June 20th, 2006
|tsuki_no_knife||10:52 am - Unchain my heart, you worry me night and day.|
Scene: The dust settled while they slept. Morning comes and with it no only brings a chance of rain, but also a chance for Alucard to see beyond the hazy fog that is Integra's public face (a pretty candid moment..*cough* nothing obscene though).
Characters: Alucard, Integra
MU**: Animania On Line ()
Number Of Poses: .....Uhm, a lot to count but I will do it soonly.
A few hours after noontime, and the sun is up, struggling through clouds so thick and gray they could be nothing but thunderheads; their distant growling lends evidence that it might rain, but for now there's only far-off thunder and flickering lightning. Nevertheless, only one man within the Hellsing Estate would go so far as to pull a bookshelf across a room just to cover a window.
Why he had to do so in the reading room on the third floor rather than simply retreat to the basement is a mystery the following signs will unravel.
In an ashtray on the table, a cigar had smoldered down to a stub now lies there cold, an obscure bit of brown in a pile of black and gray ash.
Next to this, the first of three plastic wrappers, traces of red still caught in the creases of its inner pocket, identifiable by its label: Medical Blood. The other two lie on the floor at the foot of the couch, forgotten like old letters, or empty bottles.
The couch itself is currently occupied by two things. A red coat, draped over one arm of the couch. One vampire, stretched out on it, like a corpse someone decided to remove from its coffin - still wearing its funerary suit - and deposited carelessly there. Honestly, can't some people have the decency to sleep in their proper quarters?
Night has come and gone, leaving behind a warm and muggy day. The sun hangs lazily in the sky as if partly off of it's hinges, occasionally hidden behind darkening clouds. The threat of rain looms, making itself known though rumbles of distant thunder. The light within the estate shifts, from bright to dim, the clouds passing by faster as the winds blow.
It being after noon, Integra is already awake, pacing like a trapped lion inside of her office. Her hair is un-brushed, she is in her sleeping attire, and she has already had two glasses of Brandy thus far. Things are at a stalemate, and she is not used to such. Her mind has wandered, gone into darker corners which she does her best to avoid.
Back in the days of her youth days like these were spent reading in her Father's private library-- some times studying for her place as the future head of the Hellsing Institute, but more often than not thumbing through random volumes of fictional press. Although studious, she was still a child. Now an adult, she finds herself longing for the very freedoms that she was forced to cast aside. Draped in one of her Father's (still too large) white formal shirts, Integra would be quite the sight to anyone who knows of her reputation. Her personal life is a total mystery even to those who live on the same grounds, as she goes out of her way to keep such habits hidden. Given the empty state of the estate, she has lowered her walls ever so slightly. The Police Woman and Alucard /both/ have forced residence in the basement, there are no guests, and Walter is still missing--the third floor, she assumes, she has all to herself.
In the mood to read, she heads toward the library, bare feet padding against the oak floors. The hallway is silent and dark as a tomb as she passes through--unlike during the time of her Father. Back then the Hellsing Institute felt more like a home than a museum, Integra recalls. Even though there were serious times, there was laughter and warmth. But due to Richard's greed, that light died out just as soon as her father did.
Her hate for that man will /never/ fade, ever. Even though he is dead, has been for ten years, she would love nothing more than to torture him down to his very soul.
Most of the buttons of her shirt undone, Integra's womanhood has a chance to show. Underneath the unflatteringly cut suits and heavy jackets there are plump curves, fully bloomed. But if she has her way, no one will ever see her shame--she feels that her femininity to be her greatest set back. Having finally made it to the library, she presses her weight against the heavy oak doors, forcing them open. Stepping in and closing the door /before all else/ she does not spy the body that is sprawled across the couch, not at first.
Noon, and drinking? Alucard would call that an experience. Other people would call that a problem. Some might question whether it is wise to have the vampire alone responsible for her well-being at this time, that there should be someone else, someone more level-headed and for god's sake less prone to indiscretion. On the other hand...
