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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The hall isn't terribly difficult to find. It's not like the thing is hiding, after all. And he'd had a good map provided to him when he arrived, and he knows how to make discreet--well, no, okay, he knows how to ask around.

Discreet inquiries are another thing that are no longer a part of his life with his brother gone. Dean hadn't realized just how much Sam did until Sam just wasn't there.

He finds the place and he's about to set off for the main gate when he realizes someone's ahead of him on the drive. He can't see her face but he can guess at her expression based on the way she's marching.

"Sir!"

He doesn't care what's going on, it can spare a goddamn minute for him. He speeds up, intending to catch her whether she stops to wait or not.

People yelling at Integra on the street is not, sadly, a totally unheard of experience in this city, but that particular tone of urgency is ... different. She turns, automatically defensive but unafraid, ready to address whatever this is and move on, when she catches sight of who's called to her, and—

"Dean?" Eyes wide, she does a bit of a mental stumble and corrects herself: "Mr. Winchester!"

It has to be the one she knows, doesn't it? Or else he wouldn't recognize her. She's shocked still for another heartbeat, and then has the very distinct thought of Oh, THIS is why Alucard is abusing the cohort network.

That moment after she turns seems to take forever to pass. It's her. It has to be her, right? Alucard said she was here. Dean has a flash of worry--what if it's not the same her, what if she doesn't know him? God knows in the last place he got pulled without his permission, the city was crawling with multiples of his family, himself too. Timelines, universes, whatever the hell it was, it meant some of them didn't know they people they should have.

But when she calls out his name he lets out the breath he hadn't even realized he was holding, and his strides grow more swift, closing the distance between them.

"Integra."

And before either of them have much of a chance to think, let alone say anything else, he takes her by the shoulders and pulls her into a hug. He just... holds on for a few long moments, relieved. Propriety and the very good chance of getting his ass kicked be damned right now, he was glad to see her and making no secret of it.

A less dignified woman might have made a noise akin to 'Oof', but Integra says nothing, at first stunned by the sudden movement, but not alarmed or angry. Hugs are not a currency Integra often trades in. After a moment, she raises her arms to embrace him in return, not clinging or even very affectionate, but supportive and steady. It's not terribly feminine at all, but then, not much about how she's been raised to move tends to be.

The idea that she'd ever see Dean - or any of them - was one she'd long since set aside. It occurred to her, of course, in those first weeks, but there'd only been Jack Benjamin, and then no one. Not even Seras. Marks on the walls of the roots of the city spoke of people who came and went, came and went, and she let it go.

It's a strange feeling, now. Integra has never had friends before. And she's only ever missed the dead.

"Did you-" not a stutter, just a pause. That's all. "Did you just get here?"

"Yeah." There's a pause and then Dean pulls back, letting his hands linger on her shoulders a few moments more. He clears his throat and his bearing goes a bit more professional and serious as his hands drop--but not entirely. There's a relaxed slump to his posture, the way a man holds himself when a burden's been lifted and he's still not used to the idea. And his smile isn't its usual self, less sharp cocky curve and more uncertain, more genuine.

"Yeah, I just got here. I was in Bete Noire for... I dunno, at least a month after you and Alucard left, Sir. I talked to him, by the way--he told me to find the guild hall."

He stands up a little straighter, pulling himself back together. "What do you need me to do?"

Integra drops her arms when Dean leans back, not awkward, but not one for lingering affection, either. She searches his face, looking at him for changes - a month in the so-called city of sin puts more mileage on a person than just anywhere, she knows - and notes with something akin to remorse that he doesn't speak of his brother.

The mention of Alucard, however, pulls her from her mildly stunned reverie. "Did he-" Integra hauls open the door to the Guild Hall lobby, looking slightly peeved once again. "Tell me how you are, of course, and possibly kick down a door."

