CHAPTER 3
Drowning, Burning, Freezing or "The best way to get it is to do it yourself!"
Wherein Seras - not Alice - coughs up water, encounters a strange masked, man and the last member of the cast wakes up
She was drowning.
The water held her firmly in its cold, formless embrace. She tried her best to slip out of it, but it was no good. It kept catching her again, bringing itself closer to her, closer than she could bear.
The water was so heavy, and she didn't know why. Her eyes widened. She felt her lungs swelling to purple, about to explode. She needed air, she needed air, she needed air, and she needed it now.
Her legs kicked wildly, her arms flailed upwards.
But it wouldn't let her go.
The light seemed so far away.
Her legs kicked wildly, her arms flailed upwards amidst the swirls of cloth, because all that existed was the pain in her lungs and the screaming in her brain…!
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And finally, she broke the surface, throwing herself upward dramatically. She made a loud, hoarse, audible gasp.
And then she lay there, stagnant, floating.
She closed her eyes and recalled. Her master had pushed – no, kicked, by the feel of the pressure – her into the water.
The vampire shook her head then, and gazed up into the sky, the water swimming about her and buoying her randomly, without effort. The sky was an interesting shade of plum purple. There were three blazing suns, that, somehow, she could look at without needing to shield her eyes. She sighed and thought back to her master. She couldn't blame him, but perhaps he himself had never known the feeling of swimming in a vast turbulent ocean in a huge petticoat with frills. If the oppurtunity would ever arise, she would take it unto herself to enlighten them.
She breathed in and out, and in again.
"Where to now, Seras?" she whispered quietly.
She tipped her head on all sides, observing. There was a dark shadow, misty, but obviously a shillouete of a solid to her left.
She breathed in.
Then she began swimming.
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She might have been swimming for hours, or perhaps only seconds. Time was relative in the dreamscape, only subject to the mind of the dreamer.
Seras, the dreamer in question, didn't really care how long the swim had lasted, only that it was done.
She crawled onto the beach on all fours and then threw herself face up on the place the bank was out of reach of the waves.
The sand was enigmatically soft but firm, supporting her weight, not letting her sink into it at all, a repelling effect somewhat. The opposite, she thought vaguely, of the water that so demanded her attention.
Above, the trees were palms and coconut, casting long shadows above her as threateningly as the pine and elm from before – she was still in the Tulgey Wood it seemed, just in another section of it.
She lay down and soaked the shade, relaxing her aching, sore and sick limbs. She felt the exhaustion flooding her.
Then very quietly, she began to sob.
"Are you alright? You're dripping wet like a dead witch on a ducking chair."
Her eyes snapped open involuntarily.
The man was tall, toweringly so. He was thin, and his hands, folded in the front, were thin like the rest of his body, and deathly pale like marble. The suit he was wearing was interesting, certainly – the pants were a midnight blue like a storm, and were the same color as his long swallowtail coat, embroidered with brighter blue velvet swirls and spirals that danced around his clothes in the most confusing ways. He had blindingly bright gold cross tie pin that begged attention against a red scarf-tie. A lose silver-blonde ponytail hung over his shoulder. The most interesting thing of all though, was what was looking down at Seras was not a mad face, or a concerned face, or a face at all. Against his deathly white cheekbones was a mask, painted perfectly to every detail and every shape along with the curving beak – a dodo.
Seras couldn't help it. It came out before she could stop it. She shrieked.
"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh!!!"
It jumped back from her, appalled. She didn't need to see the face to tell he was.
"Well, you seem fully functional. Your voice anyhow," it muttered.
The girl sat up, her wet body leaving a temporary shadow on the pale purple sand. She turned to the man in the dodo mask.
"Who are you?" she whispered quietly.
The person in the mask straightened up suddenly. If he wasn't wearing that bird mask, he's probably be raising an eyebrow, Seras thought.
"Who am I?" it muttered, "Who am I? Oh, shame on you, lady, for not knowing who I am. A great shame indeed."
Seras couldn't help but raise an eyebrow herself. Slowly, she hoisted herself up, out of the ground. She was still weary, but did not intend to show that in front of someone who could be a threat. She turned to him again.
