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

[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.