multiversallogs | new beautiful things come in the first spit of snow on the northwest wind

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new beautiful things come in the first spit of snow on the northwest wind

Who: Any and all Hellsing Staff & guests they invite.
What: Fall dinner.
Where: Hellsing Guild Hall
When: Shundi evening.

At some point during the week, Sebastian posted a brief notice up on the staff bulletin board:

Autumn Dinner
Sunday Evening. Dining Hall. Potluck. BYOB.

When Sunday rolls around, Sebastian has brought along a tray of fruit, cheese, some preserves, and fresh bread.

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A little later on, after he's dropped his contribution off, Hellboy makes his way around to mingle... and double-takes as he sees the new addition to the Koenig family.

"Whoa. Now there's something the likes of which I never thought I'd see again."

Hellboy turns from setting his contributions down on the table, and he smiles what passes for his smile. "Hey! Long time no see. Been keeping busy?"

"You could say that." Her return smile is wan, but hey, she's trying. "I was out of the loop for awhile, actually. Trying to, uh, reorient myself."

"Too many. And when a ghost kicks their ass, they want to cry and then look for somebody to clean their house." Maggie sounds as if she knows far more about ghosts and spirits and ookey things than she lets her... and she does. But that's neither here nor there right now because it's Mabel's job to do those things apparently.

"Maybe," she shrugs, "That red dude scares me, though."

Maggie's still posted up in the corner, not moving very much except to get a cup of soda or two, but that thing gets her attention. She could easily ignore the man and the little kid (though she can admit some kids are cute), but the dog or whatever looks like a dog plus a few extra eyes and legs. Not something she sees often back home.

"What the actual fuck?" Cover the kid's ears, Dad. Her language will only get worse.

Lucius was starting to remind Brie of her father, someone who had money and spent time giving it away strategically. It's just that instead of schools and political causes, her father focused on pirates and operas. But she quickly put those thoughts to rest. She hadn't thought of her father for quite some time, and she didn't want to.

Point is, the man in front of her now seems a bit more familiar, and Brie is acting slightly more comfortable.

"If you don't mind me asking, how exactly did you make a living?"

"Oh. Well, I'm glad you're up and around again. It wasn't the ant fungus, was it? Word was that stuff was nasty." He's looking at you, Dean.

"No, the fog nightmares. It kinda built up and somehow or another I lost control of a week. Plastered my apartment with - " Mabel cuts herself off, looking embarrassed. "The going theory is that it was some kind of possession. Never had that happen before."

"Red dude...?" There were two Mabel could figure; Alucard (who scared the hell out of her, so she sympathized), or Hellboy. She'll choose Hellboy, because she didn't want to admit to being scared of Alucard. "The big guy? Hellboy? Oh, he's great! Big push-over, really."

"Yeah, sure, right." Nothing that looks like him or is his size is just a pushover. Let's all be thankful that Maggie hasn't run into Alucard. She'd probably quit Hellsing on the spot if she did without being prepared. "He's still fucking terrifying.

"At home? Unnecessary. My family had been quite comfortably off for many generations." Which had made his involuntary travels seem all the more alien.

"Ouch." He winces and shakes his head. "That's never fun. I remember this one guy, back at the Bureau--- well, no, come to think of it, maybe this isn't the best time for that story. You going to need a hand getting your place cleaned up, or are you planning on just torching it and moving somewhere else?"

"I'm staying here in the meantime, but yeah, I think I'm gonna get the hell out." Mabel echos the wince. She'd really like to get a drink, but considering the disastrous effect alcohol had the last time...

"I'm kinda bummed, to be honest. Here I am, Miss Ghost Girl, freaking out over nightmares. Some tough gal I turn out to be."

"Understandable. I think I was ready to bash his face in when I first saw him, if I could've reached it." Mabel makes a vague, what-can-you-do gesture. "He's not nearly the strangest thing you'll find here, though."

"Oh my god, he is the cutest thing." Mabel's definition of acceptable pets tended to fall on the side of 'anything horrific that didn't also try to rip her face off,' so Conan gets a pass.

"Well, if you ever need some time away from the Guild Hall, I've got a couch you can crash on. And listen..." He leans in and pitches his voice a little more softly. "Don't beat yourself up over it. It happens to all of us. I mean, geez, some of the stuff I dream about sometimes? It's a good thing I don't need much sleep."

She smiled. "I should have guessed that, given what you said."

And well, now was a better time to ask then ever. "Are you working on any cases right now?"

"Yes," Liesl says, promptly; more accurately, Sol is training Conan and teaching Liesl what to do and not to do in order to keep their new pet on the straight and narrow. A case could be made for both child and corgi being trained, actually, and they're not doing too badly. They seem to more or less equally adore each other, too.

"We're working on it," he says, dryly.

There's a pause, before Sol settles on what he feels is the only necessary response: "Again?"

"That's a bad word," Liesl declares, with the self-importance of a clever nearly-five-year-old; she also likes to hold forth on her father's smoking habit and her grandmother was teaching her to object when people startle with a 'Jesus' or 'goddamn'. (Sol's training her out of the last one.)

"And that's a corgi, allegedly," Sol supplies, glancing at Maggie with a wryly raised eyebrow. "A, uh, pretty unique breed thereof."

"...you're a unique woman, Mabel Albans."

She's also Liesl's new favourite person.

"And making good progress, I'm sure," he says, smiling. "I've been debating whether to give my son a dog of his own." He wasn't sure yet, at home; Draco was the opposite of "outdoorsy," and his dogs were definitely outdoor sorts.

"Why, are you looking for one?" Not a no.

To his credit, Sol doesn't visibly entertain the notion that any of them might not get home to absent family members; as much as he can think, from here, that he might rather Liesl were safe with Cal or his parents...in practise, he's not sure he'd hold together as well as the Malfoys if he were parted from her the way they've been separated from their son.

"Give it some time," he advises, keeping an eye out as Liesl and Conan lose interest in the conversation of adults (even interesting ones that look like Uncle Richard only with a weirder dress sense) and start investigating the much more interesting game of 'how far can we get under this table before Daddy yanks us back'. "You're going to do the bulk of the dog-bothering either way-" with a sardonic glance at where a small black backside is wiggling just beneath a table.

"Some people," Mabel explains very calmly to Liesl. "Don't know cute when they see it."

For Sol, she gestures at the varied crowd. "Can you say he doesn't at least fit in with the place? He should be the mascot."

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new beautiful things come in the first spit of snow on the northwest wind

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