Then, bluntly, she said, "I don't get you. And no, I really don't know you"
It flinched, annoyed. The young vampire thought, he seems a very proud person, whoever he is.
And as if being offended by her mere thoughts, he suddenly stepped forward. Three great strides and he stood inches away from her, towering more than ever before. The vampire stood there, knowing that had she not been dripping wet, she'd been sweating. He did not loom physically, however she felt herself shrinking against his aura. He gave a feeling of belittlement from his every pore. His ego shone like a lantern, hidden against the clouds of his own mask.
Then suddenly, with a flourish, he pulled out a yellow rose from out of nowhere. He took a step forward, a hand on his chest and the other one extended towards her, offering the flower. "I am," he said, with a slight Italian accent, Seras couldn't help but notice, "the Duke of Clovers."
She blinked, but accepted the rose. She rolled it about in her hands as the man stood over her expectantly. Seras was thinking now, and had a very good idea of who this man was, however the character, she could not place. She had no recollection whatsoever of any dukes in the cartoon. Only a very tiny king who spoke with a very high piched voice and who was nearly always pushed around by his Queen wife, and the man in the mask before her suited none of these descriptions.
She furrowed her brows and looked straight at him again, straight into his pointed, yellow bird eyes. She could almost imagine the person's green snake eyes, gazing at her from behind them.
And then it hit her.
It's so obvious, she thought.
"The duke of clovers," she mumbled, more to herself than to him, "Duke clovers. Dovers. Dodo. You're in hiding are you?"
The Dodo straightened in surprise and backed away, much to Seras's relief.
"So you do know of me?" he asked.
"Yeah, I guess I do." She said.
He suddenly stiffened, leaned away from her and then said, in a voice as devoid of tenderness as she had heard from him, "You haven't any weapons about you, have you?"
"No," Seras said honestly, "No. I've only my wits. And there's hardly of those present enough as it is."
He relaxed visibly and exhaled. "Oh good." He said.
A coward, Seras thought, although she said, "And if I did have any, I wouldn't hurt you."
The Dodo turned to her again. He stood straight again, regaining his composure.
"Then," the Dodo said, although carefully this time, "You are one of us?"
It did not occur to Seras to say no, but it also did not occur to her to consider her options before speaking. She had always been rather impulsive after all.Perhaps if she had, the following chain of events would not have been catalyzed, and would never have happened. She might've even found the demon and killed it, without her master's help. She might have never had to stand before the King and Queen of her mind's wonderland in defense.
But she did not consider. Again, Seras was always known to be impulsive. That was what made her a vampire in the first place after all.
"Yes," she said, "yes I suppose I am on your side."
And that made all the difference.
The Dodo showed no facial emotion, but Seras knew he was more interested than ever. She could practically smell it on him.
"You are an ally of the Black Suit's cause?" he said, "Then why is it I not know who you are?"
Seras put her hand on her hips, getting irritated herself. "Look," she said, in a strong tone of voice as she could muster, looking up at him, "Does it really matter? I'm on your side aren't I? I'm an ally. You don't persecute allies. It makes them question their own credibility, and their leader's as well. Believe me, I'm speaking from experience." She raised her chin at him and couldn't help but crack a miniscule smile. It was the tone of voice she had always wanted to use on her master.
The Dodo flinched, but did not speak. He cocked his head to the side and suddenly, more than ever, Seras felt that feeling – that sickening feeling that she was so small, insignificant, that she did not matter, that she was nothing, worth nothing, nothing but a hindrance.
She clutched her chest, her lip trembling. For a split second, she felt like screaming. For a split second, she felt like crying.
But weakness was not an option. And if she did give in anyway, her master would never let her live it down.
So just as her knees started buckling and giving way, she pointed at him.
"Is this how you treat your subordinates? With disrespect?" she hollered, a lot louder than she intended, "It's the kind of attitude that makes you change loyalties you know."
She hoped he didn't hear her voice crack at the end. By his silence, she supposed he did.
"And!" she went on, "I am wet! I am a woman! And I am wet! Don't be a bastard."
And the Dodo took a sharp intake of breath, indignant.
