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Mannequin	By : SweetKitten Category: Hellsing > General Views: 2334 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own HellsinG, nor do I pretend to. All characters and affiliations belong correctly and legally to Mr. Kouta Hirano. I'm just using them for a fan powered work of fiction. No profit is made - this is purely from my mind.

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Alucard stalked down the hallway, his boots making sharp noises against the stone floor. His foul demeanor radiated outward, both on the emotional plane and tangibly, in the form of shadows whipping menacingly around his body. He was livid. The police girl was not supposed to cross that line - a line that struck a cord with a deep emotion that was hidden for centuries. The count growled audiably as he continued his trek down the hallway, causing frightened servants and military men to scatter before him like rats. He was on a mission to have something done right tonight - and he needed help. Damn if his fledgling was ever going to grow up and play a part in the scheme he had raised - he needed the innocent vampress. She was a key element. However, if she continued to be stupid and cause trouble - the count paused on his mental rampage, as a blurry image appeared in his brain.

            He saw the three of them crowded around the sleeping form on the couch, the youngest and most fair of all about to sink her fangs into the young soliciter's neck. His rage sparked, how dare they! He, who fed them and kept them happy, disobeying his direct orders! The count moved forward at inhuman speeds, wrapping his hand around the blonde's throat. Wide blue eyes turned to regard him, fear evident within their depths.

            "You yourself have never loved!" The harsh words fell from her pretty lips and rang in the count's brain, the cruel laughter cutting his heart deeply.

            Alucard stopped, glancing down at the hand that had, just moments ago, been wrapped around the police girls' neck. He clenched the hand as his heart burned at the memory. Never again. The nosferatu bit back a menacing growl - and continued his rampage down the hall.

            The elderly butler sensed the vampire before he even entered the kitchen. Unphased, Walter did not look up as the count burst into the room, slamming the door behind him. The angel continued to carefully remove his steaming tray of crumpets from the oven, and only glanced at the count once he had the cakes safely on their respective hotpads.

            "Can I help you, Alucard?" The butler asked, turning his cool gaze upon the raging vampire.

            Alucard glared back at the man who stood across the counter. Despite having lines of age on his face, there was no grey evident in the retainer's hair, nor did his body tell of aging. "Drop the facade, Walter. I need no parlor tricks tonight."

            "As you wish." The butler bowed. As he rose from his bow, the lines dissapeared from his flesh, revealing a face that was youthful, yet ancient. Large, industrial wings shimmered into view on the angels back; gears, cogs and pipes creating the bone structure. What represented the feathers, however, were the gossamear strands that Walter so diligently fought with - his 'dental floss of doom' as the police girl had put it one evening. "What requires this revealing of one's nature, Count? I certainly cannot fathom what you need from an old angel."

            The count cracked a smile. "I need your help." The statement caused a slender eyebrow to be raised.

            "Help? For what?" The angel instinctively reached back to his wings, grabbing a few of the silky appearing strands. Alucard chuckled at Walter - and the angel's willingness for fighting. Casually moving forward, Alucard pulled up a chair from the table, seating himself in it. Seeing that the count was not preparing for battle, Walter let go of the wire strands, and turned his attention back to his crumpets.

            "I grow weary and tired with these games, Azra'il."

            The tone of voice that the Count spoke that sentence, along with the use of his true name, caused the angel to turn his full attention to the royal. "I have not heard that name in a very, very long time, Vladimir." Azra'il replied silkly. His grey eyes locked onto blood red, and regarded the vampire with a cool gaze of murderous intent.

            Vladimir chuckled. "Welcome back. I was beginning to believe that you were too far gone in your role."

            "What made you think that?" Azra'il scoffed, gently pushing the tray of crumpets to the side, so he could lean on the table, gaze fixed on the vampire. Vladimir let his gaze move over to the crumpets, then pointedly back to the angel. "Oh," Azra'il raised his eyebrows, "cooking is enjoyable. I do like that."

            Vladimir tossed back his head and laughed. Once his mirth had died down, the vampire turned back to the angel. "I have a propsition for you."

            Immeadiatly Azra'il's gaze turned steely. "What games are you playing now, Count?"

            A fanged grin met the sharp grey gaze.

            "A game of freedom."

            Seras did not know how long she lay there curled up on the stone floor, blood tears flowing from her eyes. She could feel the sticky coldness that clung to her skin, the remainder of her once white cotton nightshift. If she had been of sound mind, she would have been disgusted at how much blood had been absorbed by her clothing. However, the young vampress was numb to the idea, as the only words occupying her mind were the last ones spoken by her Master. In fact, Seras was numb to the world. She did not notice the cold seeping into her skin from the stone floor, nor did she notice the rising of the sun. The police girl lay there crumpled - a shell of human nature as her mind raced to try and grasp what tendrils of sanity were left from the harsh words her Master had spoken.

            Why Master, Why? Her mind repeated over and over again, searching for an answer within the numbness. Am I that disposable to you? Was I ever seen as anything more than a plaything?

            No – just a tool. A soft voice whispered in the back of Seras’s mind.

            But I’m not a tool! I’m a human being! Seras whined back at her subconscious.

            Are you really?

            Yes! Seras cried. I’m human! I’ve always been human! Master can’t see that, and he can’t understand…and…

            He was once human.

            Abruptly Seras stopped. Her subconscious was right. Master was the Count, the Count was human, he had a history. He had grown up, just like she had, he had experienced emotions – he must understand then why she couldn’t drink blood, especially his, it just wasn’t human…

            But you’re not human. Her subconscious whispered. You’re a mad monster.

            I’m not mad! Seras huffed back.

            But you’re a monster.

            No!

            Look at yourself.

            What?

            Seras felt her bones creak in protest as she slowly lifted her stiff form off the floor. Muscles screamed in pain as she rose unsteadily – wobbly making her way to the bathroom. Her body lurched to a halt in front of the large mirror that reflected her bedroom.

            Do you see? Her subconscious cut in.

            See what? I see nothing.

            Exactly. You have no soul. You are not human anymore.

            With a gasp, Seras realized she was right. Her brain whirred into motion as things clicked, pieces making sense, powers, abilities – all adding up to one thing. She was no longer human.

            “I can’t be human anymore.” Seras whispered out loud in the darkness of her room. “I’m holding onto something I’m not.”

            I am not human.

            In that moment, the words that her Master had spoken faded into nothing, as Seras’s mind came to fully understand what was happening. The solo missions, the cruelty, the harsh punishments and nasty remarks, everything in the past months began to make sense.

            “He’s teaching me!” With almost a giddy hop, Seras whirled around, taking in the view of her room, then whipped back to see the same reflection in the mirror. “I’m being taught!” A mad giggle escaped from her tiny lips. “Well, I am pretty pathetic, so I do need taught…I wonder what Master would say if I started to drink blood?” Seras cracked a grin that was reminiscent of her masters.

            And with that realization – a little bit of her humanity slipped away.

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Mannequin