Seras – The Rose-Clad Demon Doctor

@gingerkyuketsuki Here’s what I wrote for what you intended to be a shitpost! I may have written way too much but I don’t care! 😀

“You want me to what?”

Alucard thought he misunderstood. He had to have misheard, misinterpreted what his master was telling him. There was absolutely, certainly, 110% no way that she had just said that to him.

“I said, I’ve agreed to a proposal from the Iscariot organization. For the next week, you and the Father, Alexander Anderson, are going to be changing places.”

“And what, if I might ask, is the purpose of this… Endeavour?”

Sir Integra pushed up her glasses, picking up the sheaf of papers in front of her, clearly emblazoned with the wax seal of the Vatican. “It’s to…”

She let out an aggravated sigh. “To ‘teach mutual respect amongst the organizations, to allow our various operatives…’”

She pointed at Alucard. “’To experience each others’ roles and duties so that they may form a more proper understanding and mutual deference, for the sake of cooperation in the future.’”

The disgust emanating from his master was thick enough to be cut with a knife. Integra continued.

“These come signed and sealed from Pope Francis himself, signed in duplicate by Bishop Enrico Maxwell, and counter-signed and sealed by Queen Elizabeth and Sir Irons. Like it or not, you’re participating in this. You’ve been sworn in absentia that you are not to harm a single Iscariot operative. Anderson has been sworn to the same.”

Alucard moved to complain, but decided against it. He grinned, prompting a concerned look from Integra.

This could be fun.

It was not fun. Alucard found himself assuming not just Anderson’s roles, but his dress. He was forced into the same godawful priest’s uniform-jacket combo that the Paladin wore. All of the clothes had been sized for Anderson, so they fit, but barely. The waistline was entirely too big and the elbows on the jacket chafed. And he was told his hat had to stay at the Manor! The No-Life King, nearly 600 years old, most powerful being in the world, wasn’t even allowed to have his favorite hat as he assumed the priest’s position for a week.

And the duties he had… It wasn’t just the fun stuff, killing heretics and pagans in the name of the Holy Catholic Church.

Alucard also had to assist in running the day-to-day of St. Ferdinand’s Orphanage, including balancing finances, cleaning if necessary, and taking care of the orphans.

The orphans.

Alucard had been there for less than a day before the children began getting on his nerves. The adolescents were less irritating. They didn’t know the specifics of this exchange program, but they understood that this tall, raven-haired man was supposed to be Anderson’s replacement for a week, and they treated him with a mixture of respect for his priestly position, and fear because he’s a nearly seven-foot tall, quiet man whose eyes are just slightly off. He had a modicum of respect for the adolescent orphans, since they stayed out of his way.

But the younger children… The vampire prided himself, deservedly or not, on his patience. He didn’t typically have a problem with children. But these ones, they could certainly try his patience.

The first day, the main problem was their constant pestering. “Whewe’s Fathew Andewson?”

“Why are you so tall? Do you play basketball??”

“Your eyes are pretty! But scary!”

“The new priest scares me!”

“Can I have a piggyback ride?”

“I found this doggie out in the garden, can I keep it?” A raccoon, it was a fucking raccoon, no of course you can’t keep it!

The next couple of days, what irritated him was the childrens’ tendency to get into EVERYTHING.

Timothy somehow got a marble stuck in his nose. Nisha had been playing with rubberbands and had accidentally knocked over a vase, breaking it. Lilith (he savored the irony of an orphan in a Catholic orphanage bearing the name Lilith) had been playing with matches again (AGAIN?!) and started a small but manageable fire. Jack had been playing “army men” again and had gotten into an altercation with three other children who pretty much took care of the problem themselves.

All of which he had been forced to deal with.

The children also had a habit of pulling at the vampire’s hair, attempting to climb up his arms, requesting more piggyback rides because he was so tall and they could see everything from his shoulders!

Some of the more clueless adolescents had challenged him to a game of basketball, but wisely backed down when Alucard stood to his full height and could nearly reach the rim without jumping.

