Hellsing Fan Fiction ❯ The Consequences of Master-Baiting ❯ The Consequences of Master-Baiting ( Chapter 1 )

The Consequences of Master-Baiting

By Eline

In the beginning . . . kit wanted this.

So I said "okay".

(The title is courtesy of kit, of course.)

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While other people had tea parties, Integra Hellsing tested her extensive array of firearms. Walter did sometimes bemoan the fact that the really good china and silver were rarely used or shown off. Integra thought Walter ought to be glad that there was no extra washing-up to be done. And so the echoes of live bullets in the gun gallery were a common occurrence on Sunday afternoons.

That particular afternoon was no different. Integra silently marvelled at the pre-war Browning pistol, still functional after all this time. It was a real 1935 semiautomatic model and a collector's item in its own right.

That the Hellsing estate would have a couple of them in their massive collection of weaponry was hardly surprising. It was then totally unsurprising that the sole heir of the Hellsings had also inherited the love of all things that went "boom". (Then again, a stuffy childhood with processions of nannies and governesses was more enough to make any young girl wish for loads of ammunition and a well-oiled trigger.)

She set down the Browning and picked up the S&W 1911. Reliable and a classic. Integra changed targets without checking her score. She paused as she took aim. Was it her imagination, or were the lights in the gallery getting dimmer?

"Alucard," she muttered irritably. She thought of the loaded guns on the table wistfully. Such a pity that none of them had been loaded with silver bullets . . .

The shadows behind her lengthened and surged up in acknowledgement. A very pale human torso, complete with neck, shoulders and an annoyingly familiar head, popped put of the seething mass.

Amongst the many treasures, high-level secrets and big shiny things that went "boom", Integra had also inherited the family's immortal and highly dangerous pet. She'd trade him in for a bazooka and ten pounds of C-4 at the drop of a hat, but none of the incompetent idiots of the Round Table were sharp enough to control the monster for the purpose her family had forged him for.

Frankenstein's heirs probably never had to deal with this sort of shit.

"What are you doing down here? I gave orders not to be disturbed."

"But Master, it's Sunday--everyone rests on Sunday," he said.

"You rest when I say you rest," Integra said flatly, methodically slotting the cartridges into the pistol chamber. She knew that Alucard did not care about human rituals, least of all church-related rituals. In other words, Alucard was taking the mickey again.

"Yes, Master." Alucard's face leered at her and his body sank back into the blackness it had originated from. "No rest for the wicked, Master."

The black mass of shadow heaved and sprouted tentacles. Alucard would attempt to intimidate her just shy of actually harming her. It was the game they had played for as long as Integra could remember despite her lack of enthusiasm for it.

That was the problem with enslaved vampires. There were *rules* but the tricky bastards kept trying to wriggle their way out through a loophole. If she didn't put her foot down, it'd be, "But Master, I thought you wanted to--" and there would be no end of trouble . . .

"Shall I entertain my Master?"

Integra refused to be disgusted. "Oh give it up--I wasn't even scared of *that* back when I was fourteen."

Alucard collected himself into his humanoid shape, blatantly naked and obviously male. Quite attractive by conventional human standards too. Integra snorted softly. The vampire could turn itself into anything, but it had a residual core of vanity left over from the time before the Hellsings had got to it.

"Grown-up games then, Master?" Alucard leaned in, leering in a familiar fashion. This was always step one in the game. Step two involved getting into her personal space and attempting to see how far he could push her before she reacted. Which he did, nostrils flaring obscenely as he scented her blood.

Integra clamped a gloved hand over Alucard's questing nose and shoved his face away from the crotch of her trousers. Alucard never understood why women did not appreciate male attention at certain times of the month. It was *precisely* the time he was most drawn to them.

"Stay there," Integra ordered, pushing his head against the table and reached for another gun. "We can play, but we play *my* way."

Alucard, thanks to the unspeakable experiments performed on him by her forebears, was a bit of a twisted fuck. A big deranged twisted fuck. Which was why he laughed at knives and cackled every time he was shot up to pieces.

Integra silently apologised to the makers of her Colt "Python Elite" and slid the barrel of the gun down the pale flesh of the vampire's back.

"My Master has a big gun just for me, doesn't she?"

There were many things that pushed Integra's buttons--unforgivably bad innuendoes were one of them.

"Just for you," Integra agreed and pushed the barrel of the Colt Python into his ass.

Alucard grunted as several inches of cold steel entered his bowels. It couldn't really hurt him, of course, the rat bastard.

Integra had once speculated on why almost all the guns in the Hellsing collection were inevitably the ones with the longest barrels in the series. She had put it down the whole phalli-centric fetish thingy that her family had. After all, what's there not to love about shiny guns? The longer the barrel, the more impressively menacing the gun. Yes, there *was* some sort of power inherent in long shiny sticks after all . . .

"Master, a gun's useless if you're not going to *use* it," her vampire said, interrupting her train of thought.

Integra let Alucard have all eight inches of the barrel.

"Alucard, I do not appreciate your many attempts to get into my pants for whatever nefarious reasons you may have," she said, emphasising the point by drawing the gun out and shoving it in again. "And you're too good at pissing me off, which leads me to conclude that you actually like this." The gun barrel pumped in and out, slowly gaining speed. "My family did one hell of a job on you, so you should remember that *I* am a Hellsing and *you* . . . Do. Not. Fuck. With. Me."

There was an answering growl from the vampire as he tried to move.

"Stay put," Integra snapped. "No matter what, you are still mine to command."

Not to be outdone, Alucard's neck elongated like it was made of rubber--not exactly countermanding her orders but stretching them in his own perverse way.

"Always, Master," Alucard said, his hovering face a gross parody of pleasure and pain.

"Down boy." Integra twisted the pistol and pulled the trigger. The custom Colt Python was, in fact, loaded. Integra kept track of her ammunition in case of freak emergencies, hostage situations, Mexican stand-offs and situations like these.

The echoes of the gunshot through the gallery was joined by a maniac shriek of what--in some extremely privileged circles, probably residing in some private basement in a particular district of Amsterdam--could have been pleasure.

Sighing at the mess, Integra cleaned the Colt carefully. Around her, Alucard's remains slurped and slithered from the walls in an extravagantly tasteless display of gore. He was still making patterns with his entrails when she was done.

"Oh pull yourself together--it wasn't *that* great," Integra called over her shoulder as she left the gun gallery.

The mess formerly known as Alucard stirred and a wide grin emerged from the meaty ruins.

"And clean yourself up--or you can tell Walter about the stains in the carpeting."

Integra retired to her rooms, assured that Alucard would lie low for a while. It was like that with vampires--sometimes, one had to assert dominance. It had been a near thing, back when she had been a teenager. She would never have been able to control Alucard if she had not gained the upper hand all those years ago by exploiting certain tendencies that had resulted from his earlier conditioning. Integra had long suspected that her father had Alucard locked away in preparation for the time when a Hellsing heir could be produced to control him. A male heir, for preference. Certainly not Arthur Hellsing's little girl. Unfortunately, her father had no say at all in that matter when fate had intervened.

One had to be a sick freak to create and control something like Alucard. Integra was Hellsing enough to rise to the challenge . . . but at the moment she thought that she could definitely do with a change of clothes and a cup of Earl Grey.

Like clockwork, a quiet knock on the door announced that Walter was done with the preparations for tea.

"Integra-sama, it's four o'clock," Walter informed her politely from the other side of the door.

"In a moment, Walter--I need to change," Integra said, tugging off her formerly pristine white gloves. "I was just playing with the dog."

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Edited for typos. Am glad I got the prescription for my glasses adjusted.