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Caeli et Inferno	By : Jubalii Category: Hellsing > General Views: 1929 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: The anime: Hellsing \| The OP: not me \| Do I own it, or make money from it?: No \| Will I own it?: In my (Taylor Swift voice) Wildest Dreams oh oh oh

Chapter List
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Seras was a mystery that Fulton could never really solve.
After a year or two, he figured out that she was one of those things you simply weren’t meant to understand, and it was much easier to just learn how to keep on her good side. She had moods that swung from one extreme to the other depending on how he acted, and it didn’t take too long for him to comprehend exactly how to speak or act in order to keep her in a benevolent mood. Of course, he also knew that she was probably playing him like a fiddle in order to manipulate his actions, but it was just better for everyone if they ignored that fact and kept to the status quo.
He was always particularly interested in the markings on her hands. She was hardly ever in a mood to show them to him, even on days where she was cheerful. The markings were not something she was comfortable with. But there were days where he managed to wheedle in just the right way so that she, somewhat begrudgingly, let him stare openly at her gloves. He traced the marks with his finger, and one time, when he actually thought to take a picture of them for further study. To his surprise, Seras didn’t know much about them. Whenever he asked what the markings stood for, or what they did, she would shrug with the benign indifference that seemed to be her trademark.
“They’re there to keep me in line, and that’s all I was ever told,” she said nonchalantly. “After all, I’d already known about them since I’d seen them on—” Here she stopped, biting her lip for a moment and to his astonishment, the black runes glowed a dull scarlet that was nearly the same shade as her eyes. He could even feel heat on the back of his palm where it sat near hers. “Never mind. I just knew they weren’t anything harmful. I never wanted them, though,” she added, somewhat bitterly.
“Then why—?” One cold glance had him silent again.
“It’s none of your business why.”
“Stand still, young master!” Winston tcched and arched a brow, flicking the wheel of the digital camera with his fingernail as he changed the settings. “If you’d just be a little patient, I’d have this finished by now.” Stand up straight, a shadowy feminine voice agreed, and the twelve-year-old heir of Hellsing felt sharp nails biting into his shoulder through the stiff material of his new summer suit.
            Fulton swallowed a sigh and obligingly rolled back his shoulders, putting himself at his full height. Even though he hadn’t reached puberty yet, he was already eye to eye with Seras and was gaining fast on Winston’s willowy frame. He discreetly wiped the sweat pooling on the bridge of his nose while Winston reset the camera, adjusting his glasses. Despite it being midmorning, the air already shimmered with heat and he felt the sun beating down on his back. Seras stood off to the side, the large trunk of a tree shading her from the harmful rays and the leafy branches overhead providing extra relief.
            He wasn’t even sure why Seras wanted him to take these stupid pictures; it certainly wasn’t his idea of how to spend a morning. Well, this entire summer gala wasn’t his ideal event, but Seras insisted on those as well. Got to be in well with the other families, she always said, the edge of her mouth curling up in a sneer that suggested she was amused at this complete lack of decorum. He simply didn’t care about the other Knights and their families, and they certainly didn’t care about him and his.
Most of them were against having the Hellsing Organization return ‘to its roots’, but one strong glare from Seras had them diverting the matter to the government at once. Most of the time such motions would take years, but Seras must have done something there as well, for within two months the entire operation was up and running at full capacity. From then on, they appeared at social conventions and on the odd occasion that the royal family called a meeting, but otherwise left Fulton to his own devices. Fulton didn’t meddle in their affairs either—or, more than necessary, to be technical—and the entire shaky chain of command remained in an unreliable status quo.
“Come on then!” Fulton finally snapped, feeling another bead of sweat run down his spine and settle at the hem of his trousers. Winston clicked his tongue again, but held up the camera and peered down at the display.
“Miss Seras, would you please tilt your hat up? No one will be able to see your face,” the butler said genially, motioning with his hand. Seras chuckled softly and instead tilted her head a bit higher in compensation for the fedora. Winston squinted one eye and lifted the camera higher, stepping around until all was centered. “Alright, everyone stay still, smile, and—” He pressed the button and Fulton heard a beep, giving him a split-second warning before he was blinded by the flash. Seras blinked calmly while rubbed his eyes, cursing under his breath.
“Very nice,” Winston remarked, looking at the display again. “That’s one for a frame instead of the books,” he added. “Want to see?” Fulton shook his head, but Seras stepped over and peered down at the display. Seemingly satisfied, she nodded and then vanished, presumably back down to her basement hideaway. She’d stay down there during the gala, but she wouldn’t sleep until the gala was over.