And the Orphanage’s finances! By the grace of whatever higher power might exist, Alucard swore he had never seen a more chaotic budget in his unlife. Constant fees for caterers, cleanup, salaries, maintenance, clothing budgets, medical bills, supply fees, the ASTOUNDING electricity and water bills, the list went on. And he hadn’t the slightest damn clue what he was doing, trying to go over that budget.

It was almost a relief to hear, four days into the exchange program, that he would be sent into the deepest part of the American South, under the supervision of agents Yumiko and Heinkel, to hunt down a group who attacked a cathedral. At least now Alucard could take out several days of pent-up frustration on whatever poor unfortunate souls made the mistake of pissing off the Catholic church.

Alucard could only hope the Paladin was having as awful a time himself.

He would’ve been very disappointed.

Sure, it was true that the Regenerator hated having to work alongside the Protestant Anglican Church who, under literally any other circumstances, would’ve been his sworn enemy. Certainly, he hated being removed from his uniform and placed in the too-tight red jacket and oversized red hat which he felt made him look ridiculous. And more than anything did he hate having to conduct business in the presence of the little blonde Draculina whom he wanted more than anything to carve with his bayonets and send her to God.

But other than that, it wasn’t that bad.

Training the Wild Geese was far simpler than helping to raise some of the little kids at the Orphanage. God bless their little souls, Anderson cared for them, but he sorely needed a break from some of their antics.

Conversing with Sir Integra and assisting her in her duties was not at all out-of-place from helping the higher-ups at the Orphanage.

The most welcome bit of familiarity was being sent out into the field to kill vampires and ghouls. Much to his joyful surprise, those duties didn’t change. Outside of the Manor, and in the field, he was allowed to resume his carving-up of the legions of Hell just like he preferred.

Anderson even learned a bit of respect for Seras, as he saw that despite her vampiric nature, she kept herself under extreme control and never succumbed to her natural bloodlust. He still wanted to carve out her heart with a knife, but now he’d do so with a knowing nod and the knowledge that perhaps her soul would find a teeny bit of salvation in the afterlife.

When the week ended, Anderson was more than respectful to those who had been his coworkers for the past seven days, regardless of how he still felt about all of them.

Alucard and the Vatican officials had arrived at the door. Integra could tell from the look on his face that the past 168 hours had not been kind to the vampire. He stood at his full height, looking directly into Anderson’s eyes.

Without so much as a “Hello” or a “How was your week” or a “Go fuck yourself,” Alucard grabbed the hat off the top of Anderson’s head before placing it on his own.

“My hat.” Was the only thing he had to say to the Paladin, who otherwise offered some statement to the effect of having a newfound respect for the vampire and the rest of the Hellsing Organization.

As the Papists departed, Alucard looked at his master, who stared up at him expectantly.

“Well, Alucard? How was it?”

“That… Human, is stronger than I’ve ever thought.”

Requests

I’m opening requests again until 22/04/2018! I’m in a writing mood, so please feel free to send me Hellsing stuff! SFW or NSFW, but I reserve the right to turn down any offensive content (no non-con if it’s a NSFW request).

Hellsing Fic Prototype Part 4

the-rose-clad-demon-doctor:

So, this is probably going to be the last update for a few days. Writing this chapter kicked my ass and, apart from a few plot points, I’m totally unsure of how to continue at the moment. I’ll probably be working on Part 5 sporadically throughout the week but hopefully I’ll have it up by Friday or Saturday.

Keep reading

I’m not normally the kind of person to reblog my own stuff, but I’m actually really proud of some parts of this chapter.

Hellsing: Forest Fire Part 4

So, this is probably going to be the last update for a few days. Writing this chapter kicked my ass and, apart from a few plot points, I’m totally unsure of how to continue at the moment. I’ll probably be working on Part 5 sporadically throughout the week but hopefully I’ll have it up by Friday or Saturday.

Sunday morning. The Hellsing Organization and Wild Geese had been at full combat readiness for nearly two weeks. Full combat readiness meant constant patrols, each patrol shift pulling more than twelve hours constantly on watch. It was wearing on everyone. Normal humans simply weren’t meant to keep vigilant and alert for that kind of time each day.

It was especially wearing on Claude. He hadn’t had an opportunity to really talk with Pip since their previous interaction. “One night zis week” got quickly pushed back to “Possibly next week.”

