
The Count stood in alarm, and asked her, "What ails thee, fair Kate?"
" 'Kate the curst,' you should mean," she said, a little peevishly. "I know they speak of me in shrewish terms. Oh, they praise my mildness and my virtues in the realm of purity and piety, but in tidings such as these they speak my tongue of serpents and toads."
" 'And now I find the report a very lie,' " the Count said with confidence, " 'For thou art pleasant, gamesome, passing courteous; But quick in speech, yet sweet as spring-time flowers-' "
"Petruchio said the same before he wed the curst Kate and starved her like his falcon," Integra said, no longer impressed with the comparisons. "Should I trust your same exact words? Today you speak of flowers and honey, but once I consent to marry you shall I expect you to 'kill a wife with kindness'? Break me as you would break a falcon?"
"I have no reason or desire to break you, my lady," he said with deadly seriousness; all ounce of playfulness before was gone.
"But why?" she asked. "Would you not want a gentle house Kate instead of a curst Kate?"
"Only you have talked of 'curst' since I arrived," the Count said. "Have I ever spoke of curst tongues or shrewish wenches?"
Integra was silent.
"The world is filled with fools, my lady," he said. "And only fools claim to see something that is not there. If fools claim the emperor is wearing grand robes, then I shall call him bear. If the world says Lady Integra is shrewish, then I shall call her sweet, for that is what you are. And if fools say I should see you differently, then let him rot. Turn your waspish tongue on him, and let me revel in the sweetness of your honey."
She tried to scoff to hide how his words moved her; yet she was silent, and would not look at him.
"Besides," he smirked. "I rather enjoy your sting."
She finally laughed, to keep from crying. Then, recovering herself, she continued, "Well... if any man be so unfortunate enough to endure that, he should have no end of that. Besides... I should not give any of my waspish venom at all, even for all the flowers and jewels a fairy could bestow."
"That's the spirit!" the count cheered, and she laughed between tears.
They said no more on the subject.
Seras overheard Dr. Van Helsing and his son talk about the count at one of their parties. She heard them mention that her master was the kind who liked to push people around, and needed to be pushed back. He had a very quick wit and forceful personality, yet enough charisma to win over a whole crowd. With his sharp tongue and quick mind he could verbally flail a man because he could even think up a response, and do so with grace and style. In a duel of tonues and words, the count could win as easily as a seasoned knight could win a jousting tournament with an unarmed peasant.
Yet, victory was boring. The Count could talk circles around the wittiest men at parties, and quickly grew bored doing so. The young ladies were all in love with him everywhere he went, and so they were all too busy giggling, tittering, swooning, praising, and agreeing with him to offer any real challenge. There were few people witty or clever enough to keep up with his verbal spars.
That is, except for Integra Hellsing. She was a vastly intelligent young woman with a sharp mind and a quick tongue; although she had learned to temper it from years of conditioning from her father, grandfather, and many religious schools. She learned graceful, ladylike arts at many religious girl's schools. Still, the same sharp wit and independent spirit that put off many young gentlemen found a great admirer in Count Dracula.
The less she deferred to him, the more he admired her. The more she argued with and back-talked to him, the more excited he became. She could not only match the similes, metaphors, and entendres he threw at her, but she could add to them and match them with her own. She had read extensively on not only the Bible and other religious texts (such as John Milton's Paradise Lost and Dante's Inferno), but she was fast becoming well-versed in music, poetry, classic literature, Shakespeare, and several languages that deserve the word. The odds were good that if the Count thew a quote from the bard or the Bible, she could not only identify it but answer with a quote from the work or author of her own, as easily and effortlessly as though she were remarking upon the weather.
The Count had spent years longing for a worthy opponent to verbally spar with. Someone not only quick and clever enough, but ruthless and cunning enough to give as good as she got.
Seras despaired over their meetings. For the first time since she arrived on land, she truly felt the loss of her voice.