“It’s hard to wake a vampire back up once she’s in bed for the day,” she’d explained once, when he’d asked. “I’d rather just stay awake and sleep in once I know that you’ll be alright.”
It’s not as though he was completely unprotected while she stayed below surface, in any case. Winston, while being a master of hors d'oeuvres and excellent multitasker, was also a sharpshooter that could wield anything from a simple handgun to one of Seras’s more…exotic weapons. His weapon of choice before coming to serve at Hellsing was a sniper rifle, though now that he spent most of his time near his master he became more reliant on his favorite pistol, sticking even now from the holster right above his apron.
Of course, if Fulton found himself facing certain death, which for some reason always seemed to happen when he decided to leave the manor’s property and go out into London, then Seras was ultimately the way to go. She was the strongest creature he’d ever seen—it always seemed that she was nearly omnipotent, the way she sliced through enemies that would otherwise be bad news for humans. He could almost imagine her yawning as she cut apart would-be vampires with one hand, blood spraying everywhere and painting her blonde hair a sickly shade of off-pink.
And if the rumors were true, then Seras wasn’t the most powerful vampire there was! Always in the shadows of the family journal, or Seras’s stories, was the enigmatic ‘Bird of Hermes’, a devastating vampire that could easily overthrow humanity if he sought to. Such a creature was horrifying to even imagine, but he actually existed! He just… wasn’t around. Seras wouldn’t divulge the secrets, and the journal gave no clues to the vampire’s whereabouts, no matter how many sleepless nights the insomniac-prone heir pored over its contents.
Just to have Seras under his thumb (theoretically) gave him a rush of power; he was the owner of a destructive force of nature. It was like having the power of wind and rain at your beck and call, and he had to be careful not to get an inflated ego; to do so would mean getting in over his head, and probably losing his head. Even so, he could only imagine the unstoppable power of the organization with the mysterious ‘A’ under his control. It gave him pause, as well as a new respect for his ancestors.
            The journal, while informative and helpful in many aspects, was highly vague in others. For one thing, the writers had obviously expected him to know more about the history of the organization than he did. This wasn’t his fault; since he’d found Seras he had scoured all the libraries, storerooms, and even the filing cabinet in the staffing office for any sort of information on Hellsing. There was nothing, other than the journal itself. It was as if someone had tried to wipe all the information about the Hellsing Organization from the face of the earth. And with it had gone any information he might have been able to dig up about this ‘A’ character.
            Often he speculated on what might have happened, but he could never come up with an answer. Where was he? Why was he hiding? Why did he not take Seras with him when he left? These questions kept Fulton up at night, lying in his bed and staring at the ceiling as he hoped for an epiphany that would bring the solution. He just didn’t understand. If only he had more information! He cursed whatever ancestor decided to just throw Hellsing’s history to the wind and become a governmental mercenary supplication.
            In his years of growth with Seras watching over his studies, he’d found a healthy appreciation for his organization’s past. It was really a shame that most of it was gone, but Seras had assured him that he was well on the way to bringing the ‘empire’ back to its former glory. He found himself quite suited for his career, and while he hated conferences and monthly budget reports, he truly enjoyed the sounds of a lively household. Men shooting in the night didn’t bother his sleep, and he was able to map out missions and plan attacks with the same zeal he showed in his chess matches.
            He was shaken out of his thoughts by the young Miss Walsh, who had traipsed up with a spoonful of gelato in her mouth. The only child of the current Sir Walsh, this eight-year-old was a strange concoction of perfect poise and bratty annoyance, as well as the bane of Fulton’s existence. From the time they met, she found every reason in the world to make his life miserable in small ways: untying his bootlaces when he was sitting in on a meeting, looping his suit jacket around a doorknob when he paused in the hall, or lying in wait with a water balloon for him to walk beneath her balcony. Today, however, with her parents on high alert for her mischievous behavior, she seemed inclined to be genial.
            “Good afternoon, Sir Hellsing,” she drawled, popping the spoon out of her mouth and bending in a curtsey. Her dress was more lace than anything else, with thick taffeta ruffles in a sickly pea green color gathered around her waist. “You couldn’t have had this gala inside?” He noted with some malignant satisfaction that she seemed just as uncomfortable as he was, her doughy cheeks pink with heat and sweat glimmering at her temples.
