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Will I Bite The Hand?	By : aldinatch Category: Hellsing > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 1234 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: No I do not own hellsing or any of it's characters/plots/places or names nor do I make any money/profit/souls. THIS IS FAN MADE.

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.xXx. Will I Bite The Hand .xXx.

.x3x.

.xXx. MIDNIGHT CRUISER .xXx.

Midnight Cruiser ^@Steely Dan.

Felonious, my old friend

Step on in and let me shake your hand

So glad that you're here again

For one more time

Let your madness run with mine!

Streets still unseen we'll find somehow

No time is better than now!

Tell me where are you driving?

Midnight cruiser.

Where is your bounty

Of fortune and fame?

I am another

Gentlemen loser?

Drive me to Harlem!

Or somewhere the same. The world that we used to know,

People tell me it don't turn no more.

The places we used to go,

Familiar faces that ain't smilin' like before.

The time of our time has come and gone

I fear we been waiting too long.

Tell me where are you driving

Midnight cruiser.

Where is your bounty

Of fortune and fame?

I am another

Gentlemen loser?

Drive me to Harlem!

……....Or somewhere the same.

__________________________________________________________________

    It was quite early in the morning at St Anselm’s when the confessional booth curtains slid shut and Father Elias started awake, he was a fresh and young priest, barely confirmed and much to his chagrin consigned to the graveyard confessional. Paris was a city of sinners, but most of those sinners were catholic and confession had to be available at all hours.

“Forgive me father for I have sinned it has been 6 months since my last confession,” said the faint woman’s voice on the other side of the box.

The priest sighed inside his head, another unwed mother who aborted or perhaps some poor prostitute terrified for her life, it was the norm around here and it broke his heart.

“Indeed,” he said trying to sound more compassionate than a man really should at AM, “And what sins are you here to confess tonight my daughter,”

“I have killed a man or two since then,” said the woman in the booth, her voice frighteningly quiet.

The priest wasn’t sure how to take this, was this girl winding him up? Was she serious?

“If that is you’re sin then I am alarmed but glad you are here to repent my child,”

There was a splintering of wood young father Elias felt the feeling of cold fingers grasping at his throat

“Oh I’m not here to repent,” said the woman, red hair and eyes shining with glee, face twisted into a maniacal grimace “I’m here to make sure he keeps score,”

__________________________________________________________

    ‘uhhh, stupid dream… my heeeeeeaaaaaad! Why does it hurt so mu-?’

The thoughts were muddled and haphazard but consciousness was finally returning to Riot’s addled mind,

Riot shot up and screamed

“Who hit me?" she roared in blind aggression.

"Oh… It's awake." The voice sounded tired and disinterested, it was to her right and much closer than Riot liked. She didn’t have time to think, instead of addressing her watcher she reached for her weapons, she needed the comfort of a warm gun, the only problem was she could not find them.

"Is this what your looking for?" Asked the voice complacently, the owner didn’t seem perturbed by her anger, it sounded like someone reading the newspaper, Riot wasn’t some attention whore but she was really starting to hate that voice.

She looked at the book which concealed her observer’s face, all she could see for the moment was greasy and neglected mud brown hair peeking over leather bindings.

There hanging by its barrel from his pale hand, finger and thumb outstretched as if holding a dead rat was a gun, HER gun and he wasn’t even bothered enough to look up.

She reached out and cradled her Long-Barreled pistol in her hand taking comfort in the cold, strong metal; it was solid even if she wasn’t.

"You suck." She snapped unthinkingly as she cradled her steel baby checking and finding it empty of bullets.

No response deprived of the weapon her watcher’s free hand merely wandered across an end table aimlessly tapping.

Real mature Riot, he manages to make you look like some unkempt mongrel you’re your best insult was worthy of what, a third grader? She wasn’t thinking the splitting pain in her muddled cranium made thinking like treading mud.

"To answer your question, it was Carmen and a brick." Said her caregiver a light well cared for hand placing the book on his lap as he stared at Riot with tired sunken eyes, the man had clearly spent his fair share of all nighters behind a book.

”Carmen? The Gorilla in vestments? I'll have to applaud him right before I beat him to death, with his own arm!” she muttered irritably. ‘And this guy?! What a stiff!! The dead are more fun then this loser. And fuck, I need aspirin! NOW!!!’ she was still muddled and her head was all over the place.

