Erin Ptah (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ptahrrific) wrote2006-07-12 01:22 am
ptahrrific) wrote2006-07-12 01:22 am
Entry tags:
Hellsing: "Spring Cleaning"
Title: Spring Cleaning
Fandom: Hellsing
Genre: Comedy, fluff
Words: ~670
Rating: G
Warnings: Major in an apron. Not for the weak of stomach.
Disclaimer: Hellsing is the creation of Kōta Hirano. Characters used without permission - but with love (and, more importantly from a legal standpoint, without profit).
Notes: The first full fic for my DandyxHuntress claim at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-syndicated.gif)
hellsing_drops. Theme #66: Rituals
Spring Cleaning
When spring rolled around at a certain secret base deep in the heart of Brazil, everyone abruptly found Somewhere Else To Be. Zorin, after a few hours' search, found a small patch of her skin that had not yet been covered with ink, and took it eagerly to the farthest tattoo parlor she could find. The Captain made the trek to the foothills of the Andes to do some hunting - or at least that was what everyone assumed, though he never took any guns. Schrödinger headed to a rat-infested sewer with the same goal. And the Doctor hopped a plane to the United States for a science fiction convention. (His bloody lab coats were all left at home, replaced by his cleanest coat, the one stained only by Cheetos.)
The reason for all of this abrupt departure, besides fear at the sight of Major Montana Max in a pink frilly apron, was the terrifying possibility that they might be forced to clean something.
Rip Van Winkle's strategy in this situation, time-tested and brilliant in its simplicity, lay in a small slip of paper which entitled her to a front-row seat at the nearest opera house.
She was rushing back to her room to grab her parasol - it was cheap, yes, but it definitely turned heads - when she heard something from inside Tubalcain Alhambra's room. Rip slowed her dash to a tiptoe; she didn't want to get caught. But then the door opened, and only the room's occupant was behind it.
"Why, m'lady, what are you about so quietly?" inquired the latest addition to the Millennium Nazis' vampire crew.
"Shh!" hissed Rip. "What are you still doing here?" she added in a whisper.
"I was momentarily taken with the idea of procuring a light snack . . ."
He had no idea what was going on, Rip realized. Forget the parasol: she had to get this blithely unaware gentleman out of there. "We need to leave," she murmured urgently. "I'll explain it all once we're safely--"
"Ah, Lieutenants!" exclaimed a horribly familiar voice from behind her. "I am so glad I have found you. We have much work to do."
Rip turned slowly around, trying to conceal her look of horror, as the frilly apron came into view. The poor thing was stretched painfully across far more flesh than the manufacturers had ever intended. But there was no escaping it now. "Yes, Herr Major," she said weakly.
"We will put everything in its place, and those things that have no place we will put away," continued the Major.
"Yes, Herr Major." The Dandy, still looking puzzled, joined in.
"We will dust all the corners, corner all the trash, and trash all the dust!"
"Er . . . yes, Herr Major."
"We will make this place sparkle from top to bottom, so that you can see your face in the walls! Well, not you two, obviously. But you will see MY face in the walls!" The Major, overcome with enthusiasm, gave up on his monolog and thrust a broom and dustpan at Rip, a mop and a bucket at Alhambra. "Start with the northwest corridor. It's smelled funny for months."
As their fearless leader strode off to orchestrate more organization with whichever soldiers had made the mistake of sleeping in, the Huntress looked despairingly at the blue plastic broom in her hand. "Of course it smells bad down there. Doc brought in one of those rainforest flowers that smells like rotting meat."
"Why is that?" ventured the Dandy.
"Some experiment he wanted to do, I think - he gave up on it five minutes later. We'll have to practically fumigate the place."
Alhambra nodded, looking thoughtful. "Perhaps so," he concluded. "But I can think of no one with whom I would rather perform a fumigation."
