The blackboard was jet black. Someone had taken the time to wipe it down with a real, wet cloth. Multiple cloths, Father Anderson thought as he scratched his chin in contemplation. They must have, since the board was devoid of streaks, and it was one solid shade of black. Anderson stepped over to his whiteboard, which was also infinitely cleaner than normal. Normally no one cleaned them. Normally when something was erased, new messages, which were actually past lessons but were eerily similar to some spy code, would be revealed. Even the erasers Father Anderson picked up and set down were pristine. They might have been mistaken for new, if not for the familiar dents and wear that could not be repaired.
The priest returned to his desk and his stacks of ungraded quizzes and unchecked homework, still impressed by the cleanliness of his classroom. Though, of course, it had been much cleaner that morning. But things becoming dirty in the presence of children was a natural phenomenon, and Father Anderson thought little of it while he wondered if, possibly tonight or tomorrow, the classroom would be cleaned as thoroughly as it had been over the weekend. It was doubtful.
As he graded papers during his free period, Father Anderson leant his thoughts towards Seras Victoria, and looked forward to grading her most recent assignment. Father Anderson knew of Alucard's suspension. He knew more details than he should have, due to his connection with the vice principal. The good-for-nothing boy in the back who flirted and tested the vampire's patience, the boy John, had done something useful. Most likely for the first time in his short but significantly immoral life.
Father Anderson's hand sliced a red scar into incorrect answers on a homework packet.
The boy's ability to sneak into the girl's dormitory supported everything the paladin suspected and disliked about him. But his ability to reach the fourth floor was beyond unsettling. They should have expelled the little punk, barred him from any school that was not an all-boy's military academy. When Father Anderson had made such a complaint known to the vice principal though, she admitted that the boy's father had donated a significant amount of money to the school, and that John Blake was vice captain of the Varsity basketball team, which had sustained only five losses over the past three years when John had been playing. At least, that was the argument the coach had kindly provided in case they received a complaint like Mr. Anderson's.
But regardless of what was fair or not, Alucard's suspension was no true suspension. The monster might have been gone for a few hours, or minutes. He might have never left at all. Because Father Anderson could still feel the wretched presence in the hallways, moving through the school like a migrating miasma, or a poisonous snake. And when he had gone to walk the perimeter of the girl's dormitory at night, he could tell when the Hellsing vampires' room was empty. And he could feel that Seras had moved to another room, which he later found out to be Harriet's.
Scowling at his papers, Anderson branded the front page of a packet with an outstanding C+. He pulled the next packet from the pile, knowing the owner the moment he touched the paper. In his experience, things that vampires touched became hollow, thinner, perceptively drained of some substance. The smirk Anderson wore as he butchered and bloodied Seras Victoria's homework assignments, was relatively flat. He suspected the Hellsing heathens of finding out about Harriet's background. He believed they were using her as a means of shielding the weaker Hellsing vampire from the Vatican, though nothing of the sort had occurred. It was merely a coincidence, but Father Anderson rarely believed in coincidences.
The bell rang when Anderson was putting away his graded papers and slipping others into his bag. Mr. Anderson wrote out that afternoon's practice problems on the whiteboard, in order to spare the blackboard, as students shuffled in to take their seats.
…
Walking down the hallway, Harriet watched Seras' face change. Harriet was concerned about Seras because she had been rather nervous and, well… jumpy since her sister left on Saturday. While the blonde had seemed to improve during their last class, as soon as they approached Mr. Anderson's classroom, she began to walk slower and pluck the straps of her backpack fretfully.
Once they were seated in their usual spots close to, but not actually at the front of the classroom, Harriet unpacked what she would need during class. Harriet reached down to put her bag under her chair, and when she straightened, John was sitting at their table. Sandwiched between the two, Seras began to dread the class even more.
Harriet demanded to know why John was here.
John cracked his neck casually, looking like he was about to ignore her as he unloaded his bag. "There's no use sitting back there all by myself. It's too boring for me."
Harriet scowled, abstaining from inquiring why, just why was he choosing to sit next to Alucard's sister? He had a thing for long hair, so Seras' medium cut helped Harriet ignore the fact that, if not for Alucard, John probably would have been very interested in Seras.