"Hmm, a scatterbrain indeed, not concussed by some fluke but still quite a mess. Perhaps I should warn Carmen... perhaps he should not arouse your anger." Said her caregiver returning his attention to the great leather bound tome he had in his hands, the faded symbols of the cover were old and she couldn’t quite read them even though she could swear they looked familiar.

"There is some aspirin on the night stand,” he said a dainty hand waving at a green bottle sitting beside her shoulder.

Waiting for a second head swimming with the odd awkwardness of her watcher Riot pondered her situation, she couldn’t help it, this disinterested skeleton of a man was unnerving and he seemed to be reading her thoughts.

She really hoped that she was wrong.

Allowing the awkward silence to break she took the pills and began to chew them, allowing their peculiar flavor to grind out her anger with a drink of water.

She sighed trying to recover her confidence.

“So, Where's Father-smart-ass?" she asked, desperately hiding behind a scrap of rallied bravado, her watcher just kept reading his book, silent .

She looked away, staring into her glass of water, hoping that perhaps a dinosaur would appear and eat her. Sadly all she noticed was that it was a cheap plastic cup. Almost empty after she had taken her fill. She then looked ahead at the dark green floral wallpaper, seeing spots that had been torn from age. It was a rather empty room…

*snap*

Jumping in shock, her eyes darting towards her viewer, she watched him close his book and looked at a point about a foot above her bed side.

Her head was finally clear and her mind began to focus on her escape. ....but it wouldn’t work yet, since she didn’t know where she was. Dammit this was such a mess.’

"-up."

The command had been so faint Riot had nearly missed it

"I said get up. Now!" this time it was quiet but more definite, as if he was scolding her for not paying attention to him.

What choice did she have really, she got up.

___________________________________

      Last rites always bothered Kurtz; they were something he had to do more frequently these days when he followed Domino to work. Closing the eyes of the late father Elias he tried to ignore the poor man’s ripped out throat.

“He vas new here,” he said to the uncaring Domino who stood some way off inspecting the splintered confessional, “The older priests put him on nights so he got used to the sanctuary, he never stood a chance,”

The scene the two had witnessed when they arrived at the church had been a sobering one, a priest barely a few years younger than Kurtz himself, crucified upside down from the altar, blasphemous writing and symbols scrawled all around him in blood.

“This is new,” said Kurtz examining the stained wood. “I though they avoided consecrated ground.”

“The Older ones do,” replied Domino looking into a broken candle display, “This looks like one of these new Anarch Vamps though, lots of defiance, especially with Iscariot in pieces.”

“Do you have any idea why they did this?” asked Kurtz feeling uneasy, he liked these small French churches and the sights around here made him uneasy, more so than usual.

“She,” replied Domino lighting a thin cigarette, “It’s a message, she’s still keeping score!”

Smoke filled the sanctuary and a few minutes’ later priest and hunter left the building they had a guest to check on.

_______________________

      Riot wasn’t exactly certain of what she had to do with herself, after wandering through the old yet clean and sparse hallways that were lined intermittently with silver crosses and the odd picture of the Ave Maria she was escorted silently to a large wooden door. She knew she was on ground level from the feel of the floor.

"The, Father would like to speak to you..." said her strange little escort shuffling to let her pass him.

Riot sighed, he’d given no information as to what was going on, merely shepherded her like some kind of herd beast, very frustrating.

Opening the door uncertainly she stepped in, trying bravado but merely being unimpressed.

And there was the man she had encountered that night, the Father, Anderson was it, all 6 foot something of him.

She tried not to laugh at the absurdity as he politely tucked away at his meal looking like such a normal person, not the knife wielding monster grinning in the face of evil that she had met before.

"Ay, yer up. Sit, hav' sumthin' ta eat. Sarre' fer erlier,” offered the priest motioning to an empty chair with a great deal of warmth “Carman was realla rude in hoo he acted, I’ll be sure ta deal wit tha.” He added darkly before adding “Ow’s yer 'ead?"

Riot wasn’t sure how to handle this, he was being nice to her, genuinely nice all things considered. It had been a long time since someone other than her father had been nice to her. How did she play this?

They had to want something from her, no one was ‘nice’ for free.

She held her tongue a drive of curiosity keeping her opinions inside for now as she approached the empty seat she was close enough to note every crag in his middle aged face as she examined the food before her in the table centre, If you could call it food.