Slowly, Seras felt the heavy feeling lift from her shoulders. She wanted to sink down into the sand in relief. But she didn't. She had gone so far over the insolence fence that there was no point in stopping now.
"Well?" she mumbled.
The Dodo said nothing for another moment. Within his mask, Seras imagined again, the face of Enrico Maxwell, his snake features scrunching up in thought.
Then the Dodo backed away a bit and bowed, low and arching. Anyone with an expert eye would have noticed that he did it a tad bit awkwardly, as if he was more accustomed to something else, like kneeling perhaps, or prostrating himself.
"Apologies lady." The incessant Italian accent was suddenly more obvious than ever. "I am a great fool for not noticing your discomfort. By the names of the Invisible Saints, where are my manners? Come."
Seras froze.
"Um," she muttered, "I don't really go with people I don't know."
"Nonsense lady, there's nothing to fear. This is a sanctuary from the Tyranny currently presiding over our great land. And besides, just as you said, you are one of us – and to be of my rank is to know me."
"But –"
"And I'm sure my colleagues and I will eventually get to know you as well."
"But I –"
"And it's perfect. Because we were just about to start our Caucrusade as well."
Seras was more bewildered than ever. "A Caucrusade?" she said, "What the heck is that?"
And she almost felt him smile as he said, "Well, that makes it perfect as well. For isn't the best way to learn anything to do it yourself? Or in this case, together with your, as you put it, allies. So come now."
"I don't –"
"Come."
"B –"
"Come."
The last word raged past invitation all the way into order, like the tone of voice Sir Integra used when addressing another Knight of the Round that had just insulted her.
Seras swallowed, the shudder visible amidst her dripping clothes.
"All right." She said.
She took his hand cautiously and nearly pulled back. It was cold, his hand. So cold it made the water seem like fire. Cold like porcelain, cold like ice, cold like a long dead and buried memory.
He grasped her hand, his long fingers clenching about her, gripping her hand like a sword.
And then in the most casual tone of voice –
"Shall we?"
And he led her into the woods.
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And finally, Integral Farbrook Wingates Hellsing woke up.
She felt horribly, like she had a hangover. Groaning, she clutched her head and slowly propped herself up onto one arm.
Gingerly, she picked up her glasses on the side table, slipped it on. She looked into the small mirror on the same side table.
She blinked.
"Well that's strange," she muttered.
Her eyesight aside, she was never the type to be sickly, but now, as she looked closer, it seemed like her right eye, normally a haunting sapphire, was now blood red.
Integra looked around her. She was still in her four poster room, still in her room. Although something was different. She turned her head to where a large, wall to wall plain window usually was and stared incredulously. In it's place was a huge window of red glass, shaped like a heart, with a stained glass, church kind of decoration in the center that looked like a rose with a dew drop in the center. Three suns shone through the glass, bathing the room in shades of autumn.
Integra took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes, then put them back on again. The window was still there. She looked at herself in the small mirror again. Her eyes were still red and blue.
She frowned. "What the hell…" she began
WHIRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR
Integra barely had time to breath.
With a deafening crack, a small trapdoor directly above her head opened. Three, thin robot arms shot out – two grabbed her legs, and the other two, her arms, lifting and suspending her above the bed in a spread eagle position.
From the trapdoor a song began to play, sounding like it was played on long rusted instruments and sang by failing robots:
Twas brillig, and the slithy toves / Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves / And the mome raths outgrabe.
The Knight struggled indignantly, thrashing as best as she could. "What in god's name is this? Let go of me at once!" she growled. She tried to draw her limbs towards her but the hands held firm and fast.
Then, much to her indignation, two of the arms stretched out and began to unbutton her nightclothes. The other two, proceeded to slip off her pajama pants.
Flustered and outraged more than ever, Integra drew in her breath to scream hellfire and damnation and all manner of curses but stopped short.
And, as in uffish thought he stood / The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood / And burbled as it came!
With an almost audible crackle, a pain worse than any stab wound shot through her right eye, sending her face aflame. She gritted her teeth and gasped, arching her back and writhing and squirming like mad. It hurt. It hurt and it was scratching, tearing through her.
