Hellsing Fan Fiction ❯ Servant's Night Off ❯ All Good Things Must Come to an End ( Chapter 5 )

[ P - Pre-Teen ]

So sorry! Haven't updated in ages!!! I was so busy...
All right, now I have time to talk... Well, here' s the thrilling conclusion. Typed up in two hours of mindless school time. In fact, I had to add the author's note after the bell rang. Needless to say, it was short. So, I'm just back, explaining this is pretty fresh...Hell, I'm about to read it for the first time... Wish me luck. Hellsing does not belong to me. Absinthe is a liquor outlawed in the US because it has hallucinogenic qualities. It's made from wormwood. I really have to go...

Enjoy!

Servant's Night Off

Food poisoning was always a possibility. Anderson shrugged, leaving that said possibility to his metabolism. He took a taxi back to the hotel, listening to the cabby raving about aliens, conspiracies, and the deviant behavior of Catholic priests. He did not tip the man. Stupid prat.
Anderson opened the door, and the bed looked so inviting. Still, unmade-lousy room service, but incredibly alluring nonetheless. Even the marmalade kitties that were sleeping on his side of the bed were not that offensive. Neither were the hairballs on the carpet. He was really tired.

"Shove off," he growled, pushing them aside. They yawned and growled, but gave him enough space to collapse.

Poke.
Poke.
Poke.

Fwip.
Fwip.
F wip.

Anderson lay in bed, his vision fading in and out. He held his hands above him, working them slowly, as if the sensations were alien. Between the fingers of his left hand, he pinched a flattened tiki drink umbrella.
One of the cats purred loudly in his ear. Another rested on his chest.
He opened the umbrella.
He closed the umbrella.
Open.
Close.
Open.
Close.
Repeat.
You get the picture; Anderson was having quite an exciting afternoon. Something was going to have to change.

Integra sat at her desk, heavily focused on the mounting plethora of "important" papers that she had to review. How many of these bloody issues could be deemed significant enough to bind her to this desk. Stack after stack; whoever was sending these to her must be getting carpal tunnel syndrome by now. She bit her cigar as her eyes fell on the term "appropriate action," again.
Damn, she wanted to show them "appropriate action."

Walter had shut himself in his room. For all the good that would do.

Arucard had simply chosen to become unbearable. He had times like these- phases of mild insanity...well, mild increases of insanity. That was not much in the way of a determining factor. Walter recalled the last time the vampire's moods had shifted so wildly. Yes, that's what got him banned to the basement for twenty years. Surely Integra wouldn't go that far...
Walter could only wish.
Maybe he was wrong. Maybe this whole "heightened obsession with aggravating people" was reactionary. Perhaps he didn't have enough things to kill. Walter wondered if calling in Anderson, as a personal favor, would be treason.
He inhaled deeply. The well-fed, less controllable Arucard of World War II had been much harder to deal with. Yes, he could handle it. He could handle anything. Of course back then he'd been smoking and getting laid much more frequently than... Hell, the only answer was he was getting far too old for this kind of twaddle. Walter wondered if this behavior stemmed from the Nosferatu's desire for ancient history to remain ancient history. Yes, the damned one did have a thing for Sir Integra... Perhaps this was the solution to his problem?
Walter lit a cigarette and clenched his fists as a familiar chill swept through the room.
"Oh...Shinigami's taken up cancer sticks again."
Good Lord...

Walter dragged himself out of the mansion. It had been a terribly trying day. Seras raised a brow as he hurriedly drove out the gates, tires squealing. He seemed...stressed.
"What do you think he's doing, Policegirl?"
She looked up to see Arucard standing beside her, watching the little car disappear into London traffic. She shrugged almost nonchalantly. "Getting away from you, Master."
"Why?" Arucard wrinkled his nose at Seras.
"You have been tormenting him, ad nauseum. It really was a bit much, even for you." Seras was almost surprised the elder vampire's pensive expression.
"...After 40 years, one would think he would have said something sooner."

