multiversallogs | drifting away, i'm one with the sunsets

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drifting away, i'm one with the sunsets

Who: Integra Hellsing with Jack Harkness, Ianto Jones, and Mabel Albans respectively.
What: Job interviews!
Where: Hellsing Guild Hall.
When: This afternoon and the next morning.
Notes: Different threads! Go nuts. Also YES MABEL GOT ADDED IN HERE because stuff would have happened about on the same day and... we're lazy about making new log posts.
Warnings: Does Jack need a warning label?

Perhaps it's for the best that they won't be coming together - the questions Integra has for Jack are strikingly different than for Ianto, after a point. I's strange to think that she'll have no history with Ianto, but they were never particularly close; perhaps it's only strange that Owen isn't alongside him. But that's not something she has time to reflect upon in anything besides a strategic manner - she writes out her notes for what she needs to ask, then puts away the paper, committing everything to memory easily with the exercise.

... And then it's all paperwork and managing bumping cases as she waits. By the time Jack is scheduled to arrive, she's actually in the process of walking back up from the basement, but the attendant in the lobby will be able to ping her easily enough regardless.

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"You said you're a paranormal investigator, so I'd like to ascertain what your work history entails." She gestures for Mabel to walk with her back to her office. "I've come to discover that means a wide variety of things, depending on the world. Are you talking hauntings and curses, or extreme combat?"

Once they're in her office, she waits for Mabel to sit down before doing so herself, continuing easily, "We have positions for all that and in between; it's important to determine where everyone's pages lie, however."

Mabel just manages to stop herself from chewing on her nail. This wasn't an interrogation, this organization wasn't anything close to being the police. She could, if she wanted, walk out any time. But that would be stupid, because from what little she could gather, this place was going to be downright awesome.

"I've been in the business officially for about six years, but I've been sort of doing it all my life. My usual cases are hauntings, I, uh - " Her hands twist together. Hellboy said this was okay to be honest about, and if someone like Hellboy said it, it had to be true. "I see dead things. I've never been capable of directly understanding them, but they seem to... understand me? I've had a pretty high success rate with calming them down when they're freaking out a home owner. I've dealt with a lot of other things, but they're hard to... categorize. Usually on the smaller side, things that fall into cryptozoological categories, or things that are something else. I saw a water dragon dance through the rainclouds once, when I was little."

She frowns as she meets Integra's gaze, trying to be thorough. "I'm not experienced when it comes to some of more traditional supernatural creatures, like vampires or werewolves. I'm usually capable of telling when someone isn't human, but it's not so easy to tell you way. I can do some basic warding, like keeping things out and in, but that's limited to the dead or the between. My usual method is to see if I can reason with something or understand it's purpose, but I'll kick in some heads if I need to do that. I'm more of the person you call when that coyote with three heads ate your cat."

That's happened. More than once.

Integra nods, listening. More of a medium than a hunter, then. Not that this line of work in any capacity was ever violence-free. She picks through some papers in a file folder - information on Research and Exorcisms, particularly - and raises one eyebrow at the coyote bit. So many Americans.

"We deal with people who are experiencing hauntings, cursed objects, being followed by shadow-folk; odds and ends that the Militia - the police - can't handle but that doesn't warrant an army being sent in." She hands Mabel the papers. "It's actually the most difficult field to hire people for, as it requires something in between an adept's nature and formal training." She imagines Mabel finds herself exasperated often enough with people who can't see like she does.

Mabel excepts the paperwork and scans them. "I've never had any formal training," she admits. "It's not widely believed in where I come from and the methodology varies quite a lot. I'm very unique, as far as I can tell, in exactly how my abilities work, but uh..."

A small smile flickers across her face. She could do this. "Hopefully I can find a way to be an asset regardless?"

"I think that the fact that you have any methodology at all is promising," she says. "I'm put in a position of having to take people at their word, due to circumstances - I suppose I could put you through a trial period but I feel like that would just be a waste of time for the both of us. I'd rather just assume you are not so insane as to appear in this place and go lying about a line of work that will certainly result in your immediate death the day after. Perhaps partner you with a senior agent for a while so that you can see how we operate and assess the sorts of things we deal with. Does that sound reasonable to you?"

There is something about the phrase 'immediate death' that just makes her smile. She can't say she's more or less used to immediate death, but it's not something that bothers her all that much. Dead ain't so bad, if you see it all the time.

"That sounds perfectly reasonable."

Always a promising reaction! (...) It's not that Integra is trying to scare her with talk of dying - obviously this is a woman who doesn't scare, having come here and being in this line of work - but certain things are casually topical when you fight the forces of darkness for a living and, well, sudden death is one of those things.

