Prompt: Why'd I have to figure it out on my own?
Integra sighed as she washed her hands, after having thrown her latest tampon in the garbage.
Sometimes, being a woman was so inconvenient.
Her lip curled slightly, and she had to chuckle as she remembered her panic, just before her father had died, fleeing to Walter instead, terrified that she had caught whatever was killing her father and it was making her bleed between the legs.
Integra's mother had died in childbirth.
Her teachers were all used to teaching the wealthy and the snobbish, and over half were male.
There had been no one to tell her of what periods and cycles were.
But still…the humiliation as he explained…
Her jaw tensed, and she stopped for a moment, leaving the water running with one hand on the knob.
She hated having to learn her way through something with no experience, no guide, and hardly any knowledge at all.
She hated her periods.
And she had ever since they started.
Prompt: A guy/girl like that.
Maxwell stared at the files on the desk with a decidedly mocking sneer twisting his lips.
Arthur had finally gone and kicked the bucket, and for Maxwell, age 13, this could not have been better.
His job as a secretary to the current head of Iscariot was humiliating, and he couldn't wait to be the one to sit in this desk and make life miserable for everyone else.
But this girl…what was her name?
He checked the papers again.
Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing.
Soon to be Sir Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing, after the knighting that his employer was invited to.
He would decline, of course.
No good Catholic would go to see the Queen knight another of her faithful little lapdogs that would soon rise up and nip at the Vatican's heels.
There were more important things to do.
But…
This girl might be a problem later on, after he took control of Iscariot.
She was the daughter of Arthur Hellsing.
The descendant of Van Hellsing himself.
It would be extremely dangerous to underestimate her.
Dracula had underestimated the power and determination of a single Hellsing working without a powerful organization and the support of the Queen, and look what had happened to him.
Now they were even stronger, and had been tempered time and time again down through the ages, until steel would shatter under the pressure.
Not the Hellsings.
They became diamond-hard and iron-strong.
No…It would not do to underestimate Sir Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing.
Prompt: London, England.
Drums.
Cymbals.
Chorus.
Symphony!
The Major waved his hands with a flourish, and behold!
A series of building buckled and blew, shrapnel and fire raining down from the sky as the screams of the dead, the dying, and the undead rose and fell, a chorus of agony and destruction and despair.
And behold!
A snap of his hand, and the chitter-chatter of machine guns bellowed down from the helicopters above, cutting down British civilian and Millennium solider indiscriminately, like the crash of mighty cymbals!
And behold!
He raised his hands to the above, and a helicopter rose, ready to mow him down in a mad tempest of steel and lightning and fire!
Ssshing!
And the drums bellowed as the helicopter fell, split into pieces, and he continued directing his symphony uninterrupted as the Angel of Death stood guard.
London burned.
London cried.
London became Hell.
Hell became London.
And behold!
The Major directed it all.