As Harriet was leaving, Father Anderson snatched the blue folder from her hand. Before he could open it, the girl unleashed a deafening screech that chilled and paralyzed all those within hearing (inside and outside the classroom). She tore the folder from his hands, slammed it shut, while Father Anderson continued to stare at her, having seen nothing that he could make sense of. The girl sprinted for the door, shoving a boy into a wall to get him out of the way as Father Anderson told her to stop, to come back – like hell she would.
Alucard was already alert, due to the familiar melody of a blood-curdling scream, but he flinched with stupefying amazement as the girl-goose-thing called Harriet desperately began to shove her folder into his stomach, kneeling over him as he continued to sit on the floor of the hallway. "You've got to do something! This is your fault! He's going to take it- do something!"
"I AM NOT EATING THOSE."
The girl groaned with annoyance and practically punched the folder into Alucard's resisting hands. "I'm not telling you to eat it, you freak! Just-"
Father Anderson swiftly, but gently, pulled the girl away. However, he still was not quick enough to claim the folder before Alucard shoved it under his shirt. Staring the priest dead in the eye, Alucard zipped up his jacket for emphasis, crossing his arms afterwards. "So? Are you going to molest me in front of the children? Or will you give up this stupid endeavor and allow us to move beyond this… unpleasant afternoon?"
A tan palm demanded to have the folder.
Alucard shook his head.
With the staring children, the gathering crowd, as passerby became stationary observers; with Father Anderson, crouched over a small girl in the hallway; with the word "molest" rotting the air; the priest stood up without comment, casting down a disdainful glare that made the vampire look away with a scowl. Father Anderson returned to his classroom, and did not call for the vampire to attend his after-class admonishment.
Harriet, her brow glistening with sweat beads, let out a shaky sigh and directed a trembling finger at the vampire who grimaced at her doubtfully – after all this, he wanted nothing to do with her. Nothing at all. "O-okay," Harriet swallowed, "Now… now, this is your problem. You got that? You can keep 'em. You- you can do whatever the hell you want with them. Just never let Father Anderson get his hands on them. Okay? Is that a deal?"
"This is your fault," was the muttered 'agreement'. The vampire was too nauseous, with what he psychologically understood, and biologically experienced in his stomach… He had, in the end, swallowed the picture. Unable to cough it up, the sounds he had made had disturbed many a classroom and opened many a concerned door, which he had waved away with much difficulty.
This was his darkest moment, among all these recent events. The skirts and… and other nonsense. No. This… this was torture. Van Hellsing level torture (though… Abraham would never have conceived of such an insane and diabolical method – a poisonous creation stemming from a fifteen year old girl's unexpectedly frightening mind).
…
Alucard burned the artwork, warming himself with the flames as he watched the images curl and blacken, disappearing, forever since – surely – there could be no more of these abominations.
No, of course it could not be this easy. The vampire's mind refused to let him indulge in this fantasy, so it haunted him as he lay, deflated, in his bed, beneath the comforter, limp and hollow. He stared at the blanket-darkness without seeing it.
He said to Seras, who he knew to be sitting on the twin bed beside his, "Don't tell Integra about this afternoon."
"…Uhhhmm."
That 'uhhhmm' widened the vampire's eyes, and then he groaned internally at the sound of his master's voice on the phone. Yes, the girl's new phone. A phone they called smart, a phone which was actually stupid because it allowed one to view the face of the speaker, when – after all – the grace of using a telephone/cellphone was the ability to avoid such contact. (It also made lying more difficult, which seemed very impractical.)
"What happened this afternoon?" As she heard nothing from her vampire, Sir Integra's frown deepened with her suspicion. "Alucard. Tell me what you did."
The little of Seras' face that Integra could see, through the advantages of her new phone, was fretting over the screen and giving Integra's disapproving frown many pathetic, and somehow annoying, expressions. Seras still had no explanation for her bizarre absence that occurred over a week ago, but Integra had left that matter to Alucard. He, unfortunately, had never pursued it.
