no change for the meter

[hehaseatenthepancake]

Who: Hellboy and Integra
What: The boss delivers a present!
Where: Hellsing guild hall, recreational area
When: TuesdayMisdi, mid-afternoon
Notes: Preliminary to monster plot kickoff proper.
Warnings: Truly dreadful treatment, in Integra's opinion, of a national treasure.

Sometimes it's best, when confronted with a puzzle that one can't figure out, to put it aside for a time, to let the subconscious work on it.

Thus it is that Hellboy is lounging in one of the larger comfy chairs in the rec area of the guild hall, one leg draped over the armrest, his little hoof-toes wiggling about idly as they dangle in the air. In his hands, he's got a book borrowed from the Inn, its cover adorned with bright, pulp style art of an intrepid adventurer encountering a large glittering jewel while ominous shapes lurk in the shadows, entitled, Tom Swift and His Shining Trapezohedron. A nearby coffee table has a couple of large maps of parts of the city, heavily marked with dots here and there. As the maps had been received rolled up, their current inclination to curl back up has been curtailed by a towel-wrapped golden sword.

Hellboy reads the book leisurely, occasionally looking at the maps again to see if anything pops out at him. Technically, he's sort of working, but could be interrupted if something came up.

Comments

[suninhades]

It's fortunate that Integra is a so very skilled and educated swordswoman; she only had to observe Excalibur to absorb its exact measurements. (Perhaps it's just the same sword as it is in her world. ... Perhaps she's handled Excalibur in her world? Maybe she just does have a very good eye - who knows, she's got keen enough insight on plenty of other oddities.)

When she finds Hellboy in the recreation area, the look she gives the impromptu map table is something torn between cold incredulity and that deep, universally frightening echo of I'm not mad, I'm just disappointed. Because it's Integra, however, the expression is mild. Somewhat. Held horizontally, she carries a long, flat black box. It's fairly obvious what's inside.

"I'd like to borrow your attention for a moment," she says, and it is perhaps quite literally through the grace of God that she does not tack on something like If you aren't too busy.

[hehaseatenthepancake]

Technically, she had some of his attention already, as he'd noticed her approach, but now he takes a quick glance to check what page he was on, then puts the book aside and stands up.

"Sure." He gestures at the maps. "I checked out the bird thing. Walked around the city some, taking note of where they gathered, and... eventually it seemed like they were watching me as much as I was watching them. I already knew what you'd meant, about crows being smart, but this is something else." He pauses for a moment, then shakes his head and adds, "I'll probably take another walk around later on, see if I can't get a better idea of what's bugging me."

He didn't miss the box in her hands, or fail to guess the contents, but he'd wanted to make sure she knew he wasn't just slacking off. With that out of the way, he more obviously looks at the box with a grin and asks, "So, is this it?"

[suninhades]

"It's almost always 'something else', here. It might be paranoid to say, but it's worth noting that the precogs in the city have been reporting visions of something coming up from the earth." Integra was skeptical, as she often is of things that come from her less than upstanding contacts, but with Lyla chiming in - well. Time to look at it a bit more seriously.

More immediately, however: "Yes." She holds it out to him, even on her hands. Inside the box is a scabbard that's an alarmingly good fit for Excalibur, made of poplar and leather and steel bindings. The craftsman ship is more impressive than the decor - she requested no particular embellishment; in her opinion, Arthur's sword does not need bells and whistles to be noteworthy.

[hehaseatenthepancake]

"Oh, boy," he grumbles. "Psychics. That's all we need." He's not really skeptical of their ability, per se -- indeed, he's known plenty of legitimate psychics back home -- so much as how really useful anything they pick up on is. Glancing back down at the maps, he admits, "That said, it wouldn't really surprise me if this is just the opening weirdness with more trouble to come."

Hellboy accepts the box with perhaps a mild excess of care, but once he has the weight of it, his movements are sure as he cradles it in his Right Hand so he can open it with his left. Both halves are discarded on the chair once the scabbard and baldric are extracted, and he spends a few moments looking at them more closely, appreciating that same craftsmanship.

"Very nice." Not that he expected anything less of her, but that's no reason not to voice the compliment anyway. He pulls Excalibur out of its former makeshift transport -- fortunately for his work in progress, the weight of the towels and rope alone is enough to keep the maps down -- and is unsurprised but nevertheless pleased when it slides home just right. He holds sword and scabbard up, across his palms as a display of the finished combination. "Thank you, Sir Integra."

[suninhades]

"I try not to give the much credence, but I have access to a reliable one." Whose name she won't reveal; if Lyla feels like discussing her abilities, that's her business, but Integra isn't keeping her on staff for her visions, and further more isn't about to go airing her business.

