multiversallogs | my life is trapped in these lines, that's why i'm packing these nines

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my life is trapped in these lines, that's why i'm packing these nines

Who: Princess Nuala, Integra Hellsing, and everyone who's made an appointment for a job interview at Hellsing.
What: Job interviews.
Where: Hellsing Guild Hall, Sobek Croix.
When: Various times after this post.
Notes: If your character has an interview just start a new thread! You may get Integra, you may get Nuala, you may get both. If you have a preference, say so in your subject line or harass one of us, we are easy to find.
Warnings: Bureaucracy?

In the midst of rising tension in the city, Hellsing is busier than usual. New blood (ha, hah) is always welcome, but especially so these days. The guild hall is perhaps oddly quiet, though it's only because most agents are out on cases. Those with appointments will be seen promptly.

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Fifteen minutes. That's how early Maggie is to this interview (or audition like the red fucked up looking dude suggested) and on the nose too. She's good at things like that even if her outfit (http://www.polyvore.com/maggie_doing_all_adult_things/set?id=36635226) is a little less than appropriate for both an interview and the environment of red and black uniforms. Hey, what can she do on that little bit of allowance she got and a last minute thrift store adventure? This is the best Maggie's got and at least she makes it work.

Well, she's not working it much at the exact moment as she sits in the hallway, bag containing her knife set and CiD--and that's pretty much all that's in there--laid across her lap. Her fingers are in her mouth as usual, biting the stubs of her nails down to the quick. Thank God her mother isn't here to slap her hand away. A lot of Maggie's bad habits are hard to break.

Precisely fifteen minutes after she arrives, one of Princess Nuala's aides collects her for her interview - with aforementioned fey princess, who'd spoken so briefly to Maggie over the citywide. The interview will be conducted in her highness's office, Maggie is informed, and she's shown upstairs promptly.

The office in question is of a generous size, comfortably appointed; Nuala's expansive desk is toward the back of the room, nearer the large windows and backed by display cabinets. Her father's silver hand (not unlike a gauntlet in design) overlooks the desk and no doubt it would present an imposing image, but by the looks of things Nuala means to conduct their conversation at the low sofas by her fireplace. Her spinning wheel on the other side of the room is a touch of the fairytale, appropriately, however incongruous it may seem at first.

She doesn't rise when Maggie is shown in, but she does smile, setting aside the papers she'd been sifting through. "Welcome, Miss Thomas. Please, sit."

Captain Steven G. Rogers arrives for his previously-scheduled appointment, on his best behavior. His uniform is immaculate. He's even done his best to clean up the shield strapped to his back.

He introduces himself in reception and is shown to a room to await his interview. He's offered a seat but he remains standing, back straight, willing to remain on his feet until the interviewer arrives.

Jim's never been a fan of the gold uniforms given to command officers. It's not a flattering color, especially not on someone with his coloring, but it does what it needs to. It draws attention.

He's very aware of eyes on him as he makes his way to the Guild Hall, his uniform freshly laundered and pressed, face cleanly shaven, not a hair out of place. He too makes his way to reception and is shown into a room where he will be interviewed. This captain chooses to sit, PADD and CiD neatly stacked to his right, near the corner of the table, good posture, hands folded on the table.

Those fingers remain stuck firmly between Maggie's lips all the way down to Nuala's office, even as she watches the Guild Hall environment pass her by. Maggie only lets them go when she steps into Nuala's office and that's because her mouth opens in surprise, shock, and a combination of those two things. This office is probably bigger than her apartment back home, not mention the creepy hand behind the desk and the interesting spinning wheel in the corner. Maggie would like to touch that, but she suspects that hand on the wall is the hand of somebody who touched it.

Silly girl.

Nuala's smile is a little comforting, even if Maggie still finds the princess odd to look at. She still doesn't know whether she should bow or curtsy even when invited to sit, so she does both. There may be some Princesses back in Washington Heights, but they ain't no royalty.

Buffy arrives for her interview, dressed in her normal patrolling gear, but a little nicer. This is still an interview, as far as she's concerned, and she still wants to look presentable.

She also has her scythe. If anything is needed to prove she's a bonafide vampire Slayer, that's it.

She makes her way into the into the Hellsing building, just looking around and getting a feel for the place. It's a pretty nice set up, something she hasn't seen before, and there's a part of her that's a little excited for this. This could be really good for her.

When she arrives at the interview room, she gives her name, and then has a seat to wait. Here goes nothing.

Very few people look good in that (or any) particular shade of mustard; Jim at least manages to not look horrifying.

An assistant comes and goes to check that he's is there, and she offers him something to drink (water or coffee), before she all but blinks out of existence and Integra arrives, dressed formally. "Captain Kirk," she greets, gloved hand extended to shake his - while not appearing particularly cheerful, there's at least nothing about her that says she's displeased. "Thank you for coming."