The young woman sighed, reclining in a comfortable chair in her library. Walter was absent, and she had an open book on her lap. She now placed the phone on a flat page, and dented her cheek against her fist, propped on the armrest. "Tell me first: is it worth me knowing?"
"U-umm…"
"I'm speaking to Alucard, Seras."
There was a nervous 'oh' and the girl fumbled with the phone to direct the camera towards the mound that was her master, as though Sir Integra could possibly wish to look upon her troubled demon. All the wavering and swirling of the girl's uncertain motions made Integra sick, so she, looking away from the screen in her nausea, instructed Seras to put the phone down. It landed in her lap, and once more the mountainous mammaries blocked most of Seras' worried expressions.
Integra repeated herself, "Is it worth telling me?"
A muffled voice did not reach the phone, and the young woman had to demand a response. Alucard threw off the blankets and lay flat on his back, board-like, eyeing the ceiling. "No. It's school nonsense."
"Have you gone to see the principal yet?"
"No. I see him at 4:30 this afternoon."
"That seems late," Integra murmured thoughtfully, pondering whether an expulsion still loomed over their horizon.
"I wouldn't know," the monotone oozed. When it was quiet, the vampire rose and claimed one of his new blood packets, which had been replenished when he'd 'returned' from his suspension. He sipped on the meal dully. His fledgling played with her polka-dot socks, which caused the phone to move around. Integra began to feel that this new feature – this facetime thing – was pretty useless.
"Be good."
"Yes, Mum." The sarcastic mumble over the 'straw' creased Mummy's young face, and suddenly made it haggard and lined with signs of her decade-long battle to put up with this strange creature she had inherited.
Sir Integra bid them an early 'good night,' wishing them luck for their evening patrol, and then ended the fruitless call in order to return to her book. Re-reading Metamorphosis seemed oddly appropriate tonight.
*~*~::..+..::~*~*
On the desk in the scantly decorated office, there lay a yellow notepad.
List/Schedule – Afternoon
1. Meeting [Complete]
2. Handle conflict between student and Alexander Anderson
3. Call/meet with exterminators (check on Elizabeth's exorcism)
4. Pick up groceries
A series of recent, and unexpected, calls bearing strategically threatening complaints worried Mr. Harris, and he sat at his desk, pressing his thumbs together as he viewed his list. He looked up when the knock sounded, and he gave the guest permission to enter.
The principal's expression stiffened, and he could not manage a warm smile. So he spoke to the troublesome, and befuddling, girl while staring at his list. "Hello, Miss Hellsing. Have a seat." He pretended to flip pages and read through them, although the rest of the notepad was unmarked. He did not understand why the girl's presence irritated him, but Mr. Harris tried to appear welcoming. "Mr. Anderson will be with us shortly."
Eventually he looked at the girl, and found that his reluctance had been well-founded. The large eyes and crimson irises made her unwavering and indifferent stare hard to bear. Having heard little that might make him eager to finally make her acquaintance, he confirmed the report that she had a very "piercing, direct and arrogant" way of looking at (or staring down) adults. And that she "could go for uncomfortable lengths of time without blinking."
As goosebumps populated the principal's chilled flesh, Father Anderson finally appeared at the door with a familiar, heavy knock against the wall – rather than the actual door itself. The two men exchanged familiar nods, the principal relaxing unconsciously as now he would not have to remain isolated with the disturbing china-doll child. He needed to tie up this matter of teacher-student physical conflict quickly and cleanly, abstaining from a bribe, since nothing of value could be conceived to appease the oddly wealthy household the girl came from. However mysterious her connections with the Hellsing family… her origin impossible to uncover, adoption papers non-existent… he still worried over the disturbance and what the girl's parents – wherever they were and whoever they might be – might do when they found out Alexander had literally lifted her off the ground and pinned her against a wall- oh, it sounded like an awful, awful lawsuit. And what might happen if this scandal were to catch 'media' attention. He had other calls and complaints to deal with, and if they were to combine with the matter of Father Anderson 'assaulting' a girl, it would be a nightmarish ordeal, to say the least.