"Excellent." Integra starts pulling out yet more paperwork - she passes the first sheet and a pen to Mabel, and then sorts more as she speaks. "I'll need you to fill that out for the preliminary weeks, and then, pending how settled anyone gets, we can sort out something more official. I understand the Inn does a certain amount of credit for new arrivals, but once that's up, if you're still working here, the village nearby has several flat complexes and and cottages that offer particular rental agreements for Hellsing employees. They like the business."

Sobek Croix isn't a happening district, but it's convenient, and while there's not a super market there's a farmer's one, and a general store, some bars (one of which is even a dive!) and so on and so forth. As the guild hall is somewhat in the middle of nowhere, most employees were local residents to begin with, having made them a quickly integrated part of the community.

A job that suited her, a place to live, and being able to work with people who wouldn't think she was crazy off the bat. It was hard to keep from grinning; she has to remind herself that horrible death was a possible side effect of the whole deal. Grinning might not be seen as all that appropriate.

"That's - that's great, thank you, ma - uh, Sir."

Hellsing is a very special place.

Integra permits a slight smile; understanding. Even in countries that are used to knightly honorifics, it's enormously rare for a woman to carry one. But she's earned it, so she's not going to tell anyone to drop it. "I hope so." And she's optimistic, too. It's endlessly frustrating and angering to be trapped like this, but having work is a good way to cope.

"This is very sudden, I know," she says. "If you'd like to get back, I understand, otherwise I can show you the grounds."

"I don't have a whole lot to do on my own yet," she admits. She's wondered a little, seeking those shadows, but she wasn't about to take too many risks yet. "If it's not too much trouble, I would love to see more."

Integra gets a lot more respect than she's used to giving - there was something about the woman's aura that demanded it, and Mabel wasn't about to blow this job before she started. She could get used to the Sir thing, there was nothing too unreasonable about this - yet.

Integra nods; of course. It's not exactly a hardship for her to do something besides paperwork and running about for a few minutes, anyway. She rises, and pulls something out of her desk - a small silver pin, just quarter-sized, shaped like a shield. She steps around to Mabel and reaches out to attach it to her sleeve. "I have to put this on you myself," she says, explaining the sudden breach of personal space, "Or it won't work. Counter-measure. It's a pass to let you through the wards deeper in the facility. Princess Nuala can make you a personal one, soon."

This way, no one can break into Integra's office and just steal a pass. It's a simple bit of magic, but a very effective detail, in the end.

Mabel doesn't comment for a moment, examining the pin carefully. She's briefly disappointed that it doesn't feel special or different to her. In a world where the supernatural aspects were openly talked about and magic was dizzily possible, there were still going to be parts of it that would remain frustratingly vague to her.

Wait a minute. Princess?

"Uh, yeah... a tour would be a good start." She wasn't going to get anywhere if she let this overwhelm her all at once.

Somewhere, there is a duty roster, and Mabel will be able to familiarize herself with the various other agents and bosses of the organization; listing off 'demons and vampires and elves, oh my!' seems a bit overkill, at present.

Off they go, then, down medieval hallways and through heavy doors that look (and sound) imposing, leading into long stone corridors. "We have a courtyard," Integra says, pointing without looking to one side through large windows, "Though I'm afraid it's not very well-kept. Some people quite like it, apparently it's very nice in the daytime." ... Which she is not out during much? Seems that way. "Out past it are fields we do training in, and then stables, if you ever end up transporting yourself that way."

Mabel follows, not saying much. Her eyes are instinctively darting toward the corners, the dark spots, the places where reality tended to blur. A place like this could either be a huge hotspot of activity, or devoid of it - though likely it would be a mixture of the two.

Order would drive off the type she was drawn to; as for what it would attract, she could only guess. "I'm assuming there's a lot of different - what's a good word - specialty levels depending on what the case is? I mostly deal with ghosts, but could you tell me what other kinds of cases that get handled?"

The wards (and certain residents) prevent anything untoward appearing inside Hellsing's walls - if Mabel ever sees a shadow blink, however, well. That's just Alucard.

"'Monsters' could be the catch-all term," she says. "Vampires, werewolves, demons, ancient creatures, magic-engineered beings, unseelie fairies, and so on. If it's not of a mortal nature and it's too bothersome or too expert for the Militia to see to, then we handle it. We have an all-terminate policy for offenders who refuse to back down on the first request - while some beings may be acting out of fear or the notion that they have no other options, we do not sit about wringing our hands and allowing more civilian casualties to pile up."

Mabel frowns at this - it wasn't like the policy didn't make sense, the survival rate against a lot of those beings would be low otherwise.

"How successful are you at that? I mean - well, in my experience, there are some things that either don't understand, don't care to understand, or just seem to exist. Especially the ancient creature part - uh, I'm not trying to sound condescending." Try not to blow this on lack of tact, Albans.

"But knowing just what takes them down is trickier, in my experience. You probably got a lot more to work from, though."

