Hellsing Drabble- Winter
In the cold he sat, dusted lightly over with fat white fluff stark against the old red duster he'd grown fond of and Alucard looked aged, the fluff settling like white hairs on the crown of his head. This was familiar. For many reasons. This Protestant country was under Hellsing's jurisdiction, but it was not like the Organization's London. London, warm and dreary and smelling of fish and salt and pollution.
This was harsh and wild, despite the city settled below. He was here on a mission, but this environment lent the vampire some nostalgia. He heard the shuffle of a footstep behind him. Heavy, uniform, a man's footstep. Stealthy without sneaking. Walter's footstep.
"Can you smell it?" the vampire asked, a smile viciously curling his lips. "This is life. The struggle. I feel white must always fall here. When it isn't snow it is ash."
The butler cleared his throat and bowed slightly to the vampire. "You are in rare form. I take it you enjoy the city?"
Walter peered out to his left, a mountain range visible just past the buildings, about a half hour drive out. The range was a row of jagged teeth punctuating the ashen skyline, granite in colour and immense in size.
The streets below were busy with daily activity, grey and slick from the snow's continuous fall. The grey contrasted the white of the snow itself, encroaching on the sidewalks like cloying fingertips, growing ever longer as the snow fell.
The city was dull, colourless, a blanket of leaden and white features that melded into each other. The air burnt lungs as it went down, frigid and dry. Walter felt a pressure headache begin in his left temple as an icy draft of wind punched through the air.
The windows of the industrial buildings around reflected the grey/white pattern of the streets below. It was all around. The only colour was the riot of crimson from Alucard's jacket.
At length the vampire stood to his full length, soaking in the feel of the frigid air, the way the cold and ice hardened the toes of his leather boots, the crackling of the freezing fabric of his jacket, the crystals of frost forming on the tips of his hair. And he looked a grand king again, in charge of his own domain. Eyes cold as ice and crimson as flame surveyed the land. His full, pale lips set hard, his stance proud. He looked terrible and haughty. A blast of wind came, swirling the fragile pearly beads of frost from his hair into the air, where they danced and were torn asunder at the will of the atmosphere.
"Come, Walter," said the vampire king, his voice a low rumble and his lips parting in a manic grin that bore his fangs, "For the night is young, and we have much to accomplish on our mission. Come, Hellsing, and let's raze this town red!"
This was harsh and wild, despite the city settled below. He was here on a mission, but this environment lent the vampire some nostalgia. He heard the shuffle of a footstep behind him. Heavy, uniform, a man's footstep. Stealthy without sneaking. Walter's footstep.
"Can you smell it?" the vampire asked, a smile viciously curling his lips. "This is life. The struggle. I feel white must always fall here. When it isn't snow it is ash."
The butler cleared his throat and bowed slightly to the vampire. "You are in rare form. I take it you enjoy the city?"
Walter peered out to his left, a mountain range visible just past the buildings, about a half hour drive out. The range was a row of jagged teeth punctuating the ashen skyline, granite in colour and immense in size.
The streets below were busy with daily activity, grey and slick from the snow's continuous fall. The grey contrasted the white of the snow itself, encroaching on the sidewalks like cloying fingertips, growing ever longer as the snow fell.
The city was dull, colourless, a blanket of leaden and white features that melded into each other. The air burnt lungs as it went down, frigid and dry. Walter felt a pressure headache begin in his left temple as an icy draft of wind punched through the air.
The windows of the industrial buildings around reflected the grey/white pattern of the streets below. It was all around. The only colour was the riot of crimson from Alucard's jacket.
At length the vampire stood to his full length, soaking in the feel of the frigid air, the way the cold and ice hardened the toes of his leather boots, the crackling of the freezing fabric of his jacket, the crystals of frost forming on the tips of his hair. And he looked a grand king again, in charge of his own domain. Eyes cold as ice and crimson as flame surveyed the land. His full, pale lips set hard, his stance proud. He looked terrible and haughty. A blast of wind came, swirling the fragile pearly beads of frost from his hair into the air, where they danced and were torn asunder at the will of the atmosphere.
"Come, Walter," said the vampire king, his voice a low rumble and his lips parting in a manic grin that bore his fangs, "For the night is young, and we have much to accomplish on our mission. Come, Hellsing, and let's raze this town red!"