It was some sort of burnt meat and rice, not really well taken care of at all, on second thought she wasn’t hungry enough to risk it yet.

The priest stopped fork halfway to his mouth before setting it down and placing one gloved hand on her shoulder, causing her to flinch but stay seated. He had noticed that she wasn't touching her food, a small act of rebellion against eating such charred filth.

"Ah, yea that” he said almost sounding embarrassed as he did so. “Carmen tri'd ta keep Chefo froom cookin' foor ya lad, an' it took a whil' ta kick 'im out.” This felt like some kind of confidence, trying to smooze her, “Mines no betta, see?" he motioned to the piece on his fork it was blackened and probably not a good cut to begin with, bravely he took another bite.

"S'not as bad as it looks,” he said with his mouth full, “crunchy." He smiled sheepishly as if genuinely trying to ease her.

"I thought you said he was wild,” the drawl caught Riot by surprise as her escort made his presence known again, “He seems pretty tame to me,”

Riot still did not know his name and felt that she probably needed to give him a nickname, just in case he survived the next 10 seconds.

He was back in his standard pose, his nose pressed firmly into a different leather bound tome, His long dark brown hair hanging around his face, like an unwashed dish rag, it suited him, it hid him from the world around him. He had tried to do something unique but his goatee was sparse and made him look about 20 years out of history. He shuffled with award practice towards his master.

He was like a zombie, a zombie who ate books. That sounded good and demeaning, she would call him Zomba, she was back in the game.

And now that she was done naming him…

She rose and stood to face him, her eyes narrowing into a practiced deadly gaze. When she spoke it felt like someone opening a meat locker

"Say that again!"

His eyes glanced up as if finally paying her some notice.

"You’re tame." He said without hesitation.

The table flipped food sent flying as Riot lost control she went all out leapt forward and slugged him.

________________________________________

    "She’s staying here, vezzer you like it or not Domino,” the diagogue played out in English through thick conflicting accents but the Vampire hunter knew he had lost. The stupid girl, Kurtz hadn’t wanted to leave her, even though it was the sensible thing to do.

They sat in the kitchen of the small hotel suite staring at each other intently.

“I vill not let anuzzer child of the faith walk zees streets while that monster is loose,” he continued fists balled hard.

Domino decided not to argue, the priest was a little like the familiar dog, he was all the more unnerving when he bit you and this funny little Catholic missionary was full of holy fire tonight.

“All right,” he relented looking at the shock battered mess lying on the Priest’s bed, “But just for tonight, tomorrow, we have hunting to do,”

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________

    "Huh. I thought it would take more than that," Riot whined.

She’d barely had any fun at all, one hit and he was out.

“What a weakling.” She thought rolling off his prone figure

"T-tha, wah? L-lad ya?" Father Anderson stuttered looking surprised, He hadn’t thought it would happen so fast, he was untouched but his dinner was everywhere on the floor, his glasses were sliding off his nose and his jaw was slightly dropped.

The tables had turned, Riot felt amused at this.

Another crash was heard by the door as it was kicked down by Carmen’s posse minus one Carmen.

‘So they were waiting for me to make a move huh? That was a mistake. Where is he? Stupid Monkey must have run off scared.’ She thought darkly, ready to deal with them.

There was angry confusion around them as she pulled away slightly to assess things

Riot didn't have time to listen to them yell at her or all these extras asking what had happened.

Steeling herself she pushed away just walking over to Anderson who had pushed his glasses up a bit on his nose.

Making her stance clearer than ever she growled her statement to the priest, "I'm going out to get my own dinner,” She turned and barked at the others “Later losers!"

Walking towards the large ground level window taking lazy steps as she moved, she popped it open and climbed out leaving priests in confused silence.

Oh goody, her bike was here, that meant someone touched it. Lessee if the spare key is here.

Riot reached into the exhaust pipe and pulled out a key she’d taped there, black with god knows what.

With a rev of the engine, she swung the kickstand up and shot off like a bullet.

As she sped off, she heard a Father Anderson yell,

“Stop messin aboot, fulla im”

“Not gonna happen,” she thought gunning the throttle and pushing into the traffic.

It was easy after her ordeal to zip in and out of the morning traffic, crossing the Champs-Elysees at record speed then heading further into the city proper, to the place she felt safest, her favorite restaurant. Her home.