"We are extremely successful, Ms. Albans." It's not a silly question - it's a reasonable one that more people aught to think of, and of course, the only woman she's interviewed for a proper position in ages is the only person to ask it. "You needn't take anything on blind faith, of course, but since my great-grandfather founded Hellsing, there has been nothing we have not been able to stop. And we have no jail for monsters, in England."

She will stop Millennium. She has no doubt.

Mabel would comment on the concept of giving monsters less mercy than the people they weren't often worse than, but she's not that stupid.

"If you have... records? Resource materials? I would be really glad to have some time to look them over. It's better to know what to expect, even if it's out of my league."

In her experience, a 'haunting' could always be much, much worse than a simple ghost.

She makes a note of directions - down the stairs at the east end, into the section of the basement that doesn't require higher clearance to get into. (Contamination is a serious issue.) "What records we have from our time here are kept there. You could also solicit stories from the already agents working."

Integra suspects most of them are friendly enough, but isn't an expert on social standards, so she gives no input on it. "I grew up fighting super-human beings that were threats to the nation's security," she admits, after a moment, and pushes open the door to the recreation area - televisions with video game systems, books, oversized chairs, a pool table, one sectional sofa and a large coffee table covered in papers, what looks like a Satanic bible, and a faintly glowing rock. "I may be jaded. Through the far door is the kitchen."

"Well-stocked," she manages. This was looking less like a working environment and more like a - well, a mixture between a college and every paranormal investigator's dream. If she was intimidated at the beginning of this meeting, she's well on her way to becoming overwhelmed now.

The look Integra gives the set-up is one not unlike a resigned parent watching a lopsided fish at an aquarium. Frankly, she doesn't understand nor see the appeal in most things her subordinates use to decompress or entertain themselves with, and it's apparent from how she doesn't bother pointing anything out that these additions were not made by her own hand. (She's fine with it, though. Warriors are permitted their comforts and vices, in her opinion.)

"I suppose." Seriously, she has no idea. Can you imagine this woman playing Halo? Integra leads her through to the kitchen, which is at least clean, though there's an assortment of things stuck to the fridge - notices about weapons, a death threat over chicken salad, a report. Or two. "I realize our wages are only just adequate," she continues. "It's why I've worked to get deals in town for my employees. You're free to eat here, whenever, and abuse of our electric bill. I'd like to be funded better, but with the Militia the way it is, politics are somewhat of a headache."

"I don't... need all that much..." Mabel picks at the death threat note. She'd spent weeks at a time living out of her car, living on canned tuna, bottles of green tea, and chips. A steady paycheck, a place to stay, and free food went way beyond where she thought she could get, ever.

She shakes her head, trying to concentrate. "I'm running out of things to ask about, to be frank with you."

"This work is horrific," she says flatly, while giving Mabel a direct look. "It is violent and brutal and disturbing, and this city is wall-to-wall with dark creatures, incompetent police, and civilians in need of help. The absolute least I can do for the people mad enough to work for me is make sure you're all fed and in one piece when you come off shift."

Integra would prefer to do much more than the absolute least - and perhaps she is, despite her jaded life, having more money than God on tap courtesy of the crown. But this work, this mission - is her existence. It is her everything. She will always take care of her people, and fight for them. Mabel is included in that, now.

Edited 2011-05-31 06:17 (UTC)

It takes a few moments of hesitation to reach this decision, but Mabel ultimately unzips her jacket and slips it off of her arms. Many of the scars are old - faded crisscrossing strips with no particular pattern. A few of them are fresher; there's a scab running across an elbow, an angry bruise in the shape of a hand-print on her left forearm.

"I'm not a badass. I don't go seeking things out 'cause I like beating them up, or getting my ass kicked over it; nothing like that. I live outta my car most of the time, I don't eat a whole lotta food that's not from a gas station, and I've never made all that much money. I've never gotten much respect, even after doing a decent job. Sometimes they take one look at my face, and won't let me do the job at all, even when they need my help."

She shrugs the jacket back on. "I've seen violent, I've seen brutal, I've seen dark and disturbing. I won't lie, it sucks a lotta times. But this is something I feel like I outta do, because I can help people in ways a lot of them can't get any other way. The dead need help too. I've never been in a position where I've had so many resources to work from, but that's not why I want to work her. I want to help people in the ways that I can."

Integra is quiet during this - she owes it to Mabel, who has fought and served in this unseen war. She is, immediately, reminded of Dean and his brother, and the tooth-and-claw lifestyle these Americans all seem to lead in this line of work. So much about her is foreign, from the way she describes people reacting to her to the thought that there should be no order and backing for a necessary service to humanity. It makes her furious, these differences, but it also humbles her.

"I shall endeavor to have my organization worthy of your loyalty, Ms. Albans." There is nothing mocking or sarcastic about how she says it - Integra is serious, entirely. (She doesn't understand doing this to help people. She only understands blood and fire and duty. Perhaps... perhaps these people will remind her what it's worth to be human.)

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