            “It’s a garden party,” he snapped, arching a brow at her irritably. “The point is that you have it outdoors, in the garden.” She huffed, rolling her eyes.
            “Well you should have had a ballroom party instead. If my curls get too hot, they’ll frizz and it’ll be all your fault.” She tossed said curls, the pale strands bouncing around her face in overdone ringlets. “Where’s Seras?” As much as she despised the master, she had a strange fascination with the servant.
            “She’s inside, in the bed. The sun makes her ill,” Fulton replied absently, looking around for someone to pass the child off on. He was already suffering under this unbearable heat; he didn’t need to have to listen to Miss Walsh’s never-ending prattle too. As far as he knew, no one had ever informed the girl that her idol was no longer human, and he was always careful to keep his talk of Seras relatively neutral, despite her prying queries.
            “Oh,” she sighed dejectedly, looking around. “It’s boring here,” she announced at once. “You should at least have a—oh, who are those two?” she asked with renewed excitement, pointing past Fulton’s shoulder and bouncing on her heels. “Can you introduce me?” Fulton twisted around to see a pair of twins standing side by side, drinks in opposite hands as they stared blankly out at the partygoers.
            “I don’t know who they are,” he admitted in confusion. “Maybe they’re someone’s plus one? Plus ones?” he corrected, turning fully to look more closely at them. “I’ll ask Winston and—” But it didn’t matter; already the girl was flouncing off in their direction. She graced them with a curtsey that was much friendlier than the one she gave him, and then proceeded to pepper them with questions. Fulton shrugged and turned away, walking off to do his duty as a host and mingle with everyone at least once.
            Later on, when the sun wasn’t quite so high in the sky and a few clouds provided some relief, he managed to find Winston and keep the butler’s attention for more than three seconds. Widow March called for a napkin and the youngish man offered it with a stately bow and a wink, causing the old lady to blush as she thanked him.
            “Enjoying ourself, sir?” he asked teasingly as he turned back to Fulton, the polite smile still etched on his face.
            “Oh yes, I just live for parties,” Fulton replied sarcastically, causing the butler to laugh. “Tell me, who are those twins over there? Who do they belong to?” Winston followed his young master’s eyes to the twins, who were still in the same spot near the walkway. The twenty-nine year old man wrinkled his brow and tilted his head.
            “If I remember correctly, they came in behind the Summerwood family. I suppose they might be related to them. They had an invitation, though; there’s no way they just snuck in.” Fulton shrugged. He had spoken to them, but they had answered with wooden, almost rehearsed replies and he’d moved on without learning much about them at all.
            “I suppose it doesn’t matter. Maybe they’re foreign visitors. They weren’t really interesting at all.” He shrugged again and turned the twosome out of his mind, taking one of Winston’s plentiful napkins and dabbing at a dull brown spot where Miss Walsh had managed to stain his shirt with her gelato.
            “Who knows?” Winston agreed before being called again from across the lawn. He bowed dismissively to Fulton before turning on his heel and weaving briskly, but gracefully, through the crowd. Fulton watched him leave, sighing to himself before glancing up at the sun.
            By the looks of things, four hours to go.
The two men were exact replicas of one another, from the ruddy hair and lanky arms down to the sparse mustaches and scars on their right wrists. They stood, glasses in hand, though neither one took a single drink. They watched the party, but more importantly they watched the denizens of the manor house. They noted the lithe movements of the butler, and how those sharp hazel eyes kept track of everyone and everything happening in his master’s yard.
           They watched the master himself, still a child, speaking on equal terms with gentry more than twice his age. They saw the brilliant emerald irises dulled with boredom and annoyance, and the choppy movements of a boy not yet used to his growing body. They kept note of every movement, every word spoken, every gesture, and every expression, relaying it back to their mistress almost simultaneously.
            Their mistress cooed with glee at the sight, the audible sound of clapping hands in their ears though she was nowhere near them. Still, she was never far from them, either. They were the woman’s products, with no will of their own other than a burning desire to please their creator and work for her ultimate plans. But the plan wasn’t ready for action yet, no. The boy was perfect, but he had to grow older. It was best to wait. Bide your time.
            The two dropped their glasses on the ground and turned, leaving the party without looking back. If the mistress wanted to wait, then they would wait. Besides, they still had to stop in the city and pick up a few unsuspecting humans.
She was hungry.
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Caeli et Inferno