The drive was short, especially since she wanted to put this mess behind her and the cold air whipping her face like a fox of nine tails. The traffic noise was loud and the fading neon lights shone in the haze of choking car fumes.

After a fair bit of curving double backing she arrived mercifully unfollowed. There ahead of her nestled between two ramshackle buildings decked with sleek cursive sky blue letters was the TurnLuck Cafe. A bar and grill for the higher class of scum in Paris.

She only ate what she herself made, that or what the chef, Volt Kruger, made.

She could acknowledge, Kruger's cooking was better than hers...

She raced into the parking lot pushing speed to an unfeasible level, pulling hard on the handle bars she leaned out to the left, spinning the bike dangerously to park perfectly in front of the curb with two inches of space to spare. It was a practiced move, nice and easy.

"Doing it again 'ey Birdie, One day, sooner or later you'll miss the que and crash, and I’ll be here, just to laugh at you and probably take your wallet." There was Volt, standing up from his patio chair and walking towards the door. He was being playful, but he’d been waiting for her.

“And I’ll kick you in the face if you do.” She said more irritable level than she’d intended, it had been a long day, she hopped off her ride and walked inside. Volt moved aside and followed her. The bar was empty by this time, no one around but them.

She felt her shoulders un-tense, she could finally let her guard down. This was her safe place, the comforting smell of spilt beer and pine sol soap calmed her more than anything else.

As she walked in she ran her hand along the lovely black and chrome Cadillac that sat in place at the large front window, Shark. It had a mirror-like shine that revealed the pulls of her tired face; she could also see the light bruise forming on over my left eye and temple.

‘God dam Bricks, God dam Priests, Damn you all!’ She continued her slow march over to the bar, it stood over on the other side of the high finned car. There was a strange illumination, as the neon and leftover Christmases lights festooned around gave the old car a unique look.

Once at the bar she hopped up on a stool her place, the third from the window.

There was a thump as her head greeted the cool seamless counter with little delight.

She was so tired.

Volt put on the radio for me and the crooning of Dusty Springfield slowly washed over her. About half way through the chorus, a plate of hot food sat by her stress flattened head.

It smelled good, she really needed proper food.

She began to eat quietly; her eyes kept drooping pulling her like a puppet as her body begged for sleep.

The bell on the front door rang softly as someone came in, sitting a few seats away from her at the bar.

Volt strolled by the bar greeting the new guy with ‘The hells with you night owls, it’s 4 in the fucking morning.’

After the guest was seen to he walked over to her, he let out a low whistle.

“You look like shit, Bird,” he exclaimed pointing to his own left temple to remind her of the now bright purple bruise that festooned her own,

“Finish up and get some sleep. I’ll put you in the Shark’s back seat that way you can guard it while I go out,” He added motioning to the shining vehicle.

Ah, good ole’ Volt, he was all of six feet, seven inches’ of fatherly love she needed right now, unfortunately he also had a heavy helping of jackass mixed in with that. He had beady brown eyes that examined her intently as she nodded in response with unintentional slowness.

With a deliberate slowness, he sat down next to her and began to draw on the napkins absentmindedly, her guardian angel.

Most people were afraid when they saw him, bleached blond hair left somewhere in the early nineties, a couple of piercing, scars, tattoo and horns on his head made his fat square face look like an ogre.

That intimidating block-head sat on a well built body defined in the right places and clad in shiny black leather. He looked like a biker from hell. Wait, correction, he was the biker from hell.

But she could never take him too seriously, not in that frilled yellow-spotted apron and she snickered unkindly at the dissonance.

Her head bobbed as she tried to push sleep away again. By now Volt had gotten bored of waiting for her to finish and stood up suddenly. He moved in behind her and with apparently no effort picked her up, it was easier than usual she wasn’t biting and fussing this time.

“Murrr, put me down dad, Now. ” She protested slightly, limply pushing against his broad shoulder.

“Shut up bird. ” He rebuked dropping her in the back seat of the Shark like a deviant potato sack. She rolled onto her side as Volt put a blanket over her legs and returned to the sole customer without making a sound.

“Hey Dad,” she said settling in, “Drive me to Harlem!”

Her turned his head just in time to see sleep win its battle and pull her under.

He just laughed,

“Maybe later Bird. ”

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

@ Another one by Dan. Source- http://www.lyricsmode.com/lyrics/s/steely_dan/midnite_cruiser.html
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Will I Bite The Hand?