Walter scowled as he strode into the Hoary Bullock. That thrice bedamned No Life King! There was a reason for the epithet. To his mild astonishment and somewhat warped sense of pleasure, Anderson sat at their favorite little booth, downing what looked like hard liquor.
"Walter!" The priest chuckled merrily. "There you are! Come have some absinthe! I just learned...hey, who's your friend?"
Walter thought he would hug Anderson, until that last comment registered. He whirled, to find nobody anywhere near them.
"Aww, come on over here. I don't mind the company. The more, the merrier, eh?"
Walter tentatively seated himself.
"How are you?"
"You're drunk, Father Anderson."
"As I damn well ought to be! I've been here since five o'clock."
Walter checked the clock. It was about nine. He sighed. "Why have you been here so long?"
"I have two cats back at the hotel. Won't let me get any sleep. I fed them, but they won't go away. Climbed in bed with me and everything."
"Cats?" Walter asked cautiously, checking the slang.
"Yes, cats." Anderson made a pawing motion. "You know. Meow meow meow meow! Kitty cats."
"I see..."
"Yes, St. Christopher and St. Frances are their names." He grinned broadly. "I'm taking them home with me."
Walter almost naively inquired about customs, however, it would be like asking where all those blessed blades came from.
"How was your day, Walter?"
"...Long," was all the butler could drawl.
"Oh?" Anderson smiled cheerfully, a rosy blush spread across his features. "Why the long face?"
"I was born with it...Oh. It's just been Hell at the mansion. Arucard has done nothing but follow me around, complete with his verbal stream-of- conscious. That vampire...his mind doesn't work like ours." Walter paused to see Anderson playing with his fingers. "...I've resorted to violence, today. Let me tell you, Father Anderson, I am far too old for this."
Anderson only laughed. "Don't tell me that wee-beasties, like that bedamned Nosferatu, are upsetting you? You're a grown man working for a professional agency, Walter."
Walter bit his lip and favored his friend with a withering look. "You really are drunk, aren't you?"
Father Anderson nodded cheerfully. "Quite."

"A bar?" Arucard wondered aloud, as he studied the rather swanky establishment that Walter had entered. "I wonder whom he could be meeting? That old goat."
"The Hoary Bullock, no less." Seras raised a brow.
"You are of age, right Policegirl?"
"Well, duh," Seras muttered.
"What was that?"
"Nothing, Master."
Arucard straightened his hat and coat. "I was only inquiring because I would prefer not to be "carded."
"This isn't America, Master."
"True, but you are so child-like...and I changed you only a little bit ago...seems like..." Arucard scratched his head. "Well, must be going senile. Six hundred years or so of unlife will do that to you. As I was saying, you're very child-like and when I changed you, you were a virgin. As of now, I don't really know, but..."
Seras stared at him, her jaw swinging from its hinges.
"Close your mouth, dear. A fly might meet its unfortunate end."

Alcohol is a wonderful mood enhancer. The type of mood that results is somewhat unpredictable, however, alcohol is a wonderful mood enhancer. Walter downed a straight tequila with limes and salt. Anderson was muttering strange things to some apparition only he could see.
"Maxwell's being such a holy pain in the ass. Yes, I know. 'Do this! Do that! Kill this! Kill that! Maim this! Maim that! Anderson how could you do that???!!!" Anderson managed this mimicry with an incredible falsetto.
Walter applauded, somewhat impressed.
Anderson shook his head. "Ye gods and devils... Do you have any complaints about your boss?"
Walter took another drink. "Just the ones that come with this line of work. Life and health insurance are actually great. It's just the expected longevity in this area..." He put his head down. "And my social life. My night life is very active...just not in the way I'd prefer it to be."
"...Why does Arucard call me "Judas priest? I know it's Iscariot, but I'm not sure if I get it."
"...I believe there's a very un-Christian rock band by that name..."
"That rat bastard!"
"Indeed."