More worrying to the blonde soldier, as he wandered the halls, was the effect the whole situation was having on Sir Integra. It had been at his urging that she hired the Wild Geese and pushed to fortify Hellsing Manor for what could be a siege situation. He had already passed by her door to hear her saying that she shouldn’t have listened to him. Claude knew it was just the stress, but that still stung.

Which is why it almost came as a relief when, nearly sixteen days since the Wild Geese arrived, a spotter on the roof saw the buses pulling up at the front of the manor.

Claude assumed his position in the ground floor. The mercenaries had taken positions up on the second storey, defiladed through the windows, with heavy machine gun nests set up at three points. The Hellsing troops had been spread throughout the manor, and Sir Integra and Walter took refuge in the basement.

There was a brief moment of anticipation as two tall, lanky, very differently-dressed individuals walked up to the gatehouse, exchanging a brief word with the guards before opening fire.

The whole world seemed to pause, as if taking a breath. Suddenly, it was like the gates of Hell itself opened up. Nearly a hundred guns throughout the mansion opened fire. The two men at the gates jumped, taken by surprise. They moved faster than anyone could possibly keep track of, scattering and moving out of the firing arcs of the mercenaries on the upper levels.

The buses accelerated, making a charge for the front door, tires tearing deep tracks in the ground. One of the buses suddenly split in half, torn to a hundred thousand pieces by an explosion as it rolled over an anti-tank mine. The remaining three buses slammed into the front façade of the mansion, breaking through the walls and sending soldiers scattering.

More explosions as the doors on the buses opened, spilling forth soldiers replete with riot shields, all crudely labeled with “Boo doo, people murder people.” The Hellsing soldiers hid behind barriers, but still found themselves falling under the crushing advance of the armored ghouls.

Squad 17 had been split across the first floor, not one member was within easy reach of each other. Claude had the good fortune to be placed near the stairwell, a half-dozen men and women under his direct order.

The radio on his hip crackled to life.

“This is Belmont, in temporary command of Squad 6! We’re falling back to the Southeast stairwell! All troops, masks on! Thunder Children, load your guns for area denial!”

Claude looked around as everyone around him snapped on simple painter’s breathers and goggles. “Area denial.”

The Karmina shotguns were of a large enough bore to launch custom grenades. These had been designed by Alucard and Walter in a joint venture to give humans weapons to make life very unpleasant for vampires and ghouls. A frangible outer shell made out of cold iron, boasting a very light explosive charge. The real meat of the grenades was their incredibly finely-powdered silver, each individual speck light enough to float on the softest breeze. Each grenade contained several hundred grams of this powdered silver.

As Squad 6 rounded the corner in full retreat, pursued by a charging formation of ghouls, Claude dutifully shouldered his gun and fired over the heads of his comrades-in-arms. The grenade rounds kicked more than usual, so his gun knocked the hell out of his shoulder. Its explosive projectile sailed high, smacking into the shield of one ghoul before bursting open in a flash of light.

It suddenly became much harder to see in the hallway as a million rays of light were reflected by the particulate silver floating in the air. The ghouls, clearly newly-turned, continued to breathe instinctively. That was their mistake, as they caught lungs full of powdered silver. As their lungs screamed in pain, their skin blistering from exposure to the precious metal, some dropped their shields. Some dropped their guns. All of the ghouls seized in pain. A lung full of silver wouldn’t be enough to kill a vampire, not even a ghoul, but it distracted them. Which was exactly what was necessary, as the Hellsing soldiers ripped the small crowd apart with concentrated fire.

The soldiers in that small hallway let out a cheer, but it was short-lived. The other sides of the Manor remained unsecured, a fact they were painfully reminded of as another member of Squad 17 called out over the radio that Squads 2 and 8 were wiped out.

One of the two lanky bastards from before the attack had broken in through an uncovered window in the back of the mansion and caught the two groups by surprise. His other tall associate had met up and charged together into the lower levels before splitting up again.

Integra, dead. Seras, dead. Alucard unable to save them. Pip dead. Claude unable to save him.

Claude gripped at his head, grabbing his radio, fury running through every vein in his body. He keyed the channel for the rest of the radios they used.

