multiversallogs | (no subject)

Who: Allen Walker; OPEN
What: Getting lost.
Where: The Valhalla Inn, Mog Hill, outskirts of Bonetown.
When: ~~Thurs~~ Givdi afternoon.
Notes: Feel free to run into him at any of these locations♥
Warnings: Allen's crap sense of direction. Also, I am a slow tagger.

Ever since he was let out of the arrival room two days ago, it's unlikely anyone would have seen Allen around the city, or even at the Valhalla Inn. God knows what he's been up to, and he's not about to tell, but other boarders at the inn will see a new face joining them for breakfast this morning. He has traded his prisoner's garb for something more respectable ― a long-sleeved, high-collared shirt, dark gray vest over it, matching trousers, a tie knotted with practiced precision, and gloves. A little old-fashioned, perhaps, especially for one his apparent age, but well put together. Shame the same can't be said of his demeanour. His movements are laden with the stiff, creaking tension of the really bloody tired (but also really bloody obstinate), eyes bruised from lack of rest, the corners of his mouth frayed by stress lines. All of this is eclipsed by the way his entire face lights up when he's served. It just might explain why he eats so slowly in contrast, chewing well and pausing every few swallows, as though worried going too fast will make him throw up.

Once his plate's clean―almost spotlessly so―he heads straight for the inn's exit, pausing only to give the Burnworth pamphlets outside the main office an unreadable look. The rest of his morning is spent methodically exploring Mog Hill. By the time noon approaches, though, he's looking a lot less focused and a lot more baffled. It only gets worse with every corner turned, until he's left stranded somewhere in the outskirts of Bonetown, looking like he would really appreciate an adult. Instead of asking for directions, however, he turns to the sky, the gesture habitual enough to suggest he's looking for something that should be there, but isn't.

That's how he comes to notice the crows, and some mixed emotion makes his expression twinge ― that is, until one of the creatures take flight, revealing itself to be not quite... Right. And it's probably telling that the boy's first reaction is to frown and look around for other passersby, relaxing only when the street seems deserted of potential marks for the birds. Not that he has reason to suspect them, but he's not about to let his guard down after Balthier's talk of eelsharks. Shooting the creatures one last look, he turns, reluctantly, and starts backtracking. He thinks he's backtracking, at least. Who knows if he'll find his way back by nightfall. Probably not.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Well. Perhaps a little social gaffe, but she isn't a princess of this city and there's no helpful sign floating over her head, so a forgiveable one. "I am Princess Nuala," she says, "and my companion-" tone matters here; the difference between 'my companion...of no note' and 'my companion...who tops Dracula' is all a delicate matter of vocal exercise, "-Sir Integra Hellsing. You may be assured that the birds are a recent development."

And a dangerously worrying one- she's been keeping an eye on the newspapers, as well as the incidents they've heard about more directly at the guild.

Integra nods her greeting. "Mr. Walker."

A month ago, she might have found it refreshing to speak to a newcomer who seemed relatively aware and polite, but past weeks have made her increasingly uncharitable. (Bastards.) "They attacked one of my agents the other day," she remarks, still watching the area for signs of anything else. "Rather solidifies my agenda for this evening, then." Whatever else she had planned: now replaced with a strategic meeting on 'Weird Shit Developing Around Town, No I Don't Just Mean The Regular Sort', perhaps not in those words. (Only perhaps.)

"Are you lodging in the area?" Her tone easily telegraphs the weight of what is for some a far more ominously-worded inquiry (What are you doing out here by yourself, young man?), but her air is that of someone who is naturally authoritarian, versus patronizing.

That's... Quite a bit to take in, so here's hoping you ladies won't mind him responding, at least initially, with a plain and very understated, "Oh."

Still, this isn't Allen's first brush with foreign royalty, so it takes him only a heartbeat to recover, hitch on a mildly apologetic smile, and say, "It's an honour, Your Highness, and―"

Here's the tricky part. The distinction in Nuala's tone of voice has gotten his attention all right, but without any background information to lend it some context, the most he can gather is something along the lines of 'She is Important, in the you-don't-want-to-piss-her-off kind of way.' In the end, he simply assumes it has something to do with the kind of status that usually comes with a title like hers. Which is unconventional for a woman, to say the least, but he's not about to ask.

"―Sir Hellsing." The smile fades, winds itself into a troubled twist. "I'm sorry about your agent, by the way. Is he all right? I've never heard of crows mobbing anyone before, but then again, there's nothing typical about these ones." White hair whispers over his collar as he turns back to Nuala. "Recent or not, I hope they aren't here to stay."

He's about to scan the skies again when Integra's question and, more notably, everything about the way it's delivered, make his eyes flick to hers instead. For a split-second, it almost feels like he's seeing someone else in her place. Then the brief moment of... Whatever's past, and he's laughing a little, restrained in a way that says he doesn't really want to, but can't quite help himself.

"Afraid I can't say 'no' in good faith when I haven't the foggiest idea where I am. Is the Valhalla Inn around these parts?"

Leaving the horizon-watching to Integra, Nuala attends more directly to Allen and leaves aside any commentary on what Hellsing will or will not have to do with the clean up of recent incidents. Instead, she purses her lips for a moment and then appears to make a decision, making a beckoning gesture that he might walk alongside her horse- "Come, Mr Walker. We will see you back to the Inn."

"Quite fine." It takes more than some non-corporeal birds to put a dent in Hellboy. Glancing first at Nuala, Integra swings gracefully off her horse and goes to hook its reins to the back of the princess's saddle. It's motivated in part by the fact that, knight or not, Integra isn't so bold as to force this person to regard her on equal terms with royalty, and part that she does not trust this person. Surely, Princess Nuala could split his mind into neat pieces if he so much as looked at her funny, but there are roles even here to play.

"They're like as much to get worse," she observes about the crows, though her tone is mild. Up close, it's fare more apparent that her manner of dress and the things she carries are functional, meant to be used, and not carried for simple decoration. "How long have you been in Baedal?"

In light of this new information, Allen's on the verge of offering to see both women back to their residence, wherever it may be, when he's beaten to the draw again. His lips part on reflex, about to say something about how he can't possibly...

...Only to press shut. It would be rude of him to turn a princess' offer down, no matter his intentions. Besides, for Nuala to travel with a single escort when she's clearly aware of the threat those crows pose, both women must be confident of returning home unharrassed. Seeing Integra up close only reinforces his gut feeling that 'agents' or no, this is someone who can handle things by herself. And he does need directions back to the inn. Badly. Preferably heavily footnoted and accompanied by sketches of every landmark on the way, and even then, there's no guarantee he'll make it back without a guide. His sense of direction is just that terrible.

"Sorry for the trouble," He apologises instead as he falls into step beside Integra, close enough to Nuala's horse to say he appreciates the gesture, but taking care not to stray too close. "I'll be sure to make up for it if I ever get the chance. Not long at all, though I've gathered I should be settling down for a lengthy stay."

The taut line of his jaw says he'll be doing no such thing.

"This is my third day here."