Hellsing Fan Fiction ❯ Servant's Night Off ❯ When in Rome... ( Chapter 3 )

[ P - Pre-Teen ]

…It was very late when I wrote this. I think I went from mildly humorous to flat out…OOC bizarre. Umm, again, wow…this is interesting. I love Walter and Father Anderson so yea, they’ve gone drinking together. Don’t try this at home kids.

Hellsing does not belong to me. Yet.

Servant’s Night Off


Being inebriated had its pros and cons. They were all subjective, mind you. Whether or not you liked the constant shift of angles, the dreamy bleariness, and the generally altered state of mind, probably had an effect on how often you got crocked. Of course, that was just a theory, and should not be taken too seriously.
Walter wondered if he would be able to drive home tonight. Well, being drunk had no effect on his driving. Maybe some local landmarks would suffer mysterious auto-collision damage, but Walter’s driving was immaculately precise; he meant to do that.
For a split second, Walter had been distracted by the idea of getting piss drunk. No, there was business to take care of, and then he could get piss drunk. Father Anderson might make an interesting designated driver. That would involve Anderson taking him to the mansion, and even driving his car, but…
Walter shook his head. What the bloody devil was wrong with him?! All this free time must be eroding his self-discipline. It was business, really, all business.
Liar.
With that thought, he ran a traffic light. Luckily, no police officers were around, because in the mood he was in, he would have led them on a high-speed chase throughout London. He’d always had fantasies about that sort of thing…wait a minute, hadn’t he done that in Rome once?
Really, his mind was just shot because of his discourse with Arucard. If anything managed to unsettle him, it was the idea of that Nosferatu courting Sir Integra. That vampire fancied her to be his potential mate. Combining their ambiguous history and Arucard’s desire to conceal his dirty little deeds of days past, Walter thought that to still be the vampire’s intent. Sir Integra didn’t believe him, of course, but…Oh hell, that was a thought he’d been trying to suppress. It wasn’t so much the idea of Sir Integra having a relationship with a vampire, or even the idea of a dhampir taking over the Hellsing Organization. He was open-minded enough to understand the benefits of a know-your-enemy-intimately relationship, and he had confidence that Sir Integra could handle Arucard, and that Arucard respected Sir Integra enough to behave…somewhat. Yes, even the perturbing prospective of mutual affection could be dealt with. No, it was the idea of the courtship process that would ensue. Provided Sir Integra even gave him the grounds to attempt such a thing, Arucard would pursue her relentlessly. All the responsibility of dealing with the screams, property damage, and hurt feelings would be relegated to him. And maybe Seras. But anyway, from issues such as dining out to Sir Integra filling Arucard, and the surrounding areas, with bullets, would be simply too much for an old man like himself.
Why the bloody devil was he dwelling on this? Why? During his stay with the Hellsings, had he become some sort of mental masochist? Walter wasn’t quite sure.
He pulled into a parking space at the bar from last night, the Hoary Bullock. That name gave him a good chuckle. He wondered if Father Anderson would be there tonight. Perhaps in his line of duty he faced similarly disturbing matters. Now the possibility of replicating said romantic dilemma was exceedingly improbable. Still, Anderson might cope with equally disquieting circumstances and it was possible that tales from the Catholic priest would be just as bizarre.

Anderson drained his third screwdriver and wondered if the butler would show. Probably not. He groaned and debated on what else to drink. Bailey’s Irish Crème sounded tasty, but it was painfully…Irish. Perhaps some straight up vodka would do the job. If he had no companionship, why not get tanked? There was no other comparable vice that the Catholic church condoned.