“This is… This is Claude Grey to all Hellsing soldiers and the Wild Geese mercenaries. Everyone on the second storey secure the stairwells at all costs! Don’t let any of those bastards up there! Level the fuckin’ stairwells with C4 if you have to! All forces on the first storey and below, do whatever you can to get to the basement! They’re aiming for Sir Integra!”

They’d probably be fine. But was he really going to risk it? He had a dinner date with Monsieur Bernadotte to look forward to. Integra was like a mother to him. Seras almost like a sister already.

I’ll be damned if some vampire asshole’s gonna take everything away from me again.

Everything had transpired over the course of a few seconds. Before anybody else had a chance to react to what he said, Claude bolted for the stairwell and stormed downstairs. Abandoning his command like this would earn him a royal chewing-out later, but he didn’t care. He knew the basement was shielded against radio transmissions. Even if Integra had a radio, she never would’ve heard what he said. He had to get there first, and one man could move a hell of a lot faster than seven.

The basement level of the Hellsing Manor was a labyrinth the likes of which would have made King Minos green with envy. It sprawled much farther out and much deeper than the already palatial mansion sitting aboveground. Twisting tunnels which doubled back, dozens of dead ends, fake doors, electronic shielding, all designed to hide the lowest dungeons and the deepest, darkest secrets of Hellsing and the Council of Twelve.

It was also where the vampire Alucard made his home, meaning it was somewhere Claude Grey rarely ventured.

He probably knew as much about the basement level as the vampires now trying to navigate their way to find Sir Integra.

Every corner had the potential to put him face-to-face with a being much more powerful than he was, much faster than he was, far harder to kill than he was.

He wasn’t particularly scared, not really. Dying was something he hadn’t been scared of in years. At the end of the day, Claude knew he was expendable. The Hellsing Organization would move on if he died, but Sir Integra was vital to their survival.

Claude was also fairly sure he was lost. Every corridor in the basement looked the same.

Voices came from the hallway to his left. The soldier hugged the wall and listened closely.

“You dumbass! Those cocksuckers were waiting for us and you knew it, didn’t you?!” How was he communicating with someone? That shouldn’t be possible. “I don’t give a shit what he told you or not! We walked into a trap you kraut fuck!”

Kraut?

Claude’s attention was taken as he heard further gunshots from down the hall to his right. That… That had to be where Integra was. He pushed away from the wall, breaking into a dead run, not caring about the noise he was making.

“Oh shit… Hey, come back here, asshole!”

Claude could hear the man behind him, footsteps moving far too fast for him to outrun. He reached to his battledress, grabbing a grenade. A flashbang. Just something to use as a distraction.

Claude pulled the pin, hearing the footsteps getting closer. After less than a second, he threw the grenade behind him and covered his ears. There was a tremendous BANG, amplified by the walls of the basement. It rattled every bone in his body, even shook his teeth. Even after covering his ears, they rang fiercely, he could scarcely hear.

A door at the end of the hallway stood open, and Claude could see the white-suited man from earlier seated against the wall, bloodied. The man turned to look at Claude, chest heaving from multiple bullet wounds. Alucard still stood, holding a gun aimed at the seated individual. He raised a second gun that Claude had never seen before. Under the ringing in his brain he could hear the vampire yelling.

“Get down!”

Claude dove for the floor, landing awkwardly on his gun. Oof. That was gonna bruise later.

There were further gunshots, though they barely registered through his already weakened hearing. He felt an impact as the vampire chasing him fell to the ground and slid along the floor.

The soldier panted, out of breath from the sprint. He clambered to his feet and trained the Karmina shotgun on the black tracksuited vampire on the ground.

“H… How’s it feel… Dickhead?”

Mr. White Suit turned, grunting. He coughed, blood spattering from his mouth.

“Jan… You should have left when I told you to…”

“Urgh… Sorry, big bro… Wasn’t gonna let you have all the fun. I wanted to take at least a few more of these assholes with us as payment for all the trouble.” Jan looked up at Alucard, and Integra as she emerged from the room behind him. “How’d you… Ungh… How’d you bitches know we were coming?”