It's surreal, watching this; too many themes and factors in one place (in one person), and it calls up in her a mix of emotions she can't name - nor understand, really. It makes her wish violently for home, and like she does every time that happens, she merely sets all her emotions aside and chooses not to feel, for that moment.

"Of course. I would not stand for any sword being used improperly, anyway, though I suppose it's a bit more noteworthy when one is so named."

[hehaseatenthepancake]

Hellboy shrugs and lets the matter of psychics pass. In his experience, even the good, reliable ones were a pain in the ass, but it was her pain in the ass, not his.

"Yeah." His expression starts out with the shifty-eyed embarrassment that Integra may be used to by now regarding Excalibur, but after a moment he seems to gain some determination to talk about it at least a little. "While I've used swords every so often over the years, enough to know my way around them, this is the first one I've ever had to carry around, and how I ended up with it..." He chuckles. "I'd say it was weird, but we say that about everything these days, don't we."

[suninhades]

At least he has the good sense to be slightly embarrassed about it; certainly Integra doesn't seek out to shame anyone, but it would be another ball game entirely if he didn't give a damn.

There's a strange moment where, utterly pointlessly, she nearly says aloud 'My father's name was Arthur', because her father was named after King Arthur; her grandfather thought he was very clever, naming one son Arthur and the other Richard, like it might help at all and make them less psychotic than Abraham. She's pleased, in that quiet panic sort of way, that it never makes it into a voiced remark. Someday she'll point it out - that she's a knight of the Round Table, that she's the only one of modernity that wields swords and fights for her country from anywhere besides behind a desk, that she often feels she's holding up the standards of an entire order of legend by willpower alone, that sometimes she hates Arthur because he never rose again when England needed him the most.

"This may qualify, even in context," she admits, with no pause or hint at what strange things simmer in her mind. "I hope that it serves you well."

[hehaseatenthepancake]

It wasn't the handling that embarrassed him so much as the fact that he has it at all. He'd be just embarrassed to talk about the time he had Mjolnir. (Of course, the comedic humiliation factor of Mjolnir being welded into the Right Hand wouldn't help matters much.)

"True," he agrees. "Even without the multiversal kidnapping angle, getting walked to the stone by Morgan Le Fay probably counts as an extra level of weird."

It takes him a moment, once he's put it on, to adjust the baldric a little so that the sword rests fully comfortably on his back. He holds his hands out at the sides, his mood picking up a bit as he presents himself. "So, how do I look?" he asks with a grin.

[suninhades]

"It always bothered me how the French turned her into a villainess," she says, mild, though inside she's annoyed that she voiced that thought. The French have done an awful lot to that story, really, most of which she finds particularly objectionable. (Get your own heroes, you jealous bastards.)

And it does fit, fortunately. She's pleased her eye for this sort of thing hasn't gone completely useless. (Walter might be - no, stopping that train of thought before it starts.)

"Proper." She sounds decisive. It is by no means a bad assessment.

[hehaseatenthepancake]

"I wouldn't know about that," he demurs. "It's long enough since I read the stories that I don't remember who made what changes. I do know that she bargained with a demon for power, then welshed on the deal, and her primary concern was that she finally have a descendant on the throne." He shrugs. "Not that I'm necessarily ever going to get there, but it's the thought that counts, I guess."

He recognizes her assessment for the understated semi-compliment that it is, and gives a little bow in gratitude, Right Hand flat on his chest over his heart. "I suppose I can get rid of this now," he says, picking up the mass of towels and clothesline and slinging it over his shoulder. The maps curl themselves back up, and with just the slightest chagrin at not anticipating that, he slides the paper cylinders one into the other until he has but a single parcel to carry. With that bit of tidying done, he looks over at Integra, to see if she has any further comment.

[suninhades]

Well, she's just going to set that aside. The notion that there are differences to the truth of things in their worlds is not a shocking one, and this subject makes Integra moody enough as it is without picking through the bloody details. (Sir Islands, she reminds herself, somewhat disjointed in her thought process; Sir Islands is still someone worth respecting. Probably dead, now, but all the same.)

"See that you wear it well." Not a threat, but said with a confident air. She thinks that he will. Integra takes her leave, then, not rudely but not begging anyone's pardon, either, and she returns to work that's far less whimsical.

[hehaseatenthepancake]

"Yes, sir." The chuckle that underlies the acknowledgement speaks to his being entertained that she made it an order, though he'll certainly do his best to carry it out. He finishes picking up the rest of his stuff and goes to get ready for that follow-up walk he'd mentioned.