The aide who greets Buffy and shows her into Integra's office gives the scythe a bit of an intense side-eye, but lets it go without objection. Everyone in the guild hall is wearing sharp black suits and red ties, but they're clearly cleric staff, moving about with focused diligence. (The atmosphere in the city means that field agents are out and phones are ringing, constantly.)

When Integra arrives, she seems a little rushed but calm despite it, and moves to greet Buffy first of all. "Ms Summers, thank you for coming. I hope you weren't waiting long."

Precisely on time, with no indication he needed at any juncture to hurry, Rodolphus moves into the guild hall not quite silently. He looks much the same as he did when he went on the eel-chopping cruise, dressed in dark, simple clothes, charcoal gray beneath an open black robe, gloves and a typically blank expression. His gaze travels the hall without much indication that he's really taking in what he's seeing, though he is; it's just not anything he cares about, except in terms of their significance in regards to defense or offence.

As he is on time, he does not bother sitting, even if the wait should stretch on.

The arrival is that of an aide to escort him upstairs to, he is informed, the office of Princess Nuala; one of Hellsing's command team, she will be conducting his interview. Her office is spacious, pleasant-smelling and seems in some ways as if it's been designed that she may choose to use the surroundings to be imposing or...not, as she may prefer. For instance: she has set up a low table with the sofas that sit by the fireside, where she is keeping track of her notes for these interviews, rather than obliging new arrivals to sit opposite the large desk that her father's hand looks down on.

"Captain Rogers," she greets him, looking up without rising, pleasant. "Please; sit. I am Princess Nuala."

"Not at all. I was just getting used to the place. You have really nice digs."

It reminds her a bit of her old castle in Scotland, but less with the feeling like she had to be General Buffy all the time. It is homey. She could do with a bit of homey, even if she wouldn't actually be living there.

Her smile is faint and brief, but present - "Thank you." Renovations of certain areas are still underway, but that's hardly relevant to Buffy at this immediate moment. "Please, sit down." Integra gestures to the chair before her desk, and moves to take her own seat behind it.

"I imagine this sort of organization isn't something you're used to seeing."

" ... No. Not really." She pauses for a moment. "I mean, I was part of an organization kind of like this. Sort of. We weren't really so much organized as together and training and going on missions, but -- we weren't really ... official."

Another beat.

"That is mostly my fault. I was the leader. I'm not so good with the organizing. Or the officiating. It was mostly me rolling with the punches and in the end -- "

She takes a breath and shakes her head. "Anyway. Enough about me."

Leonard McCoy arrives ten minutes before his interview, Starfleet uniform freshly laundered and pressed, face carefully shaved, hair gelled neatly into place. He waits in the reception area quietly, and his hand rests lightly on his medkit, still hanging on a strap over his shoulder. He's brought it so he can demonstrate the kind of tech he can bring to Hellsing; how he'll be a good resource for them.

After nine minutes have elapsed, he's shown into a room where he'll be interviewed, but he remains standing. It won't do to sit before the interviewer does.

Jim has politely refused the offer of drink; it wouldn't do to have a mishap and wind up soaking wet or reeking of coffee right before an interview.

He rises to his feet as Integra extends a hand, shaking it, a firm, confident grip but not one that seeks to dominate or intimidate. "Sir Hellsing. Thank you for having me. I appreciate the opportunity to speak with you in person."

He remains standing, and will do so until told otherwise.

"I'd actually like to hear more about you," she says, mildly amused. "What you've done, what you can do." Integra notes most of all that Buffy was in a leadership position - Hellsing has had trouble with agents coming in suddenly refusing to cooperate out of issues of ego, an endangering civilians. It's definitely something she will ask about, and seriously.

"Hellsing is a paramilitary organization." As she speaks, Integra picks out files she may need for later, her voice steady. "In the United Kingdom, in my home, we operated outside normal society, as a classified government agency. It was founded by my great grandfather, Abraham Van Helsing, who was also a vampire hunter." Among other things. "Here, we monitor, investigate, protect, terminate. It is unpleasant work, but I'm sure you're familiar with that aspect of the lifestyle."

Edited 2011-09-07 03:36 (UTC)

"I am. All too well." She takes a breath before nodding. "But I've actually worked in the UK for a little while. So I am familiar with the area. Which ... is not relevant to here. God, I need to stop rambling."

She pauses for a moment to try and drum up the appropriate place to start on her story, as it were. Her fingers tap lightly against the arm of the chair before she speaks.

"Okay. Where I'm from the vampire Slayer is more of a mystical calling. It was started centuries ago, in Africa, where a group of medicine men kidnapped this girl and forcefully tied her essence with that of a demon. She gained superior strength, speed, reflexes, and even to an extent, prophetic dreams. She was then turned loose on the vampires and the demons, and she continued to slay them until she died. Then the Calling got passed to the next girl, mystically chosen, and she'll also be given the memories of the previous Slayers before her. And so on and so forth throughout history, one girl in all the world with the speed and strength to fight the forces of darkness."

So that is the origin story. Now to the meat.