“That’d be me.” Claude spoke, feeling vindictive. He stamped his foot on the bullet wound in Jan’s leg, prompting him to shout. “I heard you talking to your boss. Called him kraut?” He twisted his foot, digging in harder. “Let him know, it doesn’t matter what he does. I’ll see it coming. The Hellsing Organization will never let you win, whoever you are.”

Claude got a strange feeling as he said that. The little voice in the back of his head screamed at him. Jan laughed wickedly.

“Oh, trust me. He knows now.” The vampire sat up, flipping off Alucard and Integra. “He’s been listening to this entire conversation!”

Oh shit. DEFINITELY should not have said that.

“I’ll bet you wanna know who sent us, then! It was…” There was a flash of heat, catching everyone off guard as Jan and his brother erupted in flames. “M I L L E N N I U M…”

There was practically a chorus of “Millennium?” from Claude and Integra. Questions fresh in their heads, they emerged from the basement to find the ghoul army neatly cleaned up. Seras had left the basement from another stairwell as the two brothers went down, and began cleaning up the leftovers of their forces.

Hellsing had, despite their readiness, taken fierce casualties. Twenty-six killed, nearly forty injured, along with eight injured Wild Geese. Claude shuddered to imagine what would have happened if they were not as prepared as they were.

After a firm dressing-down by Integra for so recklessly running headlong into the basement and abandoning his command, Claude was allowed to rest. It was night-time by now.

Fully exhausted, he flopped onto his bed, not even bothering to strip out of his battledress, or even to put his gun away. The second his eyes closed, he was out.

There was a soft phump, then another. Claude’s eyes fluttered open slowly, unsure of how much time had passed. He looked to the source of the noise.

In the dim light of the room’s lamp, he could see a very short… Boy? Did he have… Cat ears? Claude’s eyes adjusted, and then widened as he another, much taller… Was that a woman? With a scythe? He quickly looked at the sleeping figure of his roommate. Blood… Blood on the walls.

The catboy turned to him, tittering quietly.

“Oh? You’re certainly qvite a heavy sleeper, nein?”

Without a second thought, Claude grabbed his sidearm and moved to fire it at the boy. But the woman was quicker. She was across the room before he could blink, and delivered a series of tremendous punches to his chest and stomach. Even through the bullet-resistant battledress, they knocked him utterly senseless. He gasped, struggling to breathe through the pain of what had to be several broken ribs. Thrown off balance by the impacts, Claude rolled off the bed, crashing to the floor and bringing his guns tumbling with him. Hitting the floor did nothing to alleviate the now eye-watering pain.

“Tsk… Vas zat really necessary, Obersturmführer Blitz?” The woman rolled her eyes, chomping down harder on the cigarette in her mouth.

“You vould razzer he shot you, zen? Or me, more importantly?”

Claude struggled, trying to lift his shotgun, but the catboy merely walked over and stepped a foot onto his chest, eliciting a gasp of pain.

“Ah-ah-ah… Now zat’s not wery nice.” The catboy picked up Claude’s shotgun with almost no effort. He wasn’t dying, but the pain of the Nazi Youth-dressed individual standing on his chest certainly made Claude wish he was dead.

“Mein leader visely decided to stop… How you say… pussy-footing around. If our plans vere getting foreseen, vhy not capture ze individual who foresees zem?”

Why do I ever open my big goddamn mouth?

The catboy giggled again, now standing with both feet on Claude’s chest.

“You’re going to be coming vis us.”

He bent down, cutely tapping Claude’s nose with a finger.

The world around them disappeared entirely.

(Not gonna lie, this chapter was a LOT of fun to write, but it certainly gave me guff trying to figure out how to allow Hellsing to find out about Millennium with all of the advantages they had in the battle. I also love how Medz and I, on our own, both formulated nearly identical ways for our characters to get captured!)

Hellsing: Forest Fire Part 3

This part is going to be quite a bit longer than usual. It’s also where I’ve got the first divergence from canon events, mostly because I wanted an excuse to write an interaction with everyone’s favorite Frenchman. Hopefully you all enjoy!

Claude didn’t get enough sleep these days. He had been awoken at half past midnight by Walter shaking him awake.