There's a young woman behind a desk in the lobby who jumps up to attention when she sees Integra, eyes going to Dean slightly after, searching, but she's never given time to inquire, as the knight storms through to a hallway and stairwell. "We've been here for almost two months. I've not seen anyone from Bete Noire aside from Mr. Benjamin, though we don't speak much." Just politics, really, and while Integra doesn't find Jack offensive, she knows he doesn't like her very much, and thus doesn't bother. "The guild isn't quite so well funded, but our operation is larger, and we've got more freedom." Illustrated quite handily by the sheer size and scope of the hall itself, medieval with modern, magical, and scientific furnishings inside, and from the look of it, fully staffed.

"Sure did."

Dean tells himself he's just fine, just as strong and composed and tough as ever. And he's putting on a good show of it, too. But to someone who knows him well and knows what to look for, it's evident he's tired. Frayed around the edges. He's always been this way; that's how it goes for hunters. But this goes deeper. Too many losses, too much throwing himself into work to soothe himself.

But finding his friends and colleagues, finding Hellsing all over again, it helps. It's already helping; even he can feel that as he follows Integra inside. "Point me at a door you want kicked in and it's down, Sir," he says, giving the girl who hopped up from her seat a quick nod and an even quicker once-over--look, beaten down or not, Dean Winchester is still Dean Winchester.

Through the hallway and they start up the stairs, Dean falling into stride with Integra as they climb. "Sometimes, not having money is a good thing," he notes, thinking of the way his family lived on the road. "Makes you more resourceful. I'm glad there's more freedom here, and a bigger operation. I'm gonna guess there's plenty to keep you busy even now that Hellsing's gone economy-sized?"

That'd be a good thing. Being busy means more people helped and saved. And from a selfish point of view, more to keep him occupied and focused. More to keep him from dwelling on the fact that the group is reforming around him minus the person who got him into this in the first place. Sam would be pleased he's still here, Dean thinks.

Integra is as she always is, a monolith of seriousness and no-nonsense with a lurking violent streak and the occasional moment of dark humor. She seems the same, with no cracks in her mask. (Someday, life will wear her down. Nobody can live at this pace, dragged in between dimensions, and deal with all that suppression. But for today, she's just fine - if pissed off at Alucard, presently. Not unusual, that.) It's Dean that she notices, the way he's just slightly out of focus. It's forgivable for a hundred reasons, among them this being his first bloody hour in this place, and the apparent lack of his brother.

"Quite." English understatement. Gets the job done, at least. "The economy is functional, however, as is the government, however flawed. It can be difficult to get your feet under you, here, even with the help they give us so-called 'strangers'." She's quiet for a moment as they walk; her office is deep in the warded core of the building. "You of course have a place to stay, already."

"Thank you, Sir."

And still, another tiny suggestion that all is not as Dean would like everyone to believe about him--not what he believes himself. The words come out as they should, the cadence as professional and assured as his damn-near-a-swagger stride, but the tone is a bit more honest, genuine, than Dean would normally permit on the job. Usually he manages to hide how emotional a man he truly is. Right now, it's failing him a bit.

But he'll be fine, just fine. Better already knowing that at least on this screw-you-you-got-sent-to-some-crazy-other-universe trip, he's got friends. Work. Even a roof over his head. None of these things is his brother but he can manage that loss better now that he doesn't have quite so many losses as he had yesterday.

"From what I saw getting here, I'm gonna guess there's not a fleet of cars for me to take care of. I'll do whatever else you need around here."

"Cars are quite rare. You don't happen to know how to ride a horse, do you?"

A little flippant - she rides, of course, and has since childhood. Her one allotted hobby, permissive only due to career relevance. Suddenly, Integra comes to a stop, watching Dean with a slight frown on her face. To one side, through arched windows, there's a courtyard; the fountain in the center is old, moss-covered and cracked.

"I can ask you if you're all right."

Her heart's in it, but her heart doesn't ever get to make decisions. That nagging feeling - her senses dealing with this sort of thing already out of touch, strained and forced having to cope with Seras; she wants to be supportive of Dean. But her delicate emotional handling is a bit like a sledgehammer. It's not the nicest gesture to go shoving that on someone without warning, so - well. Perhaps it's the thought that counts.