Walter strode in, and to his surprise, caught sight of the priest hunched over a glass. Anderson did not acknowledge him, so Walter ordered a Scotch. Taking his whiskey, he sat down across from the other man.
“Good evening, Father Anderson.”
Anderson looked up at him with a frown. “Drinking heavier tonight, are you?”
Walter shrugged. “Long day. What about yourself?”
“Bored.” Anderson gritted his teeth and took another drink. “Do you know how much alcohol it takes to get me drunk?”
“No…”
“A bloody lot. A disadvantage of being a regenerator. ” Anderson downed his drink and sighed. “So what happened? Did they ask you about last night?”
“Quite a bit. They assumed I’d made a lady friend.” Walter gulped down the shot and sighed. “That would be you.”
To his credit, Anderson didn’t choke on his next drink. “…Explain?”
“They inquired if I encountered anyone “interesting.” Well if you’re not interesting, I don’t know what is. Unfortunately, their minds are filthy and they assume I’m having some sort of romantic hobnob.”
The priest laughed and leaned back. “I’ve been touring London. No joy really, it’s an ugly city. Too much fog, too many Protestants. No offense.”
“None taken.”
“And the food,” Anderson continued on his rant. “English food is revolting, it’s almost as bad as Polish food.”
Walter nodded sympathetically.
“What I wouldn’t do for some haggis…”
Walter blanched outwardly.
Anderson must have seen his expression. “Really Englishman, can’t you handle a little soul food?”
“Sheep guts just don’t appeal to me, my apologies.” Walter looked around, deciding he needed another drink.
“You’ve just never had them cooked properly. I make a mean lot of haggis, Walter.”
Walter didn’t hear him. He was busy getting a second drink. When he returned, Anderson commenced speaking, again.
“So, why are we doing this, Walter?”
“Doing what?”
“Sitting here gossiping like friends.”
“Nothing better to do, I suppose.” Walter watched Anderson grimly. “Maybe rant about the habits of the undead?” he suggested.
“…Don’t get me started.”
Walter concurred. “What about the absurdity of life? Yours, mine, anyone’s?”
Anderson raised a brow. “I’m a homicidal priest. It doesn’t get much more absurd. Oh, yea, I can’t die, well, not easily. I have no close friends, no lovers, obviously, I’m a bloody priest, and I’m drinking with an English Protestant at the Hoary Bullock? What kind of name is that?”
“…Yes, I know. It’s been awhile since I’ve seen some action myself, I’m starting to feel like a bloody priest, no offense.”
“None taken.” Anderson massaged his temples.
“So.”
“So?”
“So, you’re miserable and lonely?” Walter worded his thoughts carefully. Was Anderson confessing that all he needed was love?
“No,” Anderson snorted vehemently. “…not miserable, a lad does get a bit lonely at times.”
“Lack of satisfaction, eh? You do such a superb job, and yet, even though you know everyone values your service, you still feel under appreciated.” Walter stirred his piña colada with a little umbrella.
“Exactly,” Anderson muttered. “I know I’m wracking up points upstairs, but somehow, this isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
Walter opened and closed the tiki umbrella.
“Where’d you get that?” Anderson inquired.
“Piña colada.”
“OK.”

A few minutes later, Anderson had his own little umbrella. “These are nice.”
“I agree. Such a novelty.”
There was a moment of silence and both men slowly put down the mini-umbrellas.
“What the Hell are we doing?”
“Making bloody idiots of ourselves while we get pissed.” Walter went with the flow and took swallowed some of the smooth sweet drink.
Anderson agreed.