Ten years he has known her, watched her grow even while her mind remained as keen -- a little girl forced to grow up very quickly by the sudden death of her father (that incredible adversary) and the fact impressed upon her young mind that the world is cruel, and blood may be thicker than water, but there are men who will spill both, even those of their kin, for power.
Through all those years, she has been strong to those who would see her as Sir Integra Wingates Hellsing, leader of the Hellsing Organization, that Holy Order in defense against the graceless legions of the undead. Through those years, few times had even he seen her in a state he might have called 'fragile'.
He doesn't like it. Which is why his rest is not as peaceful as he'd like, his body's cravings sated or not.
That she might feel the desire to torture the uncle who sought to (and almost succeeded) kill her would come as no surprise, if she had felt any need to mention it to Alucard. By all means, he would have attended such a lovely display, perhaps even sharpened the implements of torment personally! Her anger alone is terrible to behold, but the combined cunning of Master and vampiric slave? Hell on Earth, and isn't that a beautiful thought.
Oak doors, heavy and smooth with age, do give an impressive sound when closed. Enough to rouse those who are only asleep out of necessity, when his mind is too busy gnawing over thoughts to sink into the oblivion of daylight rest.
One crimson eye opens beneath a dusting of black hair, enough to note the line of loathed (although muted) sunlight around the edge of the bookshelf he had placed in front of the window and almost consider going back to sleep. Another few hours, at the very least; even vampires can be groggy, -especially- at noon. But his memory is not so poor that he could forget it was the nearby sound of a door that woke him in the first place.
Give him but a moment, he'll wake up by degrees, turning his face towards the door, eyes drifting closed as he realizes: It's just Integra.
...In a most interesting state.
The vampire sits up a little, enough to lean back on one elbow and scrub a gloved hand along disheveled hair. "That's a good look for you," he notes aloud, making no attempt to sound humorless, particularly as he adds an uncommon, "...Miss Hellsing."
To each their own, correct? What is good for the goose is often times no good for the gander, or so some member of the elderly community would say to their grandchildren when trying to explain away their odd habits. People are, of course, free to question Integra's better judgment (in either case, drinking or her choice of company)--but they are also free to accept a punch to the jaw as well. Perhaps Alucard's lack of indiscretion and quickness to attack are her main reasons for putting her life in his hands? Not to say that Walter is not very much the same, should someone (or something) pose a threat to his charge. Seek and destroy often times means letting the bodies and allowing the good Lord sort them out, right? In short--she has always been comfortable with the arrangement.
Blood lust, even humanity suffers from it. As a child she took comfort in what familiy she had, thinking that they would always be there. That was until Richard cried out for blood, the blood of his brother's daughter, /her/ blood. Blood was in no way thicker than water, especially not when pride and/or money are on the line. Her Father always taught her that she only had one enemy, the un-dead. Hard to beleive that Integra was at any point sheltered from the hard knock lessons of life. All of that aside, the statement about blood being thicker than water still stands--as it was /her/ blood that signed the contract with Alucard. Walter and Alucard are her family now.
As strong as she may be, Integra is still human. Her life, her will, and her emotional state, all fragile and breakable--it is more or less an issue of her not showing it, feeling anger instead. Many force their passions into hobbies and interests, such as painting or their lover. All Integra has is Hellsing and the Holy Order Of Knights, and that is what she pours all of her passion (for better or for worse) into. Another case of ignorance being bliss in a way.
Too young and too innocent. There was no way that Integra would have thought to slowly extract her revenge on Richard. Scared and powerless, she wanted only to bring an end to the nightmarish situation in which she had been thrown. It boiled down to a choice of life or death at first. But as blood hit the floor in torrents, and the vampire Alucard offered himself to her it became clear--her choice was life /through/ death. Vampires and other creatures of the un-holy night, those exist. But time travel is impossible. But if she could, she would. She would give up her humanity for a time to visit onto Richard the pain and suffering that he had onto her. No use thinking about it now, is there?
