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Who: Princess Nuala and Dean Winchester
What: Look, you just don't leave a Princess chilling in the arrival room.
Where: The Valhalla Inn to start, then journeying to Hellsing's guild hall.
When: Right after Nuala's arrival post.
Notes: This log's special guest star: Baskerville.
Warnings:...contains Dean Winchester.

By the time they reach the Valhalla Inn, Dean is mostly over his oh-God-it's-a-hellhound-oh-my-god-augh kneejerk reactions. You really can't blame the guy; he sold his soul and dogs like these are supposed to come ferry him across the border one of these days.

With their teeth.

One even came after him in Bete Noire. And his contract, if you count the passage of time in a linear fashion from when he got shanghaied out of Colorado, has been up for a few months. So indulge him his discomfort.

Though that's fading--if Baskerville was going to eat him he'd have done it by now. And he has to admit seeing the crowd thin in their path as they got off the el train was kind of funny. Also the Princess was downright delighted to hear the dog was coming; he can't deny her that, especially not for some dumb reason like the dog scares the crap out of me, ma'am.

"Arrival room's through there, man," he says as they cross the hotel's entry.

...Fine, okay, Baskerville probably already knows that or he can smell the Princess or whatever. And shut up about talking to the dog, he's used to having some giant being at his side when he's on the job, it was a natural reaction to talk to him.

"This way." And there they are at the arrival room, only this time, Dean's on the other side of the doors. He straightens up to his full height and pulls open the doors. "Your Highness?"

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Two things are immediately obvious as Nuala steps into the open doorframe. Firstly, that her delight at Baskerville's inclusion is both thoroughly genuine and entirely mutual - as the hound bumps his head into her knees and shoves his way under her free hand for affectionate pettings and some cooing in a fae language that Dean doubtless doesn't actually speak - and secondly that it wasn't a gauntlet that had been on the table behind her.

The style of its creation is similar - it looks a little like one, hand, wrist, part forearm, but it's more solid, more like some enchanted prosthetic...which is, of course, precisely what it is. It's heavy, and Nuala's holding it awkwardly in one arm as she scratches Baskerville behind the ears, but it's unlikely she's going to give the thing up to anyone in the near future.

"Mr Winchester," she says, with a smile that's a little thinner than is her usual wont but nevertheless genuinely meant. "Thank you for coming."

"It's my pleasure."

Even if the dog kind of freaks him out, this is a cute scene. He doesn't recognize what she's saying to the dog. He does recognize that she's cradling what looks like someone's hand, fashioned out of metal. It looks heavy. He feels like he should carry it for her but the way she's holding it close, it doesn't look like she's inclined to agree.

"I'm afraid we gotta take the train, Your Highness." He offers an apologetic little smile. "I didn't get to keep my car this time and I don't know how to ride a horse or anything yet. The guild hall's pretty far from here. But I'll get you there.

"We shall have to see that you're taught," she says, easy - the train will do fine, and a bit of walking isn't going to hurt her on the way. Very firmly pressing Baskerville's nose away from her father's hand, Nuala steps properly out of the arrival room to let the hound fall in step with them, her CiD and the pamphlet both tucked away in some hidden pocket in the folds of her gown.

"Couldn't agree more." And yes, that was probably a hint of giddiness in that response--as giddy as a man like Dean ever gets, anyway. "This way, Princess."

Once again Dean has no idea what protocol is for escorting royalty. He decides to do what feels right for safety instead--maybe you're supposed to let a Princess precede you down stairs and out the inn's doors but Dean will be damned if he lets any lady walk out first into a situation where something bad could happen. So he's a couple of paces ahead, holding the door, eyes watchful as he takes in the street beyond.

"If you don't mind me asking--where were you before you wound up in that room?"

Aware of the likely motive, Nuala makes no objection to the way Dean chooses to go about this; between Baskerville at her side and Dean before her, she feels confident in her own safety and that is for now what's most important.

His question prompts a restless pause, but she says eventually, "My brother, in his infinite wisdom, decided that our time at Bete Noire was to come to an end. I was at his side."

It hadn't been her idea, or indeed anything that Nuada had seen fit to consult her on.

Dean raises his eyebrows, sparing a glance at the Princess. Forgive him if this is forward--Dean doesn't know how to be anything but--but he can't help asking.

"Did your brother come here too? I haven't seen him yet."

Nuala doesn't pause - this is something that's already come up and that she's been prepared to answer to more than just Dean since she arrived - but her jaw does tighten, momentarily. "No; I have come alone."

She sounds certain; of course she would be.

It's Dean's turn to pause. The expression on his face doesn't change; he's a good soldier, raised right, with a job to do right now. He can't afford to drop his eyes or let his attention falter.

But he's sympathetic. God, he can't help but be.

"So did I."

They pass two more blocks before he speaks again. "Turn here, Your Highness. The train station is at the end of this street."

Nuada is and probably always will be a complex subject, but Nuala isn't going to pretend as though she doesn't simply miss him; she has for centuries. It's just that these days she doesn't seem able to miss him any less when he's nearby - there is so much changed between them. (She wonders if she could have averted disaster if she'd only gone with him, instead - it eats at her even as she harbours the resentment of the abandoned.)

"Thank you," she says, briefly, as she follows him; for coming to fetch her, for asking after her brother, for the sincere sympathy that he offers to her now.

Dean would be sympathetic to all that, too, if he knew. He'd been through it himself. He loved his brother more than anything, more than his own life, even, to offer it up to Hell in return for Sam. But as much as he loved and needed Sam, there were times when he looked over at him in the passenger seat or across a diner table and wondered who the hell he was anymore.

He knew it was a mutual feeling at times; he recognized the look in his brother's eyes. Dean's time was running out but the gulf between them just seemed to grow wider and wider sometimes no matter what he did.

He casts aside those thoughts as they enter the station, ever watchful. As before, the crowd parts a bit at the sight of Baskerville--the creepy dog turns out to be useful, who knew?

Dean pauses to let them catch up those few paces he'd put ahead of them. "Hopefully there's not a long wait. I haven't... exactly figured out time or the time tables for the trains yet."