“So, what’s wrong with you?”
“Overworked and underpaid,” Walter laughed.
“Really?”
“No.” Walter grinned as he adjusted his monocle. “Just trying to escape some of the chaos at the mansion.”
“Really? What’s it like?”
“Bedlam. We even have straightjackets,” Walter said, thinking back on some of Arucard’s physical restraints.
“Do you use the straightjackets?”
“No, but we have them.”
“Hn.” Anderson scratched his neck and noted the large quantity of stubble. He needed to shave. Though doing so with one of his blessed blades had proven to be a bad decision. “Tell me, do the vampires have some sort of silly romance going on?”
Walter winced. “No.”
“What about Arucard and Sir Integra?” Anderson looked mildly interested in the subject, though he was eyeing his tiki umbrella once more.
“Ambiguous. He pursues her, though I’m not sure how seriously; she shoots him several times in the head.”
“It’s love,” Anderson commented knowingly, twirling the umbrella.
“I was afraid of that.” Finally a waitress came along, cleared the table, and brought more drinks.
“Damn vampires. I don’t like them.”
Walter refrained from telling Father Anderson that he didn’t seem to like anybody.
“I especially don’t like that one.”
Walter snorted.
“What about the redhead? Seras Victoria? What’s her deal?”
“She’s single still; half the human agents still wouldn’t mind dating her, despite all the risks. That Pip Bernadotte seems to have the best chance.”
“The leader of the Wild Geese?”
“Yes.”
“What kind of name is Wild Geese?” Anderson shook his head. “What kind of fool man falls for a blood-sucking siren.”
“Many, just not in the literal sense.”
“You’re right,” sighed the templar. “I suppose you’d like to know about my coworkers,” he suggested, changing the subject.
“Sounds interesting.”
“I usually work solo. You’ve met Father Enrico Maxwell.”
“Briefly.”
“A good man, though slightly off-kilter.” Anderson made a circle by his ear using his index finger, ignoring the irony of that statement. “He doesn’t do field work so he really has no idea about how much trauma we undergo. He tries, really, but he doesn’t get it.” He shook his head sadly.
“That’s a bad quality in a commander.”
“It’s workable.”
“And there’s Heinkel and Yumiko; they’re Division XIII special ops as well. No supernatural gifts, but they’re effective, usually dealing with terrorist situations and the sort. It took me awhile to figure out that Heinkel was a woman. She dresses like man and does nothing remotely feminine. Well, she’s a killer nun, whatever floats her boat.”
Walter nodded, trying to remember all this for strategic purposes, but the amount of alcohol he had ingested was making it extraordinarily difficult.
“And Yumiko, she’s the sweetest lass you’d ever hope to meet. Pretty, polite, a little shy…but she’s got two people in her head. Yumiko and Yumie. Yumie…that lass is insane. Good with a katana, but glory, she’s zealous.”
“Favor any of these ladies?” Walter asked indolently.
“…Yumiko’s a cute. But with our vicious alter egos…I dunno. Heinkel has a better temperament to deal with me. She’s not hard on the eyes either. And speaking of women with manly tastes in clothing, your Integra isn’t half bad. Hell…even that Seras Victoria is attractive. I’m drunk, aren’t I?”
Walter nodded. “Yes, she’s a good-looking girl. I suppose if I were at least thirty years younger…”
Anderson chuckled. “I hope no one ever finds out about these conversations.”
“Me too,” Walter decided.
“…What’s it like, living with vampires?”
“No worse than living with people. They’re tastes are obviously more specialized, but we have a good supply of medical blood. Seras Victoria is still trying to eat human food though. I’ve caught her sneaking my Neapolitan ice cream.”
“I like ice cream,” Anderson said. “But if I eat it too fast, I get a headache.”
Walter raised a brow and watched Anderson fiddle with his glasses.
“Do you know how many pairs of glasses I’ve gone through?”
Walter shook his head.
“Neither do I, but a damn lot.”
“Consider contacts?”
“I have this thing about putting things in my eyes.”
“Oh.”
Walter looked at his watch. It was getting rather late. Still, he wasn’t as drunk as he could be, so he chose to stay a little longer.
“How do those work, those wires? They’re pretty nifty.”
“I just release these latches…” Walter’s movements were unsteady and he loosed a coil, sending a razor wire whizzing past Anderson’s ear. “They’re specially wound and propelled for optimum slinging.”
“Ever get in any embarrassing situations with them, you know, when you first began?”
“Yes. Trapped myself in a garage for three days, once.” The Englishman groaned at the memory. “Fortunately someone came along with a pair of wire cutters and…”
Anderson guffawed. “Once, while shaving with one of me masonry trowels, I cut my throat. Got blood all over everything- I’d just showered too.” He neglected to mention that it had happened that day.
Walter snorted. Now that was just idiotic.
“Do you understand this video game business? You know, all these kids letting their minds rot before a stream of moving pictures? All the boys the orphanage are always babbling about some Playstation or X-Box rot. I vaguely remember some Nintendo and Atari…but this stuff is all new to me.”
Walter, surprisingly, knew quite a bit about video games. They’d once had to deal with an electronic dæmon, a literal ghost in the machine, if you will. Yes, he’d done quite a bit of research, updating his archives on modern technology. In the process of that he’d discovered something utterly sinful and quite enjoyable. Video games. It was a secret vice, and he rarely partook, but he’d went out and bought a Playstation. Walter was addicted to Tetris…Frogger had been fun, but Tetris was his crowning sin. Sometimes, when the Wild Geese were really drunk and had a console set up, he’d go play Dance Dance Revolution. He wasn’t bad, for an old fart, but some of those moves left him sore.
“…I have no idea,” he lied rather guiltily. “There’s a puzzle game called Tetris that I understand, but the overall activity doesn’t seem to have any redeeming qualities.”
“I thought so,” Anderson said pensively. “I’ve heard of this one where you jump around on some sort of pad, but I didn’t quite comprehend the point.” Anderson shrugged “Kids today.”
Walter picked up his little umbrella. Well, now he had two of them. One for each hand. He spun them. “How’s it feel, to regenerate something?”
“Hurts like Hell. It doesn’t hurt when in battle, but when I get off the adrenaline rush, it really smarts.”
“Hmm…” Serious thoughts and reminders of duty abruptly began swirling around Walter’s head. He really needed to get stone cold sober. Yet the warmth and pleasure of intoxication was so inviting…
Anderson was glad Walter was there. Walter was his name, right? It was such a luxury to have someone to talk to about the strange things that occurred frequently in his charmed life. He was glad it was someone who wouldn’t say, “Dude, you really need to get laid.” That did not help matters in the least. With this Hellsing member, he could complain about Division XIII and get some understanding of what he was talking about. Yes, it was nice. Nice and warm and smashed…and…how much had he had to drink? Anderson couldn’t remember. Well, it wasn’t important. He clumsily pocketed his drink umbrella. What a neat little knick-knack.
“So…I had a nice time. You know, if I can get off tomorrow, we can “hang out” some more, what do you say?” Walter asked as he readied his determination to leave.
“Sure, sounds like a date to me,” Anderson grinned wickedly.
“Not funny. I’m not that desperate or even that drunk,” Walter growled, wobbling as he stood. “Need a ride?”
“I’m not that desperate or that stupid,” Anderson retorted.
“Suit yourself. Good night, mad monk.”
“Good night yourself, ye blimey English goat.”
Walter chuckled and staggered out, miraculously managing to get into his car without falling.

