multiversallogs | i won't sympathize anymore

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i won't sympathize anymore

Who: Integra and Dean to start, open to all expat Hellsing operatives eventually.
What: Integra returns to hq and is interrupted by a familiar face.
Where: Outside the Helling Guild Hall.
When: A little while after Alucard's post.
Notes: Start new threads as you need to! Otherwise, party post after the initial one.
Warnings: Uh. Dean. And... Alucard.

In the weeks since Integra's arrival to Baedal, she has had only infrequent cause to observe the cohort network. She rarely fraternizes with anyone - new arrivals like herself or natural citizens - outside of work. Despite the name, she certainly doesn't feel particularly aligned with anyone else in the city, and hasn't ever had anything to say to anyone.

It's not unusual.

But the network gets used, if not by her, and so there's a girl on staff that checks for Integra, and alerts her to anything relevant to Hellsing. Said assistant, just moments ago, scurried up with eyes only slightly wide (to her credit), clutching her CiD, and in an almost-tremulously reported: "Mister Alucard has done something."

The things she puts up with. Honestly.

Hellsing's guild hall is a bit of a hike from any of the transport lines, but that doesn't mean it takes Integra very long to get back - and that's where she is now, stalking at a purposeful pace towards the main gate, coat fanned out behind her, expression of stop at your own peril clearly etched on her face.

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Hellboy unslings Excalibur from his back and sets it to one side of his chair before sitting down -- the uh, well, yes look he gives Integra is probably not the first she has gotten from him regarding the sword -- and lights a cigarette with a wooden match he strikes on his Right Hand.

"Huh. Given the vibe I got from the welcome pamphlet, I expected a lot more scrutiny than that for such a new group, but what the hell, I'll take it."

It had taken him a little while to sort out his own reaction to Finding Baedal, but he ultimately realized that the tone of it -- very enthusiastic, but with an undercurrent of shape up and play ball, or your life will be made miserable -- felt a bit like the kind of Everything's Fine Here oppression that was especially prevalent in towns all over the US back in the 1950s. Not for nothing did Prof. Bruttenholm send him on a lot of trips outside the States at the time.

"So we've got a free hand, but what's the field of things we'll be dealing with? I know Alucard's, uh, staked a claim on making sure vampires behave. Is it just policing vamps, 'xenians' in general, or are there things other than citizens to worry about?"

Edited 2011-05-13 04:51 (UTC)

"Elections are run every six months, they're quite used to people working at a quick pace- you know," she interrupts herself, smooth, with only an undercurrent of asperity, "I'm going to have a scabbard made for that. Housewarming gift."

For the love of God, man. She is English, after all. That remarked upon - and with her sudden side-eye of his equipment smoothed over - she moves on: "Fortunately, the integrated generations are a very fast-faced people. It's helped their infrastructure enormously, and is only prudent."

She gives a little smile at that, amused but not particularly warm. Perhaps she's also implying that people are wont to avoid confrontation with Alucard - or herself. Who knows.

"There's a whole host of things about the place," she tells him. "A constant influx of material from other worlds means something is always haunted, someone is always mucking around with something cursed, and there's always things too terrifying for the Militia lurking under a bridge somewhere." As she speaks, she opens a drawer in her desk and pulls out a couple overflowing, much abused manila folders and sets them down with an unavoidable 'thud'. "These are our open Tactical cases. High priority or high risk to civilian life only." Implying there are more ranked low priority? Yes. "There's plenty to worry about, as you can see. The Militia doesn't like having their work interfered with, but they also don't like their agents being eaten alive, and thus we are tolerated grudgingly on grounds that we're trained, they aren't, and I won't work for them."

Hellboy clears his throat uncomfortably. "I'd appreciate that. Thank you." Really, it was on his own to-do list, but if Integra's sensibilities outpaced his saving up for it, he wasn't going to complain. (Bestest. Boss. Ever.)

His discomfort with addressing the symbol of his rightful kingship fades as she describes the range of cases to be handled, replaced by an increasingly pleased smile that may possibly seem at odds with the size of the backlog. "All right, then. That sounds a lot more like how the BPRD back home worked than the Bete Noire method. Fine with me."

It's interesting; Integra can't recall if she's certain whether or not Princess Nuala told Hellboy about her being a Knight of the Round Table. The exact details of her rank are not things she discusses openly - she is a knight, she is English, and that seems to be good enough for most people. Perhaps she'll mention it - not now.

(Either way, it irks her to see Excalibur slung around like that.)

"It's still awfully cheerful," she laments... well, as much as Integra ever laments. "But it's much preferable not to have to deal with idiot politicians." Jack Benjamin, she is fairly certain, is still scared of her.

It never did quite come up, no. He knows she's a knight, but not of what order.

He chuckles. "Yeah. Back in the day, I had to do the occasional guest appearance, meet-and-greet, that sort of thing. The socializing was okay, but I could never get into the politics of it all." The trials of being both the top field agent and also the primary publicly-recognized proof of the supernatural. "I can deal with local cops, though. That won't be a problem."

Well that won't be an awkward conversation when it happens, or anything.