“Mr. Grey…” The butler’s hand gently grasped his shoulder, shaking him again. “Mr. Grey, Sir Integra requests your presence.”

Claude begrudgingly opened his eyes.

Standing before him was a young man, a twisted grin on his face, hands grasping at a bundle of monofilament wire. Spattered with blood, eyes staring into his soul. The young man had Walter’s voice, his grin never leaving as he spoke.

“Something the matter, Mr. Grey?”

Claude blinked.

The young man was replaced with an older man, unmistakably Walter. Far more intimidating, clad in black, sans all of the wrinkles that the Hellsing butler had gathered over the years.

The soldier froze in place, looking at the figure. As he blinked again, the young man disappeared, replaced by the form of the elderly assistant to the Hellsing Organization. Claude let out a sigh of relief.

“No, no Walter. Everything’s fine, thank you. You…” He looked up again. “Integra’s asking for me?”

“That’s correct. It’s an emergency. She said to tell you it has the potential to be a ‘repeat of Belgium.’ She said to bring yourself, armed, to the helicopter pad as soon as you please.”

The soldier was justifiably alarmed at this. He threw the sheets away as though they were trying to kill him. He bolted to the closet, within which lay his uniform and guns. Not even caring about Walter’s presence, not worried about waking his roommate, he stripped from his pajama clothes and pulled on his battledress as quickly as he could manage, grabbing the Karmina shotgun and his sidearm as he rushed out of the room.

Him being called, without the rest of Squad 17, could only mean that Alucard was tied up elsewhere. Claude’s minor precognition and skill behind a shotgun meant that he was often picked as Sir Integra’s bodyguard when the vampire was indisposed.

It was a hell of a run to the helipad. It sat comfortably atop the Manor’s fourth storey, which meant a lot of stair-climbing to do. In thirty kilos of gear.

Claude hated stairs.

He exited the door onto the helipad at a full run, hopping into the already-running Westland Wessex helicopter. Sir Integra and another guard sat across from him, her second bodyguard seated in the seat next to his own.

“Ah, Mr. Grey. Apologies for the short notice. A situation has arisen in the town of Badrick, in Northern Ireland. Another ghoul army, sired by another vampire. It seems an agent of the Vatican has been sent to quell the situation, as has our Alucard and the Police Girl.”

Claude was more than a little confused. Why’re we needed, then?

“Judging from the look on your face, you’re wondering why we need to lend assistance. This agent of the Vatican is none other than Alexander Anderson. While not a vampire, he is every bit the expert in combat that Alucard is.”

Oh. That’s why. Alexander Anderson was practically a boogeyman. Nobody outside of their top-level contacts in MI5 could find any information on the man. But there’d been plenty of rumors. Especially of the clean-up necessary after the Paladin Anderson entered the field.

“I see. You want us to stop them fighting, then, Sir Integra?”

She nodded wordlessly. Claude swallowed thickly, nervous. He adjusted his glasses with a gloved hand, holding tightly onto his gun with the other hand.

The air in the helicopter was tense with anticipation. Nobody needed precognition to know that this endeavor had the potential to end very badly.

Luckily, all Claude needed to do was stick by Integra’s side. Integra. Walter!

“Sir Integra, there’s something I need to tell you.”

“Yes, what is it?” She looked curious.

“I… Uh… Y’know, it’s nothing. Just a feeling I had, that’s all.” He couldn’t bring himself to say the feeling he had was about Walter. Integra kept her eyes on him for a few moments, but nodded.

“Yes, I see. Let me know if you see anything.”

Claude let out a quiet “mmhmm.”

The rest of their flight to Northern Ireland was in silence. They approached the building to which Alucard and Seras had been sent.

Oh damn. It looked to be a school. The Westland Wessex set down in the courtyard outside, and the four armed individuals hopped out. Claude took a position in front and to the right of Integra, and the two remaining bodyguards walked ahead. Even through the din of the helicopter’s engine, they could hear a silence in the building that was wholly uncharacteristic of wherever Alucard ventured.

That wasn’t a good sign.

The two suit-clad guards had taken point, drawing their guns and entering the building in advance. Their five-point room scan found nought but dead bodies. Ghouls. They motioned for Claude and Integra to enter.