Back to the present. The door slides shut, leaving Integra within the sparsely lit room. Had she been expecting anyone, let alone Alucard, to be as far up as the third floor without reason? Of course not. Her back meeting with the face of the door, she does a rather pathetic job at covering herself up--a new face painted on, one of shock. She wants to let lose a scream loud enough to wake the dead, but it sticks in her throat. Shock of shocks, being addressed by 'Miss Hellsing' steals the very breath out of her lungs. Having the cool knocked out of your walk is an interesting experience. It is even worse when it is your first time having it happen. Fingers lightly raking against the frame of the door, she struggles to recollect herself.
"Don't you have a coffin!?" Words that could have been said calmly, yes. But when in doubt, shout. Prying herself off of the door, she quickly stalks to the center of the library, attempting to act as if everything were normal.
It would be hypocritical, wouldn't it, if Alucard would even think of looking down on one vice when he has so many of his own. Then again, the things he looks down on are also things Integra simply isn't capable of doing. Backing down, displays of cowardice... a woman like her has no room in her heart for such base and honorless things. If anything, once her choice of beverage so early in the day is discovered he might find it... an interesting, if telling reaction. Unlike some other human, who might focus on symptoms and aim for some quick cure, a monster who faces immortality carries with him a certain, shall we say, broader perspective. There is nothing to 'cure' about human nature.
He would simply try to hunt down the source of her stress and crush the life from its corporeal form, if it even possesses one. In absense of that, some senseless violence on anyone related to the matter would do him -just- fine.
Alucard has his own ways of dealing with aggravation, and likes to think they're very efficient methods indeed.
That he and Walter would be her only semblence of a 'family' is certainly something worth noting. Isn't it said that, eventually, you take on the traits of those you surround yourself with? A true strength of character in the three, indeed, if they have been together so long and remain so unique, so distinct, so absolutely individual.
As masochistic as it may sound, there are moments when Alucard sees Integra as being at her most 'alive'; often, these are the times when she shatters her cool and lets the very passions of her heart flay the target of her ire. So there are times when he encourages it, cajoles it out of her with pointed arguments and biting criticism of human kind, even of God Himself.
He could dare go so far as to say she's loveliest when she's furious with him.
But the black cloud that has come into her life, this he does not know how to battle, and isn't even consciously aware that it bothers him that this is so. For the moment, he puts such brooding thoughts aside in favor of a rare sight indeed -- that of Sir Integra Wingates Hellsing, more flustered than he's ever seen her in her life.
And the view itself isn't bad at all. Not by a long shot.
"Don't you have a suit?" retorts the vampire slyly, brows lifting when he makes no effort to pretend he isn't taking in the scenery; he goes so far as to tilt his head when he regards her. "...Not that I'm complaining."
A gloved hand pulls from the arm of the couch his red coat while he rises. Shaking it loose in his hands, he holds the coat open to her, offering this, if it would spare her undue embarassment. After all, it would do neither of them much good to get off on the wrong foot, not at this hour. Even if he -is- tired, how can a man sleep with -her- in the same room, dressed like that?
As the saying goes, "Devil may care". Hypocritical, yes. Minded, possibly not. Neither has much room to talk when it comes to vices or even devices of their own /supposed/ moral demise. What Alucard views as Integra's strengths, others see as weaknesses. She neither backs down or shows fear, she charges forward like a wild bull (blindly in some cases). Unlike most, the mortal who claims to be led by the light and the immortal creature of the dark have their common, although unspoken, curiosities and thoughts about one another.
A woman like her, a man like him. No cure for life ever lasting, no cure for life's problems or nagging responsibilities--both can be thought of as a plague.
Alucard is not the only one who finds comfort in violence, in swift (and painful) retribution. She, like he, has a taste for revenge in all of it's forms; torture and/or murder. But will she do more than smile as Alucard snuffs the life from the source of her (however temporary) grief? Of course not, that would be unseemly would it not? If /only/ all of her problems had a tangible form.
