Prompt: Best day of my life.
Pip Bernadette was many things.
But he was not a bum.
Well, he did have long periods of unemployment, but when he did, it was usually it a bar, with his men, and the lot of them were getting blind, stinking drunk off of the money they had earned from their last gig.
So, at the prospect of unemployment (aka when the money ran out and they woke up with hangovers), he was not a happy man.
Of course, that might've been the hangover.
But he was the leader, and he had told his men that he already had a job all lined up.
Well, sorta.
He had an interview scheduled.
Reaching over the sprawled drunk on his left, he picked up the phone and dialed the numbers on the advertisement he had his eyes on.
"Hello?"
"Is this Mr. Bernadette?"
"Yeah, and I was wondering, this job…it pays well."
"Yes it does sir. Very well."
He took a sip of the black coffee in front of him as he thought for a moment.
"And I was wondering just what exactly it is we do to get paid so well."
There was a second's pause on the other line, then a slight chuckle.
"You will be briefed on that when you arrive, but I can tell you it involves purifying the undead."
He spit the coffee out, wondering if perhaps the man on the other end was a loony.
"Excusez-moi?! Undead?! Like in Dracula?!"
"Exactly like sir. Are you still interested?"
He paused.
This gig was really high paying, and hey, targets were targets, and if this whack job thought they were vampires, well, that was his problem.
"Yeah…sure."
Later, he listened to his men express the same shock he had at the outrageous nature of their "job", only to be interrupted by a woman's voice.
"It's true. The enemies are immortal creatures who sustain themselves by drinking human blood. Your job gentlemen, is to fight these monsters with bullets, garlic, and holy water. Put a stake through its heart, cut off its head, burn the corpse, scatter the ashes at a crossroads. For further instructions, consult Bram Stoker."
"That's just ridiculous."
"Everyone knows there's no such thing as vampires."
This lady would not be deterred from her beliefs by a few dissenters, and I began to get a smug feeling.
This was turning out to be better than I thought it would.
"Then everyone is quite mistaken. Or more accurately, we've helped them maintain a state of blissful ignorance. For over a century the Hellsing Organization has served the British Empire, fighting a secret war against the forces of darkness. The Vampire in particular. For those of you who still need convincing, I present to you a genuine vampire."
She swung her gloved finger over to the side, and I blinked.
Long legs.
Short skirt.
Huge tits.
Sweet face.
I grinned widely, all my misgivings displaced.
This is a great idea.
Prompt: Non-existent.
I yawned hugely, falling face-first onto my nice, soft bed and simply laying there, feeling as if every muscle in my body had turned to over-stretched taffy.
With a gargantuan effort, I managed to roll over so I wouldn't get smothered in the pillow, flicking my braid off my face as I did so.
I would've been out like a light in the next few seconds, but the cold horror of the night slowly started to creep up on me, despite my best efforts.
It always sounded so easy when you saw a zombie movie or read a book.
Just, aim for the head, and it was all over.
Don't get bitten.
Two simple little rules in a simple little world.
And in the real world, with ghouls (which as far as I was concerned were zombies in all but name), you even got the guarantee of the heart being a kill shot too.
Except the books and the movies left out the sheer terror of combating living corpses.
First off, the reek.
The god-awful stench of decay and rot and wrong that lingered about those groaning, shambling husks.
Oh yeah, that was something else the literature of today forgot too.
The sounds.
In the movies, it was almost comical, a few groans and grunts that sounded like someone taking it up the tailpipe when on drugs.
In real life, it was an endless, churning, hungry sound, and combined with the bony, rotting hands that clutched and grabbed the air inches from your face, was enough to make a lesser man wet his pants.
Head or heart.
Don't get bit.
Those were your gospels on the battlefield, and you prayed to God Almighty Himself if you thought it might save you from those drooling, sagging jaws.
Who usually manifested in either the towering, red-cloaked form of Alucard, or the mustard-yellow, stouter one of Seras, lugging that gigantic cannon behind her.
Those jaws.
Those teeth.
Those SOUNDS.
Head or heart.
Don't get bit.
He shook his head irritably, undoing his eyepatch and putting it on the side table.
It didn't matter, as long as he kept those jaws away from him and away from his men.
He turned out the light, kicking his boots off and closing his eye as he laid back.
Head or heart.
Don't get bit.
His nightmares were constantly haunted by the shambling figures and their cackling masters, empty, soulless.
He dreamed sometimes of becoming them, of being hollow and non-existent as he tore open the throats of his comrades and mignonette.
Head or heart.
Don't get bit.
Prompt: Never meant to last.
Pip raised his hat with a sleepy glare, seeing his source of light blocked out.
Then his grumpy expression brightened considerably, and he patted the chair beside him.
"Come to join me ma chère?"
Seras glowered at him from inside her pink hoodie, and he laughed sheepishly.
"Ah, apologies. I suppose vampires can't bask in sunlight like the rest of us."
Her bottom lip quavered, and he paused for a moment, trying to find a less gloomy comment.
"Nothing a little sunscreen can't fix though, eh?"
She shook her head, and he sighed before running a hand through the hair under his hand.
"My apologies, I didn't mean to make you depressed. I suppose I can push the chair into the shade though, hm?"
She brightened considerably, and he laughed a little as she joined him, eagerly pushing the other lawn chair into the shade of the porch.
"Mr. Bernadette, I thought you were supposed to be instructing your men?"
He pushed his hat back, crossing his legs as she sat beside him, pulling the hoodie down and breathing in a sigh of relief.
"I don't really see any difference than what we usually do. Head or heart only, and silver bullets instead of lead. You and monsieur Alucard will be taking care of the FREAKs, so we really only need to kill ghouls, eh?"
"Well yes…"
"Exactly. And I for one am not one to waste a perfectly good afternoon sun indoors, thus here I am."
"The shooting range is outdoors."
He grinned cheekily, lighting a fag and putting it to his lips.
"Oui, but as I said, we know what to do, and besides, this is too comfortable to get up from."
Making a show of putting his arms behind his head, he stretched luxuriously and blew out a stream of nicotine onto the warm breeze.
"I need to rest and relax sometimes you know, and I don't believe Sir Integra would let me or the boys off on a holiday."
She laughed nervously.
"Probably not."
They sat in companionable silence for a while as he smoked his cigarette and enjoyed the presence of a lovely lady, as well as the afternoon sun warming his tired muscles.
"Maybe if we all go up and lobby her together we can wrench a beach holiday out of the Ice Queen."
Seras shoved him playfully.
"Don't call her that! And besides, both the sun and the water's very bad for me!"
He sighed mockingly and shook his head.
"Slap on some sunscreen and stay on the beach! Maybe you can play in the tide pools, since the water isn't running?"
She blinked, then beamed at him.
"That just might work!"
"Of course it will, I thought of it didn't I?"
This time they both laughed, and he stretched again, feeling sleepy and full of content.
Time crept by and he watched the sun set increment by increment as Seras chattered on and on, letting him answer and question as he pleased.
Suddenly she rose, pulling her hoodie back up and smiling at him.
"Thanks for the afternoon Mr. Bernadette, and maybe Integra'll let us do that beach thing sometime! Right now I gotta go train with Master."
And with that, she scurried off, and he raised a languid hand in farewell, waving a few times before dropping it.
He smirked as he pulled his cigarette out and blew a stream of smoke, sighing to himself.
Good times go fast. I'll hold you to that beach offer, mignonette.