Quietly and hesitantly Seras pointed out, "You know… somebody sits there." John pretended not to hear her, as though she'd said 'This is against the rules,' which was something only a nag without friends was supposed to say. Who cares about rules? John didn't.
Father Anderson... worshiped rules. And when he finished checking over the problems he'd written on the board, with less than two minutes to spare before class started, Father Anderson cared very much about John's obvious seat change.
Whoever normally sat next to Seras had already found a new seat, preferring to compromise rather than challenge John.
… The shadow covered them like an eclipse, and Seras jolted and hunched, her head lowered over her notebook as though if she kept perfectly still, like they did in Jurassic Park, maybe the priest wouldn't see her. She stared at the hand Anderson put on their table, as he towered within arm's reach. John stared back at the intimidating glower the instructor gave him, at his bright green eyes and the scar that was darkened along with the rest of Mr. Anderson's face.
Mr. Anderson spoke plainly, "This is not your seat. … Go to your assigned seat, so we can begin our lesson."
That's not even my assigned seat, the jock thought. Sniffing, John leaned against the back of his chair, tucking his hands behind his head as he breathed in and sighed comfortably. "Start whenever you want. I'm not going to get in your way."
Father Anderson remained immobile. He could not throw John out of his class. The boy's grades were too poor, and John was already bordering the minimum GPA required to play on the team. This favoritism irked the priest, but he withdrew when the bell rang. John bit his lip, then tsked, looking on as Mr. Anderson told the unenthusiastic students to complete the warm-up within the next five minutes. With her pencil grinding itself flat, Seras dutifully failed to get the correct answers. But Harriet was too distracted to think. The open page in her notebook was soon populated with scribbles and some furiously erased stick figures. Harriet chewed the side of her mouth, erasing a long-haired stick figure. She isn't here! She's gone! Why aren't things any different?
"Seras. Hey," John used a low voice and tapped his pencil against his paper. It took a moment, but Seras' pencil eventually stopped moving. Harriet glared at him for being a distraction. Eagerly, he asked, "Hey, how's Alucard?" His restless fingers thrummed against the table. "She won't return my calls, and I text her, but she never gets back to me."
Harriet scowled, God. When did he get so clingy?
Seras opted to look like she was really concerned about her grades and wanted to get the warm-up done, but the excuse stuck in her throat. All she could do was stare at her notebook and write mindlessly.
After watching Seras ignore him for a solid ten seconds, John pursed his lips and sighed sadly at his own notebook. He skillfully twirled his pencil between his fingers and left the page unmarked. Well, duh. Of course Seras is mad at me. "I'm sorry," he said it with all the sincerity he could muster, but Seras murmured a very unsatisfying "It's okay."
Putting off getting Seras to forgive him for real, John frowned and crossed his arms, leaning back in his seat. He said, "Alright. …But is Alucard mad at me? Just tell me so I can know what's going on. Did she get her cell phone taken away, or what?"
Harriet's voice was sharp and unpleasant, and it made John want to stick his fingers deep inside his ears, if not his brain. "Why don't you stop bothering us and do your warm-up?"
He never even looked at the brunette. Starting in her chair, Seras shrank away from John when he suddenly leaned too close to her. He whispered, "Then let me use your cell phone to check. I'll send a text, she'll think it's from you, and if she responds then I'll know she's just ignoring me. I'll have my answer. Please?"
Harriet's teeth grated together audibly. "Stop bothering her. She doesn't owe you anything."
John continued to beg, and Seras continued to lean away. She reached an angle was twenty degrees into absurdity, and made writing or even pretending to write impossible.
"Please?" John pleaded with all the fervor of a boy who wanted a puppy for Christmas, "I'll pay you back. I'll stop bothering you. I'll do chores for you. I'll do your homework. Just let me use your phone."
He was absolutely ecstatic and sighed with relief when Seras opened her bag and retrieved the phone. She was reluctant, annoyed, and still wary of Father Anderson. It was her wariness and her desire to keep John quiet that convinced her to let the boy annoy her Master during his 'vacation.'
But John couldn't find Alucard's number. And he began to question Seras' hobbies, as he stared blankly at the contact labeled: MASTER.
BDSM… that's pretty damn hot, but totally unexpected. He couldn't resist asking her about it. The teen snickered the way only teenage boys know how to. It plucked at Seras' nerves, and made her look up from her work. John grinned, his mouth unable to stretch any wider. "Sooo, Seras." The boy held back a snicker. "You're a Submissive? What a dirty little secret."
