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Who: Hellsing personnel
What: The meet-and-greet barbecue.
Where: Out in back of Hellsing HQ.
When: Givdi, beginning in the afternoon, stretching on into the night.
Notes: Dean's network post will be the first comment, after that, just tag in at will to create new threads at the barbecue itself.
Warnings: Contains Alucard. Also contains Dean Winchester. Further warnings to be added as we go AW SHIT I NEED TO WARN PEOPLE ABOUT THAT.

About midday, a call goes out on the Hellsing filter from Dean, setting this thing up.

By mid-afternoon, with help, there are a couple of grills going, crabs on the boil, tables lined up in the grass behind the guild hall. There's meat, there's shellfish, there's vegetables and side dishes. There's even some wine and beer.

Hello, Hellsing. Come meet and greet your fellow operatives.

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[Sup Hellsing. Have Dean, and his :D face.]

Hey.

I read my brochure, and I saw that today is Givdi. Day of giving. Get it? Anyway. It's a day to give gifts. And I think, after all the ass-kickings we handed out with that monster bullshit, we deserve a little unwinding. And we need to all meet each other.

So in the spirit of the day, I have something I want to give all of you.

Crabs.

I got up early this morning and I started working my way all up and down the docks and I have got crabs like you wouldn't believe.

Come meet me out in back of the hall this afternoon and I will give you crabs.

[:D]

Nice to know some things don't change. We'll see you.

Having spent a respectable amount of time contributing to the cooking effort, later into the afternoon Sol can be found with his daughter on his shoulders and a beer in the hand that isn't holding what's probably Liesl's plate (judging by the fact he holds it up to her occasionally when she demands something). The Koenigs have been living at the hall temporarily, though he's been speaking with a local landlord and they should be moving out next week, and the smaller of the pair is apparently quite accustomed to and happy with her position as unofficial mascot.

Sweet. Save me some to work with. I'll be by after I go shopping for the other stuff I'll need.

After his shopping run, Hellboy set up his own little cooking station near the others. His contribution was a bit more involved than some of the others: thankfully, he was able to save some time by buying pre-made wonton wrappers, but he still had to mix up the crab meat, cream cheese, and other ingredients and get them wrapped before he could fry them up for eating.

It had been a long time since he last made crab rangoons. Fortunately, the time he had to spend cooling his hooves in the Inn the other day was enough to dredge the recipe up from out of his memory. He'd gotten it from a restaurant in San Francisco, early in his career, after he'd helped them with a hobgoblin gone bad that had taken up residence in their kitchen. (Ten years later, after they'd opened a location in England, he got their Mai Tai recipe for taking care of a werewolf problem.)

Once the rangoons are cooked up, they get laid out on racks to drain oil and cool off a little before being transferred to trays for people to pick up. His duty done, Hellboy takes off his apron -- just because he can withstand boiling oil doesn't mean he wants to -- puts his coat back on, and wanders around for other food and socialization.

Edited 2011-06-10 04:37 (UTC)

[smirk] Give us crabs? Is that a promise, then?

Jack made his way out to the designated place where Dean had set the barbecue up behind the Hellsing guild hall. It was hard to miss, and even if he hadn't gotten the message in the first place, he probably would have wandered out to see what the fuss was all about anyway. Knowing what it was was an added bonus.

The message had been cute, he thought, their invitation there. 'Give you crabs' indeed. This Dean guy was obviously more than a little cheeky. Which was fine for Jack. He rather liked cheeky. Then again, Jack liked pretty much anything, so that wasn't exactly a feat by any means.

Jack wasn't really much of a cook. Well, not for large groups of people, anyway. The fact that he had learned to cook far away and long into the future meant that he really didn't know how to work with the ingredients they had there, and without the means to experiment himself, he was content to stand back and let other people handle it instead. So instead he had a glass of beer in hand and was standing back, watching the crowd, a smile on his face, in his usual outfit of trousers, button-down, braces, and RAF greatcoat.

During the week after the critter invasion, Sebastian had been quiet almost to the point of being withdrawn into his work. Now, during the barbecue, he and Velcro are out and about in public, but still hanging back from the main crowd of Hellsing staff.