True, she had run into many inconveniences to her voice before, but now she truly felt from the bottom of her soul the despair of knowing that her loss of speech ruined her chances with the Count. He enjoyed the church girl's wit and fire. He enjoyed engaging conversations, witty retorts, elaborate metaphors and similes, verbal sparring, and so much more. It seemed the more he verbally engaged with Integra, the more he adored her. All Seras could do was sit, look pretty, and smile dazzlingly. That used to seem to be enough for him before, but wasn't anymore. He could smile appreciatively at her pretty smile and "kind eyes," as he called them, but he did not seem drawn to them. He could enjoy them the way he enjoyed the stars; pretty to look at, but not something that moved him. Even gazing at Integra seemed only mildly enjoyable for him. It was conversations with her that really seemed to pull him toward her, the way he felt pulled to look at the full moon every night it appeared before him.
Seras truly felt broken. The pain of the irony sunk to her bones and would not let go.
O! How he could never guess that she had given up her voice precisely to be with him. If she had her voice she would be at the bottom of the sea, and out of reach. But now that she had given it up, it was exactly what she had sacrificed to be by his side that he wanted most from a woman; what she wanted, but could not have.
Seras truly loathed the church girl now; her insides writhed with envy. This beautiful woman who was better than her in every way, including the use of her voice.
She didn't have any fight in her anymore. It seemed hopeless. Seras had made a deal that she could not go back on. She remained human only as long as the count had eyes for her. If he married her, she gained a human's soul and would remain by his side even in death. But, once the count married another...
Seras curled her toes under the table, as she sat alone at another fancy party.
This one was even more grand than all the others. The tile floor was so smooth and clean it was like a giant looking glass. Women all wore elegant masks and ballgowns, filled with so many feathers and fans and glittering jewels that they sparkled almost as much as the crystal chandeliers and wall lamps. Gilded paintings lined the walls, and sparkling ciders had tiny bubbles like little stars. People laughed and chatted; with women painted like peacocks and men intricately dressed in black dovetail suits and tuxedos, just like how her master dressed every day.
Her master was now even more gloriously handsome than ever, in one of his finest and blackest duster coats yet, with his gloves and shirt starched so white it almost hurt the eyes. His face remained hidden behind a great "Venetian" goblin mask. He was currently chatting it up with Lady Hellsing.
She wore a gorgeous sapphire and emerald silk dress that ruffled at the skirt, with sleeves the tipped below the shoulders, and small flairs of peacock feathers flared from her shoulders. The color looked beautiful on her earthen skin. Her vibrant blonde hair was pulled up into a loose bun, with a tail of hair that hung delicately (and deliberately) at her shoulders. She wore a small "Venetian" mask that looked like a peacock's face, with large peacock feathers fanning out at the crown. No prizes to what her fan looked like.
"Did you not know, Lady Hellsing," the count said in his sultriest murmur, "That it is the male peacock that is so vibrant."
"How clever of you to notice, good count," the church girl said in pretend mockery, and with obvious affection. "And are you the plain little peahen that shall dance for my approval?"
"It is the male peacocks who do the wooing, good Lady Hellsing," he said.
"Right so! And is that why you have dressed as quite the cock of the walk, good count?"
"Only for the perfect hen who will lend me her favor," he smiled, his voice filled with gentle fondness.
"Then you shall keep looking," she said briskly, feigning disinterest. "For you will find no drab hens here."
He roared with laughter, and then his eyes softened as he kissed her gloved hand. "Of that, you are quite correct, my lady."
Seras made a face and turned her head.
Tonight could not get any worse.
She was startled when the band from the orchestra suddenly wavered. She heard frant "ooh!" "ooh!" "ah!" "eep!" "so sorry!" as a chipper young girl made her way along the audience. A chipper voice that sounded familiar...
Seras lifted her head. No, it couldn't be.
The siren Rip Van Winkle, in all her featherly glory except now wearing a "Venetian" bird's mask so she now looked like she was in costume, bounced atop a stage. A murmur rippled along the ball guests as they took note of the strangely dressed girl take the stage, before the band that played the orchestra music they all danced to.