"A horse? No, but I can learn."

For once, Dean is not being flippant. While he may be from Kansas, he's no farm boy, so there weren't horses around. But he is a fan of old Westerns. He's seen everything Clint Eastwood ever did and he can recite a good portion of those films from memory. Horse-riding seems like an awesome thing to learn.

His approving reverie is broken by her question; it catches him enough off-guard that he doesn't have time to come up with a suitable amount of cover.

"I've been better," he admits. "I lost a lot back there, in Bete Noire. Being here--" he means this building, this organization-- "that'll help a lot. I do better when I've got work to do. Never was much of one for laying around and dwelling on stuff. But I'll be fine. And you don't have to worry about me on the job."

The look she gives him is level - something almost compassionate, just hard-edged, like the rest of her. "I've never once considered worrying about you on the job."

It's the other things. His brother. His father. His human heart. Things she understands but can't articulate like a normal person - but perhaps they both understand that, pleasant childhoods considered. She has faith in him as a hunter because of it; work is life. There's no getting out - but then, for Integra, there's no wanting to either.

And then she nods, as if that moment sums it all up and makes it Fine.

Time to yank open the door to her office and scream at Alucard.

Some time later, having gotten directions from Alucard, Hellboy strolls up to the main gate. He doesn't look much changed from when last seen in Bete Noire, complete with his conspicuous golden sword slung over his shoulder in towels and clothesline. He finishes his cigarette and puts it out underfoot, then for lack of any better option -- not know if they'd gotten this place warded up already too, and not knowing if his badge is still good here -- knocks on the gate.

"Hellooooo! Anybody home?"

There is not an immediate response, but there is a timely one. After a moment - long enough for someone to get up from behind a desk and walk on over - one half of the large wooden door opens from the inside, and a young woman with dark skin and short-cropped hair peers out, looking up at Hellboy and having no apparent reaction to his inhuman visage. She has a black dress shirt on, a white tie, and a badge on her shoulder.

"Yes, we're open." She sounds French. Maybe. "Are you here for work, assistance, or to be threatening? If you're here to be threatening, please mind the wards, it'll bounce back at you. I can call Mister Alucard if you are." She also sounds very much like this might actually be routine.

Oh, so blasé. It's kind of adorable. Hellboy chuckles and fishes his badge from Hellsing Bete Noire out of his coat.

"Relax, kid. No threats here. Could you please let Sir Integra know that Hellboy is here?"

That, of all things, makes her eyes widen. Maybe she thinks he's gutted somebody for their badge - but no, apparently not, as she steps back and motions for him to come inside. "Of course." Halfway back to her desk, she stops and points across the foyer, remarking, "There's tea if you like it. I'm Danae. It's nice to meet you." And then she's off to call Integra, who is thankfully just upstairs in her office.

The waiting room-lobby-entry hall is nicely furnished, clean, and about as stylish as you can get trying to shove modern conveniences into a medieval structure. The touches here and there like the vase of lilies on the coffee table and newspapers and books left on one chair are probably something one of the office staff members contributed. It looks so nice that it's possible to forget just what this is a lobby for - until one notices the subjects of those books, anyway.

It doesn't take Integra long to arrive, sweeping into the room dressed almost casually without a jacket on. "Mr. Hellboy," she greets, and to her credit, the slight echo of awe truly is only over the fact that all these people are really showing up like this. "I'm so sorry you're here, and not at home. Are you well?"

Hellboy steps in and looks around, pleased with the look of the place. "Nice to meet you too, Danae. Thank you." While she's off getting Integra, he considers for a moment and decides that yes, especially after the walk to get here, he's in the mood for some tea, and fixes himself up a cup.

