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tampered2006-05-12 08:15 am
dertodesbutler.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2006-05-12 08:15 am
Log: Complete
When; This morning.
Rating; PG-13, despite my best efforts to the contrary.
Characters;![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
steeldame (Integra), possibly thekingofpain(Alucard) and anyone else who feels it absolutely necessary to join in, whilst doing me the honour of keeping the log in Happy Making-Sense Land. But not janvalentine. He gives me itchy cheesewire fingers. ^_^ :P
Summary; Walter looks for his mistress.
Log;
To be honest, it was less thinking, and more watching what was happening in his mind. Doors were slowly reopening throughout his hippocampus. In a little while, he was able to think properly again.
He thought about ways it could be possible to step through a door which led from the top of a building, and to reappear on the ground floor in what was apparently a fairground. However, if what he remembered could be trusted, quite a lot of considerably odd things seemed to have happened to him in his life, and he was quite prepared to entertain the possibility that there was an absolutely rational explaination for all of this, possibly involving quantum somethingorothers which would undoubtedly be revealed to him in the near future. He listened the the slow whirring and the strangely disturbing ticking, absentmindedly tapping his foot on the floor in time.
In the meantime, there was another matter at hand. The location of her Ladyship. Also, he was feeling a little peckish, although he wasn't sure what for. Perhaps there would be some kind of vendor of food nearby.
He turned on his heel and headed away from the blur of lights. He picked up a scent of flowers, on a breeze from far away and loneliness in the air, as if the city itself was pining for something. The end, or maybe the beginning. Denouement. Perhaps even the middle. Some marker of position. It gave him hiraedd in his heart, the feeling that something was missing, something impalpable, implacable. Such odd thoughts sprang to one's mind when one walked alone through a quiet place.
Exiting through high iron gates, twisted like blackthorn branches, he found himself on a rainwashed road, oddly glittering in no apparent light source. Across the road, he saw a promising sign, a sign that at first seemed to be an underground sign, but on closer inspection bore no resemblance to it at all. He crossed and entered, pushing his way through unresisting turnstiles that span as if their axles were the lightest of cumulus clouds and descending the spiral stairs. He looked for the usual sprawling mass of lines that mapped only hypothetical train routes through the bowels of the earth. The walls held only faded adverts for unwritten plays too surreal to have been put on, and the posthumous works of Christopher Marlowe.
Walter was starting to wonder what, exactly, was going on around here.
A saxophonist wandered by, playing mournfully in dirge-tones.
Walter tapped him on the shoulder. "Excuse me? Could you possibly direct me to the nearest information point?"
The saxophonist looked at him out of the square windows in his head, with a knowing expression. He tapped his nose with one finger and walked away.
"Thank you. That was extremely helpful." Walter said, sarcastically, and turned to follow the corridor. He hummed to himself as he walked.
"One of sixteen vestal virgins..." Behind him, the saxophonist changed key up a fifth.
Emerging from the corridor, Walter found himself at the edge of a platform apparently without an end in either direction. He minded the gap, and stood, waiting, and looking around for some indication of when the trains would arrive, if in indeed they would ever arrive at all. As if in response to this thought, the warm winds began to fly past him, ejected from the black tunnels by a wide, moving body. Down by the rails a tiny black mouse squeaked and ran into an impossibly small hole. Thinking this a wise move, Walter stepped back from the edge of the platform.
The train shot past him, slapping him in the face with heat and began to slow. He could see nothing behind the door that stopped directly in front of him into it slid open, hissing like the Serpent in the Garden of Eden. A man in a faded uniform gave him a cheery wave.
"Good Lord. Whatever happened to you?" Walter asked.
The man said nothing, but rolled his yellowed eyeball in its socket and pointed to his name tag. Walter read it.
"How classical. They upgraded you from the boat then?"
The man spoke, his words grated on Walter's soul. "I miss the rocking."
"Really? Good gracious. I don't suppose you could tell me why everything seems to have become so odd?"
The conductor grinned, and Walter could see the tongue withdrawn behind the remnants of the cheek flesh.
"It is you that has changed, not everything around you."
"I find that rather hard to believe."
The conductor continued grinning as the door slid shut, and Walter saw his reflection in the dark glass. Amazed, he touched his own face. The train pulled away, taking his younger self with it.
That was it. This was definitely some kind of a dream. He turned away from the platform and walked back out of the station, and began to wander the streets, looking for people, looking for her ladyship.
"Excuse me. Have you by any chance seen a woman with long blonde hair, glasses and blue eyes?"
Rating; PG-13, despite my best efforts to the contrary.
Characters;
steeldame (Integra), possibly thekingofpain(Alucard) and anyone else who feels it absolutely necessary to join in, whilst doing me the honour of keeping the log in Happy Making-Sense Land. But not janvalentine. He gives me itchy cheesewire fingers. ^_^ :PSummary; Walter looks for his mistress.
Log;
To be honest, it was less thinking, and more watching what was happening in his mind. Doors were slowly reopening throughout his hippocampus. In a little while, he was able to think properly again.
He thought about ways it could be possible to step through a door which led from the top of a building, and to reappear on the ground floor in what was apparently a fairground. However, if what he remembered could be trusted, quite a lot of considerably odd things seemed to have happened to him in his life, and he was quite prepared to entertain the possibility that there was an absolutely rational explaination for all of this, possibly involving quantum somethingorothers which would undoubtedly be revealed to him in the near future. He listened the the slow whirring and the strangely disturbing ticking, absentmindedly tapping his foot on the floor in time.
