Aftermath {closed rp with hellsing-butler}
Icy January winds carried the lingering reek of old death and the burned out shell that London had become. I waited next to the car, wondering if it were only I that could sense such a thing. There was still so much to do, but I was glad not to be the only one on these missions. I listened to the insistent beeping of the car's mechanics. The front passenger's side was open and Walter was smoking in silence. Old habits died hard.
Though Integra had been hesitant to return him into active agency in the wake of the war, I had been insistent. Our fight had been nothing more than a game, a bit of play-acting for a very particular audience. I'd known when he'd pulled me close and hissed in my ear, words delivered on surprisingly hot breath, not to take in the river of blood at my back. The major had held a trump card of his own that the Angel of Death had been eager for me to avoid.
"What do you think?" I yawned as I leaned against the vehicle, close to the open door. "These bloody stragglers can be so dull. You wager they'll be a good run tonight?"