And then, he needed the priest. He needed Alexander Anderson to remain on campus, teaching while the other instructor remained absent, on paid leave. A vacation that had overstretched its time constraint a week ago...
Rather than massage his throbbing temples, the man laced his fingers, and addressed the matter by summarizing it and then giving the girl a chance to amend any details she thought were erroneous.
Alucard couldn't care less about the tedious matter, so he stared at the man until he frowned unpleasantly, lifted a page of his notepad, and scribbled something. Father Anderson, seated a few feet from his demonic adversary, smirked at the idea that the stupid creature might get himself expelled simply by means of his poor, anti-social (undead, evil, and demonic) personality.
The principal wrote an abbreviated list of questions beneath his scribble, which he began to read to Alucard:
"Miss Hellsing, are you still afraid of Mr. Anderson?"
A derisive snort made the man twitch, and he looked at the amused child briefly, before writing 'No.'
"Is it true that you reported to a member of our faculty, that you are frightened and do not feel comfortable coming to-"
"I don't care, none of this is relevant now," the small waving hand exasperated the principal, but Alucard crossed his legs and leaned back in his chair – appearing comfortable, while he was not. He hated this chair, and all others like it. He was much too familiar with its contours, and only experienced unpleasant things when he was placed in similar (school office) chairs. "This was an issue that was strictly between myself and the teacher. Due to his faulty grading," Alucard's head tilted to indicate Anderson, in case he hadn't been clear. Yes, it was this man, right here, the big blonde teacher, the slab of muscle stuffed into a suede jacket who was terrible at his job.
The priest glanced at him with his usual look of suspicion, murderous inclination, and abhorrence, but had no other response.
The diminutive vampire beside the priest bounced his foot restlessly, "That issue has been adequately resolved. My grades are now as they should be. In addition, my mother has no plans of… making a 'fuss'. There really is no reason to prolong this further."
"Alright then."
Alucard paused at this reply, and he watched as the man went through drawers, and arranged papers, never looking up. Eventually the man told Alucard to leave, "If there is no reason to draw this out, I have no desire to. You may go Miss Hellsing, but go understanding that I would like to see some improvement in your behavior and your attitude towards my staff. You should show your teachers the respect they deserve."
Alucard blinked once, and did not get up. Suspecting some unknown trap, such as this permission to leave early serving as an opportunity for the man to claim that the student had marched out of his office before they had finished, some such nonsense, which would then be reported to dearest 'mother.' However, as the seconds ticked, and the man's demeanor repelled any further conversation, the vampire did get up, and he left, glancing back at the principal and then the priest. Father Anderson watched him go, and then turned to the principal who checked that the door had been shut, and then loosened his cramping posture and smiled for the first time. This was the mood the priest was better acquainted with, and with the Catholic faith making the principal worthy of cordial treatment, the priest relaxed as well.
The principal offered Father Anderson tea, which was made and then accepted. As Mr. Harris sat down behind his desk, he looked to his wall, checking a black clock. Frowning, Mr. Harris held a button on his office phone. "Is there a student waiting for me? I'm expecting someone to come before five."
A female voice replied, "No one's here at the moment. I was about to leave as well. Do you need me to stay?"
Sighing, Mr. Harris said no, and told the woman to enjoy her evening. There was a cheerful reciprocation, and then the phone was quiet. Mr. Harris reached for a pile of papers and was about to initiate the topic of the exorcism, when he suddenly put down the papers and stared at the wall. Having some doubt cross his mind, he jabbed the office phone with unexpected haste, "Megan, are you still there?"
It took a moment, but the woman responded that she would be leaving at five, so she was still available.
"Perfect. Did you manage to call the number I gave you?"
There was a confused and hesitant "No… I- I'm sorry, I don't recall-"
"I left a pink sticky note on your desk this morning."