Maybe he was just being a gentleman, but - especially when she remembered one year's escapade with a certain catboy and a rodent infestation - Rip realized that the feeling was mutual.
Fandom: Hellsing
Genre: Comedy, fluff
Words: ~670
Rating: G
Warnings: Major in an apron. Not for the weak of stomach.
Disclaimer: Hellsing is the creation of Kōta Hirano. Characters used without permission - but with love (and, more importantly from a legal standpoint, without profit).
Notes: The first full fic for my DandyxHuntress claim at
hellsing_drops. Theme #66: RitualsSpring Cleaning
When spring rolled around at a certain secret base deep in the heart of Brazil, everyone abruptly found Somewhere Else To Be. Zorin, after a few hours' search, found a small patch of her skin that had not yet been covered with ink, and took it eagerly to the farthest tattoo parlor she could find. The Captain made the trek to the foothills of the Andes to do some hunting - or at least that was what everyone assumed, though he never took any guns. Schrödinger headed to a rat-infested sewer with the same goal. And the Doctor hopped a plane to the United States for a science fiction convention. (His bloody lab coats were all left at home, replaced by his cleanest coat, the one stained only by Cheetos.)
The reason for all of this abrupt departure, besides fear at the sight of Major Montana Max in a pink frilly apron, was the terrifying possibility that they might be forced to clean something.
Rip Van Winkle's strategy in this situation, time-tested and brilliant in its simplicity, lay in a small slip of paper which entitled her to a front-row seat at the nearest opera house.
She was rushing back to her room to grab her parasol - it was cheap, yes, but it definitely turned heads - when she heard something from inside Tubalcain Alhambra's room. Rip slowed her dash to a tiptoe; she didn't want to get caught. But then the door opened, and only the room's occupant was behind it.
"Why, m'lady, what are you about so quietly?" inquired the latest addition to the Millennium Nazis' vampire crew.
"Shh!" hissed Rip. "What are you still doing here?" she added in a whisper.
"I was momentarily taken with the idea of procuring a light snack . . ."
He had no idea what was going on, Rip realized. Forget the parasol: she had to get this blithely unaware gentleman out of there. "We need to leave," she murmured urgently. "I'll explain it all once we're safely--"
"Ah, Lieutenants!" exclaimed a horribly familiar voice from behind her. "I am so glad I have found you. We have much work to do."
Rip turned slowly around, trying to conceal her look of horror, as the frilly apron came into view. The poor thing was stretched painfully across far more flesh than the manufacturers had ever intended. But there was no escaping it now. "Yes, Herr Major," she said weakly.
"We will put everything in its place, and those things that have no place we will put away," continued the Major.
"Yes, Herr Major." The Dandy, still looking puzzled, joined in.
"We will dust all the corners, corner all the trash, and trash all the dust!"
"Er . . . yes, Herr Major."
"We will make this place sparkle from top to bottom, so that you can see your face in the walls! Well, not you two, obviously. But you will see MY face in the walls!" The Major, overcome with enthusiasm, gave up on his monolog and thrust a broom and dustpan at Rip, a mop and a bucket at Alhambra. "Start with the northwest corridor. It's smelled funny for months."
As their fearless leader strode off to orchestrate more organization with whichever soldiers had made the mistake of sleeping in, the Huntress looked despairingly at the blue plastic broom in her hand. "Of course it smells bad down there. Doc brought in one of those rainforest flowers that smells like rotting meat."
"Why is that?" ventured the Dandy.
"Some experiment he wanted to do, I think - he gave up on it five minutes later. We'll have to practically fumigate the place."
Alhambra nodded, looking thoughtful. "Perhaps so," he concluded. "But I can think of no one with whom I would rather perform a fumigation."
Maybe he was just being a gentleman, but - especially when she remembered one year's escapade with a certain catboy and a rodent infestation - Rip realized that the feeling was mutual.
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(Anonymous) 2006-10-11 02:57 am (UTC)(link)no subject