capeandcowl | oo3 [ video // Alucard will be answering back ]

--A tale, cetăţenii.

[ The feed comes on to show a pitch-black room split by several rays of bright, incandescent light. There are boxes everywhere, and a catwalk situated high in the background behind Alucard. Perhaps it is a warehouse of some kind, or a large storage facility. The area is so dark, however, that it's hard to make out anything but Alucard through the comm's screen. ]

Once upon a time, there existed a man who longed to conquer the world. He was a small man, as most conquerors of this age are; a simpering coward more suited to the liberal arts than anything more...martial.

[ Alucard smiles. ]

Despite his, ah, more blatant shortcomings, the artist still knew what darkness lurked in the hearts of man...And played to this ever-hungry shadow not with deed, but with word. With promise. He would plunge the entire world into conflict, and in his madness...[ He almost growls the word. ]...would force mankind to cross a threshold many believed the species would ever be able to return from.

[ In the background, someone whimpers. Alucard ignores it, smiling wide enough to show the barest hint of fang at the camera. ]

And so~ [ He claps his gloved hands together. ] My point, ja? [ A laugh. ] I do realize that one tends to ramble in their old age.

[ More whimpering, and you can tell someone is struggling in the darkness. ]

There is a madman amongst you, my friends. An insensate Nazi holdover from a bygone era calling himself the Major. [ Alucard sneers. ] Some sixty-seven years ago, he attempted to breed an army of vampires for the war...only to be stopped by the Hellsing Organization and myself. [ Another smile. ] Twelve years prior to my arrival here, he would try the very same thing yet again...[ More whimpering. Alucard briefly looks over his shoulder, then back at the camera. ]...And for a second time I have found his pedestrian efforts sorely lacking imagination.

[ Alucard steps back now, and you can finally see a trio of men have been lined up behind him, all of them bound and gagged with what looks like black cloth. ]...These are the men whom he sends to do his dirty work here, in this prison of likewise infinitesimal imagination. Mobsters and thieves: the lowest scum of any empire; men not even approaching worthy to think themselves the word.

[ Alucard walks over to the first man, standing behind him. The "cloth" around his eyes and mouth slowly recedes, slowly turning red at the edges as it drops out of sight. He immediately starts talking once the cloth is gone, screaming at him ]

Fuck you, ya goddamn asshole! You're gonna pay for this, ya hear me? I'm a member of the fuckin'--

[ Alucard gently places a finger at the man's lips, lowering himself from behind him so that he can whisper in his ear, his lips barely touching the man's skin. ]

We crucified thieves, in my time.

[ And the man suddenly explodes with movement, rising off the ground so quickly as to blur. There's an ear-piercing scream and the sound of something viscous splattering everywhere before the noise dies down to a quiet gurgle, followed by a choking sort of gasping sound. When the comm refocuses, the man has neatly been crucified...with the added bonus of having a black, spear-shaped rod jammed straight through him starting at the shoulder. ]

Ssh...Ssh...

[ Alucard continues on to the next man. When the "cloth" around his mouth and eyes come off, he immediately starts pleading with the camera. ]

Oh, Christ -- don't let 'im do this to us! Please! Please! We waz jus' undah ordahs from that Major guy, honest! He didn't say -- it wasn't supposed ta come out like this, please! We didn't know he'd be some kinda--

[ Alucard grabs the man by the neck and slowly, very slowly starts raising him off the ground. ]

--Some kind of what, if I may ask? Mmmm~?

[ The man is obviously having trouble breathing, so the answer is very faint. ]

Speak up, tâlhar! I believe your audience is having trouble hearing!

[ He tries once and stops. And then: ]

M-Monster! Monster! Youz a goddamned Mon--

[ And Alucard wastes no time in simply impaling the man, the force of which splatters enough blood on the comm to thankfully block out what happens next. There's screaming for about a good thirty seconds before it all goes quiet, the only sound the comm picks up being the tap of heavy boots falling on concrete. ]

Thieves. Honestly. [ A white smudge appears on the comm, and doesn't move. A second or so passes, and it's almost as if the blood slithers into the glove all it once before disappearing entirely. When the movement stops, one can see Alucard looking none the more grotesque for having killed three men in what can only be assumed was a horrifying Saw-rated manner. He's also smiling. ]

Consider this mine own declaration of war, my fine and rotund Major.

[ A beat. ]

Ha! It rhymed.

[ And the feed clicks off. ]

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[ kanaya has a finger curled over her lips, her brows knit as she sorts this whole display through what she finds both horrific and all too familiar ]

It would seem to be a bloody week on multiple fronts.

[ Alucard is lounging on the catwalk, idly staring out the window when the comm turns on. ]

Mmmmm...A week, Seamstress? [...] I do not know if you underestimate my abilities or overestimate his own.

[ A small laugh. ]

And how do you fare this fine evening, hmm~?