After a short search, the sticky note was found on the floor beneath the desk, having fallen, most likely when Megan had placed her bag on her desk when she'd come in at nine.
She sat down hurriedly, "I'm so sorry. Do you need me to call it now?"
"Yes, please. Reschedule the meeting for 5:30 PM."
"Again, I'm sorry."
"It's no problem. Have a nice evening."
"I- I will. Thank you."
Then the office was quiet once more. Mr. Harris flipped pages in the packet before him, and then rubbed his eye tiredly. "You've met Elizabeth Blarney, our vice principal?"
"Yes," Father Anderson enjoyed his warm tea and the agreeable office. It was a bit like Maxwell's, when Maxwell's office wasn't swamped and made unrecognizable with work papers.
"She, for some reason, hired someone to conduct an exorcism in her office." A half-nervous laugh followed the odd statement, and the man folded back rustling paper as he found the page he was looking for. "It cost more than she had expected. And well… In any case," he placed a finger at the top of a list of numbers aligned with the equipment or task being charged, "I thought you might be familiar with exorcisms, and could tell me whether she had hired a quack."
"If anyone conducted an exorcism, there was no need to. It may have been a fake," the priest took a long sip from his mug, rather resistant against the scalding tea. He actually enjoyed the sensation, and healed quickly so no prolonged discomfort could discourage him.
Mr. Harris smiled at the paper, not out of joy or relief or even irritation. It just occurred naturally in these strange situations that dealt with the supernatural. It showed his discomfort. "Is that right? …She seemed very intent on getting an exorcism. Perhaps it was conducted just to calm her down. Is that done?"
Father Anderson watched the steam rise steadily from his tea as the burned roof of his mouth, his tongue, and his throat mended. "They are done. A false ceremony, something a little showy – a few prayers, readings from the Old Testament, candles, Holy water and incense." He rubbed his unshaven jaw, imagining what might seem appropriate to an ignorant Protestant 'customer,' since he himself had never conducted a false exorcism. Least of all, for a non-Catholic. "That's all I can think of." Maybe the exorcist wasn't Catholic. Would the process have been any different?
"How about salt?"
Father Anderson looked at the principal, and saw, or assumed, that Mr. Harris was reading from the packet on the desk. After a moment, Father Anderson murmured an uncertain, "I would not say salt would be out of place."
Mr. Harris sucked on his lip, and then asked Father Anderson if twelve doves, a pound of blessed salt from mysterious deposits in the Saharan desert, an app that would emit some sound at a frequency that affects spirits but is undetectable by the human ear, withered and mummified relics of 'legitimate' saints, blessed holy water salted with the tear of a childless widow, the horns of a young miniature pot-bellied goat, and the rare antler of a horse (unicorn horn?) – would be traditional tools that might add up to a $1,100 charge. Not counting the white candles that the vice principle had been advised to burn at four corners of her office, with a fifth on her desk, every day for the next three years, or the future visits from 'professionals' who would assess the room to see that no demonic presence had gained entry by some overlooked path.
Father Anderson was silent for a time, and then asked for the name of this con-artist (or names, if this was an organization of blasphemous fakes) so he could report the incident/crime that had taken place – rather than allow the police to get involved. The police always managed to get themselves tangled in things that did not concern them (in Father Anderson's opinion). Mr. Harris gave the name to him gladly.
As Father Anderson flipped through the written (false) report himself, scowling at the absurdities and offensive descriptions of pagan artifacts that should never be acquainted with the name and power of the great Lord, Jesus Christ, a knock sounded at the door, and the principal told the newcomer to enter.
Father Anderson turned to the familiar aura, still showing the irritation which was rooted in the fake exorcism, and the Hellsing fledgling froze. A desire not to be impolite and the principal's incessant coaxing and then appeal to her professional obligations finally drew Seras Victoria into the seat her master had occupied an hour before. A frightened quivering entered her shoulders, and Seras found it impossible to unclench her hands or make any sudden movements, as she felt the priest's eyes, felt his threatening presence, and tried to wake up from this surreal nightmare.