"I would prefer it if you had as minimal contact with the Militia as possible." She flips through the open cases as she speaks, pulling out ones that strike her as suited to Hellboy's particular skillset. Not that she has any vast experience with him personally, but she's got an eye for this sort of thing, after all. "Nothing to do with you, but they're all bureaucratic bastards. I have some scorned lower ex-government employees on our PR payroll for absolute emergencies. Sometimes," she leans on one elbow, cigarette between her fingers, passing him files with the other hand, "It's unavoidable. But it's a bloody headache, and a waste of time."

While it is probably not actually a surprise that a woman used to being part of a cabal shadow government with absolute power is annoyed about a democratic government she is not a part of, Integra isn't just being grudging.

No, not at all.

"Oh," he says, surprised and dismayed. "So they're fine with our helping them, but we can't expect any professional courtesy from them? That's crap." He takes a deep pull from his cigarette, putting all of his annoyance into the cloud of smoke he breathes back out. "Well, maybe they'll come around after seeing us work for a while."

He's aware of just how foolishly optimistic he's being by saying that, but he prefers to maintain at least a little hope.

"We'll see."

WELL, WHEN NUALA GETS HERE... But this log hasn't caught up yet, so oh well. Integra isn't used to not being in charge, but she's used to shoving petulant whiners out of the way so that she can work - it's effective enough. Dryly, "Mr. Benjamin is generally willing to work with me, though I feel he appreciates the minimal contact as well."

She stacks up some cases, puts away the rest, and then begins hauling out some more paperwork from another drawer. "We've got a channel on the cohort network," she says. "The city technicians are, as far as I'm aware, neutral and half-fueled by their gods, so I'm not entirely confident in its security, but it's necessary for communication. Anything besides general dispatch chatter is best handled in person or with non-electronic documents."

"Hm. Good to know." He nods, then looks up more sharply. "Hey, that reminds me. Just what is the deity situation around here? I'd heard there's a local pantheon, but not much more than that."

"I don't bother much with it," she admits. She is, after all, still Protestant - or so she insists outwardly, ignoring her private struggle between duty the ever-increasing leanings toward Hermetic mysticism in her life. "Supposedly they have great influence, though I've never seen any hard evidence. Conjecture and faith."

There was a time when she would be far more dismissive than that, but being in the midst of a so-called purification Crusade as it was happening... well. She's been a bit quieter about her church. All the same, she doesn't seem inclined to dwell on the subject of the rainbow toy polytheistic god set about town, and hands over yet more papers, some stapled together at the corners.

"This district is called Sobek Croix, and the town center is just west of here. There are a few landlords that offer free utilities to Hellsing employees. They like the business. I'm not sure how fond you are of the quiet atmosphere out here, I understand it's a bit out of the way, but it's worth the recommendation." The Inn is only hospitable for so long, anyway.

"Mm. Well, I'm not the worshiping type in general, but knowing how my life goes, I'll probably run into them eventually anyway." The sigh that goes with that is itself accompanied by a small puff of smoke. It's so hard being the shiny thing that everyone with a stake in the apocalypse chases after. He shrugs. "I'll look into it on my own time."

Hellboy takes the papers, files, and whatever else, holding all of them in his Right Hand while flipping through them with his left, the dwindling remains of the cigarette dangling in his lips.

"The neighborhood's pretty nice. Reminds me of a lot of places I've been over the years. Living close to the Guild Hall's not a bad idea, either." He finishes the last of the cigarette and looks back at Integra as he stubs it out in the ashtray. "Speaking of recommendations, you know a decent tailor around here?" He tugs at the lapel of his coat. "I've been lucky this one's lasted as long as it has; I should probably get a couple of replacements lined up, just in case."

Her only response to the gods is a noncommittal nod; she tries not to be rude about it but her level of caring about the local pantheon is less than it was for the imposters in Bete Noire, so... well it's not a lot of caring. She tangentially supports The House Ecumenal, but even then, she's come to prefer keeping that sort of thing to herself.

"There's just about anything one can dream up, here," she says, jotting down a few places on a sheet of note paper for him. "It's a lot of small businesses and craftspeople versus chains - nowhere to import from. It makes the economy strong, but requires a lot of work." She doesn't sound put off. Better than inflation!

Oh, he'll probably check them out too, eventually, but he's familiar enough with their end of things that they're lower priority.

"Sounds pretty good," he says as he glances over the list. "I'm fairly used to needing my stuff done custom, anyway. Thanks." Even big-and-tall store coats usually don't have sleeves large enough to accommodate the Right Hand of Doom. "Anyway, I think that about covers the basics. Was there anything else you wanted to go over?" He knows she's probably still busy, but also that they haven't ever talked much.

"I think it's easiest to just get right back to work. Fussing about it seems needless."

Maybe she'll start warming up to people, someday - you know, like a real person, instead of a robot build to manage an undead hunting agency. Not right now, though. She does indeed have a lot of work to do.

Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown, as the saying goes. Hellboy has largely avoided dealing with that himself thus far, but he's aware of the concept and how it undoubtedly applies to the level of commitment Integra has taken upon herself. Thus, he takes what might otherwise seem like a curt dismissal with a little smile and a nod.

"All right." He gets up with files and paperwork in hand and makes his way to the door, waiting until he's opened it to turn and say, "It's good to see you." And away he goes.

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i won't sympathize anymore

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