[ she shakes her head ] Neither in fact, I was commenting on the manner in which your actions here would fit into other patterns.

This evening is...somewhat strained. As a result of these same aforementioned patterns, in fact.

The dead boy, I assume? [ He reads the comms. ] Such an outcry amongst the colored writers, and yet he goes to his imprisonment so lightly.

Mmmm.

[ To himself: ]

Patterns?

More typists than writers, really. I say that, of course, being one myself. Though how much outcry I could speak to would depend on which you referred to, and what nature you would expect the outcry to take.

[ she pauses, wondering if it would be worth it to draw the connection explicitly ] Seras has discussed your Major previously. I imagine, given the mechanics of this timeline, that you may have to similarly suffer his return, should the battle eventually bring his fall.

Patterns within patterns, now. And I but a humble outsider, watching a Seamstress try to weave it all together...

[ He laughs beneath his breath. ]

I will not kill the Major, when it comes to that.

None of us can truly consider ourselves outside it. As a cycle expands, it tends to draw in those nearby who might fancy themselves neutral witnesses, often despite their protests. It was this same way that first enveloped me in the current circumstances, though it is really a repetition of a much older occurrence. Hence, the cyclical nature of the pattern.

And how will you respond to him, finally? If not through fatal means, what method will you adopt? One that doesn't allow for a repetition? [ maybe asking more for inspiration than out of curiosity ]

Ah, aaaah. But is it not our choices, as ever-changing and ever-willful as they are, that make us part of these cycles? Are we not given free-will, to do so with as we please? Hm..! Hm! The world is not a slot-car race, no; we are ever timed only to the pulse of our own lives, the beating of our own hearts!

[ He laughs again, joyfully this time. ]

I will rob him of every thing that marks him a threat. I will remove him from the battlefield of existence completely, forcing him to remain ever the watchful, uninvited sow.

The freedom to elect our own path is often overestimated. The future is already well aware of the decisions we will make, and straying from expectations can tend to have disastrous results. Moreover, we can be placed within a situation and expected to have endless hypothetical options before us, but very few will actually explore them. In the most important scenarios, one's nature will override the direction, and we're left with very little choice in the matter whatsoever.

It can be dangerous, I should warn you, to be overconfident in the destruction of your enemy. Robbing him of everything that supports his self-definition, leaving him with nothing remaining, this will not nullify his threat. If any means remain at all, he will respond more viciously and desperately than ever. [ she knows that from experience, though from the other side ]

You are learned, Seamstress. Wise and perhaps...a tad more personally experienced in warfare than you truly let on, mhmhmhmhm. A damaged child? but, no. There is strength through wounding, eheheheh. In this, however, I must disagree. In this, you will find me a blasphemer; a man all but too familiar with the machinations of soartă, of an impotent and voiceless God too self-absorbed to ever tend to his flock.

I was a warrior of Heaven. A man who saw the Holy Word and knew it to be thus, and for my services I was awarded a beheading. There is no plan, no just reward for the righteous -- only death. And pain. And undeath everlasting.

[ she's just...trying to pick out his meaning from this ]

You're saying that you...are personally familiar with betrayal, that same loss of self-definition I mentioned? And from what I've seen thus far, it's had something not unlike the effect I described. An adherent turned apostate with one fell swoop of the axe, recreated as a monster. The parallels continue.

Do you expect it would be different with your opponent? Granted, this will be lacking in the betrayal, as the prior examples centered heavily upon such an aspect, but would he be so willing to surrender without his sense of self?

Parallels, but never patterns. I am the first and last of mine kind; the perfect monster made weapon to hunt the things that go...bump in the night.

[ Alucard's answer is without a moment's hesitation. ]

He would have no choice, crippled as I plan to make him.

Not exact, no. They are parallel because the patterns follow similar paths, but at the same time never intersect. They are distinct and entirely separate, but comparable still. What other purpose could a monster hope to constructively employ herself with, when the one she had been bred for is destroyed?

[ she makes an amused noise and smirks slightly ] Now now, Alucard, you were the one expounding on the importance of choice in such matters. Backpedaling so soon?

[ The camera blurs, and Alucard is suddenly screaming into the camera, his face barely inches away from it. ]

--CHOICE! There was never a choice! Never an option! The foul pig stole me from my master -- I am sure of it! And now I am bereft of cause or company to while away these endless days! I am lost! Thrown asunder! And I shall not give him the pleasure of knowing he has laid me so low!

[ And then, he's calm again. ]

There is as much creation in destruction as destruction is involved in the creative process.

Edited 2012-05-11 22:08 (UTC)

[ she's still leaning back from the screen, eyes wide and her glow flaring brightly from surprise at his sudden outburst ]

U-u-uh.

[ He'll give you a second to compose yourself. ]

[ her glow doesn't really settle, but she at least manages to collect her thoughts ]

Well, I s-suppose some purging will occur before a replacement can be deployed, but should the new creation also come to an end, what remains?

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