"Eventually, there was a council of people that called themselves 'Watchers' who appointed themselves to train and hone the Slayers instincts so that she can better fight evil. Oddly enough, they were very British. I got called when I was fifteen years-old in Los Angeles, California. I later moved to a small town called Sunnydale, which was sitting on a Hellmouth, so -- naturally I had a lot to do. I worked there for about seven years, until something called the First Evil started sending it's henchmen to kill off Potentials -- girls who would be called next if I happened to kick it. They were all brought to Sunnydale for me to protect, but in the end, what I really needed them to do was fight."

The wait is mercifully brief, considering Rodolphus' disdain for things like 'being comfortable'; one of Princess Nuala's aides is down promptly a few minutes later, looking only barely as though they'd been in a hurry, to escort him upstairs to her generously-appointed office. As with other interviews, the Princess herself is seated by the fireplace when he's shown in, a low table set up with her necessary papers and a seat opposite her that is more welcoming than speaking across her grand desk at the back of the room.

Rodolphus may be one of the few who come in here with the potential to recognize what King Balor's hand is, in its locked display case.

"Mr Lestrange," she greets him, without rising. "Please; sit."

"You are applying to our house resources, I believe..." Nuala's manner is professional without being cold - she gives the first impression of being incapable of such coldness, lacking artifice, pleasant-natured and patient. (This isn't entirely true, but it isn't entirely false, either. Elves.) "Yes, here we are, I see. I'd like to discuss with you your previous experience...? And we will have a number of dietary requirements within the organization that we'll need to know if you can cater to."

Maggie nods slowly, confirming Nuala's statement, and finally slides into the chair across from the princess, sitting prim and proper with legs together and hands clasped again.

"I worked at the Potluck Diner in Brooklyn, New York. I started as a busgirl, then a waitress, and then prep cook when they were short a hand. Been a prep cook since then for the last two years." It's not a very impressive work record, but at least it shows Maggie has stability and is willing to work from the ground up. Not everybody can go from busgirl to prep cook.

As for the second part, Maggie raises an eyebrow in question. "What kind of dietary requirements?" She's secretly hoping none of those requirements involve human body parts and/or blood.

"Of course. Please, sit down." She takes her own seat, unhurried but precise, and opens a manila file folder. "Considering the newness of your presence here and the limited resources we all have, your submitted files are somewhat impressive," she tells him. "I believe I received all of them - your own resume, and a recommendation on behalf of a Dr. McCoy?"

Integra listens, of course, but she doesn't exhibit any particular reaction - either she's just that cold of a bitch, or she's seen enough that she's jaded to even the most horrific of tales. (Spoilers: it's the latter.) In her head, she's taking notes.

"You have enhanced abilities," she begins. "And you operated as an agent with an overseer for many years until this crisis, at which time you began to function in a leadership position. Am I interpreting you correctly when you say you're more comfortable in your previous context?"

Following behind him (intentionally unobtrusively, at first) is a tall woman in a black suit with long pale hair - she steps around him and puts down a file folder on the desk before extending one gloved hand to greet him. "Dr. McCoy, I presume. Integra Hellsing. Please, sit down, we have a few minute before Princess Nuala joins us."

Seeing as this man will be medical staff, both the heads of the organization need to speak with him in some capacity - not everyone is who works at Hellsing is human, after all, and Integra isn't as impactful at highlighting that reality as the elven princess is. "I received quite the glowing recommendation on your behalf from a Captain Kirk," she says, taking her seat. "I understand that you're boarding with Sir Martel as well?"

"Thank you, Sir." He takes the seat opposite her, back straight, professional but still open. He reaches over and taps his PADD with his fingertips.

"I had some of my personal records on me. This is a PADD, a Personal Access Display Device. A computer peripheral, from my time. Unfortunately I'm cut off from my ship's computer mainframe, but I was able to access what was stored locally, and connect it to my CiD to transmit to you."

He smiles faintly. "I felt the resume was a good first step, for myself. And I hope I wasn't too forward in sending the recommendation for Dr. McCoy. It's the least I can do for him."

"Yes. Much. But I ... did a bit more than lead." If Integra wants to know all the details of Buffy's failed venture into leadership, this is the time to get them. "I gave them my power. I gave them a Slayer's powers."

She pauses for a moment, before picking up and balancing the scythe in her hand. "This isn't just a very pretty weapon for killing vampires. It's mystically connected to the Slayer, and is, in a sense, an extension of her abilities. A very powerful wicca friend of mind used the scythe to cast a spell to activate all the potential Slayers. So I didn't just have an army of girls, I had an army of Slayers, plus all the ones out there who we hadn't found yet. Once we defeated the First, I had to bring them together somehow. So we used witches to find them, and we got them together in a castle in Scotland, and I started training them. Just because the first was gone, doesn't mean the monsters went away."

She pauses for another beat, and then puts the scythe down again. "And then I screwed it all up." Her eyes close. "I thought I was leadership material, but even after the smoke cleared, I still couldn't pull everyone back together. Maybe I am still good at leading, but not in that large a scale."

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