As a dog shows traits of it's master, those who are close do indeed do the same. Walter and Alucard show strength in the face of all dangers, taking them on with passion and purpose. To mention passion and purpose would be showing light only on the up side of the matter. Contained within is also a strange glee, a twisted sense of accomplishment. What she has taken from either man will, like most all else in Integra's personal world, go unspoken for. There are other traits as well. Traits of a woman from a far away land and the man she loved and left. A mother that Integra never really knew and a father she only knew until the age of thirteen--some how they are still there (unbeknownst to what remains of them, their daughter).
Together the three are one, but somehow very much a part--signs of a working teamship.
Integra's emotional world is small and walled in, a garden thick with weeds. It is not a rare occasion that she does show the emotion that Alucard so feeds off of. Her anger sits in wait, always at the ready. Some would claim that Alucard brings the worst out of her, but she (silently) begs to differ. Anger, passion, and determination over flowing--in truth he inspires her. All internal conflict aside, she is externally changing colors as she stands in front of him.
"Shut up, blood sucker." Her favorite term for Alucard when flustered. Not very witty, but then again she is much better at being brash than cunning with words. Shooting her retainer a sharp glare she snorts (without really thinking to put his words in to proper context), "As if you have a right to complain." The both of them obviously were not at the top of their game, then again, how could they? It is day time and she is half dressed; neither situation too terribly favorable for either.
Arms still looped about herself, Integra takes an almost sheepish step forward. She feels /strange/, her heart slamming against her rib cage almost hard enough to break it--but not so much out of anger. "Took you long enough," words half sighed as she eases into the red folds just enough for them to be draped about her shoulders. "Some gentleman." She will get around to either lecturing him or questioning him once she feels less exposed.
Precisely. Devil may care. And it wouldn't be the first or last time someone's claimed Alucard plays the part of the devil, for he does and with remarkable expertise. Vices. Devices. Merits and flaws all, just threads to make up the iron-clad tapestry that you wear so well, a mantle against the rest of the world. But for all this, you're proving the slings and arrows of the world are getting through to you, and there really is only so much a human - or monster, or dog - can take before something happens.
It might be -healthier- if Integra kept more nurturing company; it's more -interesting- that she does not.
Perhaps it's better for someone like her that she keeps the company of those who would likewise crush opposition, delight in the destruction of enemies, and never once back down. ...Indeed, perhaps it -is- for the best, for there is no one else in the world quite like the woman who leads Hellsing, who holds the vampire's leash.
An offering made, an offering taken. The coat is, admittedly, too long for her but it's endured more than the risk of being trod upon or its hem dragged across a floor. Its owner is still chuckling darkly, in part for visible signs of her own flustered state as well as her retort - as if he could complain, indeed! /His/ owner, meanwhile, will have to endure his presence a little while longer, when gloved hands adjust the collar and continue on, securing the lapels of the coat over the front of her arms.
To be completely frank, any normal man would have used this vantage point to 'enjoy the view', but perhaps amusingly, the vampire is by far more interested in the exquisite curve of her neck, for... obvious reasons. Ahh, what a shame, truly a pity to see, even dare to touch, and not taste. All in good time, all in very good time, for there is little doubt in Alucard's mind that the woman will one day choose. Perhaps not now, perhaps not soon, but someday.
Nonetheless, his hearing is -very- keen. "Gentleman..?" repeats the vampire, leaning fractionally towards her, with a crooked smile that speaks of mischief without malice. No, not for Integra. "...I think not." Perhaps he should change that opinion -right there-, when a low note of amusement thrums in Alucard's throat.
A hand closes on her shoulder, not so sudden as to seem a threat, but not so gradual as to give her time to pull away before his head bows, bringing the sickle of his smile to the skin bared over her heart. "What a sound," rumbles the vampire, in a tone almost hungrily perverse. "Such a primal, base thing, and I never tire of it. I dare say your blood is calling me," adds Alucard, and at this, he opens one crimson eye, amused. "Integra."