Lucius isn't precisely sure he should even be here, as a freelancer, but it's important to keep making and reinforcing contacts, if he wants to survive in Baedal properly. As easy as it would be to withdraw and try to stick to the small remnants of his own kind, he needs to make his face familiar and at least somewhat trusted - for Narcissa's sake as well as his own.

It may not be possible to look out of place in such a varied group, but Lucius does look a bit thoughtful, deciding how to proceed.

I'm pretty sure there's cream for that.

Mabel has a beer in one hand and an unopened one tucked under her arm. Don't judge her. She's pretty banged up from the whole monster mash ordeal - there's still a cut on her cheek that 'flesh-colored' bandaids don't hide, and a few more bandages up and down her arms. She's wearing short sleeves, exposing not only the bandages but an alarming collection of scars, because fuck it. She isn't going to bother hiding them around Hellsing. It wasn't like anyone cared.

Her plate's empty, at the moment, and she's considering the crabs. If she really wanted to try them, she'd have to admit that she's never eaten crabs before, and didn't quite know how to go about it.

Hellboy wanders on by, his plate stocked with a variety of selections. He stops when he sees the Koenigs, considers them for a moment, and says in a tone of faux wonderment, "I didn't know we had any kids on staff."

You and this fucking crabs thing.

Anyway, I'll be there.

Lyla approaches Mabel whilst precariously balancing a beer on top of her head with one hand; this is...for no discernible reason. As predicted, she doesn't even seem to notice the scars.

"I promise, they're dead by now," she says, grinning.

awesome i will see you both there

Dude, you got it. I'm just gonna head straight back and get right to setting up.

Ah, beer. It's such a versatile drink.

"After the whole critter invasion thing, I can't say I don't half expect them to come back to life." She peers down as if waiting for one to jump up and try to eat her face. "Bonus, though; they ain't wearing wetsuits."

It's a guarantee, man.

...I thought that was butter, not cream.

I got a reputation to live up to now.

Good. I'll see you there.

"These things are amazing."

Dean may be on his fifth or sixth crab rangoon. Who's counting? Certainly not him.

"Dude, you really went all out. Outstanding."

This Dean guy comes rolling by, nursing a beer of his own. From the bottle, mind you, he's used to it that way. (Since it usually came from a convenience store or a cooler in the back of his car.)

He's busy taking in the crowd, too, trying to match names to faces. He spots one he doesn't know and he wanders over. "That's an awesome coat." (The weapons he could hide in a coat like that, the mind boggles...)

"Don't think we've met. I'm Dean Winchester."

Dean is not going to judge. Dean is going to raise his own (single) bottle in salute.

"Now that's how you do it." He approves, it's clear. "You need a bottle opener, or some more grub?"

Liesl, who is unfairly sharp for her age and has a knack for remembering things other people say and repeating them ad infinitem, says promptly, "I'm moral support." Because adults have poor morals! Loose morals, even. Her daddy smokes, it's terrible. (He's not smoking while she's perched on his shoulders like that, she'd probably try to put it out in his eye. ...that and the smoke would waft up to her, but also the fact she might try to put it out in his eye. Kids.)

Sol just gives him a wry look.

Nearby, a small altercation is getting progressively louder - the youngest of attendants is down from her father's shoulders and doing her level best to yank herself away from him toward Lucius, while Sol crouches down in an effort to contain both his child and his child's developing tantrum.

"-it's Uncle Richard," she insists, pointing with an outstretched finger and kicking angrily when Sol catches her hand and closes his own around it. "Daddy, look, you're not looking, he's right there, Daddy, look-"

"I know what he looks like, Liesl- Liesl, don't point- I know, baby, but it's not Uncle Richard. Your uncle never dresses like that, see? It's not him, you stay over here with me-"

"He's got a face," she wails, because she's a good girl, she's been very good, and there's been so much upheaval that she adjusts to because she has to, she's learned to, but that should be her uncle and it's just altogether too much that she should have to deal with the fact that it isn't on top of everything else.

Parenthood is awesome, in case anyone was wondering.

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