"What?" Seras asked, not understanding what was being said. But then she looked at the phone, thought about it, and suddenly tried desperately to snatch the phone out of his hands. Agile and mocking, John toyed with Seras as though she were a cat, letting her paw and miss repetitively, before finally holding the phone outside her reach. He laughed quietly, cheerful and mischievous, while Seras regretted not entering Alucard in as 'Sister,' or simply 'Alucard,' though she couldn't have predicted someone would look through her list of contacts. "Th-that's, well," Seras figured the truth wasn't so bad, given her Master's reputation. "Alucard keeps changing it."
"Oh!" John's brow jumped in surprise, his face changing as things began to make more sense. He looked up the contact information and smiled to himself. "That's hilarious."
Harriet asked what was so hilarious. But John wasn't interested in responding, and Seras chewed her eraser, too ruffled and embarrassed to utter a coherent word. Harriet stared at John as he smiled, as he looked so calm and happy while he texted that freak. There was no separating them, Harriet thought, and then bit her lip and denied it. Alucard had no interest in John, after all.
Three students had been called on to copy their work onto the board with a blue, orange, or black marker. Harriet and Seras tried to focus on the board, but John was oblivious, wrapped up in writing the perfect text. He tapped, deleted, tapped, deleted over and over, biting his lip as he concentrated.
There was a startled yip beside him, but John didn't connect the sound with Seras. One second he was holding the phone. The next, the phone had been torn out of his hands, and Mr. Anderson's aggravated face hung over him. John stared up at the hulking instructor blankly, and then glanced at the phone and swallowed. He's going to read it, John grimaced. Is he going to read it to the class? No, probably not. But there's nothing in the text anyway. I didn't even finish it, and it says MASTER, not Alucard, John reassured himself. He relaxed when Mr. Anderson made no effort to look at the screen. The paladin in a suede jacket held the cell phone in a tight fist by his side, and then he turned to walk back to his desk, like a normal teacher would.
But, obviously, Mr. Anderson wasn't a normal teacher. After a few calm steps, he stopped. His bulging biceps flexed for an instant, and Mr. Anderson hurled the phone across the room, where it went spinning into the wall faster than their eyes could follow. The phone shattered with a loud slap and residual clatter.
Then the instructor turned around slowly, and glared at his class. He scowled at all of them, and then specifically at John. A large, coffee-colored finger pointed at the astonished teen. But as Anderson noticed students were trying to take pictures or videos, stupidly, with their phones, he growled a warning at them. "Put those phones away. If I see them, I will break them. I've read through your teacher's syllabus very carefully." He smiled, and no one understood why he was smiling. The students suspected he was some sort of sadist who enjoyed making their lives miserable. "Yes," Anderson straightened and clasped his hands behind his back. "I've read through it very carefully. It was necessary, because one special little princess didn't agree with the way I run my class."
Somehow John made the connection while Seras failed to. John sucked in a breath and held it, his lips taut. That jerk-wad stole my nickname! Only I get to call Alucard a princess without getting my teeth punched out! He was proud of this privilege, and cherished it deeply.
In all honesty, he was probably the only person who could get away with it unscathed, outside of someone from Hellsing. Or the Council of Twelve. Or the royal family.
Anderson mistook John's anger for the boy's attachment to his deceased phone. So the man smiled as he spoke. "We will resume your previous instructor's way of grading, so that your work no longer needs to be shown. But," he raised a finger, as though to stop the mute and amazed children from commenting. "Because I have read the syllabus, and studied it religiously," he sounded like a lawyer, "I know that your teacher forbad the use of cells phones. He forbad the use of any electronics or graphing calculators, without permission. And he reserved the right to confiscate any contraband for what he stated to be 'an indefinite period of time.'" Mr. Anderson smirked at the blank faces, and many of the students shuddered. "By my own discretion," he said, "I've decided that indefinite refers to a permanent confiscation. So, if I catch you using your phone or any other electronic in class," Mr. Anderson gestured to the wall and to the annihilated phone's remains. His face was absolutely demonic.
There was a tearful sniff that was too feminine to belong to John. But it was also too human to belong to the Hellsing fledgling. And yet, it had come from her.