"Something feels wrong." Arucard leaned against Walter's car, noting the new paint job. "I can't quite place it...the aura is dampened quite a bit."
Seras yawned and gingerly seated herself on the hood of the car. "He could have a date lined up. You know, it would explain the frequency of his outings. We don't want to go in there and scare her off. Poor Walter does need some human companionship." She tried to plead his cause and dissuade Arucard from barging in on some embarrassingly romantic moment.
"...What kind of woman doesn't like a bit of adventure?" Arucard flashed his teeth. "She isn't worth dear Shinigami's time."
"...Master, adventure is fine, but...you do tend to be a bit..."
Arucard nodded knowingly. "I understand." He straightened his hat and coat.
Seras let out a sigh of relief.
"You're worried that I might steal her away."

Anderson felt the hairs on the back of his neck perk up as he drank the absinthe. It was a very strange feeling. The liquor was quite strong. It was a familiar sensation...this wariness. He wanted to dismiss it as an effect of the alcohol, but he was rather certain that it was not natural.
Walter stiffened. He too felt the disturbance in the air. It was a crude primal feeling, rather like needing to go to the water closet. It was an itch that needed to be scratched. He took another drink, wondering why his day had been so unpleasant. He gave Anderson a wan smile.
"Something wicked this way comes..." He brandished his wires cautiously.
Anderson fumbled with his blessed blades.
Tensed for action, they both prepared for the incoming onslaught.
The door creaked open.
A red-eyed girl poked through, caught Walter's gaze, and waved. Walter sprang into action. Elbowing the bottle of tequila, he strategically dumped it into Anderson's lap.
"Bloody Hell!" Anderson ducked under the table, trying to dry his pants with the tip of his coat.
"Hi Walter!" A perky voice called, ignoring his companion who seemed occupied with something under the table. He waved back, hoping that she would go away. Immediately. Anderson was muttering curses and all too quickly, rose. "Who's your..." her voice trailed off, and her eyes widened at the sight of the hulking blonde priest. "AAAAAIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!"
Anderson tilted his head to the side, a little puzzled, and looked to the source of the scream. It took a moment to register, but the priest's eyes narrowed as he realized who had come.
"Draculina..."
Walter grabbed Anderson's arm and paralyzed him with a severe look.
"Don't do it, Father Anderson. Seras, get out of here, now! Breathe, Anderson, breathe. You're on vacation."
Anderson looked at the trembling Seras. His heartbeat began to slow, and his breathing followed in synchronization. Calm. Peaceful. Serene. Go to your happy place...
"...What are you caterwauling about, Policegirl?" A familiar crimson clad figure stepped into view.
Walter moaned.
Anderson lost it.

Seras pretended not to hear the familiar sound of limbs being torn from their proper places. She ignored the Hellish screams and curses emanating from the undead. She even turned her back as the gore splattered liberally against the wall. She and Walter stood in the parking lot, having already evacuated the bar. Anderson and Arucard were still inside. Walter winced as he heard glass break. "I'm sorry, Walter. I tried to stop him. I just...I didn't mean..." "It's fine, Seras." Walter polished his monocle, with the perfect composure of a man without hope. "This place is insured by the likes of Lloyds. It'll be rebuilt." He looked sorrowfully at the now flaming bar.

"...So Anderson was your "friend?" "Well...good company is so hard to find." Walter winced as he saw Anderson go flying through a wall and hit a lamppost, before getting back up and running, howling, back into the building. "He's not always like that." Seras nodded sympathetically. "It should last about five more minutes before Arucard sufficiently dismembers him. He'll escape though. Even if he is blind drunk. Master enjoys this far too much."

Walter drove Seras home with him. His evening was ruined. Well, his day had not been that auspicious. He could just erase this one from memory. In fact, if no one ever mentioned this incident again...that was too much to ask for.

One month later...

Sir Integra had taken the event rather well. After breaking a few windows and blowing a hole through Arucard's midsection, she had become relatively reasonable. She had been very understanding about Walter's situation. In fact, she tragically took complete responsibility for his lack of suitable social activities:
"Walter, Walter, Walter." She shook her head, with her face buried in her hands. "If only I'd known it was this bad. I should have been more considerate of your emotional delicacy. I should have known that even the most reliable need some sort of time for convalescence. This is my fault, I drove you to bad company. Can you ever forgive me?"
Walter shuddered. It hadn't been quite that bad, but that was the underlying theme of their little talk. She was certain that he had some form of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.