The soldier kept his shotgun shouldered, pointed down, finger beside the trigger. They heard shouting in the hallway to the right, and the two suits charged in ahead.

Seras was backed against a doorway, Alucard’s headless body in the hallway close by. That’s when Claude saw him.

A beast of a man, blonde hair cut short, clad in a massive beige coat, bearing all the trappings of a Catholic priest. Held in his hands, high above his head, were two… Were those bayonets? He moved, poised to cut Seras down, when Sir Integra fired, shattering the two great knives in his hands.

Anderson turned, a wicked grin on his face. Sir Integra began to speak, Anderson argued, but it was all muffled. Claude couldn’t concentrate. A splitting pain shot through his head, and the world disappeared.

Hellsing Manor, burning, more than a hundred dead. Two burning bodies, brothers. Old enemies from a time long past. An army of ghouls, unlike any seen before, packed in buses. The Council of Twelve meets. A declaration of war.

Claude heard shouting, felt hands grab his shoulder. A voice in his head screamed.

Raise your gun! Fire! Fire!

As if by instinct, he pulled the trigger. The shotgun, fired by one hand, threw him off balance. The deafening roar caught everyone by surprise, the muzzle blast of the gun catching a small portion of the priest’s jacket aflame. In the din of the gunshot, there was a loud CLANG, and two bayonets tumbled to the floor, broken beyond repair.

Claude returned to reality, seeing the bodies of the two other bodyguards in front of him.

Anderson had thrown two bayonets at him, bayonets he couldn’t even have seen. He didn’t even see the fight, just the aftermath. Through the ringing in his ears, he could hear the Paladin chuckling.

“Ahh, ye’re diff’rent! Yessss, not yin ae those blood-suckin’ freaks, but not as normal as yer boss, right?” He grinned further. “The Vatican could use yin ae ye!” He crossed his bayonets.

“If’n ye ever feel like convertin’ from yer Protestant heresy, le’ me know! Be happy to turn ye against the freaks and Protestants, my boy!”

Claude dropped to his knees, suddenly unable to stand under the weight of his gear. The vision had sapped his energy. Alucard started to reform from his dismembered body.

Anderson disappeared in a cloud of Bible paper.

Integra knelt down beside him.

“Claude! What in God’s name happened to you?!” He couldn’t tell if she was furious or concerned. He wanted to go with both.

He panted, gritting his teeth through the subsiding headache from earlier.

“There’s… ha… There’s going to be an attack. On the Mansion. I’ve never felt so certain of a vision in my life.”

The next several days were a buzz of activity. Sir Integra had been making calls left and right to find a suitable group to act as reinforcement for the Hellsing forces. If anything happened as in Claude’s vision, the mere one hundred men in their current employ would be nowhere near enough. She settled on the highest bidder, a mercenary group based out of Amsterdam. The Wild Geese.

It had taken a tremendous amount of effort and a lot of favors from the Council of Twelve to get the mercenaries and their materiel through customs and positioned in the Hellsing Manor.

Today would be “Orientation Day.”

Integra, Seras, and Claude would be meeting the two-dozen or so mercs in what was ordinarily the South Dining Hall.

He could already hear their leader talking about how their job would entail fighting monsters, to the laughter of his troops.

God above, that man has a gorgeous voice~… Claude found himself thinking. He was eager to see the face behind the voice, hoping it was as beautiful.

He was not disappointed.

They emerged into the dining hall, and he immediately zoned out as Integra began to speak. The leader of the mercenaries turned to face them, one eye covered by a patch, a bandage across the bridge of his nose. He had incredible long, red hair, tied in a braid that wrapped around his neck and still reached halfway down his back.

That… Now that’s just asking for fingers in it. Claude quickly turned away, trying to ignore the blush creeping up on his face. Dammit, Christ, no!

“… highest ranked member of our staff.” He heard Integra finish, gesturing to him. He gulped, turning back and quickly holding his hand up, palm flat, facing the mercenaries.

“Umm… Hello!”

There was a smattering of laughter. The lead merc walked over, sizing him up. Claude had to make an effort to look the man in the eye, as Claude was nearly a full head shorter.