"So sorry!" she exclaimed in her pretty but accented voice. "I know many of you were expecting the focal talents of La Carlotta, but she cannot make it this evening. Instead, I shall take her place. I haf talked it over with the managers, und so it is all settled. I think you will like what you hear. Enjoy!"
She winked at Seras.
Seras sat mortified. Oh, no! What'd she do now? How did she find this place? What were she and Harkonnen up to? How could they not...?
Seras eventually settled down into sullen indifference. She didn't even care anymore. It wasn't like this was going to work. They could sing and sing and sing, it wouldn't matter. The count would never love her.
Seras placed her head back into her folded hands and intended to keep this way all night. This was quickly disrupted when Rip began the song. In her sweet, soft, pretty, chipper voice, she sang out,
There you see her
Sitting there across the way
Seras' head shot up like a bullet. Her eyes and nostrils flared. Really? REALLY? THIS was her master plan? This song that failed the first time, they were just going to sing it again? Did they have ANY creativity or originality? They were just going to keep singing the same song over and over until they finally got the result they wanted? Well, they WEREN'T going to get what they wanted, because the Count didn't want her. It was that simple, it... it...
Seras felt like a dagger stabbed her heart. It was just the way it was. She wished they would just accept it and leave her alone about it, instead of renewing the pain over and over. She placed her head back in her folded arms and intended to wait it out.
She don't got a lot to say
But there's something about her
And you don't know why
But you're dying to try
You wanna kiss the girl
Unfortunately for Seras, Rip Van Winkle recovered her chest cold. Sirens had some of the most singing voices in all of creation; laced with magic that compelled all to obey them. These were the same voices that lured sailors to their deaths out at sea, for when these homely bird women called for men to come to them, as they sat perched over the shaggy rocks of abandoned islands, the sailors felt compelled to obey... and either crashed their ships or drowned in their attempt to reach them. In this same way, when the siren Rip Van Winkle sang a song ordering men to go to the women they desired to "kiss the girl," then all felt compelled to obey her. Man or woman, fish or human, her voice affected all without distinction.
It was slow at first; she did not put too much force into her enthralling voice. Very slowly, very gradually, men felt drawn to the women they desired even before the song. Some lucky couples included husbands who felt drawn to walk over to their wives. Other husbands felt drawn to that beautiful unmarried woman across the dance floor, or that pretty serving girl refilling the horderves plate. Some young bachelors talked a little more personally with the unmarried girls they had been flirting with, while others slowly broke off from the conversations with girls they were talking to and crossed the room to another girl altogether.
The siren's voice was laced with magic that defied all marriage conventions and class structures. Some men went for women who were not their wives, some went for girls above or below their stations, and others went for women far older than them, even if society would have frowned upon it. The women were not altogether unaffected by the men, either. The women felt lulled into a sort of pleased dazed, ready to be serenaded by whomever might want their attention. And if the man showing them with attention happened to be one she fancied even before the siren's song took hold, the more pleased she felt.
Yes, you want her
Look at her, you know you do
It's possible she wants you, too
There is one way to ask her
While this was going on, Pip Bernadotte found himself staring curiously at Seras, whose back was to him. She looked so small and sad and alone, sitting by herself at an empty table in a party filled with happy lovers, like no one in the world loved her. She wore white at this masked ball, with white feathers on her shoulders an a white swan mask that highlighted her innocent, childlike, virginal appeal. She'd always been a sweet and beautiful young girl, from what he could see, but she was the boss's ward. And the Count had made it very clear that, while he had no intention of marrying her, he would not consent to have another man look at her as well. And Pip Bernadotte, who valued his job (and quite possibly his freedom), always tightly suppressed his regard for the girl he secretly loved.
Not that it really mattered, she seemed determined to avoid him now more than ever, as she literally fled every time she saw him, so it was not as though she would agree to dance with him even if he asked her.