"Walter," Seras called cheerfully. Well, it had been a relief that her attitude towards him had not changed. Arucard had sulkily been avoiding him lately, much to his relief. "There's a package for you in Sir Integra's office."
Walter raised a brow, wondering how that one had gotten by him. He followed Seras, wondering what would be so noteworthy as to be in Sir Integra's office.
Integra sat at her desk massaging her temples.
Arucard stood at her side glaring at the box.
Walter came in and Integra gestured impatiently at the box. A very conspicuous red stamp informed the recipients of the package's contents: Not a bomb.
There were three more indications, beside postage from Rome. "Fragile." "This way up." "If the contents of this parcel are damaged, I will personally hunt you down and rip off your ungodly head."
Walter shrugged and began cutting the tape. He cautiously pulled back the flaps and peered in.
Three soft, fuzzy, orange kittens lay curled up at the bottom. Walter carefully poked a furball, and it yawned cutely before settling back down. Seras leaned over.
"Awwww..."
"He must've drugged them or something..."
Integra quirked a brow and blew a ring of smoke at the slumbering cats. Walter found one with a collar that had a little note tucked inside. He unfolded it and read it silently.

Dear Walter,
I must apologize for the way that our little rendezvous was cut short. Really. I liked the Hoary Bullock and never intended to see it demolished. As much as I'd like to blame a certain demon, I must too take responsibility. The Vatican has already received the bill.
In regards to the kittens...do you remember St. Christopher and St. Frances? Well it seems that St. Christopher turned out to be St. Christina...and well...Enrico says I can't keep them all. There were seven; I've passed two on to Heinkel and Yumiko and Enrico has begrudgingly agreed to take another. That leaves me with two cats and a kitten. I send them as sort of an apology. I understand that if I am to fight Arucard, I must give advanced notice and meet at a pre-agreed site. (At least that's what Enrico says...)
I leave you the liberty of naming them, etc. This one's yours Walter. The other two are for Seras and Sir Integra. Arucard does not get a kitten.
Best wishes,
Paladin Alexander Anderson, Servant
of the True God,
Slayer of Evil,
Scottish Priest,
Cat Fanatic

P.S. We should schedule another meeting. The Hoary Bullock should be open for business soon. I'll be in town in a few weeks.

Walter tucked the letter in his pocket and smiled congenially at his companions and picked his little orange fuzzball up.
"Well?" Integra demanded, chewing her cigar edgily. "What is this?" She scruffed a kitten and held it up. "A declaration of war?"
"...It's a present from Father Anderson." Walter stroked his little gift between the ears. "One's for you too, Miss Victoria."
Seras squealed and scooped up the remaining kitten. "It's so cute!" She purred, cuddling the sleepy creature.
Arucard scowled.
"What'd I get?"
"...Father Anderson specifically stated that you were not to receive a kitten." Walter shrugged, a little amused by Arucard's indignant expression.
"We'll see if I ever send those Vatican dogs another Christmas present..." he muttered, glaring balefully at the empty box. "I can't believe that Judas priest didn't send me anything!"
Integra sighed and dropped her kitten into Arucard's open hand. "I have no time for such nonsense. You take care of it, Arucard."
Seras and Walter watched, eyes wide, to see what Arucard would do.
He smiled sinisterly, showing too many teeth.
The kitten purred loudly and rubbed its head against his chin.
Arucard petted it with the full devotion of a mad scientist. "Yes my pretty...we'll show him..."
Everyone unconsciously took a step back as Arucard disappeared with the kitten.
"...Sir Integra, are you sure that was such a wise idea? Do you remember the last time Arucard owned a pet?"
Integra shrugged. "Not my problem."

Two days later...

After much shredding of important documents and furniture, priceless artwork and wallpaper, two sounds could be heard.

"AAAAARRRRRRRUUUUUUUUUCCCCCAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRDDDDDDDDD!!!"

And the mad laughter of that subject.
Anderson obviously had not had the hyperactive beasts declawed.

That was a trip. Hope you enjoyed.