Anderson sat in the booth slumped over. That had been fun. He began to doze and was eventually awakened by the waitress.
“Umm…father, we’re closing now.”
Anderson grunted and stretched. He could get back to the hotel. No problem. “Bless you my child,” he told the woman with a straight face as he stumbled out.

Walter had taken the long way. He was pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to drive through the grass, but decided that sidewalks were there for a reason. He just wasn’t exactly sure what that reason was.
Eventually, after ramming a few fire hydrants and massacring a few dozen street lights, Walter made it home relatively intact.
One of the watchmen insisted on parking the dented vehicle for him. Walter finally acquiesced, somewhat puzzled by the presence of valet parking. Another helped him into the mansion.
Fortunately, no one had waited up for him, and he made it back to his bedroom before collapsing on his bed.

The next morning, or more specifically, afternoon, Walter awoke to some idiot opening his bloody curtains. He resisted the urge to decapitate them and settled for glaring up at them.
It was that damned Arucard. The vampire stood in the shadows holding the cord to the drapes. That bastard… He had a positively evil smile on his face. “Good afternoon, Shinigami, I trust you had a nice night,” he said altogether too cheerfully.
Walter groaned and pulled a pillow over his head. That vampire really was a minion of Satan.



Please review? It’d be nice. Let me know what you think. Be more specific than “OMG U R a crazy bitch and deserve to be shot!” I know that already. Oh, yea, more to come.