ptahrrific: Integra Hellsing (hellsing)
Erin Ptah ([personal profile] ptahrrific) wrote2006-07-14 11:09 pm

Hellsing: "Three Valentines"

Title: Three Valentines
Fandom: Hellsing
Genre: Backstory, general, minor fluff
Words: ~1000
Rating: PG for violence, vampirism
Warnings: The neon "LIVE NUDES" sign is not actually important to the story. Don't get your hopes up.
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: For my DandyxHuntress claim at [livejournal.com profile] hellsing_drops. Theme #29: Valentine. (Posted February 13.)

Three Valentines

It was February in England, and it was raining.

To most people, the last of those would follow naturally from the first two. Rip Van Winkle and Tubalcain Alhambra were not "most people." For one thing, they were vampires; that explained their dark glasses and tightly closed mouths. For another, they had not thought about the weather; that explained their lack of umbrellas.

"I confess," murmured Alhambra, known to most as the Dandy, "I am torn."

"How so?" asked his companion offhandedly, her mind occupied mostly with longing for the umbrella she'd seen in Sumson's Drugstore back before the drizzle had started up.

"One part of me holds the most fervent hope that the venue directly before us is our destination, for I desire to quit the rainy outdoors. The rest, however, is praying that I shall never have cause to enter the place."

Rip followed his gaze and raised an eyebrow at the pink neon tacked all over the club front. LIVE NUDES, claimed one snaky glowing tube. Another traced the outline of a curvaceous female. Part of the tube was apparently burned out, as the pink woman was missing a foot. Fortunately, the club's patrons weren't much concerned with that.

Then she looked back at her companion. "It isn't. Club M is the one next door."

"Oh." The Dandy paused. "I suppose that satisfies all conditions."

They hurried the last fifty feet to the door, and the Huntress' face stretched into a broad, sharklike grin. "Let's do this thing."




Alhambra walked with catlike softness up to the DJ and tipped his hat, then calmly took the man's heavily pierced head off with one swing.

Nobody looked up.

Before Alhambra could lose his composure, Rip - who had been perusing the dance floor - sidled up next to him and put her fist through the machine spewing the music. That got their attention.

"'Ere now! Wot th' bleep's this?" demanded someone across the room. Someone else hushed the speaker. The site of the headless DJ took a few moments to sink in, but the pair responsible could wait. At last all heads were turned their way, and several mouths had dropped open or spread into lopsided grins, revealing set after set of small fangs.

The Dandy took note of the ones that looked scared; dealing with him would be his job, once his speech was over. Rip, meanwhile, would head out to hunt down those who hadn't even shown up.

When there was absolute silence, the Dandy began to speak in that smooth, suave voice of his. "Vampires," his address began.

The silence held.




They weren't told about the war coming, or the Hellsing Organization, or even the Millennium Nazis. No, these silly young vampires were only told to kill. It will make you stronger, the Dandy told them. Besides, it'll be the best high you ever got. They'd been told this before - it was why they'd elected to get bitten, the only catch being that they would return to Club M on this date for instructions.

As they filed out, Alhambra pulled aside the ones who'd started to get cold feet; Rip slipped off. She ran down the mental list of faces and focused on a hefty male with bushy red hair who'd failed to show up. He was far away, farther than one would travel on a regular basis. So he'd run - poor thing, he thought he had some chance of escaping the Huntress -

"Yaah! Got you, you bleepin' bleep!" yelled a rough voice, as someone ran up behind Rip. She let him tackle her out of sheer curiosity, only regretting that she landed in a puddle.

"Don't move," added a second voice - this one slick as Alhambra's, though with an almost American accent. Rip looked up nonchalantly into the barrel of a cheap handgun. Her accosters, she realized, were two of the cheap vampires they'd just been instructing. What were their names again?

"This bleep was bleepin' easy, bro," said the one on top of her. "No bleepin' problem - hey, he's a chick!"

"Get your mind out of the gutter, Jan," began the one holding the shotgun.

"Dude, I'm in the bleepin' gutter," Jan cut in.

His brother ignored him. "Humans would have been no contest," he mused, looking down at Rip. "But how much stronger will we become when we destroy this--"

The Huntress had heard quite enough. She broke Jan's grip easily, shoved him into the muddy street, and was on her feet twisting the gun into a pretzel before Jan's brother could twitch.

"What the bleep?!" shrieked Jan from the gutter. "You bleep!--"

That last "bleep" had been a perjorative term for a woman, and suddenly Alhambra was crouching with a foot on Jan's back and a razor-sharp card at his throat. "Please do not insult the lady's honor," she said calmly.

Rip reached out one long arm and caught the other brother as he started to back away. "Where did you think you were going, little one?"

"Luke," snapped the vampire faintly. "My name is Luke."

"Shall we dispose of them, Huntress?" asked Alhambra calmly.

A fanged grin split Rip's face. "I'd rather not. These two are gutsy. Stupid, but gutsy. We could use them."




On the roof of a row of Glasgow flats, the two vampires clinked glasses together and finished off what was left of the runaway redhead. "To the Valentine Brothers," said Rip. "May their mission be a resounding success."

"To the Valentine Brothers," echoed Alhambra. "Which reminds me - tomorrow is Saint Valentine's Day."

"Hey, that's right."

"In observation of this, I have purchased you a gift." Alhambra seemed flustered for a moment - the Dandy, flustered? But no, Rip had imagined it - smoothly reached into an inside coat pocket and brought out a plastic umbrella, wrapped in a pink bow. With a flourish, he handed it to her.

"Whoa, thanks!" exclaimed the Huntress, tearing it open and twirling the umbrella about above them. "This is perfect."




"Did you enjoy the meal?" quipped Rip as they finished.

"It was passable," admitted Tubalcain. "I confess, I am not partial to redheads." But, he added to himself, I do not mind freckles.

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