When Integra arrives, he puts the cup down on Danae's desk and opens his arms wide, not really expecting a hug but feeling expansive. "Sir Integra!" he says with a warm smile. As someone who presents himself as a blue-collar average joe, he isn't generally especially formal, but her title suits her so totally that he doesn't even think of not using it. "All things considered, I think I'm doing okay. Never got a chance to fully settle in Bete Noire, so coming here isn't so big a deal. How about you? Even with a head start, you must've been pretty busy."

Sorry, no hugs - but it isn't personal; Integra isn't the hugging sort. Dean only got one by virtue of having swooped in and taken the initiative himself. She does extend one hand though, looking about as warm and friendly as she's capable of looking. It's genuine, too.

"I can only imagine the whiplash," she says, nearly a sigh. Though she and Hellboy hadn't had a chance to do more than speak in passing after his initial 'job interview', Integra knows that Nuala trusts him, and that's good enough for her. (It shouldn't be; she shouldn't trust that easily, but Integra is predisposed to finding it easier to trust the things that end up in her head unbidden. Psychics. What can you do.) "Yes, we're quite busy. The community mindset is quite bold, however. We're never short on hands inside, at least." Prime example: Danae. It's remarkably useful to be able to have people like that.

Integra motions for him to follow her down a hallway and up some stairs, heading to her private office. Hellboy might recognize it from Alucard's ever so enlightening broadcast. (Sigh.) "I'm told that it's been some time since there's been more than the odd-timed arrival," she tells him. "Alucard and I have been here for about two months; the only person I've seen who was also at Bete Noire has been Mr. Benjamin, and he's been here nearly a year. It's been quite interesting, all of you turning up."

He'll take the handshake gladly, not being as audacious as Dean.

Hellboy waves farewell at Danae as he follows Integra. He'd watched Alucard's broadcast on the walk over (and he did walk the entire way, wanting to get used to the streets as much as the transit system), entertained by the vampire's direct, engaging style and verve. (He also really hopes that Alucard does actually publish "Real Fucking Vampires: Hellsing and You.") The camera's view of the office suggested how nice it was, and he was pleased that the real thing delivered.

"Yeah, there's a whole bunch of us. Mostly new folks, but there're a few old hands. Dean, Lyla, Malfoy, some guy named Martel who I guess never got around to applying for a job." He starts to fish a cigarette out of his pack, but hesitates briefly from both noting his supply is limited and looking over to see if Integra is okay with someone lighting up in her office. Soldiering on, he gets down to business a little and asks, "So what's our jurisdiction now, anyway? Things back in Bete Noire were pretty wide open for us to play fast and loose, but like you said, they've got a different mindset here."

Integra pretends to be angry at Alucard for his behavior - she has to. If she let up, she believes she'd lose part of her humanity, and that a facade is better than nothing. It's a failing, in her eyes, that she'd rather encourage his bloodlust. (She knows he only does it because she's let him. She's never been her father.)

Perfectly fine with skipping over any other preamble and getting right to talking shop - there's an ash tray on her desk, by the way, if he needs A Sign - Integra motions for him to sit down as she takes her own seat. (Beings of all sorts in and out of the Hall mean chairs that accommodate most frames.)

"Technically, we're unregulated."

That just hangs in the air for a little while as Integra pulls out one of her own black-papered cigarettes. Somehow, she manages not to sound incredulous. (...Or thrilled.) "The regulations for guilds pertain to membership statistics and zoning laws, and everything is filed under volunteer services. The government administration is perfectly fine with someone doing a service without them paying for it, and so the Militia tends to leave us be."

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 been a few days since Sebastian and Velcro arrived in Baedal and while he has only explored a small portion of the city, he's able to easily navigate the train system and arrive at the Hellsing Guild Hall. From the exterior, he can already see the work that needs doing and the knowledge of steady employment cheers him as he enters and addresses the staff member nearest to the doorway, "Good afternoon, Sebastian LeMat here to see Sir Integra."

With a nod, she told him where he could wait and that when she was ready, he'd be let in. Aware that Hellsing's schedule was usually busy in Bete Noire, he'd wisely called ahead to set up a time to come and speak with Integra.

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.

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