She would have screamed if she could only feel her throat.
Subconciously, she felt a heavy cloth settling around hernaked body. Frills grazed her legs and something was being tightened around her waist. A corsette, she realized. They – whoever they were – were dressing her up.
But she couldn't open her eyes to see clearly. It burned, it froze. She was sweating, drowning in the pain.
Twas brillig, and the slithy toves / Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves/ And the mome raths outgrabe.
And the music stopped.
And suddenly, the pain was gone.
Integra relaxed, fell back. As if in response, the four arms began to lower her, gently, gently, propping her up onto a sitting position against her pillows.
Then two of the arms descended, carrying a mirror twenty times larger than the one on her beside, and much more ornately designed.
Integra opened her eyes.
She saw herself looking back, wearing perhaps the grandest, gaudiest gown she had ever laid eyes on – dominantly black and with waves of dark red and green velvet. It was laced with patterns of every kind, with pointed frills lining it's cuts and long trailing sleeves hanging down to her elbows. She was showing a lot of skin around her neck because of the shoulder cut of the dress, but whether or not she was uncomfortable could not be made sure of, for she did not speak.
Two of the arms reached down and took off her glasses, disappearing back into the trapdoor with it. Strangely, she could still see fine without them. She still did not speak.
WHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIRRRRRRR
Integra did not look up but saw through the mirror. Directly above her, two more arms descended, carrying between them, a small but visibly heavy crown, just enough for the center of her head.
She knew what was coming next. She didn't move.
Instead, she sneered, and said, "A crown? How distasteful."
Then louder, so much so that it echoed around the room, "Listen you, whoever you are. I don't know who you are, and I don't what you're doing, but I do know this – when I get my hands on you, you bastard, you'll wish to God that you'd never even thought of laying a hand on me."
Her voice could have broken icebergs.
And a slight pressure upon her platinum hair and the crown was on.
Integra blinked, one eye red, the other blue.
She looked at herself at the mirror again, tipping her chin to side by side, Then her lips curled into a smile.
"Perfect" she whispered.
And WHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIR the arms withdrew.
Integra sat there a moment more, feeling a tad strange. She touched her head deftly. There was a slight migraine present. Had she drank too much wine the night before? She had no recollection. Oh well, the pain was not great. She would endure, as she had endured greater things.
She swung her legs over the bed, the skirt moving with it. There were two black heels waiting for her. They had ribbons from them, for the purpose of tying round the legs, like ballerina shoes did. But all Integra did was step into them, and the ribbons floated, tied themselves around her dark ankles.
And so Integra stood there, dressed like a queen. She breathed in, feeling fiercely wonderful, the slight headache aside.
She walked to her heart shaped window and looked out of the Rose's dewdrop. It was the only piece of clear glass in the entire thing, and it serves as a spyglass as well. Through it, she surveyed her gardens – abundant with fountains, statues and roses of every color, although mostly red. They stretched as far as the eye could see, bordered by the Tulgey wood.
This was her and her brother's kingdom.
The one they had conquered.
Wonderland.
There was a knock on the door.
"Enter." She said.
A woman opened the door and kneeled. She had brown hair down to her shoulders and wore a pure white costume, save for three bright red hearts embroidered onto her armpiece.
"My lady," she said, "your brother, the King, is downstairs and eating his breakfast. Shall you join him?"
Integra considered. Smiled. Turned, her red eye flashing.
"Yes, I think I shall."
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And somewhere, deep in Seras's mind, the Demon roared.
Next: "If you drink much from a bottle marked 'poison' it is almost certain to disagree with you, sooner or later
Comments:
Yes, I changed the format of the page.
No, I'm not dead.
Yes, I know it's been two months since I updated. I'm very, very, very, VERY sorry. The school year started just when I came home from my vacation and I've hardly even had time to sleep nowadays. In fact, my exams are this week and I'm not supposed to be on the computer. But I do promise to update again by next week. I owe you readers that much.
No, this chapter hasn't been proofread properly.
Yes, my writing sucks.
No, Alucard's name was not said this entire chapter...until now.
Yes, Integra would look hot in a dress.
And yes, reviews still make me happy.