But now, thanks to the magic of the siren's song, his inhibitions slowly melted away. He watched her from his designated spot by the wall, as the urge to go over and ask her to dance slowly grew stronger and stronger.
There is one way to ask her
The song finally won, and he resolved to walk over and ask her to dance, consequences be damned.
It don't take a word
Not a single word
Go on and...
He approached her, heart pounding in his chest, resolving to ask her for one dance; and if she said no or his boss shot him on sight, that would be that. But as it was, all he could think of was asking for that one dance.
Kiss the girl
No sooner did he reach the table did some other patron (that damned Arthur Helsing himself!) swoop in and charmingly ask for her hand. Stunned, Seras almost reflexively accepted, and no sooner did she hold out her hand did the man pull her to her feet and start waltzing with her on the dance floor. At that same exact moment, the music swelled.
Sha-la-la-la-la-la
My, oh, my
Look at the boy, too shy
He ain't gonna kiss the girl
The music picked up and couples swirled with the speed and ferocity of the music. Seras seemed dazed and numb as Arthur Helsing led her through the forest of fanned skirts and masked lovers. Arthur himself seemed intensely happy to be dancing with her, and led her a little too quickly and forcefully through that rippling crowd.
Sha-la-la-la-la-la
Ain't that sad
Ain't it shame, too bad
You gonna miss the girl
The music taunted him. Any thought Pip might have had of leaving Seras alone and letting her dance with others vanished with the siren essentially told him that if he did not take action now, did not make his feelings known, he would "miss the girl." Pip resolved to catch up to her and ask her to dance.
As this went on the music slowed, and the dancers slowly started changing partners. Pip wove his way around the dance floor, trying to find the perfect opportunity to ask Seras to dance, but as he drew close Abraham Van Helsing walked up and took her from Arthur Helsing, who found another nearby partner, and the two spun off. God-damnit!
For a while, the orchestra played slow yet cheerful music, so the lovers could talk as they danced at a reasonable pace. Abraham van Helsing spoke to her in that meantime; friendly words from a kindly, elderly young man to a sweet child who needed to be reassured that she was still wanted in a world that seemed to forget her.
Pip was growing desperate. The two eventually drifted apart and switched partners again, but thanks to some careless couple spinning in his way Seras drifted on to some young buck who took her up and started spinning away with her.
Slowly and romantically, the music drifted on.
Now's your moment
Floating in a blue lagoon
Boy, you better do it soon
No time will be better
Many couples were starting to switch partners again, and Pip felt determined that this time, he would be the one.
The music swelled.
She don't say a word
And she won't say a word
Until you kiss the girl
Seras spun away from her partner, smiling with her eyes closed as as she floated light as a feather through space.
Pip stepped forward and clasped her right hand with his and placed his hand on her waist.
Her smile widened into shock when she saw who it was.
Kiss...
Before Seras could respond, the music sped up and the couples were all dancing and spinning wildly with the tempo. The music moved fast, and they moved quickly with it. Before she could object, Pip spun her through the crowd so they were in tempo with everything else.
Sha-la-la-la-la-la
Don't be scared
You got the mood prepared
Go on and kiss the girl
"Whoa! Whoa!" the chorus chanted as Pip spun her twice.
Sha-la-la-la-la-la
Don't stop now
Don't try to hide it how
You wanna kiss the girl
"Whoa! Whoa!" the chorus sang as Pip lifted her by the waist and spun her around so her long, ruffled whoop skirt fanned out like all the other ladies.
Sha-la-la-la-la-la
Dance along
Listen to the song
The song says "kiss the girl"
"Sha! La!" the chorus sang and Pip dipped her very deeply with the others, then skillfully pulled her up and spung her along before she could get her bearings.
Sha-la-la-la-la-la
Music play
Do what the music say
You wanna kiss the girl
Over the course of the song, Pip felt he coudn't imagine it. Seras went from stunned to pleased and star-struck. She looked so dazzling in the sparkling lights of the crystal chandeliers. Never before had he seen her eyes so big and blue, so happy and enchanted. He took it as a good sign.
He wasn't even aware that he was smiling his most winning smile.
When the song wound down, and Pip wound down with it. He loosened his grip on her hand and her waist, indicating that she was free to withdraw if she wished. He was not aware that the grip of the siren's song had loosened on him enough to do so. Rip was a clever sorceress.
Kiss the girl...
But Seras surprised them both when she didn't pull away. She looked... puzzled, curious. She looked at her right hand clasped in his, and her left hand upon his shoulder, and her expression said that she knew she could withdraw any moment if she wanted to, but... why didn't she want to? She looked up at him, and her heart swelled in her chest, and instead of pulling away she strengthened her grip with her hands and tilted her head up encouragingly.
Kiss the girl...
Pip had never smiled at her more tenderly, nor more dazzlingly, than he did that moment. They say there are different kinds of love in the world-the kind that lasts a minute, a night, a year... and there was love so deep it changes your smile.
Love had changed Pip's smile, and it was one that melted Seras' heart.
Kiss the girl...
Compelled by the song to forget their differences in rank and availability, Pip slowly leaned closer to her, his grip on her loosened so she could pull away any time.
Kiss the girl...
He had always been so kind to her. All of Seras' happiest memories on land were with him, Seras realized. Being outside, in nature, surrounded by grass and trees and horses... out in the corral, which smelled of dust and horse musk... By now he was leaning so close she could smell him, that same rich blend of earth and tobacco, dust and musk and everything she loved about the land.
Her heart pounded in her chest, and she felt dizzy and light-headed. 'It wouldn't be so bad,' she thought, as she slowly tilted her head up as he brought this down to hers...
Rip was positively giddy with excitement.
"GO ON AND...!" she squealed.
Kiss the girl...
At the last possible second, before their lips connected, doubt gripped Seras. She half-remembered her promise to faithfully and truly love another, and felt guilty for this faithlessness. At the last second she opened her eyes and turned away... and her heart broke on the spot.
Behind and a little to the right of Mr. Bernadotte, a few dancers down, the Count's and the church girl's lips were locked in a kiss.
The music wound on the spot, and dancers facing toward them gaped in surprise. Dancers not facing the count or church girl looked where their partners were looking, and were frozen on the spot. Soon, the everyone on the dance floor was gaping at them (for they had been the talk of the season, with many wagers placed on whether the count could successfully woo her or not), no one daring to breathe a word.
After several seconds, the two broke away. The Count asked her a question with his eyes, which she affirmed with a slight nod of her head.
The Count beamed, and turned to face the crowd.
"Arrange the marriage!"
The ballroom broke out with applause.
Pip, who had turned his head to see where Seras was looking, knew instantly how much this would devastate her, and turned to comfort her... but she was gone. She'd broken away while his head was turned and ran out of the ballroom, crying. No one looked at her or tried to stop her as she ran out. She had no voice to sob. She left nothing but silent tears and a discarded mask.
Pip ran after her, but too late. He searched the hallways, the front entryway, and even the grounds for her, but without success.
"Seras?!" he shouted, "Seras!"
He looked desperately around. Where could she be? Had she run away? Where would she go...
Suddenly he stopped. He thought about where this mansion was, and where in London they were. He knew where she had gone.
Without another thought to anything else, he tore out of the grounds to find her.
If you're annoyed by me using the same song a second time, don't worry. Seras is too.
All right, I hope these Alucard x Integra passages gave some insight into their relationship. I hope AxI fans were pleased, or at least those that aren't a fan of the two could get some idea into what in the world they see in each other. If not, oh well. This was the best I could do with the time allotted. (I actually added these last two chapters to try to make the shifting relationships between AxI and PxS more believable. If I didn't do a good job, oh well. I tried.)
We're screeching toward the finale, folks!