In the meantime, there was another matter at hand. The location of her Ladyship. Also, he was feeling a little peckish, although he wasn't sure what for. Perhaps there would be some kind of vendor of food nearby.
He turned on his heel and headed away from the blur of lights. He picked up a scent of flowers, on a breeze from far away and loneliness in the air, as if the city itself was pining for something. The end, or maybe the beginning. Denouement. Perhaps even the middle. Some marker of position. It gave him hiraedd in his heart, the feeling that something was missing, something impalpable, implacable. Such odd thoughts sprang to one's mind when one walked alone through a quiet place.
Exiting through high iron gates, twisted like blackthorn branches, he found himself on a rainwashed road, oddly glittering in no apparent light source. Across the road, he saw a promising sign, a sign that at first seemed to be an underground sign, but on closer inspection bore no resemblance to it at all. He crossed and entered, pushing his way through unresisting turnstiles that span as if their axles were the lightest of cumulus clouds and descending the spiral stairs. He looked for the usual sprawling mass of lines that mapped only hypothetical train routes through the bowels of the earth. The walls held only faded adverts for unwritten plays too surreal to have been put on, and the posthumous works of Christopher Marlowe.
Walter was starting to wonder what, exactly, was going on around here.
A saxophonist wandered by, playing mournfully in dirge-tones.
Walter tapped him on the shoulder. "Excuse me? Could you possibly direct me to the nearest information point?"
The saxophonist looked at him out of the square windows in his head, with a knowing expression. He tapped his nose with one finger and walked away.
"Thank you. That was extremely helpful." Walter said, sarcastically, and turned to follow the corridor. He hummed to himself as he walked.
"One of sixteen vestal virgins..." Behind him, the saxophonist changed key up a fifth.
Emerging from the corridor, Walter found himself at the edge of a platform apparently without an end in either direction. He minded the gap, and stood, waiting, and looking around for some indication of when the trains would arrive, if in indeed they would ever arrive at all. As if in response to this thought, the warm winds began to fly past him, ejected from the black tunnels by a wide, moving body. Down by the rails a tiny black mouse squeaked and ran into an impossibly small hole. Thinking this a wise move, Walter stepped back from the edge of the platform.
The train shot past him, slapping him in the face with heat and began to slow. He could see nothing behind the door that stopped directly in front of him into it slid open, hissing like the Serpent in the Garden of Eden. A man in a faded uniform gave him a cheery wave.
"Good Lord. Whatever happened to you?" Walter asked.
The man said nothing, but rolled his yellowed eyeball in its socket and pointed to his name tag. Walter read it.
"How classical. They upgraded you from the boat then?"
The man spoke, his words grated on Walter's soul. "I miss the rocking."
"Really? Good gracious. I don't suppose you could tell me why everything seems to have become so odd?"
The conductor grinned, and Walter could see the tongue withdrawn behind the remnants of the cheek flesh.
"It is you that has changed, not everything around you."
"I find that rather hard to believe."
The conductor continued grinning as the door slid shut, and Walter saw his reflection in the dark glass. Amazed, he touched his own face. The train pulled away, taking his younger self with it.
That was it. This was definitely some kind of a dream. He turned away from the platform and walked back out of the station, and began to wander the streets, looking for people, looking for her ladyship.
"Excuse me. Have you by any chance seen a woman with long blonde hair, glasses and blue eyes?"
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"...Of course...yes...I.. I should have guessed. The cravings... When you've been gradually losing your strength for so long, and suddenly it returns, you don't notice its magnitude."
He covered his face with one gloved hand and pressed his fingers to his temples.
"Alucard." He said. "I will need your h.." He swallowed, as if the words were sticking in his throat. "..Help in dealing with this matter." He suddenly looked up at Sir Integral, worriedly. "My lady, what are your orders?" The question was simple enough, but held a great deal of other, unspoken questions within it...
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Her fault.
No. Major’s fault.
And that mad man was laughing on his glorious post above their heads in their world. It boiled her blood, it made her murderous and irritable, yet she couldn’t show that in front of Walter. Out respect and love, not pity. Even if he was a Midian, her Butler was far from pitiful.
“My orders?” Integral asked to herself, mirroring his query. She looked at loss for a minute. “My commands were that you returned to me, weren’t they? And you have fulfilled them finally. Excellent job as usual, Walter.” She let him know that for her his nature did not change a thing in their relationship.
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Then chuckled and tilted his head, glancing at the creatures and persons milling about.
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"A pleasure to serve, as always, milady. Or should I say, Master?"
Then he smiled, capriciously, at Alucard. What had happened, had happened, and as long as her Ladyship accepted him, he wasn't about to be Seras Victoria and deny what was evidently now his nature. There were vampires, and there were vampires, Alucard proved that, and being the stupid kind, or whining about it like an idiot would only be playing into herr Major's fat little hands. Millenium had done this to him to hurt Hellsing. They would fail in that endeavour. They could poison his blood with their Nazi trickery, but Hellsing was ingrained into him, carved deep in his bones, and bones are where blood comes from in the first place, they are the source of it. If he was to be a Midian, he'd damn well be one to the best of his ability.
It would certainly be something of an adjustment, though.
"Now that you mention it, I am a little peckish." He said. With another small bow, he gestured away from the carousel to the road. "After you, of course."
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