“Zis man is your… ‘ighest ranked soldier?”

Claude wrinkled his nose at the comment. “Yes, I am!”

Integra interrupted, placing a hand on the mercenary’s chest. “Mr. Bernadotte…”

“Ah ah, please, call me Pip.”

“Pip… Mr. Grey here has served with us for three years. His combat experience may be more… Unorthodox, compared to your own, but he is an invaluable asset to the Hellsing Organization.”

“Non, madame. I assure you I meant no offense.” Pip extended a hand to the much shorter soldier in front of him. “I was just… ‘ow you say… Ribbing you? I assure you I look forward to working with you.”

Claude nodded, smiling slightly, and took Pip’s hand in a firm shake.

“Not to worry, Monsieur Bernadotte, no offense taken. I look forward to… To working with you as well.” Pip returned a smirk at that, then turned to his men and began barking orders.

Perhaps Seras had noticed the tone of his voice. Maybe it was his smell, or the dreamy look on his face, the way he made eyes at the mercenary leader. She covered her mouth, hiding a smile, prompting a perplexed look from Claude.

“What?” He crossed his arms. “What’s so funny, police girl?”

“Oh my God…” She whispered, just loud enough for him to hear. “Oh my God, you’ve got a crush on Monsieur Bernadotte~!”

Claude quickly bolted upright, eyes widened. He looked to make sure the mercenaries hadn’t heard. If they had, not a one of them made any sign of it.

“Don’t you fuckin’ tell him!” Claude whispered. She let out a giggle, loud enough that a couple of the Wild Geese looked in their direction. She and Claude quickly turned away.

Seras grinned wildly. “That’s so cute! Let me…” She giggled again, digging an elbow into Claude’s ribs. “Let me know if you need a ‘wingman.’”

She walked away, continuing to softly giggle to herself. Claude sighed. He turned around to take another look at Pip. Pip, who was standing with his back facing Claude. Pip, who was… Now bending over to pick up a case of ammo.

Claude vacated the room.

—-Four days later—-

Almost four in the afternoon. Claude was looking around the estate, trying to find Pip. He had spent much of the previous two days with his nose buried in a French-to-English dictionary, trying to learn bits and pieces of the language.

And there he was, in front of a third-storey window overlooking the front courtyard of the Manor. Seated on a large couch, conversing with a pair of his fellow Wild Geese. Smiling, and laughing.

Hot damn, what a smile…

He waited, then walked over as the two Wild Geese departed. Pip looked over, giving a smile.

“Ah, Monsieur Grey. Much pleasure to meet you!”

Damn, he forgot everything he was going to say.

Say something, quick!

“Umm… B-bonjour, Monsieur Bernadotte. C-comment allez-vous?”

Pip paused, a clear look of surprise on his face. He had not expected the short little blonde man to speak anything other than English. The French mercenary adjusted his hair, then leaned forward, one hand on his knee.

“Bien, et vous?”

“Uh… C-c’est bon, je suis magnifique.”

Pip chuckled.

“Surely, Monsieur Grey, you ‘ave some ulterior motive, coming to me trying to speak French.”

“I… Well, I…”

Pip stared at him expectantly. Claude’s mind went utterly blank, and all that came to mind were the lyrics of an old song. Lyrics which he proceeded to mumble softly, through no will of his own.

“V-v-voulez-vous coucher avec moi, ce soir?”

He had never seen a person’s face go red that quickly in his life. He was positive it had to be some sort of record. Pip just stared at him, for what felt like a year but was more likely about a minute or two. He cleared his throat softly, face still beet-red.

“Zat is… A very old way to say zat. Trying to court someone today, you should say ‘tu aurais envie de faire l’amour ce soir.’ Zat means ‘would you like to make love tonight?’” He smirked. “And traditionally, before you ask zat, you buy zem dinner first.” Pip stood up slowly, chuckling, his face returning to a normal color though still very red. He tousled Claude’s hair, then bent down to talk to him at eye level.

“Per’aps one night zis week, you and I might have dinner. Zen I’ll consider it. C’est bon?”

“C-c’est bon…”

Pip nodded, placing a cigarette between his teeth and walking onward.

By God, did Claude feel mortified.