Harriet's face bloomed with rage as she squeezed Seras' arm. "That wasn't even his phone!" she shouted, and the heads in the class rotated towards her. The sense of outrage caught and burned through the teens like fire through silk.
Mr. Anderson couldn't help but continue to glance back at the blonde, young fledgling as Seras' eyes brimmed and her lips trembled. She sniffed as she viewed the ruin. It wasn't any close relationship with the phone, nothing like that existed that could upset her. Seras had of course memorized the Hellsing home phone number, but she hadn't memorized Walter's cell. And she hadn't memorized her Master's.
With this connection, this lifeline, severed, Seras trembled like a shy girl who'd been picked on to the point of tears. Seras made a choking sound and hid her face in her hands. The students in the class set their jaws, and looked at their teacher the same way a heard of wildebeests looks at an outnumbered lion. But this lion was unfazed.
In fact, Father Anderson suddenly looked happier than ever. It was this expression that had frightened Seras, the reason she had covered her face. She thought he'd decided she was vulnerable enough to kill at his leisure. It was a half joyful, half manic grin.
Mr. Anderson announced, "Take this as an example. It doesn't matter who the phone belongs to, or who is using it. It doesn't matter if you are the sister of a spoiled little princess," eyes widened and lips were bitten as the students realized he was talking about, or perhaps even challenging, the school renowned Alucard. Anderson said, "It doesn't matter in the least. Your phone will receive the same treatment." Even if you, the students, can't be treated the same… this will do.
Wholly satisfied with himself, Mr. Anderson turned back to the frozen, timid students who fidgeted anxiously in front of the whiteboard. Seeing that they had not finished copying down their problems and had been gaping uselessly at him, the giant of a teacher ordered the students to resume their work, which they did promptly.
Hands passed along a package of tissues from somewhere near the back of the classroom. When the tissues reached the row behind Seras, a helpful, sympathizing boy offered them to the adorable crying girl, and she accepted it with a surprised thank you. Her face grew pink with embarrassment, and she blew her nose awkwardly.
…
They were in the middle of their lesson when Anderson stepped away from the projector, capping his marker as he walked up the aisle. "Give me the phone," he said to a boy as he walked towards him. The boy gave him an innocent, quizzical look, and showed that his hands were empty.
"I wasn't on my phone," the boy insisted in a convincing tone.
Mr. Anderson – who had raised more children than could be seated comfortably in this room, and who had taught as a means of infiltrating schools for more decades than the vice principal was aware of, given how this might conflict with his age – could not be lied to easily. Anderson held his hand out to receive the phone, as the room remained utterly devoid of breath. "Give it to me," he ordered once more.
The boy waved his hands, helplessly. "No, honestly. I wasn't using my phone. I was taking notes. Look at my notebook."
Mr. Anderson stared at the boy who smiled crookedly, and sweat ran freely down the teen's back. He was, after all, being threatened by an impossibly huge and frightening Calculus teacher. Anderson asked, "So smirking at your crotch is just something you do naturally from time to time?"
Some sniggering broke out, and a low chittering of excited teenagers started up. But it wasn't loud, and Anderson was occupied.
The boy laughed, "Uh, nooo." He laughed again, becoming even more awkward, and he wet his lips. "I don't do that. And I wasn't on my phone. I swear to God."
"Give it to me, and we'll all go home happy," Anderson said in a deep, pervasive, angry god-like voice. Although the teen shivered uncomfortably, he looked unconvinced. So Mr. Anderson clarified, describing exactly what the consequences of the boy's refusal to comply might be. "If you do not give me your phone by the time I count to three," Father Anderson usually used the count to three threat on children six and under. He quite enjoyed using it on the eighteen year old. "Then before every class, from this day forward, I will require each of your classmates to hand over their phones. And I will keep them in my desk. If anyone leaves early or is not here to reclaim their phone when the bell rings, it will become mine. And I will destroy it.
"So," Anderson smirked at the boy who would never again smirk at his crotch during class, "What will it be?"
The chorus of teenagers pressuring him to give in overwhelmed the boy, and he looked on in horror and amazement as Mr. Anderson actually stopped at the front of the room and kept true to his promise. Two phones lay dead against the wall when the bell rang. And Mr. Anderson required the boy, John, and Seras to remain with him after class, to discuss Saturday detention.