#hellsingbutler

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.

She figured she'd come when it was far too late at night for any of the mortals to be awake. Alucard, she knew, was away; she could feel him slaughtering by the dozens, releasing the final shreds of life from the ghouls he tore into. She really didn't want to explain to one of the most powerful immortals who still walked the face of the Earth why she was creeping through the Hellsing manor in corporeal form. 

Truth be told, the reasons were a bit stupid, not that she really believed in calling things (other than Morpheus and Desire) stupid, but still...

Too late, she became aware of another presence in the long hallway she was sauntering down. Or rather, they became aware of her.

Oh well.