For there to be a last time for such a parallel to be drawn would be a shame indeed. If he is only playing the part or if it is the truth of the matter, who is going to pry enough to find the ever so subtile difference? What a tangled web we weave when first we pratice to deceive, correct? Splintered wood would hang, blood dripping from rended flesh, and only the faintest trace of pain would show on her face. The world does indeed have it's way with each of us, bearing down with an almost unfathomable weight. She suffers from it, yes. But who, or what, does not likewise?
Perhaps. Perhaps if her life, if her purpose, were different she could have afford to put herself in the company of normal people? Perhaps she should have continued to wear dresses and speak quietly? What is healthier for her has never been much of a concern. For her safety and trust were in high numbers about her.
The coat rests somewhat awkwardly on her smaller frame, the fabric practically swallowing her. Although it is a bit on the uncomfortable side, she does not change her mind and decline the offer, nor does she bat Alucard's hands away from her--as she tends to when he draws to near. She simply stands, her gaze riding over the rims of her glassses as they follow Alucard's fingers as he secures the jacket to her. Only one man has ever made her feel so small--her father. She holds his leash, yes. But at this very moment he has stolen her words /completely/. Endure? His presence thows her thought process into a knot of great complexity. Feeling too much in the way of emotions at once, Integra feels the on set of a dizzy spell--which she attempts to mentally write off as fatigue.
In the case of /normal/ men, their intentions tend to be as transparent as soap bubbles. Alucard, on the other hand, is about as transparent as a block of treated mahogany. As usual, Alucard's laughter drags Integra closer to the right mind set. "You make a point there." Grunting she takes a step back, her lips pursed. "You are a lot of things, but Gentleman you are /not/." Never one to pay a compliment of any sort more than once. Held in place she leers at the vampire with her usual piss and vinegar. "I dare say you must be hearing things." She knows fully well that Alucard can hear the faintest of her inner workings as she struggles to bring them under her control. A hand goes up, folding over Alucard's and giving it a shove--but not hard enough of one to dislodge it from it's roost.
"What are you doing up here in the first place?" A switch of subject as she fights to regain the upper ground (how little of it there actually is).
It's difficult to feel confident when one has been discovered in little more than one's unmentionables and the shirt being slept in. Don't worry too much about it; Alucard would have torn a man limb from limb for commenting (or, if it struck his fancy, for the crime of just seeing her in this state), even if he himself might have rather taken his time in offering her his coat.
She has it right, though; he's far from a gentleman.
On another note, Alucard can scarcely believe she chose to attempt to push his -hand- away, when his bowed head has his mouth so close to where her heart thuds against the cage of sternum and ribs. The gesture is intimate, even possessive, and certainly no other could get away with remaining so well within her personal space without repurcussions. When he tilts up his head again, it's only to brush his mouth against the warmth of her breastbone, laughing soundlessly in his throat, and further up - the hollow of her collarbone, her throat, and to the delicate skin beneath the line of her jaw, beneath her chin.
There he stops, pushing a hand beneath the shell of warmth offered by his coat to the woman's side, gloved fingers whispering against the cloth of the shirt she had slept in. Again comes the note of dark humor in his throat, something between a throaty hiss and low, quiet laughter, between teeth that do not quite bare themselves against the skin beneath her chin.
His intentions are black as pitch. An intimate, gentle gesture such as this could merely be a thinly disguised attempt to taste of a virgin's blood, if not for the fact that time and again, he has always left it to her choice.
Rather, her earlier attempt to remove the hand on her shoulder only turns over to capture her fingers with his own. "I've forgotten," lies the vampire, who had, in truth, only fallen asleep here after drinking his fill from medical bags provided by the Organization. All this is murmured against her skin with no apparent desire to return to Integra her personal space. But now his words are tracing the line of her jaw to just beneath her ear, "But my sense of time is not so poor that I can't tell it's a little -late- in the day to be dressed so."
And a little early to be drinking, but he isn't mentioning that. Give him an inch and he'll take the whole hundred miles; she hasn't shoved him away from her whole-heartedly yet, and who would he be if he gave up a good thing?
(Faded To Black)
;___; I so want to finish this scene ;__;
Current Mood: bouncy
Current